A few hundred more sessions left This record was practically immortal It would outlast this thin strip A private world on its last legs Even the lightbulbs would die Before the music The clumps of dust would have a falling out Rats would scurry to a fresh alcove of the world Bacteria would flee to a new host All harbingers to something better than them Something infinitely more tragic In a way it was inspiring to think That a non-sentient record Would outlive a billion neurons By several hundred sessions And maybe a lonely soul would hear the record’s death […]

One more time

It seemed dangerous Claustrophobic Death wouldn’t throw stone knives At you from above That would be inappropriate Rude Unseemly It can’t have a media spectacle Too much attention Attention was deadly Then death itself might be wiped out Or at least be an endangered species Threatened to within an inch of its life Unacceptable Deplorable Reprehensible Better to stick to the tried and true Down here among the shadows and torchlight With wary subterranean citizens thinking of you As a vague possibility at best A concrete certainty to befall others at worst This is good This is very good

Stalactite fury