This is a new writing project of mine. It starts out as a very stream of consciousness form of writing and slowly gets evolved into something more. It has an interesting, dream-like quality of creativity to it. Further entries will be available in subsequent posts.
Frequently Strange Chronicle:
Trust the music makers when the blackness begins to take hold. They are the ones that know of the dreaming feet walkers. Holy socks line the hallways when the clocks fell off the wall. Wiggling revelations insulate a musty odor from many toe crawlers. Hauling buckets of which one, until Wednesday comes.
Marking the night when the light showed all the weakness. Stacked Rocks driven oversky into under funded craters. Switched up the alligators when the mustard took hold. Dancing into the willing arms of the chair's maker. Studdering teeth detached themselves from the way most of us think about now. Retaining the walls of stationary chunk saucers.
Most tarantulas populate the airwaves when the sauce is tangy. Misinterpreted bird dances made the watchers noisy. The little thing over there hinted at the remaining smells inside the vacuum, sucking the life away from peaches the honcho sold to the weasel. How many sauces did the elevator witness? When will the overflow not buy a land-mine? Spring into vomit sensations quakes the bubble fat daddy. Liquid feeling burns the hairy armpits. Licking sticky lizards all got laryngitis.
-Ed Tajchman
Frequently Strange Chronicle:
Trust the music makers when the blackness begins to take hold. They are the ones that know of the dreaming feet walkers. Holy socks line the hallways when the clocks fell off the wall. Wiggling revelations insulate a musty odor from many toe crawlers. Hauling buckets of which one, until Wednesday comes.
Marking the night when the light showed all the weakness. Stacked Rocks driven oversky into under funded craters. Switched up the alligators when the mustard took hold. Dancing into the willing arms of the chair's maker. Studdering teeth detached themselves from the way most of us think about now. Retaining the walls of stationary chunk saucers.
Most tarantulas populate the airwaves when the sauce is tangy. Misinterpreted bird dances made the watchers noisy. The little thing over there hinted at the remaining smells inside the vacuum, sucking the life away from peaches the honcho sold to the weasel. How many sauces did the elevator witness? When will the overflow not buy a land-mine? Spring into vomit sensations quakes the bubble fat daddy. Liquid feeling burns the hairy armpits. Licking sticky lizards all got laryngitis.
-Ed Tajchman
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