The House of My Four Mothers & More of the Macabre

Welcome to the world of speculative fiction where fantasy melds into horrible incantations of a technological future that speaks in numbers and sleeps with unblinking eyes. The rabbit-hole has never been deeper as we delve for answers in the forgotten memories of a childhood that never was; God has many names but Bob is just as good as any. Bob is everything but stillness when the sun doth refuse to shine. But Bob is even better. He was there to blow my mind. If a guitar breaks in the forest and no one ate the brown acid then did the wood become a forest? Or is the bear just a metaphor for universal knowledge and the useless freedoms that we trap in lettered pages? The genie in the bottle may be right under our noses but he won’t go back in without a spoonful of gypsies.