as you idly stare out of the window, a crack shows up in the glass, seems to be looking for something, then, as if startled, quickly retreats and leaves no trace
a piece of paper on your desk spontaneously burns up, but on the other end already regenerates from smoke and ashes, as if a wave of entropy had passed over it
thermodynamically criminal omens beg attention and as you lift the ruled page, impossible eddies of sooty air swirl around fading graphite and new indigo glyphs steam real-time into words: the quickening palimpsest nativity a telltale sign of a fax sent down on The Silver Thread