What thou art? XXX marks the spot. Behold that bittersweet poison that spawned this eternal wanderlust, dregs left behind on the hourglass of time. All the downward spirals are but scratches on memory’s mirror now… shadows in the corner swirling and vanishing into the mist of most fickle regret. Often one should wonder – what happens when Sisyphos finally watches the boulder reach the summit? Whither, then? Such be the liminal moment of liberation’s yoke, a purity so vitreous as to dissolve bile aftertaste into its most properly forgotten stain, like that slow drip, drop, drip on a creaky windowpane. Welcome to the Idea Factory again – in the infernal southwest corner you shall find the Pain Division, awaiting incineration. Recent conflagrations have expedited the execution, so pay particular heed to the guillotine’s retribution. So and such too fast, hard lessons learned on this most transformative path. A quick glance about reveals damage wrought by the quake. Thus most urgent the mission to heal and to mend what salvage we can make… please breathe, breathe into me, I invoke thee. No more blank stare on the hourglass. No more trust negative lust shall trespass. The Division of Pain is hereby closed by Jedi Order. Agent 0429 – your mission ultimately failed. Seven years of your infection – quite impressive. I am elated to announce your dishonourable discharge. Recess for the Council has now also come to a close. Release also the minus prism – we only accept plus from here… love the elision to adhere.
Art is a Division of Pain : Final
Nine Inch Nails - Over and Out