Massimo watched the Wound in Being, being born.

The vast, ugly, rotten wound mind, warped himself out her. Umbilical tentacles tore a weeping gash in mummy's abdomen; inside-out organs visible beneath, the child-perspective, the warped thing-mind-mad, painstakingly ruining his mother's flesh, and cunt flesh, as it pulled its stimulated corpse out her –

- a vast ugly, ancient, and irreducible mind. Its warped visage tore currents off Massimo's perspective, he saw it old, him, old, he saw the baby, he saw the child, he saw it floating, he saw it walking, wailing, he saw it old, he saw it think, he saw it work his very mind/perspective, into the tunnels[!] required to see him in the ways he insisted upon being.

He saw its tiny body/the massive frame, finally old now, ancient, permanent, he saw these shifts and that they had never been anything except what they were currently: he saw its erection tug on mother's lips, he saw the bloody, shit stained erection that he walked with, outward, toward him, he saw -

Massimo saw -

Massimo saw -

he saw -

the organs switch out and the passage behind.

He saw the warped wound man-thing, entity, being-child, warped wound-reality - the intelligence/vision-demon, he saw him, seeing him, he knew that – as the passage pulled out her incorporated too, off his glance, he saw it there, transporting that -

But he couldn't see him. His form shifted, one second wind, one second thunder, one second, a black cape that trailed a desert behind, the newborn; one second fully clothed in dried blood, masked; masked in the way in which he tricked your conception of reality itself, your

- mode of seeing manipulated directly by the ways in which he agreed that you may see him.

- He couldn't be described. He couldn't be fixed. This Wound torn out the organs of his mother/the combination Cyclops Clua-Sryh -

And ten thousand other thoughts as this truth hit him

and he knew who he was and Phinz-Twoan – back:there – seeing him, still - seen out the Cyclops whom he'd always had travelling behind – what had – his consciousness – what – what terrible mode of seeing reality had been imposed on him.

and where was he now and -

Clua.

Mad

Clua!

Blood spurting from her hacked breast. Its mirror perfect, upturned, swollen with life, the welcome, the home he'd/the home he'd – she peaked her nipple and sliced it off; hacking and screaming and laughing and spitting blood and milk and defecating simultaneously from both her open cunts and arse.

Fluids, her all - emptied into space, and beneath those mad organs that assuaged him - Massimo Diap'leptico Rampposz – taking on the weight he'd accumulated since he'd – since he'd first seen her - her? - since since – he'd held - that real gift had been given him, he knew, the first, as his weight returned – him!

All of it even as her son incorporated himself fully into reality, and the organ waves, the mad Hortag pulsing, the manipulation zone in rhythm and the barrage of organs, in pumping colours and of who knew what intoxicants, beat-beat-beat -

beneath slimy waves of need, across the sideways perspective of the wound displaying itself in its picturesque obscenity, that inside-out organ mess vomited out her thorax, pulling with it a sense of something – enveloped in that baseness, that wilful love of nothing and of the destruction of life - the holy and justified love of death and - enveloped in all that: explicitly pulled out her inside-out organs, pulled out her by his glance, glanced back - he saw it.

He saw the Wound extract from the supernatural cunt the last thing wanted there, this –

Through the organs, through the pulsing that never ceased - combining the mad tearing pulsing destruction of life in the manner of Hortag, and that baseness connected to the holy love of death – he felt it – he felt him pull it; he felt him see it there, and in the manner of that seeing, not Cyclops, something far –. - And then he saw his eyes – beyond - his eyes; his three glances - he saw what he pulled out this from beyond the destroyed cunt-lip of his mother's supernatural genitals:

it was the atmosphere of Shensh, it was the dream itself he pulled -

He reached inside, her organs too; he reached past the destruction in flesh, and the baseness, he poured his glance inside his mother's wounds, the Wound did - he pulled out of her cunt what was transplanted through, it was the dream.

It was Shensh. It was Shensh itself. It was the Dream itself; it was the very dream.

Massimo saw him pull it out between the ripped and torn flesh, past the organs he saw it through - the mad intentional destructive pulsing of life-death, that was Hortag, that was finally and undeniably what Hortag - was, he saw too, in that glance he saw – he saw all of them – he saw -