The 2 planes flew side-by-side through a reddish sky tinged orange.

There was a vortex forming in the middle. Purple with black streaks, against a reddish tinged sky.

The weather satellites monitored a forming hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico… all hands on deck! This is the Captain speaking!

The 2 planes simultaneously tilted to the right in a sky ornamented with pure power.

The vortex sank down on the horizon, its streaks leaving behind charcoal markings on the great beyond.

The weather satellites collided with one another.

Although midnight was at hand in this part of the world, the glaciers that time forgot remained on the march uphill, leading to speculation that perhaps if the frost giants of If came back, they would be benevolent and… warm.

The vortex and the weather satellites that remained hummed with power, chastising the belief that nothing lasts forever.

The 2 planes had landed, their landing wheels extended to the ground, their wings loosely stretched to east and west, everything a farce, everything a control-object.

In the mirror of your surname, 5 truths became abundantly clear:

The only truth he could see, however, was smeared with pig excrement on the tips of his tongue.

Golden nights in Las Vegas open up the possibility of unearned wealth, flashy paparazzi and benign neglect.

There is a sublime key pressed down… a musical instrument that is part keyboard, part demonicium.

Your valley of forgotten hype lasts only as long as the lava is hot. Afterward, cool jets of air blow over the magma, freezing it to a hardened commercial state.

9 times out of 10, the dentist is wrong about his backward life-plan. That 1 time? It’s fluke calling.

The mirror, the mirror, the mirror! Exalt the mirror!

Thin porridge on a metal spoon makes an exhibition of gastronomical fear.

1 plane remained, rotating on a turntable that was 100 meters in diameter, covered with sticky Post-It notes from end to end, millions of them, fluttering in a silken breeze…

The vortex yawned wide open… gargoyle faces appeared… the men’s rights agency OLYMPIA took tax rolls for further study…

And finally:

You can’t park there. It’s a manhole cover to hell.