(no subject)
shhhh. that impossible lightning-stop clamour is going to beign, to beat its heavy pulse, imprint itself into our bodies like we sat too long on a plastic-scrub carpet. stay clear of the halls, but the rooms will fill, will almost burst from the enormity of it, the endless parade of practically silent thunder.
the bell is going to ring. go to second block like a herd of cattle, our bells, metaphors for ones around our necks, clanging like the heavy ones that robots will wear, quite like us.
the bell is going to ring. go to second block like a herd of cattle, our bells, metaphors for ones around our necks, clanging like the heavy ones that robots will wear, quite like us.