lethologica raze it was something to do with starlings, i think. starlings and lampshades. one thing became the other, or was joined with it, or sat astride its mottled spine until its quarry begged to be released. you can bury a bird alive without ever leaving the wreckage of a room time and terror have sculpted into a tomb. so it is with thoughts. i've forgotten whatever fine fabric the fragment was sewn into before it flew away from me, its iridescent feathers hoarding heat like a hurricane. it was never mine at all, was it? 260723 what's it to you? who go blather from