The darkest hour of the night is just before the dawn. Learning the tools of possession, we become the hoarders of the self; a stain upon a landscape. Set against a primordial breeze, sipping huel cocktails with spiritual anorexia
- flattened - bribe a gnostic immutable ticking
Searching the communal, a headless narccisist sits with past-life regression practitioners, cooing over incubated dreams.
The charactger uses the body as a mask The actor uses the character as a mask The player uses the mask as the body
Note to self: As usual, you've mistaken independence for isolation
See note: The world of darkness is a point of meditation