my broken psychology is a solitary cage, not a picturesque anomaly

All he ever wanted were options in the face of changing winds, windows, manufactured in an ancient hebephrenic partnership, to dip his wriggling toes in, he couldnt stop moving and is eyes tried to see everything. from absent minded childish voyeurism he grew into a thief of images, an assasin of innocence, crawling gazing with instinctive reptilian reactions air...the air vibrates, scalyt skin shivering in the midst of a heated argument, contestents unknown always the same... He leaned back into the flowing white wine...the room swam around his centre and he fell upside down...cutouts, clones, dopplegangers. he watched them fight and maim and kill with vicious intensity of purpose, he watched them flee once the mirrors became increasingly measured and calibrated, sharpening and shattering idealism, he saw that the mass production was a trojan horse. With the fall only days or months away, he began to panic and quickly disconnected himself from various well known ports of entry, leaving a trail of burntout connections and unprotected reciever circuits... AA February 2666