Voices in the Deep
By Shawn Wunjo
There is a place, somewhere between the darkness of life and dull greys of hazy sleep, where the mind treads on ground that blurs between worlds. You touch it here, you feel it there. You hear the voices sometimes just as you’re about to fall asleep, a blast of unheard sound that strikes your mind as you suffer the little death of orgasm. It’s like static, the way it eats at the corners of your mind, slowly seeps into your soul and possesses you, washing away everything of the world you know on a tide of voices. But try to seize it, understand it, possess it, and it turns to vapor, leaving only the cottony sand which lurks behind sleepy eyes.
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Wunjo is a victim of a Proto-Germanic reconstruction via Gothicism. He sees things that hide from others and only eats (and dies) when he absolutely has to.
By Shawn Wunjo
There is a place, somewhere between the darkness of life and dull greys of hazy sleep, where the mind treads on ground that blurs between worlds. You touch it here, you feel it there. You hear the voices sometimes just as you’re about to fall asleep, a blast of unheard sound that strikes your mind as you suffer the little death of orgasm. It’s like static, the way it eats at the corners of your mind, slowly seeps into your soul and possesses you, washing away everything of the world you know on a tide of voices. But try to seize it, understand it, possess it, and it turns to vapor, leaving only the cottony sand which lurks behind sleepy eyes.
- - -
Wunjo is a victim of a Proto-Germanic reconstruction via Gothicism. He sees things that hide from others and only eats (and dies) when he absolutely has to.
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