I am Vernon’s Endless Liminal

Liminal. 
The transitional feeling that washes over you when you are in between places or experiences.

endless
...

Most of these feelings are associated with an abandoned or vacant atmosphere, a disconnect from reality, a fluid or sometimes neglected aesthetic from the past or present.

endless
... 

The waiting area between one point in time and space to the next.

endless
... 

A metaphorical threshold.

endless
...

Hallways, airports, stairwells, hospitals.
...endless...

Empty shopping malls or abandoned schools. 
...endless..

The many stages of life.
...endless...

Hurry up and wait so you can hurry up to wait, right?
...endless...

.
Hurry so your hurried, hurrying hurry can hurry.
.

Limbo.
Endless lines.
Always being caught in the 'in-between'.
An unnatural empty state.
...

Similar to our dreams, the Endless Liminal can feel intimately familiar yet completely alien - a non-stop contradiction, 
if there was not already enough of those existing in your current life.
. 
And these feelings intensify at dawn, dusk, or midnight.
...

.
Liminal.
The middle state of a rite of passage after a dark night of the soul.

An endless portal we have to exploit so we can finally, hopefully, move on to the next level of the many levels that lie ahead of you, of me, of us, before we can finally escape!

...
The liminal's liminal.

The in-between's in-between. 
...

All - endless.

---

I debate kicking my feet off the side of the bed when my alarm clock chimes after the third snooze button hit. I start to regain consciousness from 'wherever' and 'whenever' I was just at. I question if I am still dreaming or if I am really awake. The dream I was absorbed in was getting quite interesting to say the least, but, in my early morning haze, I know it would have taken me at least twenty-five minutes to get back to the point of successfully reinserting myself back inside it, inside the dream, inside the subconscious. I shrug off what I want to do for what I have to do and decide to get up. I take a deep breath and exhale it slowly. I shake my head.  

Liminal.
..

I enter the bathroom and brush my teeth while using the toilet at the same time. I continue to question if I'm still asleep or if this is my current reality. I am reminded of where I currently am by gagging while brushing my teeth, me rushing over to the sink to spit and rinse my mouth with cold water, my current anxiety about having to insert myself into the rat race over-riding my urge to simply crawl back into bed and ignore the world for another day. I accidentally deep throat my toothbrush once again, effective enough to where I make other-worldly sounds, like I'm heaving up an imaginary hairball the size of a watermelon to the point of becoming lightheaded, all of this just to clean my back molars so they can get back dirty in the next thirty minutes. Oh well... I shake my head. What do you do? 

Liminal.
..

I exit the bathroom dressed in my work attire and walk into the kitchen to pour a quick cup of coffee. I really hate rushing my morning coffee too, you know? I grab my pocket knife. I put my Chapstick in my pocket, as well as my vape. I put my rings on my thumbs and left hand index finger. I have to lick that one finger just to get the ring on. I fill my Stanley mug with water, a Heisenberg (Breaking Bad) sticker plastered on the side of it, it staring straight back at me. I consider cooking meth and becoming a drug lord instead of going back to my current job. I shake off that haphazard idea for the time being. I grab my lunch box, vial of vitamins to take on my commute drive to work, my thermal coffee mug, my water jug, my sausage ball breakfast container, my keys, and make way to exit the house even though I do not want to. Some would call this 'forced preservation'. Some would call this my 'manly duty'. I call this 'groundhog day lunacy' that should never exist in this lifetime. Regardless, I shake my head. 

Liminal. 
..

I enter my beloved truck, my aging, beautiful four wheels of Toyota Tacoma fury hitting on nineteen years of pure driving ecstasy and 245,000 miles, the newer models of her jealous of the 4.0 V-6 she is equipped with - no bluetooth, no cameras, no location services, no BS technology - just a simple truck that wants to be driven and ridden like it might be her last time on the dance floor, her bra size being slightly bigger than the dumbed down predecessors after her. I talk to her, out loud. I rub her dashboard and tell her good morning. I put my hand on her gear shifter and give it a little squeeze. She doesn't jump, regardless of how cold my hands are, and only makes eye contact with me before smiling because she is a real woman that knows what she wants. The relationship I have with this truck, this aging Southern Belle, has been longer than any other I have had in my life. I check my mirrors, depress my foot on her brake pedal, and put her into Drive. I feel her want to pull me forward for the gazillionth time in her life. In my life. I rub my hands over her steering wheel and give her one more, 'you know you're my girl, don't you'. She responds with a little squeak from somewhere on her undercarriage. I chuckle. She is just as worn out as I am. The rat race begins. I shake my head.

Liminal. 
..

My truck's stilettos hit the asphalt, and we begin what most people hate if they have one - a commute. I admire the sunrises, even the ones not worth noting. I crack my windows for fresh air just to vibe out what kind of day it is going to be. I find a good song on my playlist. I eat one sausage ball so I can take my vitamins on a somewhat not empty stomach. I drive one handed while sipping water from my Heisenberg Stanley mug. I slightly choke trying to swallow two of my bigger vitamins that are the size of soap bars. I almost die while driving with my kneecaps, Glass Animals playing in the background. I somewhat panic as the world continues to streak past me at seventy miles an hour. I force the pill down my esophagus while a beautiful sunrise is displayed in front of me, it inching slower and slower up my throat while peristalsis forces it back down. None of this makes sense as I struggle to take my daily regiment considering I swallow chunks of food much bigger than these pills. I take a quick bite of my last sausage ball to aid in forcing the pills down as I continue to drive at, now, eighty miles an hour. My quick and precise body movements work for yet another day. My life, for the moment, is currently saved and not in peril. Ten minutes later, I'm flossing my teeth and swishing water to clear out any debris caught between my teeth. I reach for my thermal coffee cup. I take happy little sip, sip, sips after my daily, weekly near death experience. Another good song comes on the radio. I shoulder dance and sing to it. People would think it is too early to do this, but it is not, and who are they to say when a good dance party should start. Honestly, I am just happy to be alive at this point in time of my early morning liminal routine. I maintain my path of least resistance until I pull into the parking lot at work, and, some of that path requires me weaving in and out of traffic since everyone loves to drive staggered and under the speed limit on a four lane highway where you can honestly run seventy miles an hour the entire way if you choose to do so, yet, people still find a way to abandon common sense and still get in 'the way'. This is when I wish I could take my tribe and group of close friends and live on a people'less planet in another galaxy. Another nebula. Then, I notice something. Is it too early in the day to already be having these types of emotions? The answer is simple, and, yes, I shake my head.  

Liminal.
..

I exit my truck, me being the first one at work ninety-five percent of the time. I gather my supplies, enough things to survive at least one week on Naked and Afraid. I walk to the front door and let myself in with my key. I hear the alarm beeping in the back, thirty seconds and counting to disarm before the effin cops arrive. I put my daily survival items on a countertop really quick so I can run to the back of the office to turn off the security alarm. I have to do all of this before I can even clock in. My heart races, like I'm committing a B and E at work even though I am not. There is nothing I would even consider stealing from here, even if there was a fire and I was homeless. After all of this commotion, I am already too exhausted to work and deal with the daily demands of how I make my living. I think about leaving the building immediately and finding the nearest field to drive my truck to and do doughnuts in. Then, the sausage balls in my stomach tells my palate that a real doughnut would be good, a chocolate covered creme puff (*wink wink*). I shake this idea off, as well as the other thousand that pulse through my mind in the next three minutes. I go to clock in. It takes three times for the dumb A computer to accept my password entry even though I have been logging in for the past four years with it. Computers are not as smart as we make them out to be, especially the keyboard on my iPhone that likes to correct the words I have already typed. This is how my day begins, and, again, I shake my head.  

Liminal. 
..

I'm already running behind one hour into my shift, and no fault to myself. I walk in and out of my lab space due to all of the 'side missions' that need my attention. My coworkers walk in and out of my work space on their 'side missions'. My liminal is now their liminal. Our combined liminal's are the liminal's liminal - in and out of my doorway to enter their doorways to re-enter mine. Bathroom breaks. Breakroom breaks. Stepping out the back door for fresh air - I re-enter. This is where I make my living. This is where I receive my stress and future heart attack that I have already fought off numerous times but am hesitant on how long I can keep it up. I do all of this because it is 'necessary' for survival, but is it really? I enter my brain, yet again, to process this notion. I re-enter my workspace, yet again, because I have to. I sit in my chair. I chain myself invisibly to one thing that I am an expert at. I chastise myself and verbally say, 'I should have been a gynecologist'. 'A booby doctor'. 'An illegal, riverboat gambling entrepreneur'. 'A paranormal investigator'. 'A winning lottery ticket holder'. 'An illegal firearms dealer'. My chest tightens. I fight off what approaches yet again and find a way to finish the day out. And, yes, I shake my head.

Liminal.
..

I clock out, stare at my previous day's timecard, and prepare to leave work. I debate putting in all of my PTO, but I am too tired to even care at the moment. I tell my coworkers goodbye. Some respond. Some give half-hearted responses. Everyone is tired, and I completely understand. Some leave without telling me goodbye. I decide to reciprocate that same feeling back to them at a future point in time. I walk out the door with all of my daily gear. I want to smile, but I cannot. It is only Monday, and I know what lies ahead of me - mental battles from the roaring lion walking about and a gas station stop that has become increasingly gouging. I try to convince myself to be patient. Hopeful. Understanding. I scoff as I look up at the sky, pick out which direction my new future home planet is located, and continue on. Maybe one day I will get there. Maybe. I hold off on shaking my head because there will be time for that on my drive home - guaranteed.     

Liminal. 
..

I enter my truck and unpack all my things in my passenger seat. I close my door, crank my nostalgic girl up, and roll my windows down - weather permitting. This is the best I have felt since I have arrived at work. I tell the ole girl to please, please, please get me home one last time. I have no doubt in her because she has never lied to me, not once, but it still feels good to give her a pep talk that she is waiting for, daily. If anyone was parked next to me, they would think I was crazy for acting in such a manner, but then are they not the crazy ones for thinking I was treating my truck in this way, even though I was. I find my playlist for the drive home. I hit my vape. I cough. I swallow a nice chug of water from my Heisenberg stickered Stanley cup. I consider setting the entire city on fire before I leave. I shrug it off for the moment and put my truck into drive. I rub my hands over the steering wheel. I feel the wolf inside me clinch its canines together. The hunger takes me over. I look around and all I see is mice, everywhere, scrambling to get to nowhere, chasing an invisible cheese that will never be enough and is already stale. I scoff again and slide my RayBan Wayfarers over my eyes, my subliminal, optical filter engaged like on the movie They Live (we are there!). This is my endless. 

Liminal.
..

I pull onto the road with all the other rats. The mice. Nobody knows how to drive, so I show them. I ride behind 'someone' almost my entire way home because the world is too crowded for its own good. The only thing that saves me is what is waiting at home for me when I get there and the endless dreams that the lottery ticket inside my wallet provides after stopping to fill up my gas tank. The overtime wears on my body. I'm somewhat delusional while being sober, and I kind of like this feeling until I do not. The rat race is real when all you dream about is being with your little tribe and being left alone on a desolate beach or mountaintop or another planet altogether. I pass the third car on my two lane country drive home because my silver girl still sings like the first day I bought her almost nineteen years ago. The longer I stay piloted inside her, the funnier it gets with every passing year - my relationship with her being top secret confidential considering she is an intimate machine meant for me and only me - my land bound spaceship - carrying me where no man has ever gone before, literally. I have to pass someone, out of the blue, who has decided to go ten below the speed limit and, in typical, programmed fashion, I shake my head. 

Liminal.                    
..

I pull into my parking spot at the house. I put my truck into park, take a deep breath, and try to let the day trickle off my shoulders before engaging the people who have been waiting all day just to be near me. I leave the soul drenching drizzle inside my nineteen year old girlfriend. She does not mind at all and absorbs it like the mature woman she is. She is used to this kind of treatment and expects it. I gather all my daily back packing supplies to take into the house. My saving graces meet me at my truck and welcome their tired warrior home. I grin and listen to one thousand questions before I can take my shoes off. This is what life is about. This is where I am most needed. I enter the house to recharge with my unconditional loves and relive the same day again tomorrow. My liminal enters their liminals to create a liminal's liminal for the eightieth liminal that day.

Liminal. 
...

My alarm clock goes off, yet again. It is only Tuesday. Every day is starting to feel like a Monday. I hit the snooze button just to see if this day will disappear or skip itself even though I know it will not. I know this as I try to force myself back to sleep. I take my hand and put it over my heart while I breathe in a dark room. I feel the heartbeats that, in time, will only grow fainter and fainter. The rat race patiently awaits my arrival, yet again, and I still consider, finally, Breaking Bad and finding me a 1986 Fleetwood Bounde Winnebago. The desert is calling. So is my sanity. And, you guessed it, I shake my head. 

Liminal. 

Endless.

---

I am born crying, already.

I am totally dependent on whoever can take care of me. 

I drink milk for however long - no solids.

I sleep every three to four hours and wake up, hollering, like someone has pinched me.

I number one and number two inside a fluffy ruffle satchel. 

I start to grow.

I roll over for the first time - everyone claps and cheers and records me on their devices.

I crawl for the first time - everyone claps and cheers and records me on their devices.

I crawl even faster toward a light socket - everyone panics and finally puts their devices down and tells me 'no, no, no'.

I 'infant look' at them like they are crazy.


...
Endless Liminal
...


I continue to use the bathroom on myself. 

Teeth start to grow.

Solids are incorporated into my diet. 

I learn to chew the mushy mush and swallow it. 

I grow even more.

I go from crawling to walking like a drunkard. 

I fall.

I cry. 

Someone helps me up. 

I establish some sort of mobility.

Everything with a sharp corner at my height is now my worse enemy.

People pretend to chase me around and I learn to run from them.

I blow spit bubbles and think it is awesome to do this.

I drool on everything. 

I keep my hands in my mouth.

I start learning colors and shapes.

I stay sick all of the time.

I get whoever is around me even sicker. 

I start mouthing nonsense and see if I can say 'dada' or 'mama' first.

I grow even more.

I continue to experiment with solids and liquids, me discovering what I like versus what I do not. 

I start to feed my own self with my hands.

I continue to grow, in spurts, and increase stable mobility.

I start to feed my own self with a fork.

I potty train and finally learn to quit using the bathroom on myself. 

I observe everything around me with great wonder, a wonder that, unknowing to me, will slowly fade the older I get, if I let it. 

I mimic some of the behaviors I see. 

I start sleeping longer. 

I start exploring more since I can now bipedal walk. 

I start taking baths by myself and with playful, colorful toys. 

I continue to feed.

I continue to depend on. 

My body adjusts.

These are suppose to be the best days of my life even though I will never remember them.

Sounds pretty fair, huh?


...
Endless Liminal
...


I grow into adolescence.

Hair grows at unique locations on my body.

I have a couple of scars on my body from falling harder than expected.    

Hormones pulse through my veins.

I use the restroom on my own.

I bathe myself.

I've gone from being interested in simple toys to being intrigued by simple girls or girls who pretend they are simple when they are nothing of the such.

The mean girls - I still tolerate them because they are the easiest, me hoping they will change but only time will be the true teacher in this case, and in this case, I'm almost certain these girls will die with the same temperament they have now.

I learn how to drive so I am no longer dependent on someone else taking me from point A to point B.  

I try to figure out this emotion called 'anger'. 

I try to figure out this emotion called 'love'.

I try to figure out this emotion called 'lust'. 

I try to figure out this emotion called 'ego'. 

I try to maintain my spiritual readiness amid all the 'sex'tivities' that I could be engaging in. 

I hang out with my friends and start to break away from home. 

I drive whatever vehicle I can get my hands on - the future rat race awaiting me on that inevitable day - and, at this age, I am just trying to have the time of my life.

I find a girl that I think I love and I wait three months before I tell her. 

She tells me she loves me back on that day.

I think I have really accomplished something of epic proportions. 

We break up one month later.

I think it is the end of the world. 

I crawl into my bed - my eternal womb. 

I refuse to eat.

I listen to somber music.

My friends console me.  

I get over it as soon as the next cuter, available girl shows me interest.

I date her for a little while until I realize she is just as crazy as the others. 

We break up. 

My ex hears about this.

She calls me back up.

We tell each other that we still love one another and are ready to make this work. Again.

We get back together after promising one another that we would 'change' for real this time.

We break up not even two months later.

My heart cannot take this. 

I graduate high school.

I look at my friends, thinking we'll cross paths one day, and, for a majority of them, we do not. 

I pick out a college to go to, if any.

I know nothing about insurance.

I know nothing about taxes.

I know how to cook food but not a meal that is worth serving to others, much less any girl I am interested in.

I still cannot support myself financially. 

I manage to lock in a couple of scholarships to help my parents' pockets in the long run. 

I know 'a little' about responsibility, but not to the extent that the world is about to show me.

I am scared of this next step.

When no one is around, I wish out loud that I could go back to being that little baby again, the baby that knows nothing about nothing.

I slowly realize this, and that idea bothers me.

And, for the first time of many, I shake my head. 


...
Endless Liminal.
...


I grow into an adult.

I've long discovered drugs.

I've long discovered alcohol.

I've long discovered cigarettes.

I battle, overcome, slip up, yet still overcome these things that nobody warned me about. 

I work a job/jobs.

I pay taxes on top of taxes.

I pay for my own gas.

I pay my cell phone bill.

I pay for my own abode. 

I pay for my many insurances.

I pay for my groceries.  

I pay for numerous streaming services.

I pay for a vehicle that helps me get into the well renowned 'rat race'.

I go from crawling to walking to driving to getting my first speeding ticket.

I find out what a lawyer is and what he charges for his services.

I continue to speed because, fifty-five miles per hour - who are we trying to fool with that nonsensical limit?  

I feel stress like I have never felt before and shake my head. 

I watch the news and shake my head.

I feel an anger I have never felt before and shake my head.  

I talk about the weather, of all things, and shake my head.

I observe people in their natural habitat and shake my head.

My body hurts in certain places if I use it too much and I shake my head.

People I have been close to my entire life start to die off and that void bothers me because I know, one day, my absence will make someone else feel like I currently feel - maybe.  

I find a relationship that I thought was meant for me.

We date for many years.

We get married. 

A couple years later, we divorce.

I swear off dating anyone for as long as I live after this because of all the gaslighting nonsense.

I start an awesome, original band. 

I get myself convinced that we are going to go on tour in a couple of years and disappear from the hell I have created. 

My ego talks to me, and I listen to it instead of my own soul.  

The band breaks up. 

I wonder why everything in life has to end like this. 

I meet another girl, a girl from my childhood. 

I take it slow because the last thing I am going to do is attach myself to something that is only going to bamboozle me when I'm most vulnerable. 

We date and the magnetism is there.

We are both hesitant in this moment because she, too, has been taken advantage of.

I finally find a Love I have always searched for. 

I become comfortable. 

I start to settle. 

I begin to trust again.

I let her take care of me, unguarded. 

We dive into one another like the world is ending. 

I start to rediscover myself. 

We get married. 

We face the world together. 

She sees me at my lowest of lows.

She lifts me back up and patches me back together because 'what's a king without a queen' - right? 

I see her at some of her lows.

I lift her up and patch her back together. 

We both were once little kids, now, here we are, adults, bruised and facing a world not worth facing. 

Me and her disappear whenever we can, however we can, wherever we can. 

We experience things people would not understand or believe.

I work so she can live her dream.

She lives her dream to show me that mine is on the way, if it is not already there in front of my own stupid face - and it is, my stubborn, egotistical hindsight.  

My chest tightens. 

I continue to drive the same truck from almost twenty years ago because some things are not meant to change like people think they are. 

I catch myself looking at the sky - my future home planet - far, far away. 

I catch myself looking at the stars - my future front porch light - far, far away.

I catch myself staring into a beachside campfire.

I catch myself wondering how everything became so beautifully frustrating. 

I thank God for Him being Him and giving me an infinite amount of second chances - His mercy enduring forever. And, thinking about it now, forever, honestly, is a long time. 

I welcome the next sunrise I see while on the way to work.

I choke on my vitamins while on the way to work. 

I await the next stage of my life - if I even live to see it.

I shake my head.
...

...
Endless Liminal.
... 

---

Liminal...

When you open the refrigerator door and stand there and wonder what you want to snickety snack on, standing there for minutes on end, releasing continuously cold polar-bear-toenail air out of the fridge, spoiling the contained food faster and faster with each passing second, only to wrap up the decision by grabbing a handful of grapes, three strawberries, and a cheese stick, only to return thirty-three minutes later to do the same thing and top off the previous snackety snack with three sips of an opened Diet Pepsi and a leftover egg roll.

Endless.
...

Liminal...   

When you rented an oceanfront beach house for a long weekend, after a very hellacious pay period, and you first walk in to scope the place out and you walk over to the sliding glass doors to open them and see and listen to something you have been craving since you last left. When you see the ocean waves crashing on a tired shore and you stand there and just stare at it, the rat race stress and delayed heart attacks fall by the wayside and melt back into the earth from whence it came. When you hear the ocean waves crashing for the first couple of times, you listen to the natural noise and drift slowly, further and further away, and all the questions and demands you have dealt with since 'whenever' roll back out into the ocean with the next cresting wave. The smell of the salty air that attaches itself to your lips and, when you lick them, you can taste it almost immediately, and you realize that you feel more at home here than you do anywhere and what you would do if you could move here and make this your every day instead of the four-lane-highway rat race that you encounter on a daily basis. The drift you experience as you stand on that balcony while being still after a long month of work and realize that your hands have paid for this. The smile that crosses your face as an annoying seagull floats by and nods his head at you. The feeling you get inside your soul when you see a child's eye gaze at and process the ocean for the very first time and you are taken back in time to a memory you have long forgotten of when you saw the ocean for the first time yourself. Then, you remember, you have to unpack the car now and carry all that 'S' up twenty flights of stairs. I take a breath, shake my head, and exhale the air.  

Endless.
...

Liminal...

Christmas time at the local malls in the early 1990s as compared to Christmas time at the mall now. Nostalgia, or the death of. Malls were the meet ups where everything was game or, vice se versa, game was everything. Now, with online shopping and mobile apps and easy drop off returns, who needs the mental game and physicality and tangibility of actually having to plot out your entire night, dress yourself up, find out who was going to be where without cell phones and 'location on' services, and get in your actual car or your friend's car or whoever's car was the cleanest to go cruising to see what and who was up. The mall had designated areas around it where certain segregated cliques of people would hang out. The low riders. The preppy boys. The good ole boys. The black boys. The commoners. The cruisers. The motorcycle gang. The subwoofer gang. The melting pot gang of whoever did not fit into these specified groups or were not allowed. This was everyone's Friday and Saturday night, all exchanged for Tik-Tok reels, Door Dash, and a dating app where you swipe in every direction except off. We have become quite passive and boring as compared to who we used to be. I can only imagine where we end up twenty years from now. All I need is my own personal planet, God. Please. The rest is obsolete. I shake my head.  

Endless.
...

Liminal...

The hallways of your old high school or college, an inter-stasis passing of all your friends as you went from one explorative class to the next. Me and the boys of my class used to hackey sack here and wait for certain people to pass by as we leaned against 'the wall'. The hallways were the veins of the school building. It fed the classrooms, bathrooms, library, and cafeteria. It fed, well, everything. The footsteps it absorbed. The uncertainty of everyone's minds there. The frustration. The fire drills. The tornado drills - hallways, please save everyone here because this is where we gather. Laughter to destruction in the matter of a three bell ring. The unknowing nostalgia that some of us would one day look back on and feel however we wanted to feel in the moment.

Endless.
...

Liminal...

New Years Eve - let the countdown begin. One year into the next. A night filled with high hopes versus unrealistic expectations. A midnight kiss versus a kiss'less countdown. The parties. The lack thereof. Sobriety. Eight balls and alcohol. How many of these have we built up in our minds of what they are suppose to be as to how they actually turned out. And, in common fashion, we think next year is going to be bigger and better, until we all decide to turn in early with pajamas, our own bathroom, and a live stream. Some of us, lucky if we even make it to twelve midnight because who cares anymore, right? Such a shame ending to what used to be an immaculate beginning. 

Endless.
...

Liminal...

One of the most drastic liminal's in all of creation - the hospital or doctor's office. The news we receive there. All the hallways. All the doors. Some people get good news. Others, well, they receive the worst news of their life. Some come here to gain life. Others come here to pass on and transition. The bystanding family members in constant flux of whether their loved one is going to make it while, in another room, a beautiful, God-ordained mother, a God-ordained woman, brings another spotless soul into the world. The hospital's liminal becomes the worker's liminal becomes the patient's liminal becomes the guest's liminal. And, for most of the people trapped behind these walls, all they want to do is go home and be surrounded by all of their things - these things being a byproduct of what a lifetime of liminals can only give you. 

Just think how many people on Earth feel like this, at this very moment, as you read this passage. 


That's right!

...
Endless.
...


Surreal.
Nostalgic.
Unsettling.

Welcome to your Endless Liminal!
...

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