all her toil

It's silent, it's complete and it's whole. It's pervading, the insides are shattering You grow accustomed to one and the other one envelopes. Clutter, insanity. Relief isn't got from silence, but relief can't be sought from noise!!

a series of images I see when I close my eyes - writing them down for the first time This one's the protesting dead ones. " It's a high metal gate that is shut. there is a guard on the inside of it and an angry mob on the outside. The mob is made of dead people. they have no eyes and their flesh - white, almost non-existent. They are dressed in white dhotis and banians and have turbans wrapped around their heads. A few of them carry things in their hands, could be sticks. They are screaming, they want to get through to the other side of the gate."