Hopkins dream

A bunch of clay figures, the mimics with mouths swirling a going into a big array of cogs. Then with that image, a big plastic cover hides it, following that morphing into a feline face.

“Is this what you wanted?”

Then the image is gone, himself with an argument with a girl over the a box of sweets, and shrieking over a ledge, a ledge twenty feet down filled with oddity. As the frustration of which tub of marshmallow spread apart of the
sweets is worth dividing.

“No! Give it back.”

“I don't, stop tugging me. Ahhhh!”

Then to the moment she falls behind, there is no sight, or did he blank it out given the circumstances. Fear comes down his insulted face, do he does not.

Then another memory, followed by an overloaded plate of cheeses, crackers, and nut spread. “Yeesh, a bit excessive.”

Then a congratulatory voice came, from the culture, from the family, from his grandad. From his eating disorder.

“Good job, that attitude will save the industry. Now come and do us a good duty with what you've inherited. Extra rations for the thinking.”

Then it all jumbled with his eyes drooping upward from his double bed, half naked. He had to write this dream down again, seeing how if it's going to mean anything. He had to see if this was the position he wanted.

they fought

The three camps.

Human (Humanus), Beast (Beastius) and Golem (Mimicus).

The races taxonomised, fought and cooperated. The punitive dark ages wars and the constant strife within the runic circle. They all had a go.

Then there was a silence after the dangerous, yet worthy events of the peace. With the streaming houses meant to help bring stable peace and sanctity within the new, slowly developing urban lifestyles of the growing towns.

The all had a ball, they all rested on their laurels,

The Covenant, The Bricken Coalition, and The Casters.

They made there ways, there made conflicts and they

made their tensions.

All such a matter of mind and the infliction of body with the

desire of dominion and affiliation interlocking into a 

new tapestry.

King of the playground

Broken Eye

Scratchy Origins

What the eyes see cannot be undone

Playground hour, 8 am

School of authority made up

Casual amusement owed, amusement given

Cold nothingness and a darkness uncomprehended

Sigh

What a shame

What a disappointment

What a sadness

What a accident

You consider yourself a god Kyro?

With the oily scent of an engine that holds honour. With the desires to bear the life of all automations, we take for granted.

Such a tradition, that puts us all in awe for a moment, efficiency. Interlocking with the repetitive specification union of all our hopes then making a mean that make civilisation and our laws, into complexity of all our known ideas interacting.

Arrogance or an acknowledgement of our status? You'll be reshaped into something that will into our earth. Wired into, wired into ribofunctional mutant non-attachment.

Not wiring wrong, or right.

Red Numbers Cappy

Such a means to build an empire, the results don't fit the goals.

Is it okay to cheat within a system that does not care that you will justify, in its own terms, horrible?

Blame the rationale, blame the work, blame the game. Friggity scratchies! Can't be bothered, can't be A******. Everybody's doing it efficiency. It's all the hot stream of direct satisfaction that everybody wants.

All the hopes of leathery goodness that's meant to deliver that squeak?

Eh, what a system, eh?

A golem cleaning the lower restrooms. It's truth of what it serves.

That treasure.

Cappys books

"The Cappys way"

"Scratches bustle."

"Did not see that meow!"

Bob Cappy knows the deal when giving the public the adoration he wants, he goes and plays to their desires and wants to the most showcatship degree.

His customers and visitors give their reports. Some negative, some positive.

"Always at the guardrail, then beyond!"

"What a stretchy mindset, he says, treating everything and everyone as a prospect for his scrabbly ventures. You'd best watch your back."

"He's got the ticket, lord Jimmy
."

What remains of his guests and his hustle remains to be seen of the entrepreneur.

This is BBC news, at four.

A Zealotic Fossil

 "You are a annoying artifact of craven desires, interlocking with the rings of a ageing, sexist oafish retreat. The wolf skull rock " Castella continues.

Theo Slumps in his chair as he is made to be another's spectator.

"You don't think, you don't do, you leer." A production burden of cases and crash-outs. Good luck with me covering my a** this time when it comes to your entertainment shtick goes."

"What so wrong with getting public attention? To hold it, the take care of it." Theo Slumps in his chair.

"Shameless, really, too shameless"

You can mew it!

The scene of a auditorium of what the global glob made by the Silvers, the fat cat is on the stage, a living embodiment of allegory. Then he claps, dramatic.

"This infinite opportunity of the golden cat, with a lifestyle of the lines of mews for all the one that can see. In front of all the audience of eager mouse and cats.

You can MEW it!

Mewstler life! Mewing for extra scraps up the daisy chain of the tip of the tops! Burn the way towards a 20 hour perfection of ultimate winning! Don't be a loser, a sad loser of anti-business, be a mewer! A MEWER! Soul crushing grinds become soul-fulfilling grinds! Mewww! Grind-'n love! Grind'n love like a scratcher, grind'n mew it, grind'n mew it.

Mew mew mew into a hole and out again. Blow it out of all the kibbles."

The crowd goes crazy.

Hopkins Contract with C.M

“What a show am I going of pull, if all things are being equal. Will this little rinky-dink warehouse of fancy furni be recognized?”

“Yes, you will be seen as the way it's going to be respected.”

“Good, then urr, could you excuse me while I'll tell my golems that this place will be done up and good, my fair clients are going to be waiting.”

It's a contract to the fair dome of all the business ventures that are placed into once box, the capital of golem tokens and for the tastes of a special audience.

I really, special audience with really special demands.

In his ledger, he knows what is to be done, after the call.

Omnicause

 Every time and being is deserved a chance. A chance to speak out. From every desire of need for justice for problems left unsolved.

Of all things, the angst of not being in line with industrial conspirational within the bricks, shall shine the gems of another wave, of the cogs that shape into human.

Humph, all authority shall be questioned, so it's the best to treat the unquestioned as guilty first, sweeties. The work of all to the most determined shall be treated under suspicious eye, that all cops are C****.

The cursed market.

 Underground within the magic sphere of Glitz hub, There are within the blind spots of the Glitz and the rust.

There's the fame market, the underground market, and then there's the bazaar of trade of other-ways, of specialist clients within other exchanges. With many bizarre tastes.

This is all to serve the omni-commodification. With its bleed into serving the silvers and the rust dwellers of the other-realm to be [REDACTED] these exist for [REDACTED]

The Full Dysmorphic Torture room!

 Conflicts, sometimes the cake can be eaten, especially within the abstract paradoxs within the mind. All to find the dimensions and it's shades.

The paradox of bigorexia and smallorexia coexist, forming a new concept, the pushing and pulling of body issues, of a reason to bring internal hate within.

My characters have them as thus:

Couch Gregor has it as a doorman, George has it as a ghost, Danny as it's dance partner, Theo as the underearth, Kyro as the superman, Asheal as the creeper, Jaime's the sharp pain.

Ah, physicality going down into my writing. When the body will have to be pulled into every bodily direction because of it.

Kyro's Anhedonia

 Hedonism feels pretentious, my sex life has not been the passions to the amount of what had helped me.

I could remove my sex, like that in a instance and it won't get into the way of life. Sex a jumping point of rabble that can only be seen as a cheap exscuse for love, a betrayment that the masquerade entails.

All Bl**** B***** if I do say so myself.

Theo's Conglomerate Praise

Doodles from memory really show the most rudimentary of semiotics of my character.

Fancy ball Party, mid 20s.

"It's important that the silvers, along with its name, promote overall social being while de-escalating misunderstandings of the southern tensions of are guidance."

Everybody attention was aimed at him, internally there was a form most foul that wrestled within a sea of forming horror.

"As it's important to keep my faith within the ley lines, all conduits are guided by one. To my extent, I'm his wisdom and a messenger. For all of us bestow our benevolence."

He blushes and stammers a bit, all the most perceptive are able to see his shake up. He continues, "is this the price to pay?" He thought.

Out of the black tendrils of his brain, a beastly face of corruption emerges, hidden within.

Prosperity Pack

 The entire silver venture that tack on the leylines of the world, travelling with the wishes and dreams of the others.

It all lies within dreams that are made tangible, the Prosperity Pack. With their attempt of hex craft, which attempted to industrialise magic for commercial viability.

Electricity and gunpowder got infused with elemental spells, guns and warfare along with the addition to the space. Gravity conjuration helped keep the rocket afloat, all the way from rust and glitter realms, shall these magics happen.

Quite sensational how this project kept going from the 1920s.

All with another layer of bureaucratic ladders that have been layered, ageing functionality and speeding it up.

Anti-Lore

Reflections on this Anti-Lore of refinement, 10 min read.

The poster of Xwitter clarifies this ain't against backstory, it's a commodified idea of the sake of it, most charitably.

Is the commodified churn into the circle of SEO and unoptimised idea of discovery and virality.

This is all the refinement and cutting room floor process of revision of a thousand stimuli to one with refine idea into a finer point of synthesis. Especially these character thoughts that have been doing.

Is this an idea of the futility of rebellion of I.P of Graphomania of an in cased idea? Not really, all of this is free, and I'll be doing another idea tomorrow, these fixit-doit-changeit ideas are for your intellectual entertainment. These ideas, these 'lore' or backstory is always going to be back, and not the forefront of my ideas to be made into what is to be considered worthwhile.

All the seamless times I'm feeling like a mere hackneyed illustrator making against constraints, assigned by my own boss, which I'm following with this curse of the free internet. Being free to write what may.

All the mind grime fluff that I scrape and put out here into words, right here and now.

This is all yet another revision, to economise our ideas with effort through the paradox of less and more.

Writing shall be part of our art, and art our writing.

There shall be our own attempts to coalesce and condense several meanings into neologised with each span of times.

Have some of the books I've read been unnecessarily extended for making money? Can't think it now.

Dannys the Swamp Slipper words

Danny has been brought to his line of work, to the term in assembling his chairs and bizarre woods for wands and alchemy, to a halt He's too much a workaholic, yet plays with the most leisurely activities.

His commander of his side gig of commando rebels then to act out, him having to obey a troublesome king C***.

So then, with his luck and track record of two broken twigs of affection. A certain amount of nervousness comes over him.

Yet he does not matter, he's the best covert agent there is. He's got the records of the bowler hat.

Tired of being a propagandist

Over the day wishes, thoughts of a reflective subconscious echo within Kyro's mind.

Blumin bells, Proselytising for a group like that, is a tiresome trade.

I'll keep at it, it's going to be at it for all the rocky coalition to the way it's taken, even the ghosts that are

Let them have their ways. How can I handle multiple points of views when I'm the organiser, they are brought to one goal.

Dignity of the worker.

ZZZ

Bowsers Grunt

 These bowsers within The dimension of the heave-core lifting culture. Deep into the bulking cut of the way the strongman routine as grown obsessive with his kind unsure.

This is only twice his bodyweight, what's wrong with him? He could rip a clean Triple and then some with ripping to the bar, pure adrenaline no go. He was thinking about his kid's high school worries.

He's never had a long term relationship with his wife, how is he going to give his advice for his son?

Another sip of his protein shake, another set.

Body designed to Intimidate

 What is my body that can morph and distort against such a will as this, making the jaw-guard a necessity. Asheal won't be able to see me like this. It's rust, brown rotting rust that his hidden.

I don't know what it's supposed to tell others with this frightening face, am I supposed to be jaded by it? I look presentable. 

I look into those distorted eyesockets..




Falling.