Jan. 7th, 2016

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His mouth filled with an aching taste of blue. His eyes were eggs of unstable crystal, vibrating with a frequency whose name was rain and the sound of trains, suddenly sprouting a humming forest of hair-fine glass spines. The spines split, bisected, split again, exponential growth under the dome of the Tessier-Ashpool ice.
The roof of his mouth cleaved painlessly, admitting rootlets that whipped around his tongue, hungry for the taste of blue, to feed the crystal forests of his eyes, forests that pressed against the green dome, pressed and were hindered, and spread, growing down, filling the universe of T-A, down into the wait ing, hapless suburbs of the city that was the mind of Tessier- Ashpool S.A.
And he was remembering an ancient story, a king placing coins on a chessboard, doubling the amount at each square...
Darkness fell in from every side, a sphere of singing black, pressure on the extended crystal nerves of the universe of data he had nearly become...
And when he was nothing, compressed at the heart of all that dark, there came a point where the dark could be no _more,_ and something tore. (ↄ)Henry Dorsett Case

В блике лезвия на кончике мизинца - голубая искра. See you Cybercpace Cowboy.


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Rusty Rat

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