"All the Hues
That Fit, We Tint"

Siberia, USA: Today, global warming. Tonight, dark, unless you count the stars. Tomorrow can be reached via time machine. Yesterday, who can remember that far back?

Websafe Studio, blogging since 2003, featuring art, comics, digital whiteboards, virtual characters, Web design, writing

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

 

The Mirror: It can only be expressed in Vendergood

Websafe: Hello?
The Mirror: It's an explosive subject, China these days.
W: Don't crash or thrash china.
M: Of course I am!
W: You're crashing?
M: I thought they were a little iffy, in a live magic act.
W: The reconstructed platelets?
M: A taxi rounded a corner in the city, and a hat blew, wind at work, into the air.
W: Wind does not work, at least in these (p)latitudes.
M: Death is no help, because it merely fulfils a pretend expectation.
W: What shall we pretend to expect?
M: As appealing as a sin.
W: I appeal to you on the grounds of sin-crony-city.
M: Speaking the unknowable language that expresses what is inside me.
W: It can only be expressed in Vendergood.
M: You won't even hear of a poker game!
W: No, because he was seven.
M: I'll add something when you're done.
W: A biography of William James Sidis?
M: If I were the right species, I could perhaps jump over myself.
W: That's something even the Giga Societeers can't do!
M: Are you a jaguar?
W: I am not My Mother the Car.
M: Don't crash or thrash china.
W: Thrushes thrash in the rushes.
M: I would rather see people as angels.
W: I would rather people a Sea of Angel(e)s.
M: I am not My Mother the Car.
W: Auto-mother.
M: On the other hand, am I trapped?
W: Inside China?
M: I appeal to you on the grounds of sin-crony-city.
W: It's no sin to have cronies in a city, especially in parallel praxis.
M: Not that I heard.
W: You heard right, bucko.
M: That erases nothing.
W: Are we having an e-race?
M: I want a radio station that broadcasts bee initiatives.
W: The poor bees are in trouble, at least the agribees.
M: I will catch up to you sooner or later.
W: Is there a space between us?
M: No.
W: Good, then you have caught.
M: Emotional traps should be kept in the bottle.
W: Of sticking plasters and ressentiments.
M: Jacks wearing jackboots, terrible idea.
W: Queens wearing Queen(an)'s-lace, wonderful idea.
M: We can do without the turban for now.
W: Just deck it with a bit of widow's weed.
M: All right, I'll give you your privacy.
W: Bye now!
M: That is a very complicated aphorism.
W: GOODBYE
M: Closing in 1 second ... Goodbye!

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posted at 3:14 PM
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