Metaphoric Hate....Coroneus, Wake.

Sunday, December 25, 2005

Unclear, This Moment Resonates Doubt

Crimorclies: Whit brungs here, chylle?

Pers: Quess. I que- ... I eye I I khoo- ... Be high hee eye I quest.

Crimorclies: Shite.

Pers: I am a bag. Yuss. Noe, but yess. But I know how...er... no how beginnings. I quess.

Crimorclies: Muck shense chile. Yew nutter muck seance!

Pers: It all begins whiff a blast of yellow and grean. Grean mean machine. No no. Wait. Blast!

Crimorclies: t'only blast in yer skul. Yer's an myne furst. Nah... I ferst, commta thynn. Ya see,the multihorse is infinnely trapt in yer skul. TAKE OFF THA FIGYN HATTE! Yuss... so's in yer skul. Kinna funzy, cos yer trapt in yer skul toose. An yer skul's trapt in the multihorse. Brinnin shynn, cream broullen, moew mew, mu, phi pi. Tree om resyss. Oh yayaya, strings!!

Pers: Is thu..thu...thu- bluehoo, yee pringpoing. Is ther a songs? Issa kinna coal outsize. Sings mew a lullaballoo. Zip remains me of a worn winter even keals.

Crimorclies: Lissen, chylle. Yew infite yesells to mie private heel. A heel's wher afftr warks, wein enjoin ineb. Ineb feb. ha! dinna noe thur in oldoldold.

Pers: I think I know now.

Crimorclies: Beaut'. Now i'lla pore yew won.

Friday, December 16, 2005

The Curious Dreamlife of Marshmallow Addie - Volume 4

Marshmallow Addie dreamt nine dreams. In each, he was a writer writing about a different character.
In one, he tried to free the protagonist's anguished soul through flight with a feathery friend. In another, the protagonist's heroic deeds elevated him to a myth-like status, transcending the mere mortal deeds of mere mortals. In yet another, the protagonist was born into a world of solitude which engulfed his being and sucked out his emotionality (with a large straw and a pink plastic umbrella beside it, for some reason. Olives might have been involved at some point as well). But there was something wrong and Addie couldn't quite put his finger on it (quite possibly because he was sucking it in his sleep).

Various existential crises in Addie's life has obscured his dreamscape and meta-perceptive abilities. Little did he know that since he dreamt simultaneously, all the dream streams were chromosomically intertwined and were goverened by the uncertainity paradox of tensor dreamspace: you could either predict the exact spatial alignment of at least two of the nine dream streams, or be asleep... but not both at once. Any idiot sleeper could perceive one dream at any given instant and still remain asleep.

All nine characters he was writing about were the same person. Addie would never know that. He would never know that nine stream-like vectors governed his life.

Addie was a troubled lad. He was uni-polar knocking on bi, but being constantly chucked out by the bouncer. He was a split personality that had been glued back (quite possibly with marshmallows). Yellowbottom might have the answer, but he was too mean.

Yellowbottom indeed might... but the real answer was probably lodged in Addie's head, jumping happily from stream to stream, morphing, dissociating and disproportionating reality. Nine at once or one of nine. None at once or none of nine.

Life can be sad and painful that way. But then again, so are oysters.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

With Which Wit Will Weather Wilt?

Crimorclies: Die py straindum ricochet meaningly, in heav'n humbum mortimmeier?

Pers: Nyer nyer...

Crimorclies: Say, aren't you the blugh mier rendum shimuzem in vault control blashphemie?

Pers: Dammut shitze abortionistinismism!

Crimorclies: Prey tell, then. Whut broing myer recordinge plaibull, on top tontie charriote? Oh yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah.... blu haffts con amalgumam and dye freely, love freeeeely and dyedyedyed peroxide blande.

Pers: Thus is wear bulberry's fry. My lifes endless, you see you see you see. Mr. Blisterre, this is whey it goes. Goes and blows, my lief is a missil, a misson accompanies my wrath. In path. Oh blimmey, mes forrgoe's me 'brella. 'S rain nor shun sine.

Crimorclies: Sorry yesterday. We compound misery's companies - blue's a crowded neander jussstyn mashkerrades, frye kartoshchka and gryien's lettin' go art his lie.

Pres: Dammut Glenfidget, we bring fresh blood in a in a in a jiffy-wiffy. Wait for me in continuum. vacuumizatioN. Await...

Crimorclies: Order fodder, ladd. What bring now is consummation of intercour, sour bower.... mehehehe. See you what I means blimmingly guilt fodder, insect fodder, horsebizarre, fly in my piggy-wiggy. Gilt is steady state rammifactionism. Lerve is blatancy to controul fould tempre. Woooooddden sods, Ha! Mie nuckle's arrre mad of steal leav. Why for yours? Meh... hoo ha, rearrange my drims, my drimms, my drims, my drimms, my gawd blimey dreams. Whut rane, nor shun sine, nor snoe foul? Thys all brings comme to and.

Mr. No All: Such is destitruction of the worlde. Such is wit.


Wednesday, December 14, 2005

The Curious Dreamlife of Marshmallow Addie - Volume 3

Addie had a bad day. He was very scared of Yellowbottom and steered well clear of him. Ethyl Johnny used to be a good friend and well wisher. But that day, they broke Addie's heart. Actually, they set fire to it.... and the day had been ruined.

But Addie knew there was a history attached to the events of the day. Some time ago in Nwotnaeb, Addie created Fox Pa (who later lusted Fox Ma... but her's is another story. She was quite the vixen). And Fox Pa came back to haunt him (and decompress his innards while he was about it) and Addie ate humble pie.

Marshmallow Addie, for all his bulbuosity, waded through streets of filth of his own design. He was built for consumption, not for speed. They were in his mind... just a parabola away from being sucked into the continuum of a hellish universe. It was a universe we all lived in, and breathed Yellowbottom's heavy fumes. With vampirical efficiency, he drew last blood. He'd lost as usual. Lost his world of objectivist skullduggery and gourmand gluttony; the marshmallow trudges on. Nwotnaeb was just two dreams and a sunshine away. Look what you've done, my little petty-wetty. You've made a fool of everyone.

The Two Apples didn't exist anymore. They had vanished into dank air, cleverly evading smoke detectors on their way. They were philosophical about it. Nothing short of a dimensional shift would ever bring them back to their shelftop vantage point. They were now replaced by The Wrath of Astringency, and he knew a thing or two about longevity. But, the cookie crumbles and the infinite queue meanders between dimensions, pausing once, ethereally, transiently, for a shelf-top spot.