Go in.

“Dream Slave!”

Into a world that -

“Dream Slave!”

what it meant -

“Dream Slave!”

what it meant -

“Dream Slave!”

what it meant -

“Dream Slave!”

what it meant -

“Dream Slave!”

what it meant -

“Dream Slave!”

what it meant -

“Dream Slave!”

what it meant -

“Dream Slave!”

what it meant -

“Dream Slave!”

what it meant -

“Dream Slave!”

what it meant, and what it meant that he walk forward.

In a tunnel. Chanting. Insane sneering/yelping/spitting.

Shitting and spitting and pissing and fucking.

They were – now/all – pissing over the sides of the balcony and tossing wet unidentified matter at his feet.

They slit the throats of children pulled wet from buckets and tossed bleeding, dying out at his feet over the sides; dead, dying, near death, and imminently dead. Their weak lifeless corpses pulsed weakly the blood at his feet he – avoided – slipping over. He stepped over – babies tossed dead – long dead, new dead, nibbled corpses, scarred corpses, used corpses by the demonic freaks pissing and masturbating and ejaculating over the sides – he spun – though/as and semen and blood-semen hit his field-armour and –

The Dream Slave moved forward toward that mist at the end of the tunnel; aware he was a sacrifice; a prophecy, a dream; aware that – he was a plaything of demons.

He was – he was for them because even killing them, even fighting them, even acknowledging their existence/even plunging into their world even, even, even-even, – as he did, living in response to them, living in response to filth, playing at – all with the things that played with him – it was a trap.

All of this – it was a trap. It was a tunnel he was trapped in. A one-way corridor into a tunnel of mist; of indigo, swirling, sentient mist. It was the mist that –

Reaching -

Ecstasy

The rite was reaching its ecstatic culmination with the – this entire – the audience – all of them screaming and cumming and orgasming/yelping and spitting and ejaculating looking liquid shit over the side.

They pulled/yelping screaming children and babies from under their seats; decapitating them; torturing them, spitting on them and pissing on them and then tossing them over the sides – into the tunnel.

Matter was tossed into the corridor he had no choice but to process across – no way back – nothing even; no existence, whatever, behind; nothing that – he was the sacrifice, he was the culmination.

– He was the Dream Slave and what it meant; his plunging into that mist in erasure; in repetition; his plunging into that mist in sacrifice; in repetition – it was the ecstatic culmination of the rite these freaks had been participating in, the avatars of – even – for them and their kind even in terms of ideas wrought over millennia.

– It was for this second, and for this moment – slitting the throats of yelping babies; plunging forks into their foreheads, hoovering their scooped out brains – which they consumed using vacuum suction devices that pierced their skulls; sucked out their brains and the life behind their eyes that followed it. They ate this too from the tube manufactured for this. And then they fucked the tube.