Toronto Breakfast Vestments

Galgravolt? What the hell is that? What does any of this mean?

to be continued…

My companion, the time travelling impending man and my somewhat benefactor, all a slurn and divermlent in his acaborience, desmerviated his absalobulent morbrianisms, transbundulently aplex me, chestwise. And thus, our brovariance was reduced to the .2% threshold, giving us intercepticon’s quotient.

We nodded to one another, clear on what to do next.

After waiting the handful of heartbeats ¹, I processed my mental faculties toward the dais of my reason at the transcept of the cathedral of my mental mind brain. Thoughtfully i pondered my response. before me stood what I could recognize by aurolon visionscreaming was some kind of soldier. He pointed a metal Lloyd at me. Like the LLoyds of old. And his mantifarianisms were reviving ancient genetic memories in me, and some cellular memoirs. THe memories were of a vague and liquid kinship i amorphously drank with this man, and the memoirs were a lurid tale of a deception and raisins in an area referred to ironically as “not hollywood”. I employed a sequence of de-ironizers to convect the thought into sincerity. It was a place called Hollywood.

We waited a handful of heartbeats¹ before reacting.

With a bright flare of muted taupe we were drawn into the time field generated by my unnamed friend’s suit. He remarked “this is going to take a few minutes. Its not instantaneous like your lute.”

“Why?”

“Too long to explain.”

Another’s fluid voice marked its braille on my torpidscraller’s journal. A strange mind made its invasive way into the safest part of my expression, violating my sense of safetey, and so, my freedom to express myself confidently and without judgement. Maybe everything you read from now on will be biased to avoid revealing too many details about myself, just because he was reading. And writing.

Visionary Leader Brian Orser once’s wrote of a child being like a tunic. He was right. I realizd this now as I dangled from the talon of a fully grown Daniel-Dave-Hawk, the Brian of the Bradhawk family. A confused panic clung serpentine around my cortical bulbs, reeling through the air and unsure of where I was headed. There was no escaping the vast claw. Try as I might, i could not budgie my way out (get it?). Instead, like a turtle without shelves, I gave in and let the beast take me where he would.

I realize now that I have moved too far ahead in the story without giving you, my eventual torpidscraller reader, any crucial details on the array and nature of the plumbing that was encased in these strange and alien walls. THough this was not my familiar home, I did manage to ferret out a great deal of tidbits of useful information about the plumbing.

Writhing in explanatory torments, my cramped dwelling all crowded with loquacious horrors, i endured the meandering, almost wife-like, explanation of what task i was to perform and how that task related to the moon. Ah the moon, white mooney circular moonly moon. When bemooned, the man dreameth. Or so the bards constantly shouted from the bard-drome.

Transfixed were my eyes as I, all agog, impregnated my patience with all of my will. The Ixtx were slow to complete even the most transitory of thoughts, meaning that the majority of their sentiments were vastly outdated by the time they were expressed.