Lilliputian eggnog

Kelp doesn't cry for help.

When my wrists are tied together I find it extremely difficult to use my elbows to fold laundry. Fortunately my wrists have been tied together perhaps only one or zero times in my life.

I am more than ever less certain about superficial prognostications, veering more towards the arcane which has venerable support. It is through proximity to the lichen of Marvel that subservient knowledge cascades willfully among the amok. I ride peripherally.

It is no less real to indicate that two steps forward delight the masses while three stealthily unnoticed steps back launch a spiraling descent to moribund chaos. It is towards this sleeping giant that I crawl with as much grace as I can muster. To deny it leads to infamy. To embrace it leads to clarity.