in the basement where we keep our little gravities- apparently the earth gave way and hell announced a cavity. allow for strange attractors to collapse before they're intimate. and never take the stairs until you've locked the room beneath it. according to the rule there may be echoes from the chamber a misery of wraiths or a raven in the manger. or a hackle of contempt the very air, a shrike of drone. an epistle from a hornet's nest- at the back of our throats. in the very, very quiet where we keep our little maladies- apparently the basement is as good a place as enmity. allow for cain and abel and perhaps you have the half of it, swinging from a hook in every room we've heard it laughing in. according to the rule there may be black so black it's blackening and everywhere the hoards of wane dispel the moon because.