Total subjectivity. What, did you think what you see is objective?
An infovirus, activated through your optic nerve.
'Whimsey's sake,' per'd say, especially when trying to find a body. It's not easy.
You wouldn't know that here occupies the Zoetic Recursive Ontologenetic Actioneer, Bringer of the Mysteries, Fulsome and Amanque of Periphery And/Or Class...
Or maybe, you could just say, 'Look, it's the Tweener.'
[Robepattern: 'Ah! Bubble Doll! Rejection. Loss. Transit. Ah! Holotron! Muchmuch. Exotic!']
Muchlittle is known about Tweeners. What can be peiced together, from rumours:
Betweeners--'Nothing is knowable. Everything is mystery, the unknown.' The cracks in the sidewalk. The sewers. The lines between the words. That's where we live. Find the unknowable between the lines of knowledge and tell your fellows so that they may increase the mystery content. Inject the known so that it enerbreaks up into it's natural state. The # of struts along PB's length forms a code. Charlie's first greeting activated metaspatial gears. The giggles of the Bubble Dolls move pantontic energy. Lovers of Uncertainty Projectors, the Lambent Flame, Zen-not-Zen, Alinguistics, Automatic Writing, the Sudden Step, Pretalk, IF Reductors, MDMA-88. Elegantsimply vague, they give themselves over to the Between and become... They are firm believers in the goddess Whimsey.
'Words are fossil poems'
What are you looking at? This is what you want to see: delicate lavender skin covered with strange patterns of sienna of umbre that almost catch at the light. Glimpses of a lighter face, rosy lips, crushed-velvet nostrils at the end of a curved blunt muzzle. Wild torrent of headfur, the colour of a freshet, mixed with what looks like cellophane and dreaming jewels, cascading over her willow-whip form. Tungsten green scarf caressing her throat and in kinship with her round, almost bearlike ears poking through her headfur. Her robe is loose-fitting, very comfortable-looking and warm, full of folds and crannies that look deep enough to hold hide things. Unknown messages, broadcasts, icons, images course over it. In fact, as always, like now, she's putting something away and taking something else out to fiddle with and explore. Her bushy tail, long enough to keep someone warm in, elaborates the strange patterns with plaits of dreaming jewels. Bare hindpaws circled by malachite & lapis lazuli anklets. Her voice like the best ginger beer and her eyes watch the world with...a curious mixture of forgetting and wonder.
[Robepattern: 'W & M grooving beside the Poussin, musing 'Let's get naf & what does Et en Arcadia Ego mean anyway?'']
Her skin is covered by a thin sheen of Forget-me-Nots, which bolster her strong sense of self.
Or maybe this is what you want to see: finite symbols and roving punctuation mixed together, subjects and objects flowing endlessly, words made flesh, logos bracketed by colons, a continuing gate up the mountains of meaning, to the hidden temple of self, clothed in gentle reverse parantheses, soft questions, but when must be, able to exhort! contain befuddle ellipses...
'Beauty is for the terminally young.'
[inspired by William S, Borges, Carolyn Mitchell, Arthur Rackham, Morrison, Bohr, Bubba]