Collidoscope

[Zovistograt]

note: this story of sorts is partly done in the style of the book Finnegans Wake by James Joyce which uses a complex pseudolanguage made of multi-level puns and portmanteaus to both screw with normal sentence structure and add layers of meaning to the sentences.  Most of it is open to interpretation.  It will be posted in an ongoing series fashion.

~~~~~~~~

Silence.

The solid bulk of the vapor cloud occludes the single razorblade of grass.  Displaced day creates waves in the sea of melted needles and collides with the nearby star.  The walls are dim, and dimly lit; the scarves are hung between pillars of torque and rakes of truth.  Fortresses sprawl forth, squeamish to the last, and mend the chambers of which they originated.  Disguises give way to masks, and masks to faces, and faces to blank abysses.  The lamppost hangs low, gleaming in the farce of the soonlight, the laterlight, the nearlight, the farlight.  Sequences of droplets of acid pipes drain through the lucid windows and into the tear ducts of the ones underground.  The sky is a waterfall, cascading, plummeting down forever amid crying facades of triple-faced mosaics.

A Noise.

Suddenly, the vapor cloud dissipates.  The grass starts to unravel, pouring into the sea of melted needles and pushing against the dim walls.  The pillars of torque fall and the rakes of truth ascend to the cascading sky, which starts to crumble in prisms down to the disguised abysses and break the glass within.  The lamppost unscrews from its concrete base and creates a wind to be reckoned with.  And this all happened in the soonnight, laternight, nearnight, farnight.  This all happened because of the noise.

Part II.

A grasp, the metallic foot transforms into pressure.  Score the carpet and drag the tooth.  Shake!   Rake!  Lake!  Wake!  SPAKE!  Spoke.  Spoken.  Well spoken, my good fryend.  Your spacial features are knowted.  Destaruction!  Star construction!  Glaadly, I persume.  Perscribe, per hour, per here, per now, per ever.  Persevere.  Perseverance.  Severe perseverance is per our, per never.  See the throds unreveling.  Hear the noize unsettling.  Feel the toar unfusing.  Smell the occloud undissipating!  Taste the hart unpalpitating!  Think what for the unfencing.  Think what for the unsensing.

Thlook through thorough thollidoscopes!  Shee shure shaking shafts, she shollides!  Chase chocholate characters, charring chollisions!  Phorsee phe pharaohs' photon phollider.  Thlook shure chocholate pholliders!  Shee pharaohs through shafts!  Chase photons thoroughly shaking!  PHORSEE THOLLIDOSCOPES SHOLLIDING CHOLLISION PHOLLIDERS.  Please take note of this and move on your confusmerized way.

Grantsaid, your false importions are bropaply (droqaqly) hastail two fis wail off literalture, but punlease use your parsirverity.  Punlease.  I bog off you.

Decatons up on decatons of presumptuoussure, now, the metalick foat debuckless.  See the throds unfencing.  Hear the noize unpalpitating.  Feel the toar undissipating.  Smell the occloud unsettling!  Taste the hart unreveling! Think what for the unsensing.  And mind your way in, soon better in than else out.  Swatch ought fur dangenerous thins.  Bewary.


~~~~~~~~

next update in a few days.

[jnfs2014]

Awshome. Extremely Aweshome.

[Zovistograt]

note: I decided to make the updates shorter so I can do more of them.  Expect them more often.

~~~~~~~~

Part III.

Flackering lightly, the cushun raises abowve the seat of the Quing.  The Quing requellects that his chairiot must be portacted at awl times.  The Quing brings to his spayce the grain brain rain Cain of his mustaird straingth.

"Searver," says the Quing, "Clasp the mage's spackled drank, dær sir."

"Kien," the searver amptly replained, "graph your slackery through the facet of disorder and derive your falts."

"Yore wordlery clærly disturbacts form the mien point, dew yew newt agrew?"

"I agrew disheartedly.  Flake off, cruzed torrent.  Far, well."  With that, the searver excits the roam.

The Quing shoaked his rage through muffling rags and goaned his way out too streight.  Shackily, he mumbled his way to the searver's houme.  When he arreft, he forgat whether or not he was there in the fresht palace.  Why?  Y?  Q.  S.  U, UU.  O C, T Q A.

The Quing Abidificates.

Forever, furier foam froths forth from forests forgotten...

~~~~~~~~

next update in a few less days, a continuation of Part III.