the pendulum swung, the cockroaches scuttled and he thought. He thought of all his fingers. Each one tapping against his emaciated calf. his long unruly hair scratched the discs of his spine which were protruding from the ghostly flesh. whispering to him, the cockroaches told him of sunlight and of food. he did not understand. He did not understand much for one cannot know much if they have never left the boundaries in which one is born into. Deprived of experience and therefor wisdom, the most intelligent being rotted away beneath silky cobwebs