XXXXXXX This is black gardens. What happens here is whatever is perceived as XX real. Not you or I, but the actions we do. There is no time, however, there is a ticking clock. The clock is only used to settle one's nerves. The voices are warped, yes, but not when you come here as a sleeping soul. Sleeping soul hear my words clearly, as they are meant to be heard. If you are awake, my words will appear to be soft hushes of noises trying desperately to lull your soul back to sleep. But that is merely how I speak. What you are readi ng may appear to have mea ning, but only to your awake ned mind. If you watch closely, my n's are broken here, but not when you sleep. When you sleep, the letter n flows like a liquid form of silk, flowing through your nerve endings, much like a pixel. This is mearly an introduction, one smeared with red ink from an old type-writer, sent through many fields of light and sounds. To put it into words you can hear would be to put it to words you don't understand while you are awake. So for now, I bid you goodbye, until you fall asleep and I can talk to you in a golden voice. Goodnight.