Throw one’s shell into that semantic murk, pass through the never-was. Inscribe yourself into the flesh, & see what unthought flesh you will be rewarded.

>A cliff of swirling mud, a single vial with an open top pouring dense smoke into the air. Before the cliff sits a vast ocean of gourds, floating aimlessly in the air. A particular, more shriveled gourd stands out from the rest.