Narcissus-X Muses on the Deeps of Narcissus-X

Narcissus-X tastes the brittle bitterness of cold type face Georgia Garamond and Swiss Script.

Away, stultifying obsessions with regimented demands of consistency! Narcissus-X is artist! Narcissus-X creates! Narcissus-X shines with umbral radiance of abyssal stars!

Tiny stars, bright stars - or are they cracks in the obsidian sky?

But no! The small minds, the microcosmic mechanicians whose vision scarcely extends beyond their bespectacled noses, do not understand. Perhaps they cannot understand.

For who can fathom the deeps of Narcissus-X, who has plunged deep into the grotto of velvet coal and sailed Stygian seas beneath the obsidian sky?

Narcissus-X Ponders Obsidian Chasms

Narcissus-X plummets through this endless pit of atrocities we call life, fleeing grim penguins. Terrible penguins with loon-red eyes.

Eyes, eyes! Piercing gaze, frozen glare, blinding glare of oncoming headlights!

Narcissus-X seeks the obsidian abyss. Dark, hidden, secret, known but to Narcissus-X.

Crystal penguins shatter against the walls. Ghastly shards scatter. No return. No escape. No light. No deposit, no return.

Do ghosts of crystal penguins haunt obsidian chasms?

Narcissus-X Rails Against Arrogant Arachnid Administrators

Arrogant arachnid administrators, weaving webs of woe!

Narcissus-X is artist, talent, mind, vision! Not for Narcissus-X the stultifying confines of rigid regimens.

Small minds, little minds, brittle minds besotted with power, whose egos inflate: pulsating with self-importance. Above such is Narcissus-X!

Narcissus-X Ponders Crystal Penguins

Narcissus-X gazes upon the glass. Hard, cold pane: skulking behind false frozen foliage of crystal traceries.

Whence come the flowers of ice, the ferny growths of intricate pattern?

Do they grow, as if by some dark design of frozen lifelessness in the secret hours of the night?

Or are they painted by crystal penguins?

Narcissus-X Contemplates the Toadstools of Forgotten Kings

Charcoal arabesques on a basaltic plain.

Dark mimicry of foliage, mockery of light.

Bawdy baubles, extravagant festoons of lifeless lace.

Still.

Silent.

Dark.

Have the grim penguins returned?

Narcissus-X Ponders a Vengeful Chicken

Narcissus-X ponders: do others dream of chickens? Whole fried chickens, struggling in the suffocating plastic embrace of their packages?

Then one breaks free.

Stalking down the table, headless, yet filled with malice, the apparition seizes fork and knife. And still it advances.

Do others dream of chickens?

Narcissus-X Beholds the Raven's Wing of Night

Narcissus-X views lightless brilliance, unseen coruscation, freezing facade of silent mists.

In the window, ebon abyss and dark reflection of Narcissus-X.

Snow obscured form, banished color, and was itself banished from perception as sunlight fled. Now Narcissus-X beholds only the raven's wing of night, a hollow reflection of Narcissus-X, and the sable emptiness beyond.