antediluvianechoes:

Ordovician seabed, Zdeněk Burian

You weirdos, you miscreations, you cystoids—named so-unfortunately-yet-so-appropriately—anchored in sand and detritus, mouth on the top and anus on the side, waving too few arms over bodies of deformed geometries—bodies like globs of wax spilled down a candleside, like the embryos of forgotten Platonic solids, like half-planted Lovecraftian rhizomes and bulbs, like toddler doodles looped and scribbled and abandoned on the playroom floor—how is it your breed lasted 100 million years?