"A Portrait of Alice"

#0001. There is a thread that runs between all worlds. Falsely attributed permanence. The thing you feel like is a soul is this, instead. Her name is Alice. In every world she is there. Her porcelain face is in every star, every winking void. Shudder to think of it. She fills each moment with her glory. Gods call her your majesty. Heaven shrinks at her touch. She is in all things. There is a thread that runs between all worlds. Her name is Alice.

"Athena and the Dream of Athena"

#0002. She wakes up, but doesn't wake up, still sleeping, still luscious in her sleep, still wrapped in soft blankets in a soft bed and her eyes flutter from dreaming because she is dreaming. She wakes up, somewhere else. She wakes up and opens her eyes that flutter elsewhere from dreaming. She sees herself there. And she is hypnotized by her own beauty. She is one thing, united, gorgeous in her sleep. And she wonders which her selves is the real one. There is no answer. Each thinks of themselves as the true Athena. They are both correct.

"Baby Crackleface"

#0003. Each day you try to breathe and each day you fail. Do you worry that you are not even alive? That is a worry you should have. All the worries are worries you should have.

"Itchy and Otis"

#0004. There are moments when friendships die on withered vines. These two folks are good folks. They lived together in sterling heights, growing old together. They wondered all the same things that you wonder. Is there a purpose in their living? Is there a purpose in their dying? Each of them lived together but all alone. They wondered all the same things that you wonder. But their wondering was justified. They were all alone together in a cramped little apartment. No heat. No light. Just one another, separated by unseen force. The hollows of their eyes are all that is left there now. They wondered all the same things that you wonder.

"Rising"

#0005. Don't surrender to your sullen void. The things that make you spark will dance like fire on your lashing tongue. The burning gives way and you want to see what makes you tick. Here is a garbage heap of misery. But the sky is blue and so is the sky. The dancers are sparks on your lashing tongue. Watch the mystery hours unfold. They left this out for you to stumble across. And you thank them for their moment. The dancers are tongues themselves, burning out like the dying embers. This place is a secret place.

"She is Watching the Watcher, She is Watching Who Watches Her"

#0006. I have forgotten the things that made me breathe. She has that gentleness. She is not Alice, but Alice breathes through her like Alice breathes through all things. Look out the window and there she is, staring back. Her face is a paper mask. Her face is a porcelain husk. She is drawing out the guts of me. I am keeping pace with her stare. She is a Whisper. Name her Whisper. This Whisper.

"A Rabbit Would Trade Its Kingdom for an Ounce of Fear"

#0007. They were the apex predators of dawn. They were the kings of all they surveyed. They were the dominators of entire races, species, worlds. And they were bored of the drudgery. They smiled at the universe with unfurled teeth. They were conquerors and then they abdicated their grisly thrones. They missed the fear. They missed the worry. I cannot understand them. I would gladly trade my pounds of fear for their forsaken kingdom.

"A New Friend"

#0008. There he is. In mirrors. In glass. In oily puddles. There he is. Look at that grin. Do you remember when He Grins Bloody would envelope you. They stole him from me, you know. I had him first. But then they ruined him. And I wept. And He Grins Bloody tore me limb from limb. My new friend will not leave me in such a sorry state. I see him and he stays with me. There he is.

"Limbs That Stretch to Every Corner of the Sea"

#0009. The Eels are not Dreams. The Eels are not Nightmares. But they were there at the founding of the Sea. They let their thoughts drift into the minds of lesser things, and with them under their spell, the Eels touch every corner of the Sea. They are the feared Serpents of old mariners' tales. Their limbs stretch to every corner of the Sea.

"I Saw a Pale Rider"

#0010. Death is a hiccup. Death is the aberration. Other things have learned of its illusory nature. The Lobster is immortal because it understand that Death is a hiccup. I do not mind. I will gladly take her hand when she comes for me. But I want her to know I know. I will look her in the eye and I will tell her that I know. I will frighten her. She does not frighten me.

"The Things That Alice Believes In Are Manifold And I Do Not Agree"

#0011. You worrisome creature, it says. Look! it cries. You worrisome little toad. I cannot abide its insults and I ignore the floating eye. Look! it cries again. I try not shudder in its presence. I am not afraid of you, I say. But it knows everything. It sees everything. Are you She? I ask it. But it is not. It is something less than that. But it knows everything. It sees everything. Are you She? I ask it again. But it will not respond. It only insults me. It never answers my questions.

"Her Special Day"

#0012. Cold and shivering she waits by the pedestal. There are worshipers beneath her. But she is cold and shivering. She has waited for this day for so long. The throngs rise up on their own shoulders, clamoring. The pedestal has no ladder. The pedestal has no staircase. She is stuck below it, holding her bouquet, wondering if her groom will appear. There isn't time. The crowd tears her to pieces. They claim pieces as relics. She is theirs now.

"Melancholy"

#0013. Everybody leaves. That is a sad fact. The saddest fact. I have stood on many docks waving at ships departing over the horizon and there I am, alone again. Everybody will board that boat. They will give me parting gifts. Bottle caps. Pieces of string. Letters. So many letters. So many letters stuffed in a box. Everybody leaves. Except Melancholy. He stays nearby. He does tricks. He can somersault. He is good with the puppets. He'll stay. The ships will sink after the crest the horizon.

"All the Things are Things to Fear"

#0014. I have always been afraid. I remember, vividly, just so much fear. Every mile brought new dreadful things. Old cities teeming with death. Lakes and oceans waiting to drown you. Monsters around every corner. The spirits of the world, all the living things that live in the things that are seemingly dead would scream to me. I was at their mercy. I have never conquered a fear. I am their subject. I am a citizen of all fears.

"Fifteen"

#00015. Fifteen. Aspects of Alice. Rain gods. Disciples. Sacred cities. Fives and threes.

"Someone to Watch Over Me"

#0016. They are likely there with you now, but you are too logical to see her. She has been by your side for aeons. She has held your hand. Or held your head underwater. Other people take credit for her footsteps. They are in every nest. They listen to your prayers and too many of your dark thoughts. They will abandon you soon. You forget about them too often. I'm afraid if we forget about them, they will leave us. That doesn't bother you, though.

"Goodbye, You Damned Husks"

#00017. Oh to be the abandoned again. The drowned little girl. The frightening eyeless visage from one watery grave or another. She was afraid of drowning. And now she waits for you, rotten in some box. The last thing you might say to her was that you were sorry. You didn't do the drowning, though. The drowning. Why did you feel like you had to apologize?

"A Reminder About the Nightmare"

#0018. It may follow you around. This is not normal. This is not what you should expect. Demand better. Sleep better. Sleep longer. Let this dissipate. Let this disappear. Once, it might have clung to you in wispy remains. It would shake you by the shoulders. It would beg you for its freedom. It may hold tightly to you. This is not normal. Do not allow this to continue. Demand better.

"A Demon Inside the Cover of Your Favorite Book"

#0019. Listen to the piano clink away atonally. This is to disguise the meaning of the melody. It's there if you listen closer. Under the dissonance. There is a beautiful melody. The Demon in the Book cowers at melody. This is what magic is, for real. It's keeping the wolves at bay with the right song. We were lucky to have stumbled across it. Math is just not as effective and keeping these things locked up in the pages where they belong.

"The Moon"

#0020. Athena waits there, quietly strumming her ukulele, looking out over craters, looking out over dusty seas. There will be a gleaming city in the place she taps her foot. The dust catches fire. In a haze of jeweled controlled explosions, there is a new, lonely city born.