re:mote voices

He sat at the centre of his cell like an albino frog, working at some obscure cabalistic grid, probably a malice puzzle. Proceeding around him was a polychrome exchange, the walls trancing with sickly refractions. His head was sprouted with white death-hairs, and when he turned my way I saw his eyes were liquid mercury, the surfaces flowing like oily water.

-shamanspace -steve aylett -was looking up details of the aylett CD (staring is it's own reward), which led me to the extract from shamanspace. it remains one of my favourite aylett books, a short book, described as a novella, the sort of thing that you can read in one sitting dead easy.