Tuesday, April 2, 2013


Black abyss is down there isn’t it?
A secret hole for the stained souls of the men of the enigma.
Trickling down the spine of time, let the gates open let the rivers run red for the coming of time as hole  
deepens with screaming of life as it pulled down in to the hole.
It assimilates broth of life, let only the silver sun shine escape with its serfs.

Let us vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous in vigil valour and vanity. Shoot them I say! Shoot them!  
Purge the Golden hall of its gleam and glamour and baptise the children of golden brown cradle of birth  
with the glossy shine of blood, sweat and tears.

Text:  "The Borehole" by Robin Bowmer.

Images:  Kola Superdeep Borehole (above: 2007; below 1987 USSR postage stamp).

In celebration of Rob Ayling's wedding.

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