the garden of whispers

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    • Sylvian
    • October 22nd, 2012

    I was sculpting a new piece for my thesis on Rodan when I thought to do a little yoga.
    Whilst walking to my meditation room I tripped on my Thesaurus and quite accidently turned on the TV.
    There was a commercial on PBS (where the dial is glued, literally) advertising an Ice-skating fund raiser for Kenya that night. I decided to compete, and got dressed.
    On the way there I needed to stop to purchase some bio-diesal for my hybrid. I asked directions, but when I followed them I got lost in a neighborhood that had… well, alot of wonderful challenges ahead of it, thru which it could mature and grow!
    I got a flat right then and there. Out of the rubble and (crack?) smoke appeared four “hippie types”. Now, I ABHORE stereo-types but this is a short comment and time waits for no woman and/or man.
    They nursed my wounds, (some of which were self-inflicted, others came from their efforts to restrain me… its a long story), and fed me pies whilst I cried on their dingy sofa.
    Now, heres the really horrible part for which no one can blame me as I had NOTHING to do with it: They were mushroom pies. “MAGICK” mushroom pies!
    I crawled out the window when they were distracted with the cocooning process and flew all the way home, pausing only on one tree limb in order to explain ‘peak oil’ & skype to an befuddled owl, but I realized that I knew nothing about it. (Skype, that is).
    I tipped the screaming cabbie by handing it my bra and waltzed inside. Home sweet home!
    I materialized right in front of my personal Macintosh and noticed that your “garden of whispers” had finished downloading.
    “Is it any good”? I queried.
    “super”! Hissed the computer.
    I passed out on my own dear Ikea sofa, (still crying), but when I awoke track #3 was playing… oh my.
    It was then that I beheld my own glorious birth on the International Space Station. I saw how, with the help of an storm eating A.I. hell-bent on reaching the Eye of Jupiter, I would put an end to the influx of Cosmic Prostitution, cast down Vain Imaginations, and make a brother of Thunder.
    Thank you for being the conduit for this musical prophecy. Yes, there were OTHER messages, but I can not write them now as the beet juice I am soaking in is working its way into my keyboard.

      • speedguru
      • October 23rd, 2012

      best comment ever

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