"here's to Green!" screamed the Goblin King, bullets chortling in his whirligig pistols.
black yawns the chasm! or as i keep writing in at least eight different notebooks: astral lets you get higher, spectral lets you get deeper. well, i keep writing ★stral, because unorthodox typography gets me hot under the collar. of course, both are bounded by the Labyrinth, but then, everything is. some define ginnungagap as the void-bubble between the ★stral & the blood-hungry spectral, & there is some truth to it. stars dwell in patches of five-pointed flowers; some say pravisant is not a god, not an eidolon, but a star come down to wed the gloomiest anamika. oh the stories on the blue band! of course, there are automata who wander the land with studded cylinders, the guts of music boxes, each chime part of a saga only the clock-work men can hear. they say, too, that hansel was the name of the first clock-work boy to join the trismegistus, & to dance in the darkest courts of faerieland. there may be some truth to it.