Check out Unlikely Stories: Episode IV's interview with the author
—"The Griffins assigned spiritual values to Mount Ainslie, Black Mountain, and Red Hill and originally planned to cover each of these in flowers. That way each hill would be covered with a single, primary colour which represented its spiritual value."
(I arrived in Chelmno on 20th June 2011. The wind rustling through the trees as loud as an ocean breaking on the sand. The sand in question comprised of bone fragments visible beneath my feet—Author's note.) Why does he lie there, shaking?. Oh, don't worry about him. A couple of days in the foetal position under the table will allay the lightning wound wrapped around his head. His epiphany has left him a little touched. He loves it! Let the pulse begin as a system of rules and principles for attaining a desired end. So, what are these rules, these principles, and more important, what's this desired end? There are as many answers as there are roles to play. I have discovered the definitive formula for a poem that must be made by all who read it, least of all its author. For it is the role playing prose poem. I apologize that it is not my best material. But hopefully, patient reader, you will make your own poem, through rigorous intuition and intelligence. Together, let us begin the lie: Death in sleep, don't really die. Death is completely unbelievable. Wake up dead, life's a haunting. Life is an idiosyncrasy. This is easy to play, just find the word. Wondering how The Monster's body parts will go back together or will The Monster be The Patient?. I may know something you don't know, depending on where you want to go. If you wish to play your part in making this poem and have decided to invoke the colours that we cannot see, the theoretical colours, as metaphors, as invoking the spirit of the recently deceased, as invoked from an illustration from Ebenezer Sibly's 'Astrology' 1806 Edition., then I shall meet you at ISABELLA Dr. —Get ready to tell people they can read "whatever they want" into our role playing poem. That it "lives its own life" and can "mean many things."— If you do not wish to play your part, but wish to return to that body farm brothel from which your spirit floated, and from where your remains are pimped out for forensic research, then I shall meet you at LIMESTONE Ave.
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