Formless pseudopods reach out toward me from the gooey mass. The entire surface is covered with eyes; some gazing, some blinking, some milky with disease. A whispering chatter emanates from it. Many voices, but soft and sibilant; a riot in a library.

Movement! An eye stares directly at me. Others stare away, watching the other eyes. It watches me, and watches me being watched. All the time it vainly admires its own monstrous form.

The chatter intensifies.

Sticky trackbacks hang all over the mass, leaving a glistening trail of slime behind. It's in a constant state of decay. Eyeballs die and roll back in their sockets, they disappear from view; crushed by the mass of the newly bred pushing to the front.

I find myself ensnared. I am subtly altered; I find myself expressing second-hand opinions.

And if you're reading this, then the Blogosphere is coming for you too.