Which Describes How You're Feeling All The Time

[Pope Eggs Benedict Arnold]

There's a storm brewing. I can feel the tempest winds gathering around my feet, remnants of ego flapping past my ankles as it begins to pick up. I can feel it, alive and squirming, in my gut, in my belly, coiled like a serpent around my dantian. It feels like a primal howl deep inside, for now just reveberating around my soul like an echo chamber, gathering and increasing in intensity until it's released upon the world. Seperation here is truly illusion; I am this storm and this storm creates me even as I create it, a holy trinity of paradox, change, and manic deconstruction. It/I will tear down and build up.

Is this a catalyst for apotheosis? For whom? I can't speculate. I can't seem turn to face up-time, and I can barely remember what's brought me here. I experience, I incorporate, and I let go. Life via catch and release. My path better be a righteous one, because committing to it has taken all that I have. Full speed ahead and damn the torpedos.

Stand back or step up. This storm that swirls around me - get close enough, and you'll feel the wind whipping at your hair, at you clothes, tracing a knife's edge along your cheek like the coldest winter's cruelty. Back away and batten down and you can avoid what is to be, or you can try to withstand it and be transformed along with the rest of it. Tether down or be swept away.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

The idea of Pope eggs is pretty funny, though.

[Pope Eggs Benedict Arnold]

Just ask Lovecraft.