Starfish explosions across the retina; a confusion of sounds, both unreal and real; blurred inputs and solid outputs meshed together.
Today’s lesson would be on the topography of internal spaces. You see, young Sambal was not in the same physical location as himself. Why, that would have been too easy. He needed more time to do.
A blur of speed amongst a taste of copper; axiomatic automata spin an orthogonal geometry on to the plane of a wing. Now was not the time to start bleeding. Now was not the time to start bleeding.
Starfish chocolates decorate a beach of biscuit crumb and sugar sea glass. The beaches, in their little containers surround two cakes: one a mermaid, and one a Narwhal.
It was sickening to watch him slobber his way through a huge mound of glazed and sticky ribs, while trying to focus on the bowl of ramen in front of you.
I need to stop focussing on what my mind tells me people are like, and actually find out. Or at least stop commenting on them as if it were fact.
National character cannot simply be a function of climatic conditions, but the two are linked. What would the Canadian character be without all that ice to muck about on?