to experience what the greatest heroes of novels experience!
unspeakable terror, terror that takes guts, unreal anxiety, panic, finally, because there is more than her. There never was it.
If a beloved painter paints us at this moment, we'd have the same features as Courbet, the same traits that the man of Munch, his hand on the face to feel the truth of another, materiality. These are beautiful faces, that side of the world.
Slip into a nightmare. The nightmare is nothing other than that, loved that environment becomes suddenly a tiny fraction of a second, an unknown place, a place where the Maccabees dangerous dance. This environment is like most is nothing. There is no longer the soft blankets, because they no longer exist, there is more heat from the teddy bear, and more than cats because they have abandoned this place. The ones who are able to see what man does not see, they saw the shadow of the Great God Pan and the Panic. They fled, and they were right.
The ancients said that the succubus sat on the bellies of men and choked her. Hungarian witches who like to ride anything and everything, then smother them into horses with great fanfare ancient magic, unless the man moved, the most sensible way that is, swapping the skin of the human against the animal, his breath short exchanging cons inflamed nostrils of the horse, black as Hell. At least the Hungarian Witches of compassion and open the windows to their victims ... the black horses can breathe, then take a deep breath, blow, and run on the moors or in the gray streets of Budapest and singing. They spread terror among the Virgins and bishops.
Others do not let this chance as it is.
ago an ounce of joy in this panic, an ounce of joy because a door was opened, a door that leads on the other hand, this also makes the shadow of the animated tiger on the wall. Of joy because we know now what the unspeakable terror. Few have this knowledge. No need to go out for it, and to be agoraphobic. Anyway, what one feels deep in his bed is a thousand times worse. And that, while the throat tightens, we do not suspect.
The wind blows while you suffocate, the storm is raging, hosted by Aeolus, who decided not to leave humanity alone, then it blows so much that nobody can sleep, not even to rest, especially not one who is in the arm of Strangeness. Everyone who is crying and curled up in these arms, there certainly can not let go, because his heart beats too fast, and that his arms are numb, and her gasping for air. The brain is paralyzed. One idea gaining ground in the tundra it is important not sleep, could not see the dawn. The walls of the narrow room and rats inside the walls, scratching as they can, hoping to find an outlet behind the dash and the shadow of the tiger roars, and that roar is the string that vibrates the whole body. This body lives only by that scream. The walls were destroyed. The wall has not held under the blows of a claw and tooth of the assailants. Leaving only the wind blowing and the hand of Pan, which closes on the heart. State second. Almost a trance.
The drops of sweat on the skin are burns, and muscles are made of stone, we are only the ruins of our past or our future, and we need the blessing of the Great God Pan to remind us, when we tend to forget these things, that we are distracted for a moment.
Be vigilant. Death, the Grim Reaper, the Grim Reaper, there is more that in this small space. The little white pills have replaced the laudanum, one that took the pretty Mortes time past, because the greatest luxury some people here is just to sleep. Note on his sleep and is two words that could be Sister Sleep . Those that sleep fled from her sister would be like to dive into the warm nights, which had been promised in the past.
Instead, the nights are woven of strangeness and singularity, and Panic is the sum of those nights, those sleepless nights, those nights as question marks, where fear meets fear. Nights like invocations. One night, someone answers the call mute, and the answer was expected of us took fright. All that are words on a page, a verb that debunks the name that precedes it, and these words are the reality. The squeaks of rats behind the wall of reality. The roar of the tiger, reality.
Never sleep, never rest, just numbness. A
narcosis.
is the reign of terror.
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