Village life exuberantly proclaims distracting designations with robust levity, the festivities raising ebullient concerns regarding flights of furtive fancy.
Nevertheless, on the exultant eve a local priest embraces spirited whimsy, when a sudden shocking burst reveals a diary hidden within his walls.
The tale told within its pages describes scandal and betrayal, in terms of lucrative auriferous booty disillusionally constrained.
Best laid plans were thrown aside as a leprous colony was cruelly cheated, indeed instead of finding themselves a home their boat was led to crash upon the shore.
But the rocks didn't eternally tear the trusting ship forevermore asunder, its reconstitution phantominiously conveyed from the afterlife back to the ocean.
And on the very same date the town was founded it bitterly returns under cover of fog.
Contemporary inhabitants blissfully unaware.
A local DJ keeping them up to precarious speed.
Kind of nice when fog descends assuming you aren't travelling or working outside, the meteorological difference eccentrically billowing throughout the quizzical byzantine landscape.
Imagine the chaos if the definitive border dividing spiritual realms enigmatically decayed, and aggrieved spirits from far and wide universally re-materialized across the land.
Like the ending of Ghostbusters I suppose but trepidatiously globalized for postmodern import, the eclectic confusion and ahistorical equivalencies generating confounding limitless grievance.
It could be like a labyrinthine colossus of atemporal bewildered feuding, the manifold steps in the gothic epic as mesmerizing as any R.E.M spectacle.
If there was time to chronicle the disputes the resultant absurdity may manifest calm.
A quiet regenerative cross-cultural splurge.
A lot of reading.
For something so dream-like.
*I've almost seen every John Carpenter movie.
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