First Fiction • Avocation with the Agent of Dream • Genesis

Welcome

We believe that even the raw meat of Words should be thoroughly cooked, assuming, as we do, that its purity is highly capricious and bloodless thought equals wholesome thought. This buffer to the rationale behind an unchecked accumulation of fictions and ciphers, incontestable truths and habits of Gestation will, without question, shortly cease. The first juju fiction will be rendered post haste from the fat of Life in Dream. With Uncomfortable Music, I will do all I can to challenge your dim expectations, quickly shifting settings to delight the eye.
My plan in relation to this attempt at liberation from the quotidian will be executed in perpetuity through an assemblage of elegantly juxtaposed realities with pretentious sheen, displaying the sacrificial masks of exotic characters whilst pussyfooting around a wife in secret for cowardly custards and brokers of maidens tested for perversely, the brave.
And Stylus Alias hereby awakens, sifts lovingly through all the words and cooks them.
Whilst in educated man, these seductions are announced by three quite deeply interrogative, impish and temporary knocks within the mind: as surrogate fixed fantasies in romance. We might be both awed and appalled at such benign comedy. This is what must happen when our neural roots greet The Onion, entwined with august oat and nettle, and a most Authentic clover from the mire of fanciful to-dos. We steer our keenest affections in rudderless boats to destinations that remain undisclosed.
They are silent as in faith-sworn… As ghosted segments are extracted from the lonesome.    Bound    In fated cells: with restless spirits optimized for tired disinterest through lack of potent engines for volition.
They are motionless as stones, witnessing a world dispelled from make believe.
And as for the identity of their devotions, we casually misinterpret what certain select expert panels imply (golden shadows, vanilla temples, spiral mandibles, ooid air) and blithely substitute the moisture of their wills: the onyx light upon the nib of the groove or a fated maturity that is quite refreshing as a pot of Pious Stew, whilst lovingly turning waltzes in the traces left by Postliminary Niceties and Cloudburst Taboos.
A Class mask for a carnival, shadowing the brain of Stylus Alias, a carnival party-mask for a Life, from which every idyllic career and assignation for the versed can be drawn. CRACKED When this brainwork exposes you to Gossips and Snoops as one of those calculating desperados whose compass lies within the blood oven of a dark moon, do you comply? Regardless, a speck that can only be described as black has garnered the hopes of those with aspirations far removed from this stone and ascended, forging communion with an acerbic rising sun against people who prize judgement above all else but never shout down the shadows in the countinghouse or besmirch their definitions. together they generate a kaleidoscope  of sound. The truth behind this world is pay per view via carriages that all can see are cloistered: Continued raw/cooked paradigms at this juncture engender peculiar borborygmic groans, thereby stirring hunger for a lair of spiders to creep up inside.