Toronto Breakfast Vestments

Sent back in time to provide a preview of the adventures yet to come, I began assuming that this would be part of what was going to happen.

There, before us, stood Michael Hitler, also known as Double-Hitler, and in some drought-ridden worlds where vowels are fruit, dbl=htlr. (on those worlds, typically, hyphens undergo mitosis while being typed, causing them to appear like equals signs). He threw his head back and laughed, in a haw haw haw style, not unlike that of his namesake, Mister Hitler, of the 1930s and 40s. Hesitating no longer, we both creaked our bland whips at him, but could make no mark on his pallid Austrian face. It seemed he was a mere projection, with no substance, like an Ayn Rand novel, or a surfer.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!

What was that sound?
to be continued…

It was at this time, not knowing it myself but nonetheless extant, that beknownst only to itself, a shimmering helix of glittering light arced across the night sky over, what i was later to learn, was called Toronto. It had come, not unlike we, by an accident. And also, not unlike we, had escaped the clutches of a future ruler of the planet, a vast hawk man of the age of the hawkmen. It is always in such strange and small coincidences that events tend to deploy magnification distortions, tending to create the illusion that the mere facts shared by two things, across the vast and infinite channels of space and time, are somehow not only UNLIKELY, but SIGNIFICANT. Suffice it to say, it is both inevitable and insignificant that, at 5:35 PM EST, Sept 20, 2009, in Toronto Ontario, two time travellers, having recently escaped the clutches of a hawk man, glistened into existence over the dominion towers, and careened a trajectory towards old city hall, colliding with the clock tower and bringing the great face of the old timepiece to the earth, while its hands marked the time of its death. 5:35 PM, EST.

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

to be continued…

I made this with Deb Robinson!

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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.”

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