Barbarians vs. Cowboys
The lake of mud quivered slightly as she emerged, slowly and obliquely angled. Her bonnet remained hopeless but fear gripped the throng of onlookers and hippies sat in the back in a haze of goats' hair. The sack remained motionless, humming slightly for the return of England and other outmoded extravagances. Questioning whether it was possible to put both legs in one compartment, Lady Anthracite blinked and fluttered in the fog. "It's all a sham!", she moaned as the mysterious lights slowly moved under her smock. Scarlet flowerpots fell from a tremendous height only to ascend rapidly again mere seconds before crashing. Protective magic might serve to hide those unsightly folds of flesh worn by the Barbarian tribes but around here the cowboys have got it all wrapped up!
The Bearded One!
Feathers and paint were the sole components of his elaborate and ornate vehicle. The wheels were aristocratic planets that creaked in a vaguely tuneful way as they turned the butterfly wings. Older men scuttled across the ocean floor like crabs while the young ones employed inflatable roses to float to the oily surface. Loose or tight, molded infants appeared in the wings, their plastic faces gleaming under shapeless garments or microscopic organisms. Magpies grew more formal and transparent as evening descended. A crippled mathematician disintegrated into a picturesque fog. The mechanisms were inspected carefully and cleaned of any errant hares and toads but witchcraft still seemed the more viable option under the circumstances. Oak or willow poppies clattered noisily in the driveway where earlier civilizations once provided bugs with flotation devices. Queen Elizabeth now appeared from under a rock. "Behold, the Bearded One!", she exclaimed while extraordinary discretion kept her from revealing her magnificently lathered apparition.
- S.Higgins, W.A.Davison, July 19, 2009