Post something surreal

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^ You've got skills. Are you a chocolate distribution goddess?

Sellotape all the insects to me. I want to be educational.

My little animals! NOOO!

Used me like an ashtray heart, case of the punks right from the start. John sat there with his mouth open ready to receive the burning butt. Today he was most definitely not a glass of orange juice

Numerous pudgy Nikita Kruschev clones pirouette upon the tombstone of Mary Shelley.

Raindrops dazzle during the Seahorse Races in Death Valley.

Margarine and Vegemite have been outlawed in Estonia.

Club Med is considering adopting Sharia Law.

The new Pope prefers wearing a cowboy hat.

Sylkat

Clouds. Sausages. Deleted minds. String. Sausages on Clouds. String Clouds. Grout. Grot. Sausages with Grout. Grot on Clouds. String Sausages. Deleted minds with Grot.

Statues of Rameses II duel with each other using flagpoles for swords.

The Creatire From The Black Lagoon spawns......the tadpoles are adorable, but they bite.

Sunflowers envy spinache.

Sylkat

Time, I neither have nor need
The pen is mightier than the sword, but both bleed
I went to bed with a head full of graffiti
And woke up vomiting conceptual spaghetti
Passing the days in full-throttle reverse
They only seem to go from worst to worse
My nightmares full of alienation
My dreams feed upon biochemical starvation
Every misperception that made my waking hours so bad
Once uncovered, composed the best day I ever had.

Roses are red, violets are blue.

I am a poet, too.

Pansies are purple, snapdragons are pink.

Cenobites are living under your kitchen sink.

Sylkat

A green and orange bee.

The newborn baby takes a good look at this world, and yells. "Put me back!"

Sylkat

There's a smell of things small, that sit high, that bite your toes, in a shirt, in the air, in the rain, its bonfires and fireplaces and world's unknown but are known in the eating of your beating heart. It's the shiver of repose that ocean depths reside. Solace in the land elephants can't dream. Comfort on the clouds of resonant fingertips. All torn asunder by the dissolution of fancy trams and numbers one less than a baker can count. Scarves rodeo with intrusive nightmares, the platter served the soul to your will. On pebbles purple and gold in the morning, the day, the night on a limb we hang from trees like flamingos. Thinking absolutes instead of melting clocks with our soft toes. Putting on illusions of reality when the surface tension asks only for the spirit of the trees in the wind.

Three Aspie men go into a pub. I say three, it's actually 2, they have to wait for the 3rd Aspie man to show, so they have a couple of light ales and a henweigh, etc. then some woman approaches them and says; "Maybe I can help". and they say "Well it's actually just a 3 Aspie men joke, so It wouldn't really pan out would it?" and she says "Well I am actually a Aspie man, I'm waiting for a transvestite innuendo routine" so they let her/him join in. So ... 3 Aspie men go into a pub, well I say 3, one of them was a transvestite dressed as a man, but on paper; we're alright. So they go into the pub, and they see the original 3rd Aspie man running up to the pub. and they say "Where the hell have you been!?" and he said "I was in a Japanese postal joke, then some guy started milking it and I couldn't get away!", and the 3 Aspie men go "Well sit down and shut up!" and then the guy goes "You're not really going to kick me out are you? 20 years of working together and you throw me out just on a whim? That's it? No Clock?" and the 3 Aspie men say "Yes we are, No clock. Now sit down and SHUT UP" so the 3 Aspie men go up to the bar and the other guy goes "HEARD IT!" so they go "Well of course you've heard it you've been doing it for 20 years" and so the guy pulls out an Uzi and says "Right I'm highjacking this joke, we're going on a surrealist ramble" and they go "YOU IDIOT! by pulling that uzi out you've already taken us on a surrealist ramble, you're trying to highjack us to where we already are, we're now trapped, we're in gibbs paradox. We're in a two dimensional paradox, in which we can no longer justify our own existence!" and as they said that they began to melt, and their words faded into a delicate hanging cadence...

The freshly minted debutantes emerged like uncoiling snakes upon sun baked granite and danced a grim tango over my broken, battered body. But my consciousness was wired for self-preservation. Transcending mortality, I disconnected my mouth from my elbow and my mind from my fist and shouted, “I am in love with the prince of goldfish!"

Like unicorns at the waterfront the chimera retreated and unmasked oneself to the stark oblivion without Dante's guide. A gentle kiss engendered there the silence of the whales and the moon eclipsed the last waltz. Pink and blue the bounty of the darkness offered a moments solace from the repugnant stench of the soupy fog. The purple hair calls out, "impale yourself on my studded chains. Pass through the keyhole in space time and expose yourself to the darkness," a hope of comfort from the glowing tensions containing worlds unknown.

Every blue pebble on the shore will tell you a story about the moon. As the black waves roll under the eye of heaven, fragments of lost affection flow through your mind like the debris of a stir fry down the sink. You look at your watch that has no hands and think about your laundry. Blue pebbles keep filling your bed. You once kissed someone who tasted of seaweed. You once drank a cup of tea with Saint Peter at the shrink's office. You were alive for half an hour 189 years ago. Your snot tastes of Everton toffees. Your mother was a mountain with a casino at her summit. The train arrives and you miss it on purpose. You have better places to go, like oblivion.

And what kind of stories do shells tell?

Depends if the shell in question is a Mollusk, a Bivalve, or the carapace of a crustacean.

All of whom dance together, hand in hand, to celebrate the Venusian Solstice, wearing peplums and tiaras and Bakelite jewelry.

The melodies for the moonlight dance were written by G. k. Chesterton.

Sylkat