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Going Ape Shit Press 031
going ape shit press #31 by ilsundal
strange... so... strange...
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story
Yes...this is tale....one of old elven tales where faeries and
toadstools once blossomed! it's alfheim.....dark forest.....filled with
vast wonders golore! mushrooms...and sprankles and spritzles!
Yes...in the oak...the wonderful oak.....wonderful stories of faeries
are passed. and blossom white flowers and elven green glistens! the
sunshine sparks dim...and the shadow creeps out....why won't you sing to
us...you have all blossomed!
The oak...yes....the vast oaks there are....with patches of toadstools
where fairies run naked! the ring of toadstools have many tails just by
themselves.....for striving faerie maidens will dance just dance all
night!
Ah....alfheim....the nice fresh fragrence of greens and lucious waters
which all dance....where fairies call to daytime for there little
meaningless pranks.
The forest...every bit..a work of tainted craftsmen so singing all so
merrily....the dew elves and there sisters all come up to sing
The dew elves...their sisters...al tiny white glistens....the forest
tainted secrets all flowing inside....a kiss of a willowisp...while
dancing in spring...
Sprankle Sprinkle Sprinkle Sprangle....faeries are dancing with tiny
green glistens...the dew drops....how tainted....ah fainted!
Greens and oaks all flowing beside you...nothing to care just let the
oak witches grasp around you...they wheeve their tenticles of luscious
greens.
An art yes a glorious art of faerie folk galore! As the elves and the
bards tell you what they're sure!
As your sitting in Alfheim just waiting for night to grasp you....the
nice little dancers will tell you their lafter!
For it's all just dewdrops and faeries galore until one whisper shouts
to you in nothing but sorrow....will you not come with us we are not
complete without you and your whismicle sprankles..
It's Alfheim....yes alfheim...the forest galore! with sprinkles and
sprangles and tree women dancing....yelling tales of ye old night elves
dream!
Alfheim oh Alfheim....mushroom patches taint suddenly with no flowers
end...
the elves seem quiet with their oak trees around them....they dance with
faery maidens on all shroom dread shores.....the vast colored
emeralds....all singing and dancing
Elves oh ye ALfheim in tight sprankled mists of nothing but color around
them while faery lights glistened overhead...they sleep to such color
and it renders them magical.
Birds sitting in oak trees protecting their elven masters....as the
toadstool moves up into faerienoon-madness!
The color beseach you as it overwhelms you of what these magical forest
have to offer.....for nothing but elven tales....faery tales in it's
green heaven...
No price of gold can ever buy you the pleasant sweat dreariness that the
forest has to offer..
It's Alfheim....it's springtime....see elven lights glow....in webbed
cackled patterns of greens and of browns....dozens of greens and tainted
white silvers of mist flowered ornaments of sweet sprankled barbs..
This is Alfheim....true alfheim...not just some adventurers tale in the
brooks... where mere dear play and squirrels hop to tiny tainted flowers
of elven chimes faery chimes here nothing else matters!
It's ALfheim...it's springtime just faint in green heavens....mere
faeries dance...mere toadstools hop....all fun colored faeries running
too running fro...
It's all but a teardrop away...just picture pure color of greens, yellows
and browns.. but a woo kiss of faery just dancing your way!
Oh here sing we dryads and cenutaurs run dim....all singing and dancing
all running the same....just picture yes picture the fun whisp of
greens..
Yes here not us yet forget our little ones of the green and the
oak...the tiny ol' little fellows wrasping all sprangled..
Oh drearies of green whisps and elven folk here....in Alfheim there are
many yes dear!
Oh tainted deep frolics of dewdrops late spirits...here alfheim oh
alfheim tales oh such can be told!
Late autumn sunsets all rising to heavens....in world go colored spring
tales of greens yellows and browns!
The forest yet beseach you with fun frilling frolics...of vast oak and
toadstool whisping faeries around you....the oak are but twenty stories
of pure love and emotion.
The sun and the scourge of pure greeness around you will go dance with
yellow wili-whips and browness befall you..
And when the green night turns to heaven...you find yourself pure
wrapped in a twigged and leafed bundle.
Oh Alfheim...ye Alfheim the tales of forest night pleasures...the elves,
oh ye dyrads keep springing from springs...oh night twandled folk-lore
and sprakled night magic.
And as all ends in every elven type sleep...the dewkiss the oaklands of
tangled green dreams...frail whispers call out...and the drakness
befolds it's beholder!
Awoken from sleep, as i render reality back to the way it should....i
seem never to forget what I still have on my shoulders...for whenever I
need it, it will be there for me..
Oh Alfheim...sweet Alfheim....may the faeries be told!
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don't ask me... he wasn't himself that night...
