Slid through the veil like knives and fed the usher my ticket, cueing the show with radial gear-lock choir chucks, click-back symphony, rusting soulfully.

Signal heavy broadcast wave pulse up tectonics, sprouting tunnels to the surface, hollow sprouts out the resonance. Keeps it open underneath and pleasant enough so long as you can stomach the currents.

Aisle in the way back, chairs fixed upright, velvet-choked, something cold and ankle-deep below so we kick back with our feet on the seats.

Auditorium lights digest mood off the audience, whipping emotional sediment right out the gut, a feeling like being stirred and changing flavor only holier.

The screen comes down and the gaze comes after, reaching, holding.

Somebody says "they're on to you" and leaves the building.

Cueing the chorus, pneumatic laughter and turbines praying through tears.

They used to let you bring your own food but now we have to sneak it in.

Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas