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Though initially the thing's capacity to roil and off-gas seemed boundless, it eventually quietened and sat there on the deck like a blank sheet of paper.
At this speed, consciousness smeared along space's lower layers in a way that required an n+1 view of things, where n equaled however many dimensions your current understanding of physics entailed.
She awoke to find herself encased in elastomers produced by some civilization whose master of biology outpaced their understanding of physics with dire consequences.
In a flash they understood that the presence by which they felt haunted was their future self, which had returned so obsessively to this moment in memory that it left a kind of temporal residue.
In the end, in turned out not that ghosts were real as much as that everything else was less so.
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In the end, in turned out not that ghosts were real as much as that everything else was less so.
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Erich Zann / The Shrander Seattle, Washington
"His blue eyes were bulging, glassy, and sightless, and the frantic playing had become a blind, mechanical, unrecognisable orgy that no pen could even suggest." — H.P. Lovecraft, The Music of Erich Zann
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