Crunchment in darkened well.
Uncontactable, rescheduling, snail-crawling will sapment.
Auto-vehicular assassination attempt by speeding Wanted's Angelina Not-So-Jolly.
Fruit based whingery and then overcomplicatory installation of simplicity.
And then we're talking miniscule adaptment, insufficient to requirements!
And lo - am I coming Friday to summat I'm not that keen on. Go on. Go on. Go on go on go on go on go on, oh feck it, I'll think about it.
And tomorrow's multi-aminal based eventual regatherance for foreign cuisine is on the verge of scupperance! Screw dat - nothing's gonna put a halt to that after months of spicy longing!
Oh well,. relaxage - oh feckarry diddle-doo, everything is on everywhere all at once.
AND my outward image of jollificated frivolity is starting to slip, and the spiral of gloom threatening to break through.
Maintain outward persona of Mr Happy - distractage via foolish aeronauts, cookie queens with dreams of Actressy antics lacking dramatical talent, Blake's smoking fug and Space Monster rapage with Superman before he turned into Stephen Hawking.
Alas, nothing works.
Lose myself in the migration from The Fortress Of Doors into The Vale Of Tears.
Ah, back where I belong...
Leave me here forever, with the She, the landscape, outlandish scions and me hats!
Xym, The madder, fatter, Hatter...
