Kicking off this shit

As she smeared herself across the sidewalk, thinking about global trade, she injected herself to the core of the earth to see what this supposedly inanimate monolith thought.

It said: i am inanimate, child - not all things large are wise.

Her eyes welled up with the indignance of one whose inherent philosophies were just thrown aside, like a rabid chihuahua to the flock of mescaline-addicted swans.
She said: what of the neverending story?

It said: ah, ah, but fiction is no longer champion among men. the rhyme and rhythm generic has tapped off into tepid areas ruled by density-differentials (but only relative, never absolute) - the postmodernist claim to random chance and the list of chance in catalogue.

posted by Ee-Von @ 12:16 AM, ,