differential overforest

Oh, yeah. I'm not sure how long transpired between the arrival and the departure: I wasn't paying attention. I was distracted. I managed to find? Not sure. Little fragmentary syllables here and there. Barely around: barely prepared. It felt like vapor, a thin plume of awareness coiled around my attention and just kind of sprawled around my subconsciousness for a while. My glasses broke; I had, I think, been overly cautious, but I'm not sure at the moment: it was like great disc, a sort of warble, a copper kettle in the city, large, maybe twenty meters in diameter. I tell you: I saw something: lots of gin blossomed bishopry? I wasn't really paying attention to the visual ornateness of it all so much as the feel, which seemed to be slotted in at an impossible angle, and then I fell, or flew: and I hit the angle that the mysterious copper kettle building and the gin blossomers and the girl in the hotel room and the guy with the suitcase all sort of lined up so that the angle wasn't impossible and then things got so odd that my consciousness just said "look, I'm going out now, I'll see you at intermission, mmkay?", and well...

Much later, when I could start applying logic and perhaps try to assign meanings to the experience, I guess I didn't realize exactly how far my perspective had been wrenched up. It's difficult to keep to earthly things when your line to the ethereal is dependable. Like pizza and chocolate milk and tea and whatnot. Sometimes I look for pieces of bismuth in a sea of lego. I've seen glints here and there on occasion. But mostly I get back to the pizza and the tea and the ascii bombykol and just meander back down to the Pund and the Sahallangke and whatnot, and it's not very filling. And then I hear something that hits and reminds me and I go on one of these tangents. I probably should be bearing to sleep.