I am not going to sit here in my ivory tower of intellectual detachment and tell people to “get over it”. Do not get over it. You will never get over it.
Starfish explosions across the retina; a confusion of sounds, both unreal and real; blurred inputs and solid outputs meshed together.
It was only a few streets away from the hotel, and they were open about the fact that they spoke English.
That was important, as neither of us had a whole amount of Swedish that we could rely upon.
Blood, blood, glorious blood: Nothing quite like it for scaring the living snot out of you.
A separation resolved in absentia. There are no lines on the face of time.
A non-conformist sect, clad in the robes of a thousand failures. An epicentre of infamy.
A walk in the woods of where and when we will never wonder. Will we wander? Why, we will to wish.