


Lightning ships in a bottle
Splish-splash! The crackle of lightning in a bottle. Shake it up and pop the cork, hold it steady, AIM AND FIRE!

Bringleberry Arise

No doubt

Devoid
Hardly, I say, in my defense.
They are nonsense words, you say. They only seem as if they are true.
Well, we’ll let God be the judge of that, hometicket, I say to those two figurative fellows.

I’d say though
Vocabulary has changed over time. @Roflslice is a real word in the dictionary now. Kids grow up with programmable *brains*. Don’t give me any of this horseshit that this future is not real. It’s crazy! Technology is mindblowing! Today’s modern times blow our science fiction books from the last twenty years into smithereens! It’s like reality fired a great big catapult into our hopes and dreams, ladies and gentlemen.
You can’t help it, I can’t help it, the whole world is stuck like that, forever rocked by the echoes of time. Congratulations, they say. Let us in, they say, it’s cold.
Yeah, go figure. They come looking for bread, they find warmth and a glass of wine, too. That’s called the hospitality, my egos. That is the divine providence. The universe is in entropy, too. Oh, don’t ask me how.

Subjugate the Massless
Regardless of all of this hullabaloo and fritter fry, let’s talk turkey, mates. A fact is a fact and a deal is a deal. Finito. End.
Fire up the Mesopotamian monoliths, bros. Sink deeper and deeper into that lovely sound in the back of your head which only has three words for you.

31 flavor
Death is a theme in Michael’s Ivy. The choices in life and death are a yoke to a man. A cool glass of water in an otherwise parched land, or the signal fires of another shore for the man who once had it all.
There are other themes. It’s not like you are supposed to just sit here with me and let’s have a spooky old time of it. No, no. Let’s go to outer space where death isn’t real. The year is 30,000 AD but everyone’s stopped counting by now. We’re just beings of pure light, dance with us.

take these steps
Your great journey begins here. Not amongst the trash and treasures of modern day life but within some kind of thing around your pinky, a string you tied and can’t remember, a soul that has traveled the cosmos.

The lazers are eating me.
Hi, and welcome to the eightieth iteration of elasticity. HOORAH!