Faith/Void - Weird Chills

Insects gather and hum on satellite dishes all night long. Oracles in rotting suburban basements scrutinize the psychedelic inkblots that whirl through their orbs. Cops patrol the streets with submachine guns because reality doesn’t respond to their delusions or projections. I hear the news on TV from the other room: a shuttle waded into deep enough space that it encountered an alien intelligence. Every attempt to communicate with it only twisted the crew’s minds into psychic spaghetti. The air in our neighborhood has been unbreathable for weeks and people are still going out on dates in it. Doctors are inventing a new treatment to sharpen the cheekbones of hot single mutants in your area; they’re calling it the Gender Blade. Boys in denim jackets have been wandering into the forest to smoke weed and listen to heavy metal and drink an entire six-pack before disappearing. They’re making a movie about it. I threw a party last week. Everyone I knew came, people I hadn't seen in years. They all had long hair and their skin glowed like light in water. When I asked how they were doing, every single one of them said they felt like a body that had crawled out of another body that was digesting it. I got really drunk after that. I ended up calling my parents. No one answered so I left a message. I can’t remember what I said.