The story of the White Moth began 15 years ago. In a REM cycle, maybe, or a lucid moment of acute mental unrest. It was immediately obvious that the Moth was unhindered by those supersensory barriers that (seem to) cleave the disparate planes of consciousness. For all R. Loren knew, the Moth could occupy any or all of the dimensions, separately or at once. It was simultaneously an insect, a metaphor; a homing beacon with which to navigate the imperatives of the cosmic subconscious.

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