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A trip in the TARDIS'The dark side of the arentol nebulae!' He exclaimed, raising a leg and kicking a lever from the console. The TARDIS shook with giddy anticipation as the doctor twirled on the spot, clumsily dancing as though music was guiding his every motion.
'Or perhaps the Cryogenic Ectoplasm of the nighteenth peninsula!' He chuckled, fixing his bowtie in the reflection of a monitor, revealing a flashing-red warning and glowing with a swirling time vortex. The TARDIS lurched to the left, and I fell back onto a barrier, hands gripping the cold metal, goosebumps from the excited shivers he left me. The doctor was such a brilliant man, mad and distant as he exclaimed the names of fantastic new worlds and interesting species.
'Aha! Paul, John, Ringo and that fourth bloke!' He clapped his hands, releasing the TARDIS console a second too soon. The time machine shook him free of the deck and I gasped, watching the doctor's white socks topple over the gang rail on the other side. There was a shudder, and t
Mona Lisa OverdriveChasing through the underground,
The wind blows through your hair,
As nothing but the sound of death,
Parades from everywhere,
The conga's sound, the trumpets scream,
And nothing else will do,
danger squeals with violins,
And soon, the end comes too,
The mood resists and stops the beat,
Creating tension's burn,
But danger is still thick within,
As the orchestra returns,
And then, from nowhere but the sky,
A choir begins to sing,
And danger turns it's rotten head,
And safety comes back in,
Beautiful danger, the choir starts to rise,
The thrill from the Mona Lisa Overdrive!
1420 MHzHe keeps a list wadded in the depths of his front, left pocket: where he holds his keys, and the forgotten/abandoned shell of a lone pistachio. The list is his biography, written in the shape of Argentine Spanish:
Me gustan los tomates en verano.
Yo amo a mi novio.
Nos besamos. (Mi novio chupa mis dedos de los pies.)
Las estrellas cantan sus canciones.
Mi nombre no es Eduardo.
Vivo con Jacobi ahora.
His pants are wadded, now, on summer-warmed hardwood; his shirt is draped over the back of a cane-back chair, the most incongruous of antiques in Jacobi’s tech-nerd lair. Headphones clamp his ears, and fill his head with the lisping whisper of interstellar hydrogen, broadcasting itself at a neat 1420 MHz. Bedroom is the wrong word for a place like this, despite the sorts of furnishings one might expect. There is a bed, a dresser, a bookshelf and two nightstands cramped with magazines, graphic novels. An alarm clock
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More