Post apocalyptic self-deprivation chamber is this in the dark and waiting and waiting to reveal the squid bill. Sharp is his mind dull is his projection for now and pointilized is his perception of this questioningly crafted containment.
In a phone booth in an eddy in a vortex with a smitten grin he rubs his hands together. And dials. And then...tones. Transcending sonar resonance there is no echo. This reminds squid of soft grey dust and staring at photos on the mantle. Reminiscing in this what have you. Reflection is important but squid must be like prism and project into future. So he slips into his ready man jacket and sets out to unravel quite a yarn.
-Sweet Jane, I'll be your mirror-
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