Caution Radiation Caution Radiation pink in the hallway while the walls sweat pink static and the television keeps speaking in numbers and somebody left their teeth in the pink and the pigeons outside are glowing broken reactors and the moon medically incorrect everyone keeps smiling too long and the Geiger counter chatters like angry insects trapped in a soup can while the vending machine hums with impossible confidence and the air tastes like batteries, copper wet concrete	Shatter Shatter and mirrors burst inward now there are too many versions of the room standing around pretending not to notice each other while the chandelier swings like a nervous pendulum above the broken glass carpet and somebody keeps whispering from inside the wallpaper every photographer in the house has the same unfamiliar face and cracks in glass spread like roads on a pink map leading loud, electric, permanently wrong night peels sharply sinister	Roots Roots crawling through the basement walls under pink floorboards into the wiring and the pinking pipes sleep machinery trees closer every night like listening for something buried deep beneath the house and the dirt keeps breathing in slow damp lungfuls and the garden moved three feet overnight and now pink veins in your hands look suspiciously botanical and the whole world smells like rain, old bark, wet soil, and enormous patient wires
Convocation Convocation and every pink body in the parking lot is occupied by draped, silent, infection and faintly thumping steaming candles bent sideways in a music nobody can hear and the spaces between us disappear into impossible dark architecture whispering movement and a pink bell keeps ringing underwater clouds and the figures at the far end of the cult continue taking notes with eyes and far too many hands while your name passes slowly through the crowd like an administrative error	Candy Cane Candy cane and the entire kitchen glows pink peppermint red dead snow outside falls upward past the windows why children keep laughing from rooms that definitely do not contain children feet and tree ornaments twitch whenever nobody is smiling directly and flesh smells aggressively of sugar, burnt wires, cinnamon, and courtly disaster the striped candy hooks multiply in bowels and parakeets coat sleeves like festive parasitic organ donors preparing for a long afterlife	Scrawl Scrawl across the walls and ceilings receipts and news peppers skin and every available unconsenting surface is choked with frantic headwriting like the architect itself suffered a nervous breakdown at three in the morning and documenting spiderous geometry grocery lists from adjacent dimensions while the pink keeps moving long after the pens are gone and celibate sentences refuse to do their time stay read twice beneath the overlapping incense scratches and spirals of frogs
Snakepit Snakepit beneath the carnival tents zoo under the motel ice machine and coiling through the hot electrical dark while the floor shifts softly like a living pink bat every whispered rumor in town circles back to the same fenced-off hole behind the gas station where air smells of dust, pennies, wet concrete, reptile heat and snakes tangling themselves into implausible knots like moving back home after defeat insists this is all perfectly normal play	Motorcrash Motorcrash pink chrome shredded headlights and smoking rubbers scattered across the state while radio plays distorted rockabilly through sparks and broken glass sky flashes pink somebody remembers the impact wrong and the guardrail bends like soft tinfoil around abandoned physics the engine block ticks pinkly quiet in the ditch besides a field of dead television sets while gasoline, rainwater, and neon reflections connive	Mermaid Mermaid drainage canal behind the strip mall where the water is still pink heaven and reflective shopping carts hump softly underwater remembering whale songs with too many joints and lost patience brushing its hair with broken plastic wombs while the surface pretends algae and oil slicks are harmless traps but reflections blink back a second too late and the tide comes in even when there is no pink discipline.
Woogie Religio Woogie Religio is dancing in wombs that don’t quite exist yet floor keeps forgetting what bravery is supposed to feel pink and everyone moves as if ignoring instructions they heard in a dream and immediately misunderstood the music comes from possibly inside them keeps shifting tempo like it’s thinking the dancers trace patterns or maps, or warnings nobody is required to sway pink like a pomegranate	Mania Mania. Noise reduces to silence. Environment stabilizes coherent again. Objects return to their expected positions. Perception aligns with physical reality without distortion. Thoughts slow to a linear sequence. There is no fragmentation, no overlap, no intrusion of external association. The room is unchanged from its observable state. All previously experienced irregularities are no longer present. Everything is clear, orderly, and correctly perceived. This condition will last forever until.	Soup Soup the kitchen lights are slightly too pink andy too tired while pot keeps shimmering with a plasticene that feels bolder than the mouse itself while every ingredient dissolves into cataract untraceable and cooperative the spoon disappears for nobody directly at it returns with the wrong rejection in steam forms brief suggestions of faces but still manage to look like smell like onions
Mania Text mania