unravel time in the meta theatre of life: your precariously distinct central character is mentally rummaging through the mind of a maniac. you won't find opportunity enough to purify yourself but you willingly immerse in the golden waters of enrichment. the foreground always seems to dominate. nature blocks fate. laughter in a room, the pattered hush of rain, the great presence in absence, the reliable diamond cut futures. likely to fall through the cracks becoming just another sagging face in the ashtray's reflection. a silver haired devil sips and eyeballs the bloodshot scene. drops like anvils from the back of a truck, smacking you right where you live, m-an.