5th November, 1989
Once upon a time there was a poor skewed parallelogram whose only desire in
life was to un-skew
Unfortunately, the pseudopods had fallen off, leaving our hero Norman in a
tough predicament. Would he sing the Marsellaise in the hope of restoring
equilibrium, or drink mayonnaise in the hope of gaining vision?
A musical score was forming behind her/his/its eyes - perfection in colour
and taste. The smell of it was overpowering, and yet in a certain sense, the
most wonderful sound. He picked up the miraculously healed pseudopods,
straightened his back, and marched to the door triumphantly. Bursting out,
he addressed the assembled crowd, ``Yo! Listen to me one and all! I have
created beauty on this world!''.
The world came to a grinding halt, the teeth decaying, and all manifestations
of the word `Nurgle' becoming lost in the dying strains of ethereal
vibrations coursing through his nose, with the wafts of ethanoic acid.
`Oh wow, what's happening?' he thought as he tripped out. How can this be so?
It means nothing, but everything. It is greatness, and yet it's not musical!
It is skewed in a relatively unknown dimension of the universe, where a
remarkably young Bach rediscovered abstract geometrical structuring of
fugues; it was all in the liverwurst his mother used to buy.