The stress of hearing editor Jameson’s incessant barking about scooping media opportunities.
The creepy xenogalactic denouncements of despot Infinata from his hoity-toity throne in the Fifth Dementia.
The silent gaze of faded Fred and Barney pillows lingers while Deaf Kennedy peers from his windowsill perch.
These overlapping transmissions seem to make the youngster chafe.
Competing messages that seem to hammer home the weight of some deadline. ...Not yet knowing that down the street awaits a warm plate of fishsticks and cocktail sauce.
In the big picture: Present and alternate dimensions must be made to account. Pixels need to resolve, map and tone within a perceivable gamut. Vectors need direction, magnitude and destination to render a proper display. Columns of meaning with gutters in between, rising above the fold, reaching the mast; we see the universe as one eventual substrate.
Rasterizing the Master Spill Page would effectively pancake these simultaneous frustums and cull the portals down into one cogent strategic plan of action.
It is so clear now, the second hand ticks like thunder. It has become dark. Mom is fuming as the victuals grow cold. Better get home to supper.
