*knit one, purl one ( Read more... )

"Sediment, necrosis, and naivete," she expounds while gently swirling her onyx drink aloft. "Three of many unwanted, often unknown, elements we all have inside of us in varying degrees." Dark legs of the thick liquid trail down the inside of the glass. She studies it intently before suddenly tossing the sweetly rotten smelling brew into her aged ( Read more... )

Nami, a meek teen bibliophile, discovers that her 8 year old friend, Kiri, is actually a bunny-eared, buxom alien pair of scissors sent by a future alternate dimension to stop Nami from killing God ( Read more... )

Paralysis whirled itself into the unborn heart of the universe, locking everyone's doomed gaze into one final loathed spectacle which sluggishly, irrevocably shreds reality.

"It worked!", she screams, "By the Three, it wor-"

...

47 Ronin is to the Chuushingura as Black Swan is to Perfect Blue ( Read more... )

"Digital wainscot parks, covalent Jainist custard, or supernomial thread-count baseboards?", mused the nephilic son of Bastet. Cu Challain's step-daughter was overly fond of absurdist constructs, especially given as gifts during the Entropic Year celebrations, and he was determined to catch her eye. (Or eight of them, at least.)

‪

"Frequency," she says as she removes her spectacles and focuses her 3 eyes on mine, " decodes their grain. Observe." Unlocking the dream housing the ignoble acid, a spring steel hyacinth sings a final chord of painted horizons.

Acquaint innumerable matcha weasels of transmission to ghost writing formulas fomenting Gardenian glass! Bake! Baaaake!

Cascade!, the froling sark skips waves
kit and pack anew,
Wry and tast, her mice as mates
Fear'd captain being a shrew.

Cheer and froak they sate
ev'r manic for what's new,
but heart of hearts at stake,
most bromidic they eschew.

Torch and rapier, rapid gait
Xanadu to Timbuktu
cold hearths sill forever wait,
antecedents, none, for this crew.

Broad, crescent, and alliterative, preceding it's origin, this compressed crocus needle gently ebbs downward foam designs of ophidian graces. Lazily similar to burnt cinnamon and peppered honeydew, those restrained gestures chant inaudibly of weathered felt canes.