The Scribe Versus the PharageeansIt starts out in a range so low to the sight and barely audible but within bounds of perplexity that it can only be willed upon wishfully. Now the first guy, he says to the scribe,
"He who bringeth forth unto the diaclease whatsoever nothing sayeth, then there be no further to strain a gut to release the truth".
Whereupon the scribe turn and turneth twice to revolve into a bedlam shaking his head as though addled rather seriously, and then he stalked off toward the Pharageeans domicile mumbling in the distance,
"...miserable misfit no good sons of gehoozaleth...show them all, that's what...miserable no good..."
Upon lighting on the land of the source and destination, he then heard a call as from afar though so near as to be nearly indiscernible, and it sounded like water, water in a dry desert column of visible rock, dense to the sight yet fallow to the touch, unconcerned in its own bedeviled right of passage not revealed. And the call was a real intonation from the second guy who saideth something pretty much like,
"You must believe. You must believe so strongly that the will of the land be it mind over matter or whatever you like will overcome. With this faith so strong as to be really, really strong, then that you can and should indeed endeavor to walk on water as you have been shown, avoiding not the hidden stepping stones just out of sight under the surface, so as to befuddle, amuse, dismay and incredulify not only yourself and all those who spake before ye but those also who may have spaken in retrospect and in earnest."
At this point he was so incensed that he set out into the ocean, albeit figurative though with literal intonations, halting frettingly with feet to starboard, mind to the grindstone and with purpose like you never seen before, nosiree bob tail cat. Guilty as sin and with no remorse save for intention of postponed validation, he looked out to the horizontal, the vertical and the z axis till his eyes bugged out like the moon in June. And behold, the faith of the Truth of Sense was with his belief for there he stood upon the top of the water, no tricks, mind you, no hidden stepping stones, no really cold days and the surface frozen over into ice, no pontoon bridges, no really strong updrafts, no tornadoes or water spouts as they may be in such locale, no sky hooks, no cranes, no piano wire, no nylon thread, no sticks, no floating potatoes, no...well to prevent that this mayeth go on and on forever, to summarize it was really on the level. But the nay sayer of truth besought at this point to qualify the assertion of reality by placing it all in perspective and said,
"It's all in your mind, bub."
Upon comprehension of the aforesaid perspective, suspension of disbelief was at once shattered and he plunged down like a sack of rocks into aqueous reality. And as the harshly examined water filled his nostrils to nearly the brim, he again becameth painfully aware of the truth which can be masked yet displayed fiercely by the specter of illusion, standing there on the bottom with clams nibbling at the toes. And he burst back forth asunder out of that there dilemma in a shout of rage to the effect of,
Beyond the short distance of the horizontal, stood there the patiently grazing Pharigeean entourage, unaware of the whereabouts of the Pharageeans themselves, all having a really good laugh over the day's recent events and partaking of the fermented juice of the fruits associated with the local agricultural region. With so much beset to the rear of the passage of time, the hooting and howling at the intensity of banshees went on all night long.