2 minutes 48 seconds| Like Lavender Raygun Sequence and Hummingbird Colossus, a simple melody enters a valley of peripheral effects.
The time stamp for creation is 3/30/10, and this may have been the first composition I shared with my new girlfriend. She liked Corn in My Poop better.
Novel-in-Progress, excerpt 29| The investigation in the brothel continues:
Reigniting the lantern brought no drastic change, but his gnawing impression remained unaltered with his next few steps. He was not afraid to notch the side of each metal box in passing with his flashlight beam, but their change in shape and size was no less discomforting to his thinking than whatever form of creatures were fashioned within their infernal contours.
Still, he was destined to intercept the figure clouded the mirror, but could not guess how this would happen since no material aspect of this person was seen apart from reflection. A breath preceded his fated step. He swung his flashlight around him and struck something suddenly jutting from a doorway. Lowell gasped and recoiled, and plowed, shoulder first, into a stack of molds opposite the commotion. The uppermost one toppled from the pile and bonged like a dull church bell at his feet. It overturned in the process, and between its trumpet-like fanfare and silvery convex relief, the observer felt his courage abandon him. His light skittered away from the mold, but not before ascertaining the length and breadth of a large feathery wing embossed in its relief.
A creak sounded overhead, prompted by the crashing mold and an updraft. Lowell turned his beam upward.
A polyurethaned figurehead of Jesus swayed in a loft: A Crown of Stucco Thorns gathered over The Sacred Pate, and dusted the plaque to which The Savior was nailed; and for which the Motto declaring a former purpose of the building was engraved: Soli Deo Gloria.
He instantly recalled the bubble-wrapped figures seen from the office window, and realized that what those encasements concealed likely hatched from these molds: Nativity statues, including barnyard animals and kneeling shepherds. This merited an easing sigh, but it did not explain what happened seconds before. Lowell swore that a sinewy, dysmorphic arm grasped wildly at him from a doorway. He had felt the sleeve of his jacket flick from the contact of fingernails.
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