I have tentacles

So there will need to be posts too.

Like this one. It is only natural, after all, and all is each moment prepared. I will let the tide take me and hope the moon doesn’t drive me mad; I am already addicted to this thing; a perky voice is shimmering ‘hey, I have tentacles and they change colour at will. Who will watch? Whose will?’.

As we all know, the internet is its own monster now, and I am one of its many Shakespearian monkeys, thanking it profusely for doing away with correction fluid. Ugh: that stuff stinks like liquid failure. It shrouds poor half-words like gunslingers who died of recalling that the oven was on.

So shall I offer you moans, observations, diary entries, or those little cricks that jolt into revelations? Heimlich maneuvers are beyond me at present, and whether or not I have one occur in future I shall probably keep twisting till I find myself committed. Please provide evidence supporting my committment and I will continue to paint the pads each time I bounce off them. Purple would be a good start: let’s bruise these walls till they really start talking.

endlessly