Review Of Maplewood 5

Were you there last night, Jacob?

I was, yes. I was looking for you. That was a crazy one. A wall of strangers kept us separate. A mass heaping blob of sweating meat machines moving. Pistons churning, saws spinning, slicing orbs of quality goop into component slices. Strings tightened. Smiles lightened. Large apostrophes were on everyone’s minds and many eyes on every behind. The police showed up and started dancing as well, and they told the bands to go to hell. "Please turn it down for the sake of the town. If you don't, we'll confiscate your crown."

They left the children to drink their jars, and soon they began to return to their cars. Several of them hurled into a fold of the shroud. Several qualms kept them un-endowed. Inching, there gratis melt heavenly vivaciophones heyday My weather in August. Cringing shadow-dwellers hum glottal tones that play nicely with Heather and Thomas. There in the field bent waves scattered the last melting internal cell of their collective mind. It smelled good also. Meanwhile, the last chicken cooked crisply, and the gatekeepers prepared a munge.

The insatiable goblin picked at gnarled yellow stalagmites in his moist cavern, begging for a piece of the roasted gooseneck. He bit crumbles of cement from the barricade, but it was to no avail. He remained hungry, even despite his 2-ton belly.

Thomas and Heather found two very large twanging lutes and played them with a fervor hitherto unseen in the idea of the dark station of which the ramparts cast stones near the edge of its base, softly and with the touch of an angel.


Children ran outside to catch moon shards in their mouths. Moonshards are known for their delectable qualities. Children many atimes died repeatedly, for they did not protect their eyes. The feast of flesh was truly enormous. And deplorable. Un-ignorable. Many spent their entire life savings on the account of the great Goobagabba, who was to perform that night, only to have his set canceled before its peek.

Stringent father figures set him back 10 years in the future to a location in time in which he wished he'd never lived through once, let alone twice. His mother in law was giving him a heaping of golden slop from the bottom of the barrel. It tasted very close to the idea of a rain song. It made him hear sounds from different centuries while tasting tastes of modern times. A cosmic wine tasting event, except the wine was fish and the fish was alive and on a leash in the lake.


Goobagabba was slung FORTY feet into the air with a launch velocity of 12km/s squared. Considering this scenario, how long will it take him to realize his whole life has been a dream?

Breaking the fourth or fifth wall, our view zoomed out and ancient Chinese mathematics streamed across the screen. We couldn't read it, but it still seethed information. It turns out the world runs on assembly. Context does not matter in the eyes of the great Greco-roman god worship table

It may be all an illusion, we cannot be sure. In either case, it is certain that Goobagabba did not reach the ground in time to rescue his pet fish from the moon shard destructors, who tore it fin from fin and sliced its bones into molecule-thick potato chips. These are being sold in stores across the universe for your child's grotesque and ungodly needs for the hefty cost of negative thirty-five cents.

DJ spinner half-man cried to the moon while Michael Gira composed a ballad related to a tunnel of steel. The vibes began moving in the upwards direction, steeply, steeply, in the direction of wolfmaker.

“Snakeward pilot, grant me a colorful life one of marquees and experience of exhalatation!”

"Grant me color", yelled DJ Spinner, who was black and white at the time. "Let me shine like my contemporaries."

The fractalized rhombus smiled a toothy exquisite grin. "Wish granted. Now, perform the oral stimulation test. Weigh me in 6 kilograms of nightpowder, remove Goobagabba from his eternal nightmare, sleigh down your mountain of undulation."

Feed me.

So began a subsequent epic in which DJ Spinner pursued this series of tasks bestowed upon him by the giver of color. He expected a long journey, which is difficult to comprehend during these recent centuries plagued by non-standardized erratic time-dilation.

Seconds became centuries stacked in layers of decades and deca-decades of patterns aligned more so with visions of seemingly accurate Chinese Math projections from behind the veils of the fourth and fifth walls. Consumption of creamed corn has a positive effect. Thomas and Heather were known as the best gouzumba chefs on this side of the stereo spectrum.

The meal was complete. As I and me companion journalist Viv Mauve hesitantly allowed globular spoonfuls into the depths of our esophaguses, we became in tune with a specific reality again. No longer did we see these multiple worlds all simultaneously. The fractalized god materialized into a 2-dimensional form, in the form of a stick figure drawing in a notebook on the kitchen table. I looked at my hands. They were multi-colored and lively. My brain felt normal again, limited like I like it.

The ridiculously huge lutes were simply ladles of creamed corn. Moonshards assumed the forms of forks and knives, the fish was a large eggplant. I saw your face in the mirror across the room. Fleeting moments capture reflections in your eyes of the goblin and his waxen stalagmite teeth. The waiter presented the check.

I realized it wasn't a waiter, but Goobagabba holding an envelope filled with stamps from different time periods. I told him, "NO, I don't want to go back". I stabbed him in the neck with my butterknife and we ran out without paying our bill. The Ghost of Dr. Gachet removed his cap and threw it to my colleague. "Travel quickly," he said. "You'll need this."

It was Friday by the time that hat landed in my pulsating arms. I didn't know why, but caressing it gave me a profound sense of calm in the face of danger. The danger that was: performance anxiety in the face of 12,000 clowns, when not a single one forgot their pants. Many of them were wearing but one shoe, so it was only natural Goobagabba removed one of his own. He placed it downwards in a yoga pose. Subsequently, the air turned into a thick viscous fluid. Gravity softened its grasp. The air drooped and wavered beneath serene yellow deposits of granular samsonite. His drum kit melted before his eyes, yet he continued the beat. But each drum hit dulled and dulled until he was making no sound. Over yonder, strings came to life and grew great snakeheads chomping at the bit of his loam by the edge of his feet.

It all went dark for us all upon daylight savings time.

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