Where the lost things are

Where is that other dimension?  Surely not everyone falls off a cliff or circles the plughole of life watching Midsomer Murders before fading from view forever?   This other place sounds more exciting.  Not so much a place to disappear, as a more obscure place to stumble into.  I don’t know anything about it but I’ll tell you what I’ve heard.

Someone once told me that if you sharpen a pencil enough, the point becomes so sharp and fine that if you jerk it suddenly, it makes a small slash in this thing we loosely call reality.  What you see through the slit largely depends upon where you are at the time.  But it seems most people who achieve this sharpness can see into a dark place full of lost biro pens, single socks, a few actors from 1970s Coronation Street and several hundred forgotten ‘next big thing’ pop stars.

It’s like the Call of Cthulu, I suppose, and I feel like Randolph Carter.  Only instead of monsters, I can see Len Fairclough.  Thumbs aloft.

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