Crystall Arteries

  In times of disorder, in this land of confusion, grey skies and high intensity urban paranoia, reality seems like a bad dream, while dreams are captive to the lowest ends of reality. With no compass, faulty radars and gadgets that disorient instead of showing the way, we dizzily crawl and stumble our way to nowhere.  This is the most uncanny part.  There is no end in sight.  Things all around die and decay, but they persist as undead shells of their previous selves.  Some do fall and turn to dust, but nothing takes their place.  New little things pop out and accumulate, one on top of another, in a million grotesque little towers of Babel, screaming, flashing, puking and disintegrating.  The mind, both personal and collective, is crawling through a vast plain of such rubbish and debris. The sounds are deafening and all encompassing, but no one can comprehend what are they, or if they are conveying any message.  The light is blinding, but then abruptly succeded by periods of unworldly