I will loom over you with promises of gills. I will pass the mic in fashions underexposed to the darkness of modernity. I will return to the senate and breathe a majestic note of fortitude into the effervescent haggle of the din of responsibility. Please remove all items from your feathered lungs. Please, replace all organs with exact replicas indistinguishable from their distant cousins. We will be arriving at arlonong in a matter of yellow limpers. Please do not regard yourself as a first rate citizen of the conglomerate elbows. We will be pushing your levels to a new type of destination. This place will be full of letters that are read to you through miniscule pleasantries. You will decide whether or not to believe in anything, yet you won't believe what you have decided. Your arm will turn into a lever and fling the cosmos into a recession that will outlast your favorite dogs and your favorite lesions.
You are a man of ill respite. You will never again be required to shave your knuckles, at least in the fashion you believe is correct. Please, lie down on the lesson, it is never going to be replaced, it is never going to ding a bell, and it is never going to bless the pharmacy.
This is a message of going nothing. Nothing is going to help you, he has nothing else to do.
9.05.2006
9.01.2006
Zebulon stuck in a bubble
Suddenly, Zebulon found himself frozen in the sky. Not frozen in a sense of temperature, but in a sense that everything around him and even every system in his own body that was supposed to be moving or performing some kind of action, had completely stopped. If it had been visible to anyone observing Zebulon's free-fall, just exactly what he looked like at this time, it is my estimation that they would've had a very good laugh, because the form in which his body (and his face particularly) had frozen was one of sheer insanity. His eyelids were flapping violently in the wind by this point of the free-fall and accompanying their pervasive undulation were his cheeks.
Again I say if it had been something observable, it would have been quite a sight, but we must remember that when things happen in this story, they are never quite how we expect them to be. Zebulon was simultaneously and instantaneously a occupant of 2 distinct realms of existence , and because he believed this was the first time something of that nature had ever happened to him, he was having a very hard time reconciling the events that were taking place. In actuality this sort of thing had been happening to Zebulon for quite some time now, but that is another matter. Rationally speaking, Zebulon was highly disoriented, and it is the cause for this disorientation that I will try to convey to you now.
"Please keep in line with tell tale toes. Please, remove all illigitimate verbs from your lodgings, they will only cause a lick of trouncing nelly-weathers to file your hat in their globulous torrents."
Zebulon tried warily to produce a single yet poignant response. It was difficult to form words, seeing as he didn't believe his mouth to currently exist, so the first thing he had to do was convince himself that he must have a mouth, which later crossed his mind as the single-most interesting thing that taken place that day. He tried to remind himself that he had seen his mouth before in holos or even reflective displays, but it made it difficult that his mouth would have nothing to do with the conversation, until Zebulon threatened never to speak again for the rest of his life. It was a dirty trick, but Zebulon's mouth so loved speaking, it was what it was good at, and it found great pleasure in deceiving others into believing Zebulon was one of the greatest of contemporary minds. The mouth had then agreed to entertain the idea that it did truly exist which was just enough a shred of probability that it sprung into existence and spwewed forth...
"what?"
"Please remove your hat"
"I'm not wearing a hat" thought Zebulon determined not to speak again unless he deemed it completely necessary in order to try and elude the grueling process he had so recently undertaken for so little a return.
"Yes you are." came a reply, entirely inside of his own thoughts. You see while Zebulon "felt" that he still occupied a "place" in the universe, and seemingly therefore existed, he was unable to see himself or anything around him. Not that it was dark, it just wasn't anything. While the thought had crossed his mind, to try and manifest his eyes in the same manner he had gone about speaking, all of his attempts in the last few minutes had failed. He was comforted by the fact that his mind itself seemed to still function and he could even have thoughts along the lines of remebering the body parts he used to have. Although, it was a small consolation.
"Well how am I supposed to remove a hat if I don't even know if I have any hands?" He thought with a manner of indignance that rivaled a 3 year old child.
All his thoughts blurred for a moment into a scrawling soundscape of distorted tones. The tones seemed to be such a great decible to him that had his head existed it would most likely have caused some form of brain damage to his delicate mind. It was a pervasive sound, a relentless sound... It pounded and pulsed, and rented his every thought, until it was the only thing in existence that he knew.
Then things began to turn strange.
Again I say if it had been something observable, it would have been quite a sight, but we must remember that when things happen in this story, they are never quite how we expect them to be. Zebulon was simultaneously and instantaneously a occupant of 2 distinct realms of existence , and because he believed this was the first time something of that nature had ever happened to him, he was having a very hard time reconciling the events that were taking place. In actuality this sort of thing had been happening to Zebulon for quite some time now, but that is another matter. Rationally speaking, Zebulon was highly disoriented, and it is the cause for this disorientation that I will try to convey to you now.
"Please keep in line with tell tale toes. Please, remove all illigitimate verbs from your lodgings, they will only cause a lick of trouncing nelly-weathers to file your hat in their globulous torrents."
Zebulon tried warily to produce a single yet poignant response. It was difficult to form words, seeing as he didn't believe his mouth to currently exist, so the first thing he had to do was convince himself that he must have a mouth, which later crossed his mind as the single-most interesting thing that taken place that day. He tried to remind himself that he had seen his mouth before in holos or even reflective displays, but it made it difficult that his mouth would have nothing to do with the conversation, until Zebulon threatened never to speak again for the rest of his life. It was a dirty trick, but Zebulon's mouth so loved speaking, it was what it was good at, and it found great pleasure in deceiving others into believing Zebulon was one of the greatest of contemporary minds. The mouth had then agreed to entertain the idea that it did truly exist which was just enough a shred of probability that it sprung into existence and spwewed forth...
"what?"
"Please remove your hat"
"I'm not wearing a hat" thought Zebulon determined not to speak again unless he deemed it completely necessary in order to try and elude the grueling process he had so recently undertaken for so little a return.
"Yes you are." came a reply, entirely inside of his own thoughts. You see while Zebulon "felt" that he still occupied a "place" in the universe, and seemingly therefore existed, he was unable to see himself or anything around him. Not that it was dark, it just wasn't anything. While the thought had crossed his mind, to try and manifest his eyes in the same manner he had gone about speaking, all of his attempts in the last few minutes had failed. He was comforted by the fact that his mind itself seemed to still function and he could even have thoughts along the lines of remebering the body parts he used to have. Although, it was a small consolation.
"Well how am I supposed to remove a hat if I don't even know if I have any hands?" He thought with a manner of indignance that rivaled a 3 year old child.
All his thoughts blurred for a moment into a scrawling soundscape of distorted tones. The tones seemed to be such a great decible to him that had his head existed it would most likely have caused some form of brain damage to his delicate mind. It was a pervasive sound, a relentless sound... It pounded and pulsed, and rented his every thought, until it was the only thing in existence that he knew.
Then things began to turn strange.
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