My mind has been awash in disturbing visions of late, but that's nothing
terribly unusual. This particular one keeps plaguing me...

There is a group of us in a small doorless, windowless room. It is in
complete, permanent isolation from the outside world. We are all wearing
heavy monks' cloaks, and our faces are completely hidden by the large
hoods. We all sit on the cold floor playing some ridiculous never-ending
card game. We are all drinking and smoking copiously; the stench
of stale cigarette smoke and the gentle cloying aroma of spilled beer
permeates this surreal atmosphere. The alcohol allows us to forget why
we've been sent to this room, the cigarettes provide us with much needed
poison and nobody really knows why we're playing this card game that keeps
getting more and more complicated (in an obscure kind of way) with every
round. There is no clock in the room so one of us attempts to keep time by
drawing large gouges in his arm with a  yellowed, sickly fingernail.
Needless to say, the arm is a bloody, scarred mess.

One scholar sits apart from the card game. Scribbling frantically in an
old, stained notebook, this lost soul is translating "Oh my god! There's
an axe in my head" in every language ever known to man. The title "Book of
Knowledge" is written in blood on the cover of the frail book.

So how about those worms?

Regards,
Yohaun.
(Yes, I really should try and get some more sleep...)

--
  \|/           Imagine this living carcass, screaming.                 \|/
-- * --         screaming endlessly into the anechoic void...         -- * --
  /|\                                                                   /|\