A Home For Mr Blubbery Tussle: A Collage Novel Part Two

The Myrtles and the Bluebells saw all this and whispered to their own shadow brethren that all was lost – and yes, all WAS lost that had not been found. That is until the barbarous Battalion of the Field came to sweep with majesty the Man with the Hat of Tomorrow. At this, the Statue and the Stature aligned themselves and assigned their selves to Glory, the theft of which had caused the whole town to nail and wash their teeth.

That wailing said: “We, the voltage, exclaim this ban with current dismay! They’ve been at this thing, and not the possibility of the large pans from Manchester of 1955, and even though we’ve done the exercise it won’t reach the three people who attend to these people. Those who attend in films are never composed of air or that air that is within the air. The direction may be with the tykes that impress you, but you will see no curves!”

And at that the actor, Lasky, shuddered.

Meanwhile Curbus carried the glistening and most hidden Shift to the Tiny Kingdom, pondering again about the sweep’s smile. Oh, that she should disband the home of that most vulgar nemesis. The chasm neared. Stopping for her own vittles at that Grim Place that was called Tuum, she approximated chaos. Then, asunder, continued her search for The Simeopath.

A punitive moth was sometimes seen by the signalmen as a portent for the building that contained what they called The Types. They who pulled in front of the sand in the morning and in the evening danced until they stood, one by one, as a protest to the dreaded AKEGENEVA. The result, as ever, was an animation whose cost was incurred by the stones that covered up both the Prisms and Orbs. The protest to hear their demands resulted in factions to see the results. And with these, the direct inquiry of the beauty employed to keep their brother succinctly. Because, as the actor Lasky privately thought, these inquiries were WORTH MAKING.

Elsewhere. That Which Had Been Found That Can Never Be Lost watched the Pharisee who spoke out towards the black heath. Somewhere a Heron laughed at a Swallow.

The machines resumed their employment. Their handy work with the Runic Devices had gone unrecognised, and the effort - linked to Ses Fonctions Isotionnaire - had been witness to the coverage of the Ore Sound. Mr Blueberry Toussel, a shadow known, overheard the honour of the selves. It began: “To go down, a round line in nature depends on the ones that drive an independent ensemble producing such fine work in these times.” Within each other there was a distinct monument that was amply met, especially the information about the furniture. But, thought the actor Lasky, they cannot do this, even in spite of the ecstatic, rolling chamber.

Cortex the Cat squandered the house of Vorhaus, just as he had squandered the Visage of Unt. He watched the Orbs float over the chasm, abandoning Calliope Heft to its depths. The cat felt first joy and then… aghast! He observed night fall upon the terrace, adorned with the raiments of wisdom of that Eldritch Hall.

Throughout the Black Night the Cowl of This Childish Dawn danced upon the lawn, singing the song of the Terrapin brothers. “The dream of night and the children they love, the end of tomorrow and the wrath thereof” they sang, “the end of the gown ground around town, and the teeth of the maestro above” All this was witnessed by the ducklings who, as ever, greeted the day with a round hallow.

The Dead Stag reached into its leather belt and produced a Theatre Map, and written thereupon was NOW AND AGAIN IT IS BROUGHT FOR THE FINISHING. This was the truth of Ruth Escobar, and her experiences of operations in independent London. But the Dead Stag privately exchanged his longing for his brother for that of the lithe pug like minors that showed him how to cross the thick bodied whiteness of the Gothic Street. This street, hidden in Plymouth as it was, allowed a viscous depth as solid as the earth itself. And then down, down to sections where gardeners were taught of the God of Contractions.