after leaving my shell that chokes me and shoves hamburger helper into my lungs, bypassing the flap of skin that prevents all things solid from tantalizing my black bronchial, i exited the construct of time, entering my coiled serta springs which house the encompassing series of fractals with which i discorporate, causing cloudy fragmentation of the perverted sponge encased within my shell’s dome. after a brief masturbation, i studied the mucus as it figure shifted abstract faces and repressed memories of violence and disfigured social imitations. the contemplation led way to a christmas lit chalkboard containing a paragraph of illustrated referential duress. the machine in one of the fractals read the content in the digitized vocal chords of bob ross. as i watched the chalk form a painting, i squinted at the procedural maze to see through to the minotaur, sleeping and fabricating a lubricated mastication of the verbose, only swallowing by instinct. the theta waves dancing above the beasts sleeping heap wove in and out of the absurd. when the conceptual tentacles were stopped from expanding, they would braid and vaporize one of the maze’s walls. subsequent barriers were smoked in a modified thimble, small enough for the youngest of the flock.
when the guided decision of what must come and what must die, combined with the mathematical interpretation of the cumulative and potential of the price regarding physical, emotional, social, monetary, sexual, and familial depreciation that must occur to trigger the destruction of the minotaur’s prison, he woke up. lazy with the lingering inactivity of his grey matter, he felt his first breeze, it whispered in a strange language heiroglyphs of positive reproach. he was now blind, because his parents had constructed a device to keep those curious from getting in, while simultaneously ensuring each other that the curiousity of the unknown would never let their little half man, half insestual ritual breathe fresh air or horrify the world with such an ugly disposition.
when the microwave timer met zero and began screaming the words of darby crash from the spinning plate gyrating the head of charles bronson, i was involuntarily ejected from my flotilla of fragmented self
study, and filled the pile of glued carbon on the floor with life. the elated result of self coitus was met with the insistence of the television to sever ties with those who could snort the significance of expanded fragmentation, and reconnoiter the loss of those who embrace and help with chugging on a binge of mediocrity, watered down and with no ice