Damsel, the character who unbeknownst to her yet is writing the story, sat in her mother’s library. Sadly she had grown a beard and was awaiting the arrival of half a scientist who was labouring in the twenty-fourth volume from the left, second shelf up – strictly speaking he was less than half of a scientist for he was quite as thin as a page – but was much preoccupied with digesting his breakfast of faded ink on white toast and contemplating the pressed ladybug upon his necktie as evidence of issues one day demanding his more involved attention.
fUrthEr to BE contInued when the MeRRy-go-RouNd tells THE tiMe
FOR MEGHAN WHO IS HERE TOMORROW WHEN TOMORROW IS HERE AND FOR MIKIMBIZII WHO IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD TOMORROW WHEN TOMORROW IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD iMAGINaRY DaYS by Paul Xylinides (who wrote with a guillotine dipped in eviscerated pixies’ pixels and watched heads roll beneath every vowel, consonant and punctuation mark and so is the god both condemned and cherished who cooked up this bolus that can only cure if read, but who has no target audience – all beheaded – and that leaves you – in line for the blade that you must feel cut deeply if you are to participate fully and to the end where you may end, who can tell! – At the very least, keep your head in place and read.) “Remember, my child, imaginary days don’t grow beneath trees – you have to climb up and pluck them?” – the last and first words of Anonymal cruelly drowned in the womb by his twin son with a questioning look on his face PART HER HAIR FIRST After an abject beginning, things rapidly improved; summer blossomed at last and Peach Day was named. (There are other days of different appellation you know, but leave that for now and for later.) It would, as always and ever should be 37 1/2 hours long to the other side of the final second and no more, at which obliterated unit of time it will simply and against all appeals collapse in upon itself like the fruit when devoured from within.The eight hours of night at its centre is the peach stone that all beings have been crawling around in dreamless state while it does the sleeping-necessity for them. This is the law and whosoever refuses to comply is condemned to 48 hours served however they will and without appeal. The sole requirement for worming one’s way into this globular two-sun day is to read on with a magnifying glass and subject oneself to an endless lie also known as a false truth.
to BE contInued when the MeRRy-go-RouNd tells THE tiMe