Don my coveralls and I will move through time upon my belly
Spiders are my friends and they will not mind that I destroy their webby nests, but welcome the challenge to create. I am their teacher.
The rabid racoon only exists in the dark, damp space of the mind and not within the crawl space of real time... and if it is so, my Mag Lite will light the way and crush the bandits skull into oblivion
The seismic condition of the earth will hold my life in the palm of its hand and show mercy
I shall be immune to the claustrophobic confines of my fears and the Hantavirus which has just been liberated from its dead mouse fecal tomb I just disrupted with my hand and inhaled deeply its dust
I am one with the dark musty universe and abandoned wiring that lay across my back
I will go forth brave and undeterred to repair that which needs be and return a holy man baptized by dust, dirt, and crawly things unimaginable and parasitic
I am...
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