A fragment from an ancient scroll, unfurling ever so delicately:
A tone poem, a tablet text, a cave painting: an ever-revealing something flutters ceaselessly into existence. The protocol is simple: mirror backwards into the mind and bow your head. Shut your eye-holes and prepare for take-off. Animal nature, ripped and pointed like a flowering vine whispers, “how deep we go down to die”. Write this down and put it under your pillow, knowing that air is a medium.
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Today: the sound of crickets at dusk, the soft angles of honey calcite, music in the key of F, the bioluminescent glow of a deep sea jellyfish, and the sunny vulnerability of blooming laburnum.