A
thing of infectious persuasion burrows its way into the far corners
of being, and though incapable of dreams, a routine cause of
nightmares. A furnace of mechanical fatalism, infinitesimal reason
and will inversely proportioned, driven by an insatiable voracity for
its own identity recast. When mirrors meet, a mute rhythm is set to
pulsate in aimless vibrations, echoing within the tenuous hollow of
that living kernel. Inside every fibrous enclosure a factory of
effigies quietly drawls away, in continuous, seductive murmurs. It is
only when the host amicably offers her own shelter, and as the walls
close in on themselves, that in one stroke she guarantees
immortality.
