I wrote this thing

I am not entirely sure what strange corner of my mind this came from. Needless to say, when I do find out, I shall promptly strip mine it and destroy the surrounding environment.

A complicated series of interconnected message tubes, stretching for kilometers, is laid out before you. People stand on the outside, some just watching the madness, but most with the end of a tube, furiously scribbling messages and then hastily dumping them down into morass below. Small robots carefully maneuver their way through the jumble of plastic, occasionally disconnecting and reconnecting tubes. Some of these re-connections send messages shooting back up to the people holding the ends, but most of the messages end up dropping into the great pit the whole network is suspended above. A massive mound of these missives is piled here, and yet more people scrabble about upon it, seemingly looking for something important. Every so often, one of these people will pick a message and open it, seemingly at random, though by the way they move they obviously have some obscure metric of their own. Each of these messages are eventually discarded in favour of rummaging around in the pile some more. High above, a neon sign twirls in the darkness, illuminating the landscape below. It is fashioned in the image of a small bird, perched upon a twig, evidently capture in the middle of singing his song to the world at large. His neon caricature of a beak, however, is silent.

One of these days I'm going to figure out exactly what I want to do with this sad excuse for a blog.