Blurred lines and fuzzy features imitate the objects I know. The fire alarm... is just a beige blur. The carpet... is just a sea of synthetic fibers. And the bedside lamp... is just an incandescent inferno. But in the morning I'm sure they'll be clear.


The future always finds us. It finds us without hesitation, effort or probable cause... Tormenting us relentlessly with small pokes and large prods. And there's no way to outrun it or ability to hide... Unless time chooses to take you... Or you decide to die.