Of Questionable Fate

I was practicing the divinatory art of cephalomancy, in which you boil the heads of donkeys’ in water and predict fate from the emerging bubbles, when inspiration struck me so hard my imagination nearly broke free from my well-placed psychic restraints.

Now, if my imaginative imagination would have gotten free, I have no doubt it would have strangled me in a fit of revenge. This may sound ridiculous, but when any aspect of yourself can suddenly become aware and morph into an anthropomorphic character at anytime, you have to be aware and take the proper psychic precautions. And the best way to do that is to think about not thinking.

However, I have to admit, that taking the advice of a rare occult potentiality who wonders why he is the only character in the story who doesn’t understand what is happening is probably questionable. Well, I’m off to pacify my inspiration by spray painting graffiti on the walls of eternity. See ya all next week.