Copyright (C)1996 Ashtoreth (William Haas); all rights reserved.
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			our prison, the cosmos

The creatures that scuttle along the fabric of the world,
	wanting escape...
The things that press at the walls of consciousness,
bulging them inward invisibly,
a teeming, an invasion, outside the realm of conscious comprehension,
mocking the solidity of our concerns,
ignorant of mortality, of the lethality of the human world and of
	human monsters,
waiting to chew, to masticate through the solid things, the real things.
The ones with names, they are to be feared the least.
It is the presence, the body of smoke or shadow or a chill in the air,
which is to be feared,
these spectres or manifestations but the insubstantial tendrils and hobnails
	of an unexisting whole,
as is a hair to a heaving, panting beast,
and we the insects that dwell unsuspecting upon it.

--Ashtoreth 7/96