Corpulescent corridors

Fighting a swarm of parasitic eyeballs has never been easy. They swoop in on wings of fluffy madness and attach themselves with wiry tendrils of thread-like script.

The opening that sprawls before us is reminiscent of an airplane hangar or some behemoth cavern of crystals and dark spongy stone. Lattices of cat's eye and chalcedony shelves decorate the deep of it. Textures and swirling flavors marshal against our persistence.

It's always a question of interpretation. Do these patterns exist in the sense that it seems they do? Or have our senses assigned them to something that we can only vaguely recollect?