more of this a

Newbold

As she leaped into the crater and then falling for what took forever she ended in full possession of a controlled psychosis and she was rapidly loosing any kind of control to the silver pearls in a perilous discombobulated series of metapsionic somersaults, and such it is just to dream normal dreams. This would be the first thing that she would loose to the pearls followed by the day-mares and a meaningless breach of sanity itself until… she had nothing in common with herself or anyone that there was,,all this she knew because this had happened countless times to the past hosts of the pearls.. she was the host of pearls, so shiny that the could blind the best vision so bright the could cause the blind to see. It was there, beings in these perilous pearls that made this so.. ,, she was to look deep into and beneath the normal levels of time and space where from a far distant galactic empire to where these pearls were from with their mundane experiences to themselves or so average that everyone would where them now and then.(needs to rewrite this last sentence)

It was there the pearls spilled the milk that kept their coffee tanned in tight coffee like color. It was nothing that none knew nor wanted to know in time there was nothing of meaning and less of being, soon a blur between real, unreal and, surreal disappeared and now nihilistical tangents curved between everything everywhere leaving temporary insanity oft the edge and the mnemonical thoughts that was to expose the birds beak as bloody worms are eaten so, and burn the bones of a life that never ended.

Still;

As the land was gripped with bodies in hysterical spasmodic fits leaped out of the night into the morning lights being enveloped at times and then ashed off the crashed spaceship. It was the ship as it opened its huge crater to catch the falling Juanita like a feather lost to the dust-devils tireless waves and eddies of meek mundane gifts of fissures in hers as a fission foamed on and likely to end the madness of hells ever screamings in the faceless freaks often needing nothing and never wanting anything but more of the same mundane tracks of fixed fissures baked in morning tides at the edge of the distant empire,,