Metal shines, conducts. Electricity flows, choking. Metal everywhere. My life: metal. Metallic studies with chromium tools. Separation of alloys consumes my time and soul. Metallic notes haunt me. The Humming follows. Three pianos. The ashes live. It is a sign. I saw a tiny shiny light in church today. God's children are just made of bronze and copper too. Premonition #13. No doubt, metallic eyes spy. Spies spy, send shock. 13 August, ten of spaces, Evil Eye, ferric oxide. Ah, to stay in again. Absinthe dulls the sheen. Metallic friends are automatons. Malfunction. Malfunction. Can hell be a metallic playground? Stairs of copper, bronze-laid slides. The streets aren't paved with gold for nothing. In sanctuary, in wood and cloth one is safe from the electricity that runs direct through the heart? The Truth is often held in a lead box with dull iron hinges and a shiny platinum lock. Inner turmoil expressed as outside storms. I am the world's Lightening Rod. It has been said that the journey is more important than the destination. Oh, but I must walk down streets of metal and fire to get to the palace of wood and feathers.
An emanation, that might have been electrical, made itself felt. It was very slight at first. I looked at the compass that I had by me to provide evidence, but it showed not the least variation; therefore there could be no electricity about. All the same, the tension increased and my heart began to beat rapidly. I put up a resistance, but in a flash my body was charged with a fluid that suffocated me and drained my heart. -August Strindberg in Inferno
