Martha’s crystals, barren like the surface of a surfing surfactant, joined the long legs of prosperity to the enthralled thimble of everlasting castles in the tower of destiny.
Hours passed by the station like a flashlight on a Pullman car, knowing not how to pull off the spontaneous simultaneity because Albert was watching a little too closely, and thinking a little too dearly. Yearly auctions satisfied Martha’s falsely emergent behavior, narrated increasingly as a licensed modification concerning the salient point sticking out a little too far for everyone’s comfort. Kings foretold of Martha’s brother, who would bother to send an innocent accusation into the hearts of traitors everywhere and devise devices that avenged the verdict of thunder and the clemency of gold for blushing mutinies of the spirit.
Duty drove Martha to the station to collect the barren crystals, but the wishful thimble had lost all frame of reference.
Discover more from Faded Houses Green
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Nice line: “Hours passed by the station like a flashlight on a Pullman car,”
Training a train of thought sustainable enough to remember forgotten remembrance of incomplete tasks – I think I have followed this blog for the sheer joy of nonsense and yet, nonsensically enough aspiring, nay perspiring to obtain a hitch on another’s star falls flat as an anorexic model. Am I the dumbest fuck alive or is it the email switch as last resort, sending such desired notification to live among carpet and replacement window sellers, get harder, longer, richer, smarter, married, divorced, popular and in direct contact with illiterates on name your app? Yay or nay today I flip the switch…
Bingo. I recognize that sentiment!
Just like a wave function collapse at the beach involving a stray bikini top and a cheese sandwich, i.m.h.o.
Pimento cheese sandwich at that!
Similar to a comment up this thread I have no superlatives. I already appreciated AI generated artwork you use. Only thing I want to be sure about ( as I could never finish off your inspiration story so far. ) is: is this what you produce after reading James Joyce’s Ullyses? Or is it an extract from that? As far as I could continue with that book that was until barber was not done with scraping off those facial hairs off of someone’s face. I already told you about that without being snobbish.
When I started, I would read a random page and use a few words to make my own story. Now I just dive in and only seldom look up Ulysses when I want to use an unusual word. Everything evolves.