With eyes open: The room transforming into a playground of silky clowns.
With eyes closed: Tiny interlocking blops of pink&white buttermilk beeings. They are the egg beeings, breeding the clowns...and...
They're forming a dome, forcing me to look up. Every blop is alive. It's like in the inside of an anthill, and I am just another ant, part of the hive mind.
Speech gets transformed. A foreign accent attached to the inner dialoge. Then: A burst of pure alien language.
Suddenly: The blops are melting into each other, moving physicaly away from me. Dirty parchment with burn marks and holes before my visonary field. Illuminated by a fire only the mind knows. Very old this parchment is, shielding the much older beeings from my view.
The afterglow: Endless yawns, amazing time dilutation...with every yawn a new picture...braids made of buttermilk, green slimy melting plastic...
Music, driving me into psychedelic states beyond the visual realm.
Long would I hear classical music. Alive again, my friend. Alive again.
With eyes closed: Tiny interlocking blops of pink&white buttermilk beeings. They are the egg beeings, breeding the clowns...and...
They're forming a dome, forcing me to look up. Every blop is alive. It's like in the inside of an anthill, and I am just another ant, part of the hive mind.
Speech gets transformed. A foreign accent attached to the inner dialoge. Then: A burst of pure alien language.
Suddenly: The blops are melting into each other, moving physicaly away from me. Dirty parchment with burn marks and holes before my visonary field. Illuminated by a fire only the mind knows. Very old this parchment is, shielding the much older beeings from my view.
The afterglow: Endless yawns, amazing time dilutation...with every yawn a new picture...braids made of buttermilk, green slimy melting plastic...
Music, driving me into psychedelic states beyond the visual realm.
Long would I hear classical music. Alive again, my friend. Alive again.
