Once awoken to the smell of rosebuds…… no… burning garlic okra… maybe a pungent cream pudding gone wrong… ok, whatever the smell, it was a pungent aroma that only served to dance upon ones senses as if to awaken one to the slapping fish dance performed one ones face.

Often such gibberish is gleaned upon those whom wouldn’t understand the thought of a massive influx of residual context. But then again, why does that astound even the smallest of persons? They are generally small for a reason, and that is not always understood by the many who misunderstand the ways in which height plays a part in everyday existence. In the vast reaches and pockets of society, size is not understood by the very existence of the mammals who inhabit the various habitats and ecosystems surrounding the ancestral sub-regions.

The razorbacked monkey army of the north often patrols those sub-regions, and determines their stature by what fruits and berries they may gather there. For many of the foodstuffs and culinary extractions generally end up as the main course in the realm of nether consciousness. It is in these very regions that it is determined that various concentrations of salves and ointments are produced that induce various sleeping patterns. And it is these sleeping patterns that are translated into much of what we understand today to be not more useful than that which we started with. Which for recollection and the sake of repetition is nothing more than an awful smell, preceded by the mistaken smell of rosebuds…… once awoken….