Matt Greenwood, the Absurdity Miner, is trapped deep underground.
With pick in hand and flashlight on brow, he hews at the living rock. He hopes to carve a passage out, though out to what, he doesn’t know. But his heavy blows sunder the absurdity around him, the ping-klink-thud of the pick against the slowly yielding stone serving as a metronome to pace the turgid miasma of his thoughts.
Those thoughts are recorded here.
