But Soft

What light from yonder unidentifyable object breaks? That is the question. Bearing some slings and some arrows in the face of over-accessorized fortune seems the most glamorous approach. Which is also taking arm against all manner of bullshit by the very savage whimsy of your savior faire. For love is not love that alters where it alteration of space/time finds. We're bursting out on the cosmic level because it's really a joy ride, which is the measure of its purity. It's thrills out there, the harp's dewdrops hurling across the starry expanse of night. Flying, flaming stuff makes for a bracing trip, but that's part of the attraction. As stated elsewhere, this could result in dance or hilarity. That mostly depends upon a person's coordination and flexibility. Particularly if humor is to be employed. Hopefully it's not all for the Voodoo Donuts. That ever remains a possibility, though, and we don't eat donuts any more. Who can remember all of those coded messages? There were many Shwarzenengegger quotes, if memory serves at all.

Another Excuse to be Weird

"What does one see with ones head in a tree full of bees?" We can hear you wondering and so intrepid and ever curiouser, thus we sought in the so sunny afternoon of a seventy degree Walla Walla day.

Effervescent synaptic sizzle with extra seething pink, a buzzing redbud found, I and present company, stuck our whole brain in without spilling a drop. Axis mundi, cherry-colored hive, alive in thrumming Aeolian electric hum.

Honestly, it's just another dance craze conjuration.

Basking In Lyrids' Stippled Glow (Dance Craze to Follow?)

Drops cast from a shivering harpstring, Lyra's ringing clarion. Turn your attention to star-height, Lulu, and perspectives merge. It bears mentioning that one should be careful with time-travel thought-experiments. They just might work and think how funny that could be in the most unintentional and ironic ways. Don't drink in gulps because you'll just end up spraying your monitor when you blow an hilarity gasket all over again--- this is a metaphor, in case that isn't clear. It's also anti-metaphor. As mentioned in previous posts, the educational route is always best, because that's how the shit's going down whether you like it or not. Acquiescing is allowing oneself time to choose proper attire, but then so is time-travel. There are some other important educational theories packed into this. We're not in that region of that bramble just now, but keep in mind how ridiculous it all is.

The question: what could possibly go right? It probably will, so insanely improbable as the whole thing is. That's the scenario of highest probability in the current order and we've neatly aligned ourselves to the currents of absurdity. Plus, we worked in all of those tunnels and shit. You know it's going to be fun and games with a jester at the helm, which is why the unicorns, but, that's still a surprise and we'd hate to spoil it all before the nachos course. The scene in West Texas is as harrowing as ever it was, and Walla Walla is little better. It barely matters this matter, though, so carry on and sing an oddly melodic song. It could surprise no person, worldly or other, to discover a dance craze through yonder window breaking. Some version of The Twist, perhaps. Keep an eye on the twilight skylight where the night birds erupt from the edge.

For those in need of a more informational approach, the following video might provide clarification:

Time, Distance and Spooky Action

Out onto the quantum scene, such scenes as might exist in a multi-universe of possibilities, we present present presentiment, which is to say that it might get strange, even by the lax standards of the current era of collective human experience. One thing is for sure. The Witch and Lulu disrupted something with the time travel experiment conjoined the Large Hadron thing going boom. But that's a different tale.

Fling Springs

Spring finds us, up twin waters way, tuning our cosmic aeolian radio to frequencies most exotic, even as does metastasize the looniest runaway trainwreck metaphor of all time which seems to have a terrible sense of humor which seems only fitting and also there is this barrel of flying creatures... well, they were in the barrel, but I guess they horned their way out. So goes it in these waters which are a little rushy about now, but that's the snow from the Blues. Also, it never hurts to be reminded of the repercussions of sister twisting, particularly in the case of one's twin, doppelganger, past or future iterations of oneself, or whatever other disturbing permutations on that theme one might stumble upon in the practice of over-imagining. One could stop over-imagining, but what is trapped seeks release and becomes ever more wack in the process, so it's probably best to let things take their due course. Now, off to the tumbleweed races.

Not Un-Amenable to Bling -- Cookie Carnivale

Self-Creeped, Inspookarated, Bestranged

Such is the Mise-en-scène †, grandly undefined to much confusion, but that's to be expected in this tricky waters way of blustery, glittering noir. The Witch Doctor, long in attendance, is having a fine time with the conjured ball of confusion, which we are heretofore calling "hilarity," brings tidings of great greatness. Don't worry. It will all be fine. It will be all kinds of lit because. I know you are, but what am I/rubber-glue, etc. Watch the pretend-logic rubics cube of absurdity, because it's a geometric chameleon, Lulu. That's what the phone call is about.