And this; this was the vague part - this would be the end of the world - but somehow a good thing.

The point of this discourse was that. Art had passed through via strange means, into a weird place, not wholesome, rather obviously bad. And these datum together, made him think overall – there was also that thing with the thing and the tentacles - the Queen of Waat was the bad combo. And she was pregnant too.

By some poor bastard - she'd been through enough - and finally one talented – but – enough, to...

But him. he. Art. him; he, the gland man with the lips off his mouth and the gland masquerading as an ear - he had to reconstruct himself often -

- It felt in fact that – it felt like in fact he barely knew who he was beyond his titles and this quest. That in fact he was a blank man. A nothing man. A cypher; he felt this way to himself - laughing at himself.

Walking along a brain/trapped in his own head: A hero with ridiculous wants and needs that - he'd done things that were not smart or good, but at least harmless to others. In the arena of the self-destructive, at least, he could say. Which was perhaps less morally culpable, though perhaps really not. Fine. These things had occurred, and yet despite this all - none of it really hung together into... anything...

He felt like a figment in someone else's conception, in someone else's dream; he felt like one, in fact, that was not alone. And that in fact, perhaps even that these thoughts were not merely for internal consumption/comprehension; that in fact, beside the demon, beside the demon, beside the demon, he was talking/to someone - e-

Stabbing/standing - something right away - he was standing, and yet the organs that detected lies told him nothing - one was for lies, anyway, the other for want/but now he thought: it's the same, he didn't know – these reflections; these self/inward directed obsessions, they were - they only ever were -

“Stab something!”

He shouted, aloud, not just at himself, because this demon was using the contents of his mind, at least – maybe it found something through that access that – against -

- Nothing told him any of this was not a lie - and that was the worst of it, worked by the demon, worked by the demon, worked by the demon, only mantras shattered the paths it made him tread, worked by the demon - it was not a lie, and whatever he'd found in there, whatever non-lies it apparently knew exactly how to operate against him, these – they were in there.

And who was he? What? - And why and why and why the Queen of Waat!

And he yelled that too.

- And if he didn't pull his brain out this shit mire he'd -

He'd never -

He'd -

She was in there too.

What?

- What did that mean out the mouth of a demon?

She was in there too.

Some force separated him from truth, from reality - some intentional source that -

She was in there too?

The Duke of Want slashed his side-sword along the angles: spitting puss, green and yellow, spitting at him now/too, as he slashed along the length of the brain/running full length and diving sword in hand into the pustulant/feculent mass of puss-spitting brain matter -

Vaginal rips spat blood at him in great arcing spouts of black liquid.