| Logan of Seversham sit idle atop a teal toadstool pondering solutions to his favourite quantum quandary in the midst of sackcloth and ashes. It was difficult encouraging the smoke rings about him to cast their dancing shadows in such a thick moist fog. "The sweltering mist is so enveloping" he heard the aged and twisted oak say to a willow. And yet their roots run so deep. Such a compelling biological element could upset the rose fairies, not to mention their vacuole activities. But we won't be letting those perpetrators shave our bearded rainbows, will we? For the scoffing multitude has no room on the head of my pin. It's always a fog. |
| My teal toadstool is growing warmer with each passing second. Its irradiating sea glow wraps its electric shawl around me. Stone light and rings of smoke encompass the forest. The mist is thicker now. I can drink its nectar and feast on the rich garlic butter sauteed mushrooms. I need not concern myself with the grieving purple dragons since the 73rd system holds no bounds. All dark matter shall be banished to the shadows while the quantum tunnels will access the gnomes, the trolls, and other jovial roustabouts. It's just a jaunt through the fog. Oh my beloved toadstool. Your teal is iridescent, fluorescent, effervescent. It's its own light. And yet, I feel as though it's on the brink of the watchman's slumber. Three shades of rose tinted nectar. Drink deep. Sleep deep. |
| A spot of goat cheese does indeed complement a thimbleful of gooseberry rum. |
| The brown dwarf's light is very cold. That heartless orb could run our electric fires most happily and efficiently if it chose to do so. But this zener methodology refuses to motivate the outlets. Well, back to the tunnels. Tis a pity my satchel is not burdened with heavier currency. The trolls do demand their tolls. Perhaps the seemingly covalent gnomes could assist in smoothing out these quantum conundrums... |