Everything clumsy slow-motion, I look for the source. Buildings loom up like icebergs on collision course. I dont want to go in there, I just want to be alone, unpick the stitches of time in London in the no-go zone. Ive been kicking around like a dog, lost myself in the blank mass of fog, its some kind of service. All humanitys fall-out is there, slumped in doorways and mouthing cold air - I have heard this. Fogwalking, fogwalking. Since the curfew the streets are half-dead, all the good folk asleep in their beds, its so easy to go off the rails when the fog spores are breeding inside by head. Fogwalking: theres a presence that I sense Fogwalking: the neck muscles tense Fogwalking: its right here inside me, try to find a defense - oh, no. Fogwalking through the wreckage, fogwalking through the worm-eaten Night Apple, fogwalking through what used to be Whitechapel. https://youtube/watch?v=6q3CDjrBl7E
Posted on: Mon, 24 Nov 2014 09:18:43 +0000
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