Tue 14 Jul 2009
Detour
Posted by anaglyph under Philosophy, Signs
[11] Comments
___________________________________________________________________________
Special big thanks to Bronni for spotting & snapping this excellent signage!
___________________________________________________________________________
you can tell she doesn’t live in the big smoke ;-)
At least the signs are in proper order.
Good Xenu, sums up Melbourne!
What do the cropped signs above and below say them, hmm I’m sure Joey’ll have a guess…
The King
Evryone likes one-stop shoppin these days.
Such deep meaning . .
I prefer my meanings wide …
Gee I thought there’d be a few more postings. Is Atlas on holiday then?
The King
Has your own detour finished yet, Rev?
No sign of the old bugger, I did receive this message from him via my remote viewing pen though:
Tuesday 17th in the year of our Lord 2009. 10am, the water has run out, Whittaker is dead and Penshurst unstable. By day the isle seems as deserted and idyllic as one could possibly imagine, but at night they come… I’m recording this on my Zoom in the daylight hours in the hopes that someone may one day hear it or telepathically intercept it (I know much to mine own shame how much I’ve ridiculed this in the past, Xenu forgive me).
The expedition is in ruins, I sit shivering on the sand in the blazing sun, clutching my small plastic pirate figure – I always thought of it as my good luck charm, but now I know I’m cursed.
Last night I though I saw a ship, through strange ephemeral mists that sprung up soon after sundown. I cannot be sure, but I think the name said the “Peta Lee”. Perhaps it is her unfortunate crew that nightly curse us, spreading mayhem through the camp, and ruination upon us. The thought of the dawn would seem a blessing, but each new day brings a grisly awakening – corpses strewn around, limbs askew and faces a rictus of unadulterated terror.
This morning I actually prayed for the first time in many centuries. I begged Xenu to take these unclean spirits into his holy realm with Tom and cleanse their misbegotten souls.
I fear I may not last this night, Penshurst has taken to polishing his dagger, and the man is apt to appear suddenly behind me, as if judging my reflexes (sadly found wanting). I no longer trust him, and as he and I are the last…
The King
Oh, oh oh,- for 8 years we longed to see the newspaper headline->
BUSH – FIRE – SHED – Burial @ 11…
sigh.
Someone fall off the face of the earth?
So soon?