Question the 12 hour time scheme (pourquoi pas 10?), next, the staple suit dress code, with that suffocating tie coming along. Silver Boots is relaying a message along the (soon to be) widely adopted dreamtime network.
In the far, far, tomorrow, a fatty barrier will divide Utopia's Heaven from Huxley's Hell on Earth. The former residents, hopping from cloud to cloud, don Mongolian deel-like attire representing the many spectrums of profoundly bright Neon colours reflecting the eternal blue sky. Their remaining functions of communication and creation are fulfilled by an array of instruments, including the horses' tails and peacock feathery zithers, their melodies generated with the cooperation of the wisest lévrier, rose-laden steeds, Mendeleev cattle, and all-seeing pomegranate kitties. This endless stream of consciousness orchestration reflects the recently discovered synchronicity of the planets' spinning buoyancy.
On the latter end, those who strayed and fell into the poison of routine, conformity, and unnatural politics, should unfortunately develop shrivelled heads and evolve into vultures, accepting a role in a twisted cycle of Life involving death, one exclusive to Limbo. And WHO knows all this for a fact, if not Soh Marul's Claude glass or Pomegranate?
In fact, the fiend wearing an emerald hat of obedience is truly present, a charming visitor from the far end of the pool, just as 𝑰 was out in the middle of a hunt!
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