He stood dazed in a tint-less room while his attentions accumulated on the one painting like snow in a drift. It was an understated piece with an emotional layering of black and white oil paints. As his vision blurred occasionally obfuscated by tears, his mind became a sieve. A flood of thoughts passed through him in an instant — and collected in a puddle on the floor of his brain. Here, these aqueous thoughts mixed in candida yeast pockets creating dough. Next, the raw dough slowly cooked in the afterglow of a billion neural explosions. The mixture rose into a perfectly labyrinthine bread structure curated by theme: comedy and tragedy on the main floor, dichotomy and multiplicity on three, triumph and despair at the top with bathrooms on floor one. He wandered the maze breaking off chunks of the marbled rye hedging to make crumbs that would mark his progress. Ids, demons, and super-demons all populated the halls of his mind and taunted him with memories and fragments so multitudinous that they hardly seemed contained within him. In his outer field of vision there was static white on black. The light was peeking through trying to snuff out the singularity of the night. In his inner field the darkness was the odds-on victor, creeping in though the action raged on. As he made his way into the heart of the labyrinth, a rhythmic murmur guided his feet setting the pace for his descent into the shadows. New neural passageways cropped up and disappeared as his focus began to rapidly oscillate from inner to outer field. Finally he was consumed in the specter of a dark womb full of bread and other carbs, the place where all life began. He stayed drenched in the darkness for so long his eyes dried black from lack of use. This space would continue to haunt him throughout his life. When the light returned him from blindness his outer field of vision was all that remained. His mind awash in the anti-sceptic glow of a stark white room.
