This is the other main character from the untitled project, Jonathan Winthrop. After Winthrop’s invention shop, “The Suspension of Invention”, is burned to the ground by mysterious forces, Winthrop sets out to investigate those same unknown forces with one of his patrons, Cecily the Fairyskate. However, Winthrop doesn’t believe in the unknown forces.

The Suspension of Invention

It's called the suspension 
of invention because
there is no such
thing as the
invented!
Yes, I fear
it is a comprehension 
of total misapprehension;
a belief from an invisible
incongruous dimension,
because I ask, 
how can it be made,
if it fails to exist?
Inventions are 
the invented intentions 
of extremely demented
head-ghouls who work
by ghostly-dark.
And head-ghouls are
notoriously uncemented
and mixed-up!
No, no, no, trust me, 
they all are...
That's why they hang in
graveyards 
digging other 
people's thoughts.
Yes, I know what 
I'm talking about!
Flights of fancy 
simply can't exist, 
they never-ever will!
That's ipso facto final!
So what are we 
doing here you ask?
Why we're inventing truth!
You're not even listening...
Now why on Earth did you
just give me a kiss?

Having giving up the life of door-to-door message sales, I’m once again hanging with the Employment Mouse. I.E., rather than planning a triumphant return to the world of work any time soon, my job is now solely focusing on making movies. This is Cecily the Fairyskate, one of the main characters from the ever evolving and yet untitled project I’ve been working on. In addition to being obsessed with bicycle modification and repair, Cecily can’t fly even though she has wings.

The Illusion of Flight

You just
don't know 
what you're
talking about...
Saying I 
can't fly...
Saying I 
might as well 
give up 
dreams of wide 
Big Sky...
Should I 
curl up 
and metaphorically die?
...
Ho-Hum.
...
Well first off, 
Big Sky is a place
(IN YOUR FACE!).
And for 
your information,
it's a 
town down 
in Montana!
And if a sky 
can be place,
Then I'll
elude your illusion
with my spoked
wheels flying
in a bicycle race!

Grumblings are always grumbling,
about this and that.
Go ask a Grumbling to take out the garbage,
he'll retort, 
"What, and waste my time?
I ain't doin' no rubbish like trash!"
Or tell him to trim the hedge, 
and he'll growl very low,
"Leave me alone, Jack, I'm bushed 
and am staying planted right here 
so long as I can't figure out
what whack smack you are barking about."
Try to get a Grumbling to feed the fish,
he'll reply composed and reposed,
"I just can't do it, Trish, 
for I fear the only fish I'm hooked on
come off punch-lines and onto my dinner dish."
Though, the true problem comes
when the Grumblings are more than one.
Whereas 'a' Grumbling can be humbled into mumbles
with 'a' strategically placed TV 
(which he'll watch indefinitely),
if a number of Grumblings start 
stumbling though doors, jumbling out windows 
and falling in a bumble of tumbles 
down the crumbling chimneys narrow,
that grumbling will roar into a rumbling crescendo
that even the mayor can't fix,
because by then he'll be grumbling, too,
with little, if any, clue of how to save
a neighborhood that has gone to 
the Grumbling zoo.

This poem was inspired by Hordak’s MD flavored poem.

Welcome to Pervertimore,
knock on my door naughty minx
and I'll beckon ye' in
to spank your fanny,
feed you Calvert's special crab cakes
and the papaya nectar
of our love lingering on the thorny worm wood -
Ca-ca-ca!  I cry at your caboose,
nooked and sploondid,
from my depraved raven roost
where I sleep nevermore
one eyed in leery lust.

I'll be there with bulls on,
or rather a bull and cow...
and because of that
I'm not quite sure
if I'll ever be there now.

I told my love
I'd be there with bells on,
I rang my love I did,
I asked my love to please just hold on,
swinging limbs under oaken trees,
she'd know when I was comin'
by the brassen' echo
through the night and out the holler
to her ears dear to me
and my love said she'd wait, 
for she loved me deeply,
though I was never too sure
just what her parents 
thought of me.

Crowspun,
has gone 
to fix 
the wheeler,
so he's taken a
spin right over 
to the dealer's
for an inspection
leaving
Scarehat alone
in the swamp
drinking bog-water again
doing the stomp
trying to remember
why he wears a hat
January through December.

When the door burst open,
I didn't even notice it had knocked my teeth,
probably because of the great big fat rush I was in 
to get inside sugar mountain,
and ask the empty calorie:
Why people complained, 
pained at one another,
why I winced back,
was it my mouth?
the advice?
or the ice?
I'd just eaten
s  v  c
 o  e  o
   s  r  l
     o  y  d
freezing the water
on my brain
sitting on
		  E
		   D
	        G
      	     E
			 waiting to GET an
			              o
			              f
			              fL
			              f
			              r
shocking the prospect that the mulled future
was only a jaded bitter old sucker---
When the empty calorie swished
in a swoosh of saccharine pink spit
spat so matter of fact,
"Well I'm outide,
and as you can see,
I'm riddled within by caverns of salt
I've never seen,
but I suppose
if they're mine,
they're yours too,
and somedays your low,
and somedays your sweet,
so just take your pick
when you swing
open the door."

Apollo's amused
Lounges in the dawn
Clever with his lyre of goat horns and turtle
Shines his light down upon, upon the city.
Smile.

Hoplite helm, Aegis, spear and chiton
Zeus's nerdy daughter smiles over at you, down upon you
Shy and confident, joy in her eyes and smile.
She's in love
With you, mortal.
Smiling at you.

The sun is bright
The city spreads out ahead
Clever things for you to think and invent
The day is good.
Can't help smiling.

Athena loves you.