Fast, Slow, Slippery, Strange

"The distinction between self and the infinite becomes meaningless when one becomes the Medusa Recordex." This sounds like a bold marketing claim. It's flashed on every slick surface of the slippingly glimpsed and the media face slam alike. This is a metaphor and it's not. Failing to see that is a failing at orienteering, which is potentially a very bad thing in the wilderness. 

This is going to be a question of memory, which is why the sensory dis and orientation, as material orienteering should be more of a subject if one is thinking of time travel nonsense. Ask yourself if this is already resonating with you. Think about things that arrive before you could possibly have understood the message, which you only later realize was the thing you've been trying to tell yourself, for instance. Begin to sense the dimensions of time itself. Build your own memory storehouse, to get in on the Medusa Recordex. 

The building at the corner of Rose re-orients itself to the material realm in iterations. Fractional variations, ectoplasmically and seismically and comically, seem to indicate a rearrangement is in order. Adjustment-- balance and fluidity in dynamically tensioned equilibrium -- currents. That's clarity. 

This is the message from headquarters. Interpretation is ever the challenge in these communications, after decipherment, of course. One must respond, so one must first discover the actual intent of the message. How does one do this? By means of the Medusa Recordex, of course. There's the marketing campaign around the release of a sensory enhancement implant module. The key lies in the shadow cast by that glaring exhortation. Nobody at Walla Walla Wickidity Works has any idea what this means. Or other explanations. As far as we know. Developing...

This message arrives with the discovery of a forgotten manuscript which is now circulating the workshops for some clue as to how it got so far back in time as it did. The story is, therefore, confusing and a little out of focus, but the import must be divined. It is not yet understood if this is a discrete event. Of course nothing like this is a discreet event, but it's hard to resist a pun.

Who'd Have?

The basic methods of time travel look to be an emerging topic, from myth to electronic rhizome. As usual the metaphor of mixed patterns serves and it enables yet another fashion report from yesterday that is suddenly au currant. Also, clearly, there is a shameless attempt at invoking some kind of move busting. Probably working. Time and the record.

Published that Book: Forgot the Title. It's in that image, Maybe, but We seem to recall publishing it a few weeks ago.

It's been a while ago, but we just remembered that maybe the book is available. This is pretty much a technicality, since anyone actually reading it might be a bad idea for reasons beyond puceness. It is, nevertheless, out there. It might now have a slightly different title. It's not that hard to find, though, even so. It involves some time travel and it seems pretty silly, but, you know, that's how we roll. It's not super-recommended for reading. It's really gotten out of hand. It's probably a study in method. Walla Walla Wickidity Works disavows foolhardy behavior born of reading a book one has been told to not read. The point of this was to just announce the publication, but what does one say? It's starting to sound we doth too much protest, and that's not the intent. Dancing is really good for you. Remember that.

Anyway, the title is definitely different-ish. Anyone could figure it out if motivated. Walla Walla Wickidity Works has no prior PR experience. More importantly, check out this crazy video:

Like Ice Cream

Walla Walla Wickidity Works herby announces the completion of the Darkside diploma of one of our cohort, to be celebrated in perpetuity when the mood strikes. Since this is a coalition of possible imaginary creatures, which you know exist, or we'd not be discussing the matter, the celebratory logistics may vary. Mysteries are wonderful. Try to remember it's a party. Astronomical events aside, -- L'heure Bleue wafts through this haunt, promising a Radiant Sunrise. Image. Nonsense is an impervious surface behind which one might disguise multitudes. Chrome in California noir, flashing, glinting, confusing reflections in overbright day and overlit night, and laughter. It's dafficult to crack. Thinking about contagions of web, however, is not what this is really about. Rather, it's the trackless shadows of such. This is just some oracular blathering and totally bogus besides. As far as anyone knows. There's the rub.

Not the Slightest Truth Herein, Existing

It's a disco inferno in the many dimensions, and many are caught completely off guard, but not the wise readers of these rhizomed tomes. Time has peculiar messages since the Intergalactic Tacos escapade in which certain Wickidity practitioners exported Mind Control Horchata made with Honeydew and Milk of Paradise to the Milky Way, all multidimensional exports of the New Black Mansion. This is really about feeling some kind of dance craze coming on, recurring, whatever. It's a time for inversions, for recalibrations. Venus direct. There is this woman who makes a whole tiny painting on each of her fingernails. Each different. The remind her of different things. It looks nutty. It's also not uncreepy, since these things are, by way of connection to many rhizomic threads of memory, actual portals. It's ridiculous the lengths people go to. That's the fashion report. What will happen next in the many waters? It depends upon the shadow actions of the shadows of the creatures of Nowhere. That's a subject for contention.

Sands Through the Hourglass

Relevance

It's ever so often noted that the creatures of Nowhere, West Texas, have unusually shadowy tendencies, being, as they are, composed of other matter. This other matter behaves in distinct and often bizarro ways, creating strata of rhizomic and self-reiterating expansion, or it just does unpredictable wack stuff. It is this bare facet of the alter-verse which has recently garnered the attention of the research department of Walla Walla Wickidity Works because of the ultra-humor capacitor experiments with the Medusa Recordex. Think of how weird the jokes get. It's sick. Girls just want to have fun, though. Seriously. So, the word of the day is that one in French that echoed in your head for a couple of years like a bell rung by a meteorite. That's a tricky bit. This is how it starts.  The way shadow creatures have their own reality, someone notices. It takes an ambiguous turn. So the message is its own language. This is a device. The Medusa Recordex.

Marginalia

When one finds oneself acquiescing to the paradigm, there is this. It's abstract. Marginalia is where the answer lies. Somebody should say something about how unusual this is all becoming. I'm writing poetry, in case there is any doubt as to sanity. Let's keep that in mind. The more you examine the fabric, the more it falls apart. This is a fashion metaphor. Let's keep it as frivolous as possible. I mean this in the most peculiar way. This is a sort of combat nobody knows?  Can I hear an Amen?