𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔬𝔫

The black sun is being eaten by the blinding moon, which stares down into the

emptiness as we writhe in our sleep; fears, nightmares, dreams,

it smothers us in its heavy silence; we can only pray for the sunlight to

dispell us from that which drapes the night

the day is the black sun defecating out the world

apathetic angels kiss us from the noon clouds

in the winter the late night streets are the theater of the undead

A chaos witch named Sophia told me last night to speak

to the grim reaper when she comes, shes a good friend of the

partial eclipse, the aurora borealis, the comet

the stars blink naively as the moon descends to swallow us into the dark ocean

anxiosa, triste; Trieste, the city kind to the mad

time travelers told me that we can only go backwards

when we surpass the speed of light going forward; a circular return

to the past: the future is only a fungi, an abberration, a scavenger plant,

a residual element of the primitive fear of the night which kept them near the fire

it is a lie of the sun we cannot look at without seeing little black suns in our eyes and burn out the world forever

the moon will destroy the Future

the paranoiac, the manic knows that there is nothing but creation from the emptiness

of the Moon's shadows, and death is the deepest black of her luminescence