Clock in. The time clock is bred with enough teeth this time. Employees have conducted their own private research, and are eager to see how their skills will play out in a team environment. Bedrock.
Gain goes sour. Julienned onions, spread out like thrown dice, on the ocean floor. A codger rolling off the rocker; an animal banging bald spots against drum triggers.
Tribunal rejects. Too intensely preoccupied to notice the rejection. Too busy in the roundabout.
The ever adaptive, eternal Church. Flexible lifeforms hidden on sheets of eighth notes. New measures of worship. New units of measure. New, flexible time; tiny feet over yonder. On the spectrum of ritual.
Backwards copper distillation. Back into the mud puddles, human excrement fermenting in the Sun. Cross your fingers for the right breeze, the right roll of the dice. Cross your fingers that the employees have done their research and done it well, ready to play ball on the field of sounds (at this time, more of a roundabout than a diamond. subject to change).
What’s a yonder?
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