The nassimic tachyon fluctuation pulsated like a luminescent LED torso in the golden glow, filled up to the threshold bit memory spot slots.
The Cosmic Honk
The nassimic tachyon fluctuation pulsated like a luminescent LED torso in the golden glow, filled up to the threshold bit memory spot slots. The Cosmic Honk seemed to put himself under a powerful magic spell. The Cosmic Honk really didn’t find funny at all that the decision-making committee for optional viewing angles demoted him immediately by removing the „S“. Everything was now as it was and no batting would help him now. The proclamation of the blissful promise got halted unconditionally and the expiry date of the patriarch and his dog clan was set to a zero diet.
One thing was clear. Everything was now definitely different than before and it would never again be as it was and that‘s absolute the very best thing, because: from nothingness comes nothing and nothingness doesn’t really work as an excuse for categorical manifestation shortcomings of the traditional blueprint error and therefore all is good. In fact, the cards got newly distributed and the new plan appeared in a different and complete light. There was a knock on the secret door below his controller, just when Soltek started to distribute the good into the goiter and the bad into the pot. The anticipatory Spectral-Holoid showed the silhouette of the ambassador. She had never appeared so early in the year. Had it perhaps something to do with the changed root sensibilities?
The amplitude reversal points of its respiratory undulations were clearly palpable and that made him perceive the polarized energy flow in all its envelope penetration clearer than ever. A maximum of joyous smile conjured up a hot-flowing well-being in his three brains and there they were again, the hawsers of cosmic primordial energy in its purest meta forming. For the first time in his history, to his great joy she bared her bronze golden dream body, wet with a touch of pashmina and invited him for six beers in „Yoni‘s Inn“.
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Soltek had not finished zening the tea, when he heard the clatter in the box for the first time, and he didn’t like what it sounded like.
…it could not happen again, which had to happen and once again the beer became warm, although it clearly violated the cosmic grand-constitution, which clearly forbade the existence of warm beer.
He had to admit that he had lost the factual overview of his cosmic positioning temporarily out of his sight, out of his senses, because of all the definite vortex-thrust pleasures.
The sub bass thrust seemed to come straight from the centre of the galaxy and its purity of light surpassed anything ever measured.
He gave the “Enter” order and the most beautiful of all codes ever written, assimilated in real time the consciousness of the sub-matrix of the solar activity.