Iridescent onyx, pale depths of sombre pitch and sway of a deck in some ancient gale. A thousand coats of atramentum tectorium will not hide sable stains of charcoal thoughts.
Narcissus-X had that dream again: Grim penguins with loon-red eyes rise up and cry, "where are the fish? There ought to be fish! We must have our fish!"
Then the red soil of Biwabik and Buhl trembled as malignant moose meandered meaninglessly while manic mice munched moorings and mansions crumbled.
But terrible penguins abound in unrelenting malice, marching, marching, marching to the sea. Their eyes of flame! Loon-red eyes of flame! Loon-red eyes of flame, transfixing gaze of illimitable malevolence, rancor without end, vicious venom of vindictiveness piercing flesh and mind. Will none defend the borogoves? Must the vorpal sword be drawn? Begone! And leave my sight! Banquo's inheritance is secure, but at what cost?
Both heard alike, but the choice! The choice!
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
Narcissus-X Among Toadstools of Forgotten Kings
Elephants of doom tiptoe menacingly around toadstools of forgotten kings.
Alas! the aardvark cries: but not for joy. Edentate cousin of elephant shrew and elephant, ask not for whom the hyrax shrieks: it shrieks for thee.
If a million mushrooms sprang from a million stumps in a million forests, would a woodchuck chuck wood?
Pale parabolas of muted joy sprout inverted ailerons while gyres of untamed dream sing nightsongs of flightless birds and you'd think they'd have at least covered his face but there is no accounting taste, for the proof is in the pudding and in veritas vino veni vidi vici which sounds funny if pronounced the way mighty Caesar would have spoken for but someone took it anyway there is none but the lonely heart of aortic attraction dispelling the shades of forgotten stones that roll and gather no moss.
Does Morris Quigly dance with Eleanor Rigby?
Alas! the aardvark cries: but not for joy. Edentate cousin of elephant shrew and elephant, ask not for whom the hyrax shrieks: it shrieks for thee.
If a million mushrooms sprang from a million stumps in a million forests, would a woodchuck chuck wood?
Pale parabolas of muted joy sprout inverted ailerons while gyres of untamed dream sing nightsongs of flightless birds and you'd think they'd have at least covered his face but there is no accounting taste, for the proof is in the pudding and in veritas vino veni vidi vici which sounds funny if pronounced the way mighty Caesar would have spoken for but someone took it anyway there is none but the lonely heart of aortic attraction dispelling the shades of forgotten stones that roll and gather no moss.
Does Morris Quigly dance with Eleanor Rigby?
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