I need sleep
This is... all so fluffy. Like bats, all on a row. A wall. Are walls rows? But don't you think grease tastes good like that?
Just tired. So, so tired.
No, no, no. That's all wrong! I didn't mean anything. Even when I told the honest man I loved him, all I meant was love. He seemed so beautiful. He seems it still, wafting about on his own wings of dreams... funny how many there are, around here. Like pudding. Flying puddings in the sky, all gleaming so merrily, so, so merrily.
I even love the fellow who enacted the fingering of my spite - he was the hand of justice, so to speak. A hand of... handliness. Hands. So many hands, waving in the breeze, a great field of hands... they are the new grains, serving the new worlds, the new civilisation, the new top creatures. Hands for the world, hands for spite.
Am I this set in my ways? I'm making no sense, not even to myself, and I'm typing at the rate of a slug on steroids, but there are so few words underlined with the squiggly red NO U! that it makes me start to wonder if this is not already a dream, if I have not already fallen entirely asleep, if these words are just more ramblings running through a mind unable to grasp any semblance of external reality. Not that that's any more real than fish, though. He ate the fish. It ate him all up, mister. Ate him all up like guuh, and for some reason I never spell that right. Except this time. I got it right this time, because this time I'm dreaming.
So I'm still climbing. You're still climbing. Meanwhile the world lies all before us, but it does not matter, because it is not the top; only there can we actually look out and truly see. Except we never actually do make the top. The whole point of monumental staircases is that you never get to climb them, at least not to the top, never to the top, because to do so would Ruin Everything.
Have you ever tasted ruined bacon? Not good. Not good at all.
Fingering his nose
There is a dishonest man wandering the streets of Vancouver. He is old. He is cold. He is dreary, and he speaks no lies. Never trust a man who only knows truth; he will try to tell it to you, and it will all be wrong.
Perhaps some day I will get the opportunity to return are realise how small and dark it really was, and how my memory of the giant fishes dangling from the sky has yet again failed me.