there are no stars for none exist except behind the page. i see people walking around with their heads attached to their bodies, stuck on. their eyes are not open; they are filled with caviar eggs. the crystalline black jewels are horded in the sockets. my eyes watch them, people, my eyeballs like clear glass marbles. everything is cold and smooth and falling down long flights of stairs. the clattering of something broken. i have a telescope and binoculars and a microscope and a magnifying glass, and i am looking through each in turn, one focused through the lens of the next trying to reach the furthest, outermost vision. and beyond, after everything stops and the curtains close, the stars begin to shine. one large star encompassing everything in its immaculate purity.
I write short stories. This is my blog. I'm going to write whatever.