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.
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.