A Central Connection For All The Fiction

 

 

 

 

 

                  Please Stop And Look Here we are Introducing the End. Don't listen to The Cute Thing With Those Big, Adorable Eyes. It will mislead you without Support. There is no need to hire the Terminal Guy. Don't listen to words Spoken By the Woman Who Works There. (We're Almost There anyway, so don't bother with the Infinite Titan.) It's already over for the Overhaul and Everyone is in the Box. The end we are introducing is probably not the one you're thinking of. It's merely Persistence of Fission. It's over, but there's no judgment in the Gallery System. Please don't run into yourself by Accidentally Getting Off on the Tenth Floor. or you just might find that you are Dangerously Overqualified. And don't be distracted by A Passing Infinity hinted at by the strange murmurings of the Godbaby. I Trust You (Really) You can trust me even though I Will Be a Jerk even in the most Pleasant Prison. I am not a Rising Deity of Humility. I will tell you How I Ended Up Here. Just don't trust The Wrong Parrot. And don't be upset by The Chain in the Theatre of Pain.  And whatever you do, don't wait for Delivery from That Guy There. He might suggest you take A Spin in the SBG-XHEE. You might just find yourself on The Search for a Silent Star.

 

                I am not asking for A Personal Sacrifice. I'm asking that perhaps you learn to start Accepting the Thing and stop Putting Off the End. I'm not offering The Softest Sell of Image. There is no Aplogy For Divine Amnesia. Please understand that My Aprtment Doesn't Allow Dogs Or Cats and Johnny's Vision Doesn't Pay the Rent. So I'm a little upset with this Itchy Reality. Please meet the Word The Would End The World: The Last Word. This just might be another Apocalypse Reboot. Eighty-One lies are being told in a Testimony At A Military Tribunal. Money flows into bank accounts from Employment Unknown and there is so much that's still here with The Albino Man on Mystic Drive.  Do Not Leave. It Is Not Empty!  We are all the advanced shadows of children playing at being and becoming adults in The Landscape of time. We are all on The Threshold of Identity. This is much more than merely A Journey of One Mess.

 

              This is Reality for the Fictitious. We are all shadows are restlessly turning ideas Into Gold throuh the Cycle of the Lathe of the Apex. They play at Rapid Cycling games of brutality which run fast enough to find themselves Tripping From Infinity on The Fragility of the Wind. We may consider Applying to be a God Through TranScend™. Just be careful or you might run into The Word in the Storm and turn into Someone With Nothing. Really it's all a matter of Outsmarting The Shadows.  Negotiations have gone wrong between those on the margins of perception. Echoes of this are felt somewhere outside as a stranger experiences A Crosswalk Fusion in the rain.