ʤ ʀᴇᴩᴏʀᴛ ɪᴍᴍᴇᴅɪᴀᴛᴇʟy ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴜʀᴇᴀᴜ ᴏꜰ ᴜɴᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇᴅ ᴀʀᴛɪꜰᴀᴄᴛꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇʟɪᴇꜰ

a spinning sickness scrolling deeper upwards, delving plunging depths

them Bromide Boys delivered a slick lickin' to the Borax Kid, overcharging quarter-fours for 8's straight down the boardwalk until the white walls sang

praying mantises are like the centaurs of bugs

scotia, facades, pilasters, flutes, capitals, triglyphs, rosettes, acanthus leaf, acroterions, dentils, bastion, embrasure, curtain, merlon, peristylums, vestibule, internal crepidoma, flank, courtyards.


it's okay, the persistent fog is your friend: it's doing its best to protect you from seeing what lies ahead

I had that dream again. every night for seven weeks now.

we keep walking, drawn by the strange hum, but the obelisk never gets closer

the burly man adjusted his hat in the darkness as he waited, loading the massive rifle with a one-of-a-kind bullet, the biggest slug ever made.

a small crowd had formed at a distance, murmuring rumors of the hunter and his plans.

he was going to bag the biggest game ever; he was going to shoot and take the sunrise itself as his trophy.

and so he laid in wait, for daybreak.

slack pulled taut, thought that tat though through that spat a cable of thick vine, ivy wrapped stone thrust upward to accept the weight of the chasm's width

if you could look into each office room from the top down, you'd notice every piece of furniture aligned to a grid: some type of QR bits encoded by physical position.

the building was trying to tell us something

the speakeasy spoke deeply
a cramped cellar filled greasy
drinking angry decorum
straight mulled boredom
melancholy made sleazy

they took donations of experience, a clanking machine that'd suck the wisdom and memories dry.

you could give it to a needy kid, they said, who didn't live an interesting enough life to generate any of their own

the flytrap closed with a snap, grasping at the light itself, a chomp taken from the sunbeam.

the glowing gold phloem flows

and so, too slowly, the sword rotated.

falling with lazy bubbles into the depths.

four thousand years, those gemeralds shone on a gilded hilt.

four thousand more it was lost, stabbed gently into the murk at the bottom of the sea

meanwhile, in the updrafts of the jengar system, a dusty ruin sits sunbleached like clay bones.

a mysterious stranger joins the fray

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