He is sleeping now...most of them are sleeping. Making preparations for the morn...to rise and shine a new day given. But some...some will not sleep...some are the Watchers. These are the border guards...Keepers of the Night. Sentinels...if you only knew what lay beyond the Pale, my sleeping friends...if you only knew.

Sometimes the Myst rushes about with such intensity I wonder if it might not scour and scar all it touches...but, always, after the clearing the World remains...amazing. Makes me smile sometimes. Smiles at Night can not be seen...they will not register.

grasshopper watches as the Sleeper rises. Rises and walks slowly past the brown ones soft ones past the the breasts of dirt piled high and lily laden

Rain falls lighly on the Other. Red and Black beside. Crouched. Watching. Always in attendance while Michael dances to shame, shame, shame...

See...there are Doors into Doors into Doors ad infinitum...and all Doors are watched. But ignorance wraps the majority shroud-like...serves to deaden an impact that if unchecked would drive all he/shes mad.

Try this...move to a corner. In the Dark. Sit. Draw your knees up tight. Watch the Quiet draw near. Breath lightly...listen. Listen. If you are quiet they will come...come on the sound of Water...come on the sound of Grass and Wind. Listen. When you Shiver, you will know...watch the shadows. Listen...

Each night they come to slaughter...these who have slipped through to rape and pillage in the Name of God...how can one believe in God, in any Gods, in light of all the blood...how. And then again, who cares? Who cares to justify the hurt, the blood, the innocent shattered..who cares, I say. So...you go ahead and sleep all wrapped in blankets and clean sheets...you sleep.

the silverfish came back tonight nibbling at my pillow to take the threads and pull them so apart that the pillow was not a pillow but something else remember roman and deneuve the hands the groping and the eyeball razored nah you never drifted there to that world remember carter when for the third time he awakened with those flights still undescended and those hushed sunset streets still untraversed praying long and earnestly to the hidden gods of the dream that brood capricious above the clouds on unknown kadath in the cold waste where no man treads remember that no way cause those never occurred to you i bet just me these fish are surely funny crawling lightly over my shoulder to distract while others swarm the pillow transforming it into a folded creature not a pillow thats for sure.
This photograph is the property of Tatiana Parcero