' 'Which way to White Street?' There was me, Malaki, standing by with my watiyan, my spear, tightly gripped, and there was Gericault, Blake and Tintoretto, working quick like little buzz buzz bees to procure us some Fumy Juice for an evening of brain fry. 'Yaru yaru young dreamers,' I hissed, 'we best get us some medicine before the night is olden.' And quick as a wink they were then, that precious violet honey reaching the brim of our yi-yi jar. Tintoretto, the darkest of we four, licked his lips and made out to drink the whole lot right then before we all chimed in with 'No jest Tin-Tin!' For there was still plenty of blackness to enjoy that evening through crystal eyes. We were closest kin back then, never a spite or spat between us, and it was as if this medicine could last us always, though, as you will see, it was not the great karntana's plan, and there was plenty yulamara - plenty sadness to be born...'
(Publication abstract)
