The sting of winter continues to penetrate Melbourne from the arctic south, restlessly wailing through the night and hiding during the shine of the morning sun. Nothing can vanquish its terror, not even a mazinger, but the days are short and our homes are warm. Our bellies are full and our hearts are strong. Even the shakes can’t get us down. Outside this dream land is the ocean of desires. Over it, many of us will travel for better or worse; yet even the bad days of travel nurture the soul. The drum beat stops, and I am waking from an incessant hangover. Joker and the gang are calling. They are out on a ship in the wastelands of future Tokyo. A future we are trying to prevent by challenging the labyrinth, defeating the roxxonian minotaur, kissing the damsel, lighting the torch. Til all are one.
Sat at the desk, waiting
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No single work did more to question the conventions than what you now read. Welcome to my world. View all posts by Fictional Man