This is what he wanted his dying vision to be, instead it was an inkblot that definitely looked like his mother having sex with a butterfly.
Seymour Little figured out what was wrong. He was over stimulated. Slowly, yet surely, his mind was being systematically blown apart. His sight grew wonky, inundated with oncoming flashes of brilliant light, best described psychedelic, pulsating like a cartoon migraine headache. He tried to scream. He could not. If there was a top ten list for best ways to die, suffocation might and should be on it.
The Home Of DJ Sung Mo Koo 