The eminent yet superficial perception of agony is increasing and overtaken by the consternation of de-coatification. The subject remains reflectory indifferent while juxtaposing the unusual experience with a personification of the concept of indefinitely ongoing agitation. The compulsory isolatorical requirement slowly progresses into a fatalism, which again is placed in unspecified proximity of determinism.

With realisation of evident internal predicament the invocation of an unspecified object is articulated. Still the final consideration is the paradoxial convergence between distorted impression and wondrous novelty and the acknowledgement of the necesity to trivialise the nontrivial.

The pain is skin deep

The skin is peeling

The wandering ones

Will come around

No one can touch me

A touch can be fatal

The time is right

When it comes around

Let’s meet in between the micro moments

In our time machine

There’s too much radiation

Backyard radiation

Vision is curved

A new immersion

Boiling it down

to look around