Greetings all and hope you're doing just fine and dandy. If not, then let me send you some love and positive vibes to help get you back on track. Sometimes we need to park up the train, restock on what we need to get ourselves moving again. Meanwhile, let's send out the love and kudos to Anna, Vanessa, Jo, Shilpa, Dan and Sarah for commenting, liking, loving and sharing my previous and older posts yesterday. Thank you so much.
Today my octordle attempt was pitiful. Clearly I had an addled sleepy mind when putting my answers together this morning. Still, it's a good way to wake up the brain and today I thought I'd write a bit of a nonsensical piece. Here goes
I looked down at my battered journal and read aloud. My story about the elves of Trsyt took me quite a few months to put together and yet interest failed to materialise. I took my stand at the podium and a few stragglers looked at me with a quizzical frown whilst others charged eager for entertainment.
I got into my flow speaking of the day when the amber dragons flew in a great flight to the coast of beasts. I extrapolated upon the lore of Oliverian Manor ale and how halflings would feint at the merest drop of such a fine brew. My audience had dwindled to a bored four year old inflating a bubble gum and her mother who offered a sliver of sympathy for one ignored raconteur. I continued nevertheless with a voice several octaves light of a stentorian authority.
I glanced over to the left and a huge tumult of figures surged towards my direction. At last, an audience of some worth. I ascertained my social media post must have alerted a few frustrated readers and I looked down to the host of books down by my side. I hoped I had enough change and tomes for those eager for Elvan tales.
They did not stop by my stand though. They herded straight past towards the east where the others performers lay. I didn't garner a single look and when I looked up again the lady and the child followed them to the far side. I sighed. No-one, not a single soul stood on the grassy knoll. I cupped my hands over my eyes and looked to the great throng. The crowd swelled to at least a few hundred. My phone buzzed with a new notification.
Upon the top lay the words, happening now at Sandy virtual commons, the amazing singing horse. Other entertainments The bouncing halo, the loaded sharpener and some chap selling books about elves or something like that. They could at least have put my name up. I clicked on the horse and I was transported to the fourth tier. From there I saw a lady on stage with an inane grin growing wider with each passing frame. Then at the last her smile broke the side of her face and this human visage transformed to that of a singing steed.
The crowd lapped it up as the body of a man supported the nags head. The reversed centaur sang Henry the Eighth I am and her views skyrocketed to over twenty thousand inside a minute. By the time she'd finished his first song, over nine hundred thousand had liked and loved the performance. A quick look at mine showed an army of twelve views and two of them had hit dislike.
Still the numbers swelled. I felt a horse hair stare upon my back and I retreated to my virtual booth. I sighed again. Books these days were good for chucking on a fire and not much else. Singing woman horses though, were a thing of now and I think tomorrow I will take a picture of a cow. Maybe there's a role for me as a dancing moo moo clown.
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