I continued to shake in fear as we moved deeper into the bleak jungle of Vorboon, the canopy above suffocating us like body-clung latex. The torturous heat produced from me crystalline salt of the sweat gland, cascading in hallucinogenic fragments. Mirrors, reflecting refracted light, curved around us and confused the spectrum of amalgamated forms.

"Outside-Inwards Jenkins, please, I cannot take this any longer! We must leave this writhing jungle!" I wept and fell to my knees in lamentation.

"Do not weep-weep, earth-being, for we have arrived upon the temple's entrance."

The temple soared above us as if in the dream of some secluded architect creating cataclysmic structures within his slumber. Its beauty was truly beheld, by us, fading into mist-forged fog, reminiscent of the Marabou stork or the Shoebill.

Upon the temple's steps stood the long-necked man, Scatard Acrosdaune. His countenance was elongated with sinister elation; unquestionably bizarre in every way I had ever conceived. Everything about his appearence was long and disconcerting, as if he were the echo of an echo of a man.

"Please, thou welcome most unto the existential temple of the Abstract Scroll. Scatard Acrosdaune, I, shall be your guide within the depths." Now he pauses with ominous intent.

"Where is thine scroll? Where is thine scroll? Where is thine scroll?"

Within the temple, corporate blocks of incestuous dual notation, rippling within a multitudinous alignment of masonry, partook in the abuse of subterfuge in order to forget the Sea Horns. We would head deeper still, deep into oblique chambers of solitary apparition, conjuring that which had plagued our collected mental cognition.

With cascading light faltering, lurid transcendence of encumbered paralysis began. Physical forms traversing innumerable catacombs of dread— between concrete moulded into the shape of modernity and totem poles transpiring against the import of collected consciousness, inspiring gelatinous brain matter— had overcame us.

Sliding through abyssal-black tar of stroking, crawling, writhing primal sludge, subsequently escaping through pores of sweat coagulation. We allowed silk-woven experience to be spun within a lair of manifestation, coinciding with visions of mutilation!

Down the hall
Back and to the right
Past a broken neon sign
Through an unlocked door
Then down four flights
A hole in the wall
In a room on the left
Follow it down
Through dirt and rock
After more than a while
You'll see a faint light
A oil lamp hanging
Kept by those who travel
So bring some won't you
The oil that is
Not much further past
You'll  find what you seek
The city beneath the city
The world and the way
That we abandoned long ago
The past they made us forget
And the future that might still be

It was before dawn
and she was never seen again.

We had often wondered about her
and her wild impatience,
her passion for holding
life’s burdens and treasures equally lightly,
for dropping and gifting them
with devout fervor.

Nolle leapt out of a window
and left her bonds behind.
We woke to her whoop
and smiled at the echo of her song.

Nolle leapt out and we wondered -
what would it be like
to crave life that much?

Time unfurled
a single yarn from the hem of a sweater
pulling apart the fabric of it.
Light consumed all darkness
until even the word shadow
held no weight.
The heavy weights of fear,
depression, and the impenetrable bruises
of lifelong aches,
melted,
like winter snow being touched,
at last,
by the spring sun.
A room awaits, made for me:
a coffee ***,
always full and warm with welcome.
A leather bound journal,
with ever-ready pages,
and a pen with ink made from my own veins
that always knows what to say.
An old fashioned is served up promptly,
at 7pm,
when my mother greets me at my door
and curls up next to me on the couch
we talk and laugh,
for hours inside a minute.
Candles glow with ambered remembrance.
Music plays the odes to journeys taken.
My grandfather fishes by a river nearby,
teeming with bass,
and I glimpse the child he never was
smile at me.
Every morning the ocean of my backyard
kisses my feet as she waves hello,
her salt no longer bitter.
I greet the blood of my blood
and bone of my bone upon the shore.
They wear faces that, through centuries
still resemble my own.
We tell stories around bonfires
of the legends that we were in our time.
My soul is made tangible.
I touch the fringes of my warrior spirit,
caress the edges of my creativity.
I dance with the stars before dawn
upon a floor made of crystalline moonbeams,
and marvel at how green,
how delicate,
how infinitesimal,
is the Earth below.

Dreamland Delights

In the land where whispers jest and play,
Guided by wisdom’s kindly crest.
Joyful frolics in the air,
Love’s glow shine, beyond compare,
Peaceful trance, our hearts at rest.

Gladness sings in merry refrain,
Escaping Worries, freeing from strain.
Strong bonds, like trees tall,
Passion sparks, inspiring all,
Imagination’s flight, a delightful train.

In this dreamy realm, colours bright,
Skies painted in day’s and night’s light.
Clouds shaped like creatures, grand and bold,
Rainbow flowers, a sight to behold,
Mythical beings, laughter taking flight.

Sensory treats, oh so sweet,
Giggling streams, under our feet.
Waft of cookies, freshly made,
Soft grass tickles, in our glade,
In this realm, where wonders greet.

Riding unicorns, up high we soar,
Caves of treasure, endless more.
Tea parties with beings, joy so bright,
Adventure, laughter, clear delight,
In an idyllic realm, let’s delve into.

Bliss of joy and wonder, always pour,
In this site where dreams come true.
No fear or worry, just smiles and cheer,
In this ground, let’s journey, my dear,
For in dreamland, skies are ever blue.

Dreamed up by, AN.

In the gloom of the Mindfear Caves, my chanting echoed throughout, and I could see the Seven Heads hovering before me as I uttered the Oblong Mutterings. In here I could become one with the land of Tok-Tuu and its spiritual soul.

Having reached the culmination of my meditations, I emerged from the caves into the warm breast of summer, passing through Tok-Tuu's ancient orchard on my journey home. There, seemingly by fate, I met an old mystic who was in the process of painting the lifecycle of the Bulbous Tree, a tree which grew into full bloom and expired in the space of mere hours. He introduced himself as Outside-Inwards Jenkins— a descendant of Oblong Jenkins-Kennedy— and had been cast from the village of Tok-Tuu for practicing occult techniques in the manner of the forbidden doctrines, using these teachings in the creation of his artworks.

"You shall become my pupil, Earthbeing, and accompany me on my iminent journey into the jungle of Vorboon, in search of the Abstract Scroll. Within its writngs are techniques that are crucial to my artistic progression, and I shall share what I learn with you. Once I have learnt the teachings of the scroll I shall finally be able to complete Emerson, The Great Water Lilly, and apply the finishing touches to my homage of Rotondo The Clown."

Our words had been spoken and I would begin to embark on a quest that would be of great importance to what was meant to be in a time when we would begin.

We began our journey in the evening, when the air was cool and the Bloodfang Mosquitoes were perched high in the trees. The jungle of Vorboon was dark and abstract, especially at night, when winding vines and hollow trees could lead lost travellers deep underground. I quivered in fear as Outside-Inwards Jenkins led me deeper and deeper into the heart of the jungle. However, I still saw an inner light transmute within my mind's eye, morphing into the form of the Abstract Scroll. I allowed this image to guide my fearful heart.

Your curls have my fingers
So tight they won't let go

I could live here, hands on your head,
myself, your cargo.

Take me far away from here,
Around this great blueberry.

I'll ride high on your shoulders,
Or walk when you get wary.

At night, sleep, face up to the moon,
Your scalp set in my palms.

I'll tell you things about the stars,
my gentlemen in arms.