Pulsating square waves cascade into the mindful cacophony of a sweetly chilled autumn’s night, as the drum machine works its circuits into rhythm and a squelching bass modelling machine creates the sounds of little green men.
They each type tones from one to sixteen, effecting the air with cyberpunk sounds.
She put her head down on the pillow and nodded off to sleep, leaving behind the black and white world for a kaleidoscopic rainbow awash in new colours, and then she found herself running.
Eevee’s ran from her fair share of hard knocks. She settled in at a pub working as a pushover, waiting tables nightly. A boy was her neighbour and inside this dream he was a handsome meanie, who would chase girls across the floating rocks outside their apartment building in Notting Hill.
“C’mon, it’ll be OK,” the meanie said. “Like it’s another Tuesday and I got a kettle on for ya.”
Eevee just kept on running across imagination, never looking sideways, just ahead at the sun’s face, which looked like Shaq chewing a pineapple.
Eevee took her smoke breaks at the sandy beach, where a silly lad in overalls would hawk electronics with a Hawaiian Shirt Bill Murray.
Eevee was alone in a vast space of burping sponges. As she looked around, there was a small cat-o-dile peering at her from above the nightmare foam permeating the Below.
“Someone pinch me, I think I’m done,” she said.
But she’s not anywhere near done, not until she makes it to the drop fall off the hanging cliff.
Dreams tend to go like that, she thought. They never give you room to breathe.
The secret history of the famous Melbournian cat burglar, currently targeted by officials, beginning with her first theft from the stalwart people of Militaires Sans Frontieres to other famous historical acts of burglary depicted in the papers, including the Great White Diamond Horde, which was allegedly where “The Cat” met her lothario sidekick, “Rasputin,” who came up with the idea to steal from the first flying blimp restaurant, where Italy’s darling opera singer Rosetta Vellotti, whose first splash was as a street musician, had stolen her ruby crusted necklace, which was on loan to her from the Arch Duke of Cheshire, who was out hunting near the lake at Westinthrope House, when The Cat and Rasputin snuck in to his family’s longstanding home to take from it the last surviving portrait of the 15th century rosicrucian Asla Gargal Vanlouse – who had killed himself in a fit of heretic rage – and then escaped the House’s expansive grounds under the cover of pale moonlight, flickering shadows at every twist and turn to throw off the dogs and keepers, who themselves complained about how the thieves had stolen the dog’s leashes as well as two chickens, a quarter pint of milk and a young squire’s arm hair, which, of course, had to be a lie, because the chief keeper kept covered his hairy left arm, which seemed to have a bald spot all of a sudden, and which the bald spot had stolen from it some skin particles, mind you… And the ramble didn’t finish for a good while, but by then it was morning.