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Its tar like complexion reflected any light as a thick vail of suffocation. Its ability to cling to anything, irrelevant of its materiality, was its shadow capacity. It was the fetishistic off-gassing  that drove its followers in their addiction. They would do anything to hear it squeal as the cars turning in circles. They relinquished responsibility as soon as they could drink from it’s being. Momentary joy was simply heightened by the prolonging discomfort afforded and shared by the masses. The order it pertained to within it’s seemingly chaotic randomness was only ever hinted at by four concentric striations. Protrusion or recession depended entirely on the temporal-spacial framework of its participant. 


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