The people eat their T.V. sets as the chicken flies west through the rabbit cage.

Eaten but not stirred please.

The cattle stalk their victims prey as the innocents wonder about their day.

‘What’, is the word that remains drunk in your stomach.

A bird that has flown, is to have wings that are wide and feathers that tickle your nose when you sneeze.

A small man rides the clouds of ice cream and whipped apple tarts, soaked in delightful banana syrup.

Speakers pound into the head of despair, while the video is shown no mercy from the hand of control.

Apple juice is sprayed over my toes. Sticky and gooey and holding me to the floor as I look up and see an old man, with a beer belly. He puts on a T-shirt and instantly turns it into an I-shirt, without any consideration for the shirts feeling towards this major character adjustment.

Seats are seated around a stationary table, which would be kind of strange if anything but this was considered normal. Somehow it feels strange anyway as they dance a jig in the breeze of imagination.

My hair gets squashed with a pair of pliers and now they are flat, but I still prefer them to be fizzy.

A spot explodes with a spray of puss onto someones glasses, on someones face, but they are quick to lick it off.

The end has reached its final note as pilchards swim up my nostrils, they say farewell and return once again to the haze of normality.

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