collander dreams, they hoop my own sweet dreams and strain them back from tumbling, mothlike into a caldera, a boiling cauldron of fire. these are the things which make my heart weep. if there’s a key dangling from a tree (a mechanical outspurt to unlock mechanicalico devices, doors, namely) what does it open? It’s been there for three days, and three’s a magic number, so what’s it open? it certainly doesn’t open the tree, trees not made for it, it certainly doesn’t open a volovo station wagon (trust me, no plastic top): what then, what?
to besure, froozazzle: nup.