1. I traveled, collecting shoes, on sidewalks made of city walls, the pathways through the flood. I picture a map: white, with blue veins.
  2. I have only met you once, I know, but in that sun-lit attic, I know you completely.
  3. The orange-magenta mother would never lie, would never harm, her silent glows tell me, "your bodies were made for my children all along."
  4. A galaxy away I knew you in the front of a pickup truck, and yet we never touched, your power too great.
  5. They must let me go, they do not understand. Their eyes only see smooth lines, but the door will open for none but me. The mouth will open for none but me!
  6. As the mob descends I flee on my toy airplane, leaving you, but hang gliding to a Parisian airport where I meet international friends.
  7. An opening beneath the sand, and a blind people. How do they live? I go in search of the answer.
  8. We discuss the logistics of dreaming in German (when I do not know German),  ignoring the irony of doing so in a dream. Our bunker is made of playplace parts.
  9. As I walk through the turnstile of the train station I see a carousel, and am reminded of a Japanese ghost story. I say nothing and refuse to leave.
  10. I am a soldier, killing shadows left by men beneath the ground.
  11. I drive a convertible, and in an attempt to impress some high schoolers recite the names of species of deer I have learned off colored notecards. We drive through the old part of town.
  12. I commented casually on your bound tits. You pulled out your dick and fucked me so hard there was cum in my mouth.
  13. We run through places of clock towers, opening locked doors and looking at the bright lives of those away from their homes (in the warm cobwebbed closets).
  14. I am lost in this town, but it must be a dream. If I sleep and then wake I'll be set free? No, the sun rises on my sundress and reality begins to unravel in the museum of art
  15. Afraid of stalking, I follow you through the festivities of this skeletal town with a trick I learned from the back of your head. I weep through the familiar portals of your eyes.
  16. You appear for the third time, strolling lazily into our hideout, a stranger in every sense but one. You're a shapeshifter as well, but much better than me. I gladly shove the needles into your body.
  17. Inject me so that I may be the last queen, opening up the lost genetics that run through me. I have a dark kingdom to rule, and ancient doors to unlock
  18. Satan came to visit me like an old friend. I could not get rid of him. We went carjacking.
  19. My teeth began to fall out one by one, and in excitement I ripped them out instead, savoring it until I choked on my blood.
  20. My lover only I can see, lost beneath the sea, reduced to murky pools that I slip through. They say I'm gone for weeks, but to me it's only precious hours making love.
  21. Old ghost stories, that's all it is. But as we descend, I feel a pressure on my neck. I cannot speak, only bend backwards. I am terrified of what will happen once I touch the floor and disappear.
  22. I reach the final room and the demon who greets me tells me, "Once your eyes leave me, you will die." We spin and run and twist and finally, as she jumps behind me, I feel her teeth rip apart my neck.
  23. As I watch the boat drift out to sea, sitting at the shore on a small pile of my belongings, the caretaker comes for me. He kisses me slowly on each cheek and finally, though I resist, on the lips. He apologizes.
  24. The speaker continues his speech, though the way his eyes meet mine tell me that I am right in locking the door. Again, I am right in doing the chain. Lighting strikes; the prophecy is near.
  25. I descend down the ladders of the spiraling white behemoth. It is vast and empty except for the masked husk of my brother, who follows, armed and anxious in my shadow.
  26. The spiraling arm -no, tentacle?- wraps around me. A hand brushes against my cheek, there is warm breath on my neck. But what of the spiraling arm? I begin to forget where I am, I am losing control. My mind is being violated.
  27. All the books, new and old, bear his name. Even the cover on a book of old nursery rhymes is redone in blackness and flames. How old must he be? I go from store to store and see nothing but his name.
  28. I look at the time and wonder at the darkness. I am reminded that these large buildings block out the sun. How could I forget?
  29. My witch-mother-mentor underestimates her foe. The spell backfires, and her bottom half crystallizes while her top disappears behind a portal. I am young and I cry.
  30. I enter the theater. My prey is here among blue masks, now it I must simply wait until I see their face. I feel the energy in me tickle the backs of my hands.
  31. The plane rises slowly, in time with the chemicals set loose within me by the scratching nails and the biting teeth of the ropes that suspend me. I shout and I plead with the pilots to touch me. They laugh.
  32. I am presented with a moral dilemma: my wants are not my own, but only the mimic of another. I shake, not out of jealousy at the hidden trysts in the curtained corners, but the lack of volition that corners me. 
  33. I find the things that I have written, preserved in gardens beneath the ground, but the monk tells me that I am mistaken; the author is unknown, and died many years ago.
  34. Every dot and speck of dust moves, becomes a spider. If I blink fast enough, I know it's an illusion. But everywhere I step, everything I touch, spiders.
  35. The nurse knows that I will follow quarantine, but for some reason lets me go, tells me I have a day. But the roads collapse underneath the wheels of my bike as I flee, and the skyscrapers are turning into chemically-reactive angels of death. I do not have a day.
  36. I visit the girl in my basement every day. She speaks to me, and only me. One day she follows me, like a shadow, and leads me to the forest. There is a necklace there.
  37. What was I writing about? About words and making words? I was writing, so far away, about the real and the unreal, connected in a curling mess of coils.
  38. The manager is enraged. "You cannot eat or read until you have matched the shoes!" But I only have one shoe. The tags don't match. There are so many shoes. I do not eat.
  39. I cut through the queue and sit directly at a table. No one notices. They explain the rules to me. I smile and bullshit my way to the cash prize.
  40. I put on my gloves and slide down the building by a rope. As I descend, the building creaks and shifts, falling backwards. I jump from the rope and begin to slide.
  41. I land on the new planet, and greet the emotionless people. Where are the other ships? My transmissions get no response. 
  42. The wind picks up and I am swept about, holding on to a string. I cannot climb down, I simply wait as the ground comes to meet me.
  43. The bus is empty except for me, and the driver consistently looks back and leers. I see that my house has sunk beneath the flood. I give up, and must go wherever he takes me.
  44. I awaken at the foot of a tree, naked and creaky. Flowers grow beneath my feet. I find the parents I have been dreaming about, but I do not know them and they do not recognize me. I was lost too long inside the trees.
  45. Words of lies are destroyed, while words of truth simply cease to be. The mute struggle to live on amongst the anarchy of burning libraries.
  46. I touch her and she is soft, I feel her warmth and her wetness, her body begins to finally make sense. The anticipation is like the moment before falling, but when I look down, my cock is missing.
  47. As I stroll down the autumn path, it begins to spiral inward, but I continue on. I lean on a fence which breaks, and I fall into a dark pit. Everything is colored midnight, and I cannot breath.
  48. My sweetheart asks me to buy her something, but I cannot find it. The clerks glare at me, and I realize inside, it is far too big and bright. I cannot find the exit. My shoes squeak on the bleach-scented floor.
  49. The bathroom is covered in blood, and a trail of blood leads outside. Outside the office building a girl in white is shaking in the middle of the road. She says it isn’t her fault. The trail continues on.
  50. This boat reminds me, I look across the deck and we are all underwater. But there is my daughter, shining and shifting like the moon at night, like the moon under water. I remember then, that to bring her back, we must all die.
  51. They’re putting you in their memory phones, but why? I keep having visions that we go down to the river to greet the dead, but you refuse to. Why? What is it in your mind that they want to see?
  52. The third moon is larger than life, and a falling star shoots colors like fireworks. I must go to it.
  53. The car is lighter than it should be, faster than it should be. I cannot control it. We crash, and the light car bounces around in an otherworldly fashion. No one is harmed.
  54. There are three steps to the ritual. Go to the cave with the waterfall. Walk towards it, against the water. The long and winding path is ahead, and if you keep your eyes open, you will reach the dead.
  55. When I close my eyes I begin to see colors and letters and numbers, like a holy code, an uncovered secret. The people around me begin to mouth the strings of code which now litter the walls as well, but only one looks me in the eyes, unsurprised and unmoving.
  56. My jumps never land me quite right, and they look at me with disappointed eyes, all those rebels and prison breakers. I hide my crying in fear they’ll leave me behind. The revolution doesn’t need me, but I need it.
  57. I slip through one hole, then two. I slither and stretch myself impossibly small into the third chamber. It is warm and damp and it sings to me while I stay inside it. No one can reach it but me. We are alone moving through space, this space and I.
  58. All throughout the house she haunts me. Outside the house she whispers for me to come in, and once I do she reaches out to me, and the wall stretches against her like an eyelid. It is thin and the veins pulse against her tiny, delighted little hands.
  59. The black cloud envelopes me, and the spores enlighten me, lightened by eating me, and plugged to my brain. The exits are closed, so I climb up through a window. In the dumpster below I see bodies, with black tendrils spiralling out of their eyes. They have failed, but I will climb higher.
  60. We fuck and fuck but it’s not enough. I peel off your skin, like my skin, like orange peel, like bubbles in baked dough. I crush and crunch it with too many molars.
  61. “Let’s play a game,” they say, “we will prey on all your insecurities with our hurtful words, and if you cry, you get thrown into the endless pit.” All my fears are realized.
  62. A city stands stark against the sand, away from time and technology. In the skeleton of a skyscraper I hear a radio transmission, “there is... water... beneath the pit.” But no one returns from the pit, ever.
  63. I was pregnant, they tell me. I was pregnant all along. I give birth but feel nothing. They take the baby away. What have I done?
  64. They begin the process, covering my skin in the slimy silver substance. As they ask me to open my legs I tell them no, not there. They say don’t I want that part and I tell them no, it is not necessary, we will leave it behind.
  65. My child is not dead, but running. I follow the trail of memories she leaves, unintentional but readable by me. The government follows close behind, reading the imprints of my reading.
  66. The recursive nature of the thought puppets only occurs to them briefly. Each successive incarnation of me holds its totem close and trudges through the sand, running from each successive incarnation of the beast.
  67. The only way out is down through the lower levels, full of security automatons. Two of us volunteer, weaving our way through the patrols, but there is no escape. We cannot call down the elevator, but instead hide within sleep capsules, which activate once we shut the door.
  68. I walk to the basement and find what appears to be an empty food bowl and a messy litter box. I remember buying them but... how many months has it been? The room smells like death.
  69. Down in the dumpster, my mind sinks into revenge. It sticks to me with the old newspapers, like the sound of footsteps that bring me back. I stand, I aim the gun with my tiny hands.
  70. The horrible man takes me upstairs, he tells me that he’s going to be my boyfriend. He lays me on the floor just so, and so begins.
  71. There is a hole in my gum straight to the tooth roots. It requires attention which requires compensation. I cannot feel a thing.
  72. I crawl behind shadows to block their eyes but high above they spy my weak and simple form. Danger swoops.
  73. In the maze of the test chambers, the gasses are released and take over the roving hands of my two companions, who tear at clothes and shut their ears to my cries. Years later, their eyes betray them; their memories are full, but not of guilt.
  74. “How do you know these strange undead?” “What undead? They were my family, they raised me to read the black runes.” “What runes?” I hand her the sacred vial from which they fed me. Her eyes widen and she whispers, “the artifact.”
  75. They followed her for so long, to the very climax her of story, yet at the top of the tower, overlooking her brother’s estate, they are all baffled. She at them, and they at the absence of the ring. How can she not have the ring? It was present in all future paths!
  76. You drugged me? You drugged me and... a wave of happiness crashes my brain, there is a set of numbers in the sky, three yellow, three red, two white. They randomize until the high recedes.
  77. I escape from my body to explore the confines of the traitor ship. As I pass by the captain, his eyes glow and he smiles. I have been found out, and they will follow the trail back to my cage, where I will face death. 
  78. I am kneeling. The sacrament is spoon fed to me through a hole in the door. I am already thirsty, how will this blood deepen the need? My mouth tingles.
  79.  The kids howled like wolves, howled against the world, and the wind whistled back, wolf whistles to growing morsels.
  80. His warm mass towers over me. I am small in this house, I am small beside this monster. I plead and plead, “Please don’t eat me!” but he only grins.
  81. He tells me to go ahead, but I argue. I do not know about the blood-trap, I do not know he cannot pass through the hallway. I do not know he is protecting me from dark secrets.
  82. We strum our guitars on an abandoned bed, in the middle of the highway. The cars all stop, rather than drive around us, and I can’t be made to care. I’m naked in the warm sun.
  83. Like an invisible, maze, you can see the stairs descend from only a single angle. We go down and down until we can see nothing but colorful dots. One wrong move and you fall through the maze, down forever.
  84. We drink down in the catacombs, uncaring of the homes above. I open up a door, and the breeze beats me back to my house. There sits a man who claims I cannot leave. We run throughout the tunnels beneath the streets, and he is at my heels, he is right behind me.
  85. You ate all of our food, our small food in our small doll house. I search every space, my fingers feel the folds of the tiny sofa but there is no more. We will starve, but the goodbyes will be long and good.
  86. Through the floating platforms we find a screen. It shows me naked with another man who I’ve never seen, on a couch I’ve never been on. What is this, I ask you, the future or the past? We do not know, and are troubled.
  87. In the warehouse I talk with an unattractive man. He makes advances, and I take them, because I know that there are things he can offer me. Things I cannot get anywhere else.
  88. We hurry from terminal to terminal, a large and labyrinthine collection of massive spheres. We might never escape, but in the end, who even knows what lies outside?
  89. The party booms around me, a comforting and deafening noise. I reach the silence of the bathroom, and there on the other side of the mirror, I see myself dead in the bathtub. I lay down in the bathtub and wait.
  90. My friend is bitten by a small creature, with an oval body and four curved, claw-like legs. It’s body is like a spider, but it’s bite is far worse. She will be dead in exactly 16 minutes but I say nothing.
  91. We travel, learning about each country, digging deep into a three dimensional map of time and space. The sacrifice will be great, but as the history seeps in to us, we gain the power of all the death that ever was.
  92. Too poor to live, I thieve. I steal until the guards come for me. I ask them to arrest me, but instead they take my few things. The sky is dark, but I am too cold to sleep.
  93. As I get older, the powers manifest in me, and I throw away the unpleasant days that I do not need, until I live a life made of pieces I wish to keep.
  94. I cut the bacon so it fits in the pan. As I cook it and turn it over, it slowly becomes a reddish mush. Tomatoes.
  95. We see a lonely building on the dark horizon and make for it. We enter but are not safe, assaulted by monsters that bear your face. You chop them down with me. There is no time for goodbyes.
  96. I push the button on the fortune telling machine. A different face appears, it’s eyes are blue this time. “Blue,” we both say. The visions rush into me, all blue. I push the button again. This time they eyes are green.
  97. We laugh and talk, until he enters the room, vomiting blood. We make to call an ambulance, but there is already below us in front of the building, surrounded by tens of stretchers. Realization hits, but when we look up, he is gone.
  98. While the whole world kills and buries itself, a small ghost whispers in my ear and laughs, leading me on chases, sometimes to find the dead, sometimes to save the living. She does not care, she cannot care.
  99. I fly and bounce, a stone on the water in a land of light. Below this world I feel the pulse of another, but below that? I cannot know. I search for the beacon, I search to unite them, whatever may come.
  100. The house is empty and rotting, along the side in the mudslide, I see the uneven floors like an inverted skyline of bricks and wet earth. Sometimes plays the dying piano. The skyline shakes. 
  101. We are trapped in the house together, and together we stay. When together, the foreign dark thoughts go away. We are all strange beings, and are better this way.
  102. I despair at the lack of tea; a woman opens her mouth and pulls out a tea bag. She does this seven times.
  103. The blue cutter is dead, I must reset it. Afraid of the effects it might have on my skin, I use my teeth to grab and reset the wire. It feels cool and almost metal, yet soft. Once it snaps back, it blazes a deadly blue.
  104. The little girl falls down the tunnels to her friend but cannot find her, so deeper she goes. Her friend is found eating the dead, and tells her to leave. She wakes up the terrors on her way up and her friend dies, unable to follow to the surface.