Have fun freezing in your mistake-filled psychosis. So I know what’s it’s like to be a block of ice. Seeing through it kind of works, but everything is distorted by the time your vision makes it out of the other side. The shivers are pestering notifications that death can result. The chill is what it will feel like.
So I smell bad to defend myself against attention from Judge Society. Nothing is more offensive to humanity’s mild-mannered sense of worth than the “Do Not Disturb” notice inherent in silent putrefaction. Brilliance can hide under filth I’m told.
Cold and smelly thoughts turn slowly in solitary reflection, knowing death has been slowed long enough to accomplish an irrelevant goal or two, and no one will ever know.
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