Today she sulks. Yesterday she smirked. And last week she dove into hades' great cold depths of ignominium. The variety of variance is veritabley perturbing. Lemons eating flowers. Baibies eating Pluto and Catullus spouting lullabies in the vernacular.What has this world come to? "To what do you wish it to come?" a very fat English caterpillar responds as he idly and very hautily slides off the bulbous form of the fruiting body of the nearest fungus. To what can we draw the attention of our peers? An armored Cinderella dashes into the clearing and shakes her Victorian ruffles about and delicate coronation of oyster seed, inkerer's wheels, her lace garters and subluminous veil and intransent frenzy of carotid artieris as subliminal, intricate and mystifying as the fabric of time and space itself, a lace doily to time's past when upwards right and downwards vertical were perfectly normal experiences of chronology, or rather, chrono-chaoso-colloseoum, when every direction of time was as prodigiuos and predictable as air molecules over an open flame.
Elemental intransient insouciance was her favorite experiment in which to partake on Saturday mornings when all the world was filled with light and GABA-receptor-filled table spoons and radish-leaf dressed dolls in the position of a chalice accompanied by preternaturally-spotted catatonic ladybugs reigning in spring, cords of them lassoing fresh rotten racoon dung, random flowers, and cottonhead tree fibers through rotting window-sills and oxidized metal-flavored screens.
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