This wine’s alive in some disgusting sense. It’s crawling and swarming. It’s like swarming insects. It’s like some repulsive excess.
Rampant life. Some horrible vitality. Some effervescence of the corpse.
Crude things. Unrefined things. Sweating and fuming and thronging.
Some danse macabre. Some vermin. Some swampy flourishing. Some formlessness. Some … mass.
Yeah, a black mass.
Some foul abundance. The everything of everything. A … multiplication. The horror sprawl.
All the execrated things. All the vile things. The vile parts of existence.
Work in Progress 