Corsican Collagesity 05

He was in the cemetery again, neither Phillip nor Lime but *both*. Or in-between. “A linden in England is called a lime,” he recalls from his days as a Gaeta bartender. He also remembers “Rookwood”.

He is buried here. He imagines being within the grave, staring up.

He resists the urge to smoke even though it no longer matters now.

He spirals inside the grave to a different place altogether. He has Vertigo but it doesn’t drive him crazy. Instead: sane.

He is in his own world now, at his own Hills dividing Maebaleia aka Satori into 2 parts, North and South. He *created* this. But then another comes in and tries to take it over. He remembers more from the bar: philosophical discussions about a cubic moon of Our Second Lyfe, and even a Moon of the Moon where avatars are shrunk down greatly from normal size to accommodate the small space. Space. Corners. Cube. Furthest corners of Space. The Moon is relatively close. Far out.

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