I put that down. A point in space is an argument place says Wittgenstein. It is the power of every hand to destroy us and are beholden to every one we meet, he doth not kill us. The day-tortured eye can no longer support. Before it died behind the clenched lids the sun wrenched itself from the sky and fell sickeningly over the edge of the world.
Blues deepen like vertigo into permanganate purples.
An icy chill weeps the very length of darkness after sun, cracking the desert rocks like a rattle of fire across the Sahara. Step into a Grain of Sand. It is Everybody's Earthly Kingdom bathed in the white light. You can get the light with prayer, mescaline, fasting, sex and know where to find it again when you want it. Praktice makes perfect.