Arjeim Icallun From the depths of our existence, we plumb not these shadows which enrapture us. Like the crushing of a snakehead, we burn that which threatens our sanity, and weep at the next prospect, the hill which looms in our future, ands yet we still seek it, still march ever onwards towards our destiny in the darkness of the deep.

Arches leam in the corners of this temporary vault which nurtures what I consider irreplaceable. Each tunnel is a thin slit into the damp darkness, and at once a thin scream pierces the air... and then is gone, as if you'd never heard it. Each keystone of an exit shoulders an inscription of the destination. Here is "providence", the real. Elsewhere, a "glance" -- but it's not there. To the northwest sleeps the "dust" of memories.

But the tunnels themselves slumber, it seems; the earth is well-worn, but its treaders leave no glimpse -- well, then, but who was that?

Some of the places where I wear out the trials of life:

• Jhaesayte's Photo Alterations. Very good work, better than most.
• Disappointed Virginity. Calm and thoughtful imagery. The absence of color reminds me of something.
• Carl Rage. Very familiar. Reminds me of my family.