Our eye-stares force the twisting soul-weather back to butterfly shape, with hard fake wings surfaced with the colored and oscillating map of some very universe, or universal world, or inverted void. As that butterfly pulls the pin out of its back, it twists into an angry moebius... almost... at the last minute the glue holding the opposing ends gives way, and it turn page into a simple strip of light.     I traveled into the weapon-boxes, and let my soul take on its true form.