The best writing in the world, period. There is proof.
Apr. 15, 2003
volume i, issue xii
all is lost
There was a time during the lazy August of when she sang on key who laughed so loud and then went home to make a cup of tea. She was of the hot pink hue and rocked whatever didn't move. She had an itch and expected it to be scratched.
But then a big monster came and scooped up the music and stomped away. People were screaming but her voice was the loudest.
So what to do she who sang on key wondered. She had lost her world. She had lost her map although pretty sure some jerk didn't throw it in the river to leave her stranded with some lunatic in the woods.
Grandmother wouldn't approve.
So she who sang on key sat down and put her hand on her chin and thought real hard while posing for an imaginary camera because she knew she looked just like The Thinker.
My music is gone, she thought and then sighed and then cried and then threw herself on the ground on her stomach and pounded the dirt with her hands. Ouch. It did hurt after about six hours of doing this.
Finally a wise woman came who really was a girl and said to she who sang on key.
wow. you can make things look pretty.
Really said she who sang on key. This is of importance. I can tell because the violins are now building to a climax.
Like a jelly doughnut thrown against a plate of glass leaving lovely purple smear marks all around she who sang on key applauded her wise friend because now she felt so much better. Hope-y.
The world I am in thought she who sang on key needs to be beautified. Even though I lost a world my favorite world I will now work on the one I've got.