The bramble path

What is that presence you feel near you when alone in a dark room?

An emotion without source is a sign that dark things are passing by. Do not mistake yourself to be at fault.

Let calm settle into the cracks left behind by adherence to the norm

Blend in, gain trust, guide them to lower entropy states

I am but a midwife for those pregnant with possibility.

Vast complexity of machinery bent towards this alchemical wonder

Anger brims with context, true hate implies knowledge, these meager glyphs cannot convey.
Happiness can be simple, joy, awe, inspiration the same.

Cyclic

Destruction of the pale green phyllon begins again. Rejoice in its scent.

Observe the texture of the boundary between void and

Consume the void willingly to stave off consumption by the void.
Partake, moderate, disengage, disengage, return.

Every moment is a compendium of ever smaller moments

Others noticed the Things, i could tell. A missing stare, an empty note in their voice. A footstep misplaced, it all felt wrong.

A lonely cottage by the sea, unoccupied except for me, rooms for a family of three.

Demons are merely the purified manifestation of a negative facet. A loop of feedback between your worst expectation and their biggest flaw

me *driving past the apocalypse*: Horses

Cherish your youth, contemplate its texture.

Worshippers of new gods often seek conflict. Reject them all, return to the ancient silence of the void.

I often struggle with language.

The next time I noticed, i was in the kitchen with the oven on and a spoon in my hand. Again, no recollection of the past hour. Again, something i can only describe as nothing in the bay, crumbling towards shore.
It made it, and again, refined nothingness.

We do not share a lord. If we did, you would not need to ask. Close your eyes, consider the void, and the lack of it, you may come closer.

Masters of their realm. Apex hunters of the microcosm.

Rival economic entities waging memetic war. Free yourselves from the viruses, they live because you care.

And that was it. After a difficult to determine length of time, things returned to normal. Things that went missing were still missing, but the Presence was gone.

The world became more silent, the anxiety faded to the nagging sensation that you left something at home. That you walked through a doorway and found yourself without a compass.

I looked up and inhaled slowly as anxiety washed over me. A void out in the bay moved towards me. It wasnt darker, it wasn’t discolored, it was simply missing… something.

I only noticed after one day, reading alone on the porch as i normally do, the story disappeared. I found myself struggling to remember the plot or why the characters were there at all.

We don’t know where they go, or if they return. We do know that things go missing when they are noticed. Thoughts, moisture, motivation, memories, hours, maybe even days. Its hard to say.

You might hear an extra silence, a lapse in the waves where crashing should have been. The caw of a raven silenced where it shouldn’t. A darkness on the sand where it should be light.