Another adventure in the newest sci-fi dystopia serialisation of a story which will not be seen in a cinema near you.
Vinyl formation. Hot glue gun apotheosis. Interminable joy. A frustration in the eyes of the mad man.
It’s not a good thing when a gun-shot is the most predictable outcome of a meeting, but that’s the way it had always been with Bob and Larry; they just couldn’t express affection any other way.
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.
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.