Unplugged.

Four-track, twelve-string, first day of nineties. Two in intensive care, one stares into the air, three-hundred people at a funeral after four days in coma. How many plugs unplugged? Zero pictures worth MBZillions of words. Nano-seconds, light-speed -- carried right out of this world. To how many ashes was your body reduced? One covered jar buried deep in the Earth. Pushin' up daisies, for what it's worth.

Inky-Smoky Blackened Gate

Hovering, unwaveringly BLACK cloud of death descended upon me during 4 days of exed-out boyfriend in a coma drawn out into 14 years of freeze-frame snap-shot sound-bite purgatory-hell. Black sumi ink the gateway, thick Raku smoke the evidence of another world beyond, within this one.