Albert Wesker’s body falling apart from uroborus as Pink Floyd’s Goodbye Blue Sky plays off in the distance.
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Soaking in the body-feeling of a very physical shift.
Feeling your body as if it matched the body map in your mind.
Standing in front of the mirror, closing your eyes and tracking your movements, picturing your reflection the way it exists in your mind. Like a motion capture overlay.
The ghost of a face.
“Sleep heavily and know that I am here with you now. The past is gone, and cannot harm you anymore. And while the future is fast coming for you, it always flinches first and settles in as the gentle present. This now, this us? We can cope with that. We can do this together. You and I, drowsily, but comfortably.”
— Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor, Welcome to Night Vale
- “William, you’ve been staring off into space for a while now. What’s on your mind?”
- “I just…I can’t stop thinking about what would happen if we tied five different licker’s tongues together.”
- Wesker says nothing, just continues tapping at his phone he’s been holding
- “I know, it’s probably stupid, right?”
- “We’ll find out, I’ve just reserved the testing arena.”
I love to sneak and creep it feels so natural to me
Langston Hughes (1902-1967), ‘Tired’, “New Masses”, Vol. 6, #9, Feb. 1931
Langston Hughes (1902-1967), ‘Tired’, “New Masses”, Vol. 6, #9, Feb. 1931
Langston Hughes (1902-1967), ‘Tired’, “New Masses”, Vol. 6, #9, Feb. 1931