No sleep. Day 1 on the Dogon calendar.
My lips are crackers, while my swollen tongue tastes but harmattan dust.
These are Dog Days: rabid dogs slobber with spastic tongues;
Sweltering fevers chainreact, glowing as they foam with delirious drivel.
The radio's picked up transmissions from HR2491,
When tuned in at the ritual pulse - I could smell how it melted into Nommo's ether...
"Puisque vous savez si bien ce qui est hors de vous,
Sans doute vous savez encore mieux ce qui est en dedans"
("Microm