As the witching hour struck, I recalled it past time to clean the cobwebs out the old Windtunnel. Being familiar with some horrid tales of complete distaster, I took great pains with all the usual steps of precaution, grounded, etc. Sprayed out the dust demons with the utmost of care. Closed it up tight as a coffin and efforted to put it back to work. The little power light flickered on, little power quickly exhausted any luminosity.
So in a stir, I open it up with as much caution as before, more so in fact, and checked, and double checked to make sure all the connections were still in their correctest of places. All, save the dark clouds that covered the firmament, appeared in a state of normalcy . So I quickly shut the latch closed it up again. The same damned mere flickering of light emanated from the facade. I then, in starckest reversal of my usual countenance (for I am not a madman) start to a slight panic. Then I came wonder if some of those demons of dust might have gathered themselves in such a manner as to foil my previous plans, so another more meticulous dusting out followed. The light came and when as quickly, if not quicker than before. Struck aback by the weakness of my situation and the seeming doom of my plight, I resolved to wait and reclined in a chair and nervously picked through a tome of a favored author of yore. There I sat, ere while I maintained a systematic varying of gaze between the fantastic tome and the catatonic computer that lay upon the floor.
After I good while of reading, my eyes did carefully perceive the slightest of oddities in the placement of the door of the technical sepulcher as it lay on the floor. I opened the tomb quickly, then just as quickly closed it up again. It closed tight, as I swear it had before. I slowly and with the smallest hope pressed the keystone of the facade, praying it would alight.
From inside the tomb, there came a groaning,
a lovely type moaning, as when I bought it from the store.
Now when I venture dustings, I'll confine to Palas' bustings.
And that which lay upon my floor, I shall enter...Nevermore.
So in a stir, I open it up with as much caution as before, more so in fact, and checked, and double checked to make sure all the connections were still in their correctest of places. All, save the dark clouds that covered the firmament, appeared in a state of normalcy . So I quickly shut the latch closed it up again. The same damned mere flickering of light emanated from the facade. I then, in starckest reversal of my usual countenance (for I am not a madman) start to a slight panic. Then I came wonder if some of those demons of dust might have gathered themselves in such a manner as to foil my previous plans, so another more meticulous dusting out followed. The light came and when as quickly, if not quicker than before. Struck aback by the weakness of my situation and the seeming doom of my plight, I resolved to wait and reclined in a chair and nervously picked through a tome of a favored author of yore. There I sat, ere while I maintained a systematic varying of gaze between the fantastic tome and the catatonic computer that lay upon the floor.
After I good while of reading, my eyes did carefully perceive the slightest of oddities in the placement of the door of the technical sepulcher as it lay on the floor. I opened the tomb quickly, then just as quickly closed it up again. It closed tight, as I swear it had before. I slowly and with the smallest hope pressed the keystone of the facade, praying it would alight.
From inside the tomb, there came a groaning,
a lovely type moaning, as when I bought it from the store.
Now when I venture dustings, I'll confine to Palas' bustings.
And that which lay upon my floor, I shall enter...Nevermore.
