5th November, 1989
Alice the horse woke up from her sleep in the finite continuum bounded by last night's dream. Puzzled. Why had it happened? Vision cloudy and fingers sticky, the experiences were fading rapidly from memory: indistinct blurs. Horror was soon to occur, but only if the blooming of the dandelions could free her of the overwhelming sense of guilt, the debilitating shame that the last posting had brought upon her.
It all came out in her fingers! The tenosinuvitis, the RSI, the dreadful, psychological sound effects; her subconscious hammered down - Guilt, guilt, guilt!! The poetry that followed was dark - a coal pit of psychosis and narcotic drugs. The blood sample that was prepared showed that Alice's level of steroids had raised her level of psychic empathy beyond all previously recorded levels, which pleased her horse no end.
This horse, which has taught her all it knew, had departed to converse with the oracle at Delphi to try and find the truth. Unfortunately, it had taken a well-earned holiday in the south of Ethiopia, where the nose flutes flourished and generally prospered in infidel damnation.
With a mouthful of rotted teeth, and an armful of scabies, he was a wreck. The horse he rode was no better. In fact, it was no better. This contradiction caused the winner of the Melbourne Cup to perform serious alterations to the fundamental nature of reality, giving Byronic twists to the current thought process, which then forked into the respective mare, stallion and filly processes.
And so the stallions and fillies processed, until one day they met their karma and produced great poetry in harmony.