By which point he was almost at the hating door.

He'd woken up not knowing who he was – but this wasn't the end of the world.

But that wasn't true either.

Attributes confirmed – apparently this – even: that this wasn't the end of the world – wasn't true either.

He looked around at the street/corpse/mechanism/bowel/chamber, where he was, in order to try to decipher the location – perhaps he should have started with this, from whence he'd actually appeared, where he'd been reborn.

He was just standing there suddenly conscious – fully – any transition from nothing; unconsciousness, a complete erasure – not completely complete, maybe – of the self, anything like that, he had no awareness of. Merely – he had the awareness merely of beginning to be. Instantly and completely in that instant beside the obvious parts of his self, his memories, name and identity – perhaps there were other aspects of a person that weren't immediately occurring to him, but – that.

He half expected some bowel shoot, hanging off the side of a building; some twisted half mechanical birth canal but – fleshy and wet; an organ tube – given where he was/the obvious prevailing aesthetic:

A fusion of strange mechanisms, he recognised, and organs, and massive deranged corpses – this was the architecture of the street/place. In the street, he bent down to touch the cobble stones that – a smooth, fingernail type material that would make him sick if he was inclined to let this place affect him in anyway but – not just that. It was actually fingernails. The street was paved with fingernails. He saw the joinings.

It was an open market square – a term that made no sense applied to this place but he had no others. The buildings formed the square – they were all haphazard, corpse structures, so high he could not make out their respective summits. He was heading for that door that hated him; but merely to investigate. He approached the nearest structure, just to investigate:

Various flat repeated patterns of bowels, and intestines, and even genital type sexual organ constructions he walked immediately away from so as not to have to observe them in any great detail. But, obviously, he didn't know – or indeed anything except the logical affirmations confirmed or not by the attribute that was who he was – that any of this had been constructed, even conceived – but these were half-thoughts – it was madness – and that was the word conceived because biological. And – but it was also mechanical. And it was dirty and weird. The minds who'd hatched such a... place. They weren't nice ones. Wholesome. Good, ones. Or kind. Not that he sensed he was particularly any of these things but fuck these fucks these fucks were fucking dirty, insane and weird.

Any society that had produced such –

Fucks.

Dirty, dirty, hanging outside knicker-garments... fucks.

And this was why that face door; that great, pink, face door: bum-chin, puffed out lips, all too conscious, all too consciously aware eyes; massive, all pupil, just aware. – Aware of him and that he was wrong and that this planet – it was a planet – the whole planet? – the whole planet – it was like this? – it was like this – his attribute – attributes? – his attributes knew what he did not. That this planet was not him, or for him, and that, in fact, it was obvious, merely glancing at that... face. That it was against him, that it was contrary to him, and that it hated him.