The fact of the matter is that she is a princess. I had been a fool for too long, and slipped deeper and deeper under the waves of a spell, until I finally became a monster. If it can be remedied, it will, because the magic Jesus unicorns are real. To the natural mind, this seems utter tripe, but I would direct one to Chesterton’s essay on fairy tales, or to dreams, or sunsets, or candy melting into a dream about sunsets gradually forming in the mind of a fine young sir or madame as s/he drifts off into the nocturnal meanderings for which science and reason cannot fully account. I mean, science is dandy, don’t get me wrong, but do me a favor and explain where it all comes from and why, and you shall be the one who rings the bell in my estimation.
Gingerbread shish kabobs on a tambourine tourniquet. I am done with despair. Fantasy has failed me. From thenceforth, we shall bathe in milk and honey in the far-gotten reaches of Jerusalem’s most beauteous orchards, resplendent with the the smiles and laughter of the golden children.