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Description
     Hello there. Welcome to the last of the bigfists. Here is where the party ends and the pool begins. Last one to sign the waver is a rotten glutton.
     “Perhaps we should leave them where they are.”
     “No, Virginia, these are rare. Rare means money, and money means everything.”
     “But what about the pencils?”
     “Pencils are for pushers. Let’s go.”
     They screamed against the black sky with whirls of blue and violet blending into explosive, ebullient, dream-like hysteria. Only the deaf one could hear the brilliance and only the blind few could see the madness.

     “Not another green acre of this. Not another one!” he thought. “Damn bastard is ripping me off.”
     “Get on the train, or I’ll make the train get on you.”
     “Alright, alright, I’m onboard, I’m onboard.”
      “Good. Swell,” The sales clerk murmured before slapping the Tendril-Man on the neck. “You never liked to go places, did you?”
     “No, I guess not,” said the Tendril-Man with his lengthy tongue piercing his palette and licking the underside of his singular, salty eye.
The blue, rolling hills spit at them. How dare they traverse these paths? Don’t they know they were only meant to stay where they had been? How dare they?

     Now, the sky is turning red, the black and violet and blue are turning into something new. Nobody could translate this new substance that had formed by the mixing of colors. This substance rained on the city below, bringing heart-tremors and mooing dignitaries. Perhaps this change was bad. Perhaps it was good. Perhaps there was no change; after all, this is the life we’re talking about. And so the citizens slept- aliens in their own country.
     There is no place that is within the world where you can experience all that is not already experienced. This proclamation became law. This law became fact. This fact became a lie, and this lie became goodbye.

Description
     Hello there. Welcome to the last of the bigfists. Here is where the party ends and the pool begins. Last one to sign the waver is a rotten glutton.
     “Perhaps we should leave them where they are.”
     “No, Virginia, these are rare. Rare means money, and money means everything.”
     “But what about the pencils?”
     “Pencils are for pushers. Let’s go.”
     They screamed against the black sky with whirls of blue and violet blending into explosive, ebullient, dream-like hysteria. Only the deaf one could hear the brilliance and only the blind few could see the madness.

     “Not another green acre of this. Not another one!” he thought. “Damn bastard is ripping me off.”
     “Get on the train, or I’ll make the train get on you.”
     “Alright, alright, I’m onboard, I’m onboard.”
      “Good. Swell,” The sales clerk murmured before slapping the Tendril-Man on the neck. “You never liked to go places, did you?”
     “No, I guess not,” said the Tendril-Man with his lengthy tongue piercing his palette and licking the underside of his singular, salty eye.
The blue, rolling hills spit at them. How dare they traverse these paths? Don’t they know they were only meant to stay where they had been? How dare they?

     Now, the sky is turning red, the black and violet and blue are turning into something new. Nobody could translate this new substance that had formed by the mixing of colors. This substance rained on the city below, bringing heart-tremors and mooing dignitaries. Perhaps this change was bad. Perhaps it was good. Perhaps there was no change; after all, this is the life we’re talking about. And so the citizens slept- aliens in their own country.
     There is no place that is within the world where you can experience all that is not already experienced. This proclamation became law. This law became fact. This fact became a lie, and this lie became goodbye.