Μετέωρα

I encountered the Irionids last night. By complete accident, I roamed to the ampitheatre at about 1 am. Lying down with a friend, laid down on the cold concrete, we lay in an abstraction, and we contemplated body heat (how the Earth threatened to steal it). The stars, thrown hastily over Irion's shoulder, arced over us. I saw the great evidence of some great ethereal etch a sketch, and God (dissatisfied with his great lines across the sky) would erase his handiwork as soon as he breathed it to life.

Descend, descend, to be damned throughout the ages.