Crusading Defoliant Weaselcourt
Once the
trees had been denuded the forest animals, the squirrel people and the crud
spontaneously exuded from each hexagonal stoma surrounding the surface of his
overwhelmed sensory apparatus, now he feared to take LSD, whereas previously he
had felt that, under controlled conditions, perhaps.
“The key, I
think,” O’omash postulated gravely, gravy linked to residences of his “Is that
you can’t think of a way out because there is nothing you can think of that
would be outside the totality of the experience.”
“Given that
the experience if, for the purposes of the experience, the totality of the
experience,” Mosberg threw in.
“What
happened to the leaves?” Mulberina demanded, steering them back on track with a
mighty wheel of the legs and arms and tubes of the absorbed individuals
feelable just beneath the grass and roots of the backyard between the satellite
and its outbuildings.
“The leaves
fell among the grass and roots, completing the cycle. No, only symbolic of the greater cycle.”
“Wheels
within wheels,” a Bertie Wooster once said more than once.
“Wheels to
steer us, wheels to reference ourselves against relatively speaking.”
I never
want to talk about the squirrel
people again. It’s strange how I can’t
get the salvia experience out of my mind, while at the same time I can’t quite
recall it. Not exactly anyway. I feel like a great truth was revealed to me
through it, but at the cost of a broken neck.
.
