Isolation Centre by Black Hair Rolled In Dried Blood

“One solitary tear crept through the scars of his face, through the diagrams of constellations and the incised maps of influence and dominion. A liquid without a name, it being made of so many emotions and conflicts, each cancelling the other out until only salt and gravity filled the moment and moved down through his expression.”
― Brian Catling, The Vorrh

More nocturnal meanderings through shards of electric current prowling an internalised landscape. Exploring shadowland.

Fading, fading, fading....

He sits in a small room listening to their conversations and speaking to himself.
They all listen, dying to answer their own questions. He watches his own likeness reflected in the broadcast on the screen and recognises no-one.

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stars, dots and the "new" junk