Maybe
we’re rushing it and jumping to conclusions, but as I sat in the cave dying to
get out, gulping dry air like a fish out of water, holding my breath to the
limit at each infrequent respiration, the walls took on a weird phosphorescence
as I cried for liberation – not the usual green and purple clouds that come and
go, but focalised images of light issuing from the walls, and all of a sudden
there appeared before me a clay-like sepia-grey wall with inscriptions on it. And
a black hole, which is a familiar sight, probably due to the scotoma – where the optic
nerve exits the retina. But the black hole drifted off and was nothing compared to the clay wall
that stood in front of me – not with cuneiform inscriptions as pictured here,
but with unintelligible patterns that intrigued me. Streams of delight ran
through my body… uh, what body? It wasn’t there anymore. It was a momentary hope of liberation from my cave, but I came back again, and wrote this... So, when you’re
really dying to get out, it just might happen. You never know... they may be digging in from the other
side…
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