The Curious Dreamlife of Marshmallow Addie - Volume 12
It was tiresome. And inconsistent. Insofar as consistency wore thin, with a clearly receding hairline. Participating in so many dreams all at once and dreaming them all back with a vengence was indeed tiresome. Reality was, quite tautologically, a collective dream shrouded in ethereal purple exhaust fumes at the expense of a dubious oyster. But, such is the way of the cookie. It must crumble.
Marshmallow Addie was is love. The mists wore off two dozen previous conversational years by half and half and immediately exchanged congratulatory handshakes. This is that time of the world when the grey areas raise a surprised eyebrow and go back to a life of vapid self-divulgence. The bock makes way for fifteen yards of vin rouge and ultimately settles down as the enemy of choice. Atleast Addie was acquainted with his. And it wasn't just the dull throb corruscating and osciallting between temples at noonish on a pollinated mid summer sunday. It was more amphibious -- it was the fell swoop of the anchor at half mast, delivering hitherto unchartered groundedness with gyroscopic efficiency.
The two apples re-emerged from their pointless dimensional meandering. Yellowbottom licked his supine lips in amorphous anticipation. Air bubbles in flashbacks... drifting through worlds innocently, then suddenly rearing their terrifying heads to disintegrate what was left of Addie's dreamscape. Yellowbottom couldn't care less. The world was his oyster. Which was a rather odd shape for an amphitheatre, but then again, he couldn't care less as had been agreed upon. Throbbing enemies at half mast, anchored or not, were not his problem.
The sum total of pointlessness in spacetime swelled imperceptibly as usual, fending off a suble counterattack from its only enemy - entropy. The two apples, moored to their mast, grinned a Virginal smirk. Or quite possibly Promethean. Such is the way. The cookie must crumble.
Pers: Yippinglie, diss dhut is a one fore fife formulation.
Crimorcles: Yuss, but lattie, what is tue lerve? Not luff or lou. Jess issit softly shovelled chocolatte rabbits in a ina innna fwashbacke? Or issis really rehehehehehe-ally painfully your tuely in a bingbongbingbong sing song singalong?
Pers: Question?
Crimorcles: Yuss, dammut glenfidget.
Pers: Ah.
Marshmallow Addie was is love. The mists wore off two dozen previous conversational years by half and half and immediately exchanged congratulatory handshakes. This is that time of the world when the grey areas raise a surprised eyebrow and go back to a life of vapid self-divulgence. The bock makes way for fifteen yards of vin rouge and ultimately settles down as the enemy of choice. Atleast Addie was acquainted with his. And it wasn't just the dull throb corruscating and osciallting between temples at noonish on a pollinated mid summer sunday. It was more amphibious -- it was the fell swoop of the anchor at half mast, delivering hitherto unchartered groundedness with gyroscopic efficiency.
The two apples re-emerged from their pointless dimensional meandering. Yellowbottom licked his supine lips in amorphous anticipation. Air bubbles in flashbacks... drifting through worlds innocently, then suddenly rearing their terrifying heads to disintegrate what was left of Addie's dreamscape. Yellowbottom couldn't care less. The world was his oyster. Which was a rather odd shape for an amphitheatre, but then again, he couldn't care less as had been agreed upon. Throbbing enemies at half mast, anchored or not, were not his problem.
The sum total of pointlessness in spacetime swelled imperceptibly as usual, fending off a suble counterattack from its only enemy - entropy. The two apples, moored to their mast, grinned a Virginal smirk. Or quite possibly Promethean. Such is the way. The cookie must crumble.
