Their descent would go unnoticed until marrow learned of its bone.
The womb would leech its prime into the fracturing, mortal clouds
Clashing against the prism, recombining into a substance capable of breaking its glass
An undulating mass finds its void.
Somewhere in its simplest form dwells the mind, a smallest unit of consciousness
Stolen from life extinguished as the phantom latches to the cubine
As the newborn jaws begin to widen, consciousness whistles its unmistakable tune
Every vituperative dance,
Movement intrinsic against thought:
the mind undoes itself.
Blissfully agonizing, cognizantly degenerating,
the mind builds against the wind, to die.
Time lifts its cracks to the surface,
Their unanswerable questions grow malignant.
And answered by the doubt to wade further into the sea, a siren warmth calling from the cold and deep.
Assimilating into the vaporous mass, it learns its ebbs and flows in a perverse mimic
It learns the feeling of agony as its voice falls into nothing, for the clouds know not of themselves
supported by 26 fans who also own “A Twitching in the Clouds”
Artificial Brain took a while for me to appreciate. After, I enjoy listening to them.
They remind me of an alternate version of Wormed's old Planisphaerum era. Sid