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Welcome to Sparktown, by TheDoctor212

Welcome to Sparktown: SparkLife Night Vale Style

If you've ever even visited the OT for five minutes, you've probably met Doctor. She's started a series of episodes that are spoofs of Night Vale. So far, there are five episodes, and they come every other Saturday. They contain OTing Sparklers as characters (guess who the Grammar Nazi with the spatula is) and have plots that have elements from the OT's events. I've compiled them here (with her permission) for your entertainment, especially if you like Night Vale and visit the OT often. So make sure you have a couple hours to spare, and check in every other Saturday on the OT or here for new episodes. Please leave your reviews in the comments if you liked them!

Disclaimer: This idea came from Welcome to Night Vale. 

Welcome To SparkTown, Episode One. (Pilot). The Open Thread.

As I sit down to write beautiful prose for all the sweet little children out there, they soar across the sky in the heat of the night as their parents have fitful dreams. Welcome to Sparktown.

The Sparktown committee of fandom karp calmly and vaguely reminds us that all fandoms should please report to them to be municipally approved by them. All fandoms, please make sure you are registered and are on the blue list of fandom karp. If you are on the orange list, please report to the committee house so you can undergo a relatively painless process which shall strip down your fandom bit by bit until you are shivering mess of wet tears and bad slash fiction. You will then be able to be re-educated into the vague but politically correct fandom of your choice. If you are a hipster, then,'ve probably been fed to Damion, the Darklers' pet wererabbithogdoglizard. Sorry to Floyd Myers's family, as he was too obscure to continue on living. We loved you Floyd-but you just drank too much of that damn bat winged monkey poop coffee. Sheesh.

Speaking of Fandoms, among other things, we would like to inform you of the new blood cult that has been formed recently by none other than Sparktown's own Benjamin McBurtons. McBurtons says that he preaches "Peace, Love, and all that other good stuff, man," while sipping from a bottle full of bubbling purple liquid. "You know man, we just needa save the whales, man," he said as he took agonizingly long, slow sips from the bottle, "We just needa ride them off into the sunset, man...we just need to fly them on the rainbows, man...flying with sparkly turds..." He then proceeded to mumble something incoherently about flying rainbow whales and sparkly turds. We congratulate you, Ben, on your new refreshing approach on such a touchy subject as blood cultism. May you be followed even the Splurkers...who seem to creep on us all at night while we hallucinate.

And now, a word from a advertising company who we buy dreams from.There is a girl. She is wearing a blue coat. The girl in the blue coat is spinning. She has her arms out and is spinning faster than the speed of a flying heart. She has six arms. Her six arms are all blue, like her coat. She is her coat. Her hair glitters white as she spins and spins, driving the people around her insane from her spinning. She slowly begins to stop, and her arms start to droop, and the people are relieved. But she never stops, and the people start to get angry. Why doesn't she stop? Why can't she stop tormenting them. As she begins to toddle, still spinning, the people grab her arms, screaming ancient curses. " Why won't you stop?!" They shout as her head rolls about and her arms shake. The people are starting to go crazy from anger. They give her once last chance, and when she does not, they begin to push her into the ground. Farther and farther she goes into the snow, until she is banished from the hell she came from and all turns blue.Shhhhhh...Shop at Walmart.

There have been recent sightings of the Splurkers, in fact, as upvotes having been arriving on various Sparkler's doors along with chocolate covered dog livers and ancient silver prose speaking of the time of The-Great-And-Terrible-War-That-No-One-Talks-About. The Sparktown Old Crotchety Mayor, who's name was forgetten in the burden of time, said in a statement that "Splurkers? Splurkers do not exist. Splurkers are foolish superstitions which no one even believes anymore. Splurkers are stories made up by war veterans who don't believe in Door Ghosts. Splurkers just don't exist. You shouldn't know anything about Splurkers unless you are a member of The High Sparkling Council. Are you a member? No? Good. Now go sacrifice some small animals in your comment box to repent. Shame on you." When we tried to talk to The High Sparkling Council, they simply retreated into the shadows with a warm hiss of breathe. When further questioned by one of the interns, The High Sparkling Council slowly breathed out the words " Sweaty Sparkitors curse the Gary," and squeezed the intern with their tentacles until he begged for them to stop and his hair and freckles turned lime green. I, for one, do not know what this exactly means, but it seems to me that The High Council and The Crotchety Mayor are enforcing the idea to put trust in The Sparkitors. Well, I, for one, commend them on this decision- we all need a little hope sometimes, and who should give us more hope that we will be ingrained into the vast Internet Desert than Sparktown's most Mysterious and Sweaty Inhabitants? The Sparkitors shall help us achieve Intervana, Sparklers. Then we shall finally be free from the growing shadows on our bedroom walls. The Sparkitors shall free us from real life. Free us all.

There has been a recent flood of new sparklers, it seems, as though they have decided to check out our humble corner of The Internets. Apparently, they generated all out of the city center, The Open Thread Square. They say that they find us "Funny, eccentric, and weird-in a good way." They also think we are all "nice," and that our "politeness usually makes us less creepy," and that they are "happy to be here." Well, who wouldn't be happy to be here, in our lovely SparkTown? But overall, I am happy that they have joined us on our plane of existence, Sparklers, although I don't understand their strange ways. I decided to do what all reporters do, and investigate-Council approved, of course-by asking an expert on these kind of things. Of course, I decided to ask one of Sparktown's best in the anthropology department, and has much experience on the field, as well as those beautiful, hypnotizing, storm swirling eyes....uh, what was I talking about again? Oh, that's right!I was talking about Annabel Lee, one of Sparktown's best and brightest. Sparktown's best and brightest, if I do say so myself. When I asked her to tell me what they meant, she somehow understood my incoherent muttering to explain to me the complexities of the process of becoming a Sparkler in that beautifully perfect voice of hers. I think it was something about how it takes time to get used to things and adapt, or something science-y like that, but gosh, Annabel is too smart for me.....uh, what was I-oh yes. I was going to...uh...where did my papers go? It seems, Sparklers, that all my paper have grown legs and walked away. Oh, well, time to break out the butterfly net. Let's go instead, to the daily forecast by our team of psychics:

"Round the world and home again,That's the sailor's way.Faster faster, faster faster!

There's no earthly way of knowing...Which direction we are going....There's no knowing where we're rowing....Or which way the river's flowing...

Is it raining, is it snowing?Is a hurricane a-blowing?

Not a speck of light is showing,So the danger must be growing!Are the fires of Hell a-glowing?!Is the grisly reaper mowing?!?!?!

YES!THE DANGER MUST BE GROWING,FOR THE ROWERS KEEP ON ROWING!!!!AND THEY'RE CERTAINLY NOT SHOWING,ANY SIGNS THAT THEY ARE SLOWING!!!!!!!!!!AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!"~(From Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory, "The Wonderous Boatride")~

Alright, Sparklers, I have seem to have found the rest of my papers. They appear to be blood splattered and bleeding ink, but I have carefully bandaged the words up. It seems, Sparklers, that there is one last story they want me to tell before I bid you all Goodnight. They want me to tell you the story of...The OT? Why, Papers, why would you want me to tell the lore that everyone knows since they were born? Oh, the new sparklers, you say? Huh. Well, there isn't much to say-Don't look at me like that, Papers! The OT is a magical place, full of all sorts of wonders. Well, there's the daily mural painted by the cat eyed rebels, for a start. There's always some sort of political message hidden in those exotic landscapes they paint. Them there's the community comment box, where we gather to sacrifice dead animal parts to be transported to The Thread. Once we get there it's a breeze-The stars forever glisten here as everyone is crowned a king or queen. The land shines blue as we all don ceremonial robes and begin our quest. Our quest not to Intervana, but to something else-something leads tangible, yet more touchable. And here is the place where we sing our songs, for hours and hours, talking of many things freely yet close guardedly. Here we speculate, and investigate, and stay up all night pondering what life is until the last of us drop into a peaceful sleep. For what is life, Sparklers? For that I cannot answer, but it seems that we must all be rolling in different directions on a gigantic spiderweb. We do not know where we are going, and we do not know where we are coming from. All we know is that we going somewhere, into the unknown.Nighty Night, Dear Sparklers. And may you have pleasent, approved, dreams.


Welcome to SparkTown, Episode Two. The Spam Blob.

Faraway, in the calling and yearning of shadows yonder, something weird this way comes. Welcome to Sparktown.

It has been reported, it seems, dear Sparklers, that a large Blob has infiltrated into our dear city. We do not now where it came from, and only can hope that the Blob did not come from the likes of Gary. With the new Baby Sparks, as they are fondly called by their ability to look cutely innocent while violently sacrificing live words in initiation, it seems as though the Blob has been sent to welcome, recruit, and seduce them to follow the Darklers and the sick Hiearchy of Gary. The Blob, apparently, is sitting out of the Anonymous Pseudonymous Associaton of Flaggers's (APAF's) office sphere on Way Street. It seems to be mocking the Flaggers by making strange squishy sqaushy sounds and making the ground shake as they repeatedly try to defend the Street with various colored flags depicting Lord Bergstien, Sweat, Fandoms, types of Animal viscera, and many other great and terrifying things. If anyone knows how they can subdue the Blob and if it is somehow related to Gary, please repeatedly screech "AGAAAHAHA YAMA NA NA GAHA NA HA!" three times in a loud outside voice to alert the AFAP. To order pizza with extra purple olives, please loudly whisper this phrase backwards. To invoke the wrath of the Underworld and summon ghost servants, recite the phrase in pig, cow, or giraffe Latin while flailing wildly and setting a charred opossum carcass in the middle of your comment box. More on this story much, much sooner than expected.

In other news, apparently, it seems that the Sparktown Education District has decided to-What's that?No, I mean what IS that?!Er...Sparklers, it appears that a grayish green ooze has started to drip inside the walls of the writing studio. Which is quite impolite of the interns, due to the fact that we sprayed for ooze earlier this month and we specifically told them that if they were to release the spores for them to be BLUE and ORANGE TANG covered ooze, not grayish green. Excuse me Sparklers-Hey, Hey intern Jo? Can you mind message the others to change their spores around so a man can get the right kind of ooze around here? INTERN JO? CAN YOU HERE ME OVER THE SUDDEN LOUD HAZY WHISPER OF A HAUNTING FALLEN TROMBONE? INTERN JOOOOO-Hold on, Sparklers, I'm going to take a peak out of the plexiglass window-Oh. Oh dear. It seems, from my some what limited vision, that the entire hallway has been suddenly covered with the grayish green ooze. The walls are splashed with it, the floor is under approximately three feet of it, and everyone who was currently in the hallway at the time, including Intern Jo, are stuck either on the wall and are wriggling sideways or are slowly trudging through the muck, their eyes focused intensely on some sort of invisible pinnacle ahead of them. It looks like the hallway has turned into the throat of a drakon with a cold, which believe me, has not happened in at least the four months and a half. They really should get that checked out.As a diligent telepathnetik writer, and as the ooze spelled out before comfortably sinking into the white, fleshy void of the west wall, it is my duty to insure that you are updated with the latest news, Sparktown. And I shall do my duty not only to my fellow Sparklers, but as a duty for all, duty or not duty free.

Now, as I was saying before in some other part of our tiny and contradictory linear time stream, the Sparknotes Education District has decided to upgrade it's system by doing away with all things unsparkly such as municipally approved history textbooks, Composition Notebooks, blackboards, graphite sticks, and essentially all things educational that are not vague or hidden. In a statement made by Darbie Martins, a representative of the District's monarch, she said that "We strive to bring all things Sparkly in our education. Municipally Approved History Textbooks? Composition Notebooks? Bleh! They are nothing compared to our new, Sparkle covered Spark books, covering various educational subjects such as Spark 101, Sparkirmetic, Sparkly-glish, Sparkience, Studies in Spark, and many other Sparkly subjects we provide here at the Sparknotes Education District! In fact, with our new and Council Approved Sparkified Curriculum, pupils won't even need to learn History at all, which definitely relieves the burden on our chained up librarians of scouring pages and pages of History, weeding and flagging the horrifying unapproved errors and then sending certain Historians to re-education! Sparknotes Education District-Sparkify!" She said all this in one quick, high pitched breathe, and stared blankly at reporters with crazy light into her eyes until they slowly and subtlety began to back away. They broke into a run at the end and softy whimpering pleas that the Sparkitors change their utterly terrifying fate at reporting such a sparkly story. The Sparkitors did little to change the reporters' fate...or did they? The Sparkitors' mysterious ways shall never be understood by us, Sparklers. Never.

Speaking of Education and Re-education, The Grammar Nazis have recently come to the top of the cult paper chain, their rein harsh and very, very, structured. Personally, I prefer to use long, articulated sentences full of many adjectives and parables pertaining to the current situation, but I say I must congratulate The Grammar Nazis for making a comeback after their tragic 1973 loss to the We Speak Text cult, or as they would spell it, E Spek Txt! cult. E Spek Txt!, unfortunately, or rather, fortunately, lost some of their ground to the Autocorrects, a radical branch of E Spek Txt!, who haphazardly throw in corrections that make little to no sense whatsoever. With such wiggle room, and with the Autocorrects paying for their radically destructive ways, The Grammar Nazis came back fighting. When one of our reporters tried to get in contact with one of The Grammar Nazis's leaders, Sir Frued Edmund Wilkins, he simple looked away, sniffed, and said in with very good grammar that he'd rather not deal with such common and backwards word-folk. My sincere apologies to Winifred Fordson, the reporter, who is currently sobbing over a soggy Grammar book. I know how you feel, Winny. Why, when I was in grade school, back before Spark Academy got burned down by the wrath of Unholy Lightining and Ancient Darkler Fire Curses, The Grammar Nazis denied anyone else from being within five feet of them-something about "untouchable" words. Alas, try as we might to persaude them with chocolate ants and our new Dagger action figures, they would not come out to play, and would only harp on us from a distant computer screen. I heard the sweet red velvet voice of Annabel Lee say it had something to do with them believing to be superior, and that in long ago times this used to be applied to Ghosts, Elves, Hobbits, and even Galactic Aliens! Can you believe, Sparklers, there was a time in our history where Elves were not allowed to vote? And that Ghost Marriage was illegal? Well, Sparklers, I find such notions to be quite out dated. We can only hope that one day The Grammar Nazis will realize the error of their ways and conform to the mainstream and Council Approved ways of Political Correctness, Tactful Honesty, and Half Truths. For that, my friends, is the way, the way that we must all come to follow one day, Auntie willing. One day.

Now, a word from a shady message board who may or may not be threatening me with a Katana.Sparklers......SparklersSparklersSparklers.....Sparkitors....Sparkitor sSparkitorsSparkitors....Spam...Spam...SPAM! We come now, In SPAM! Spam: We Collect. Spam: We Leer. Spam: We Lure. Spam: We Infect. Spam: We Eat. Spam: We Clog. Spam: Your Demise. Spam: Think deeply about what you do next, puny residents of Sparktown. Spam...SpamSpamSpam...SPAM!!

Now, an update on our previous story(s). Apparently, according to Intern Nick, who somehow managed to avoid being stuck in the hallway goop and has been communicating to me through smoke signals that are showing up through my comment box, says that we are not the only ones to be affected by the grayish green ooze. Everywhere, it seems, people are stuck to the walls of their houses, in the middle of the streets, and even The Crotchety Old Mayor, whose name was forgotten in the burden of time, is currently stuck on the steps of Town Hall and is cussing wildly at the sludge keeping him stuck. Intern Nick, who is soaring over Sparktown on dragon wings, says that the Blob looks to be the cause of it. Apparently, the Blob, which has not moved from Way Street and has APAF and many of their flags in its meaty clutches, has sloshed enough of the gross liquid around to cause multiple flash floods. The ooze has eaten up words faster than starving pirañas, and any surviving words look to be charred and overwhelmed. Large characters floating in the muck, according to the dragon's eye view Intern Nick has, seem to be spelling out the words "NIGHT," "LEMURS," "HAMM," and "WOOZA!" Only one group of sick and twisted people would dare do such a thing-The Darklers. It seems, Sparklers, that their Blob creature was sent to spam us out, and to degenerate the Baby Sparks. A big stunt that's not only an attack on us, Sparklers, but our words as well. Even now, it seems, through the dimming lights of the studio, I can see the walls sweating and melting from that hellish ooze, and my words struggling to stay alive. I must keep going, Sparklers, so I bring you now the scrawlings of our psychics:

"Well I got a lotta things,I'd like to say to you,And also just a few,I'd like to actually do,But I don't wanna go to jail,And sometimes my words fail,And I don't wanna let,The worst parts of me prevail,

Saying words on my mind,Has always been hard,So I'm just gonna leave this,To the words of the Bard,

Get out of my sight,Thou dost infect my eyes,Wilt thou be made a man,Out of my vice?Oh braggart vile,And damned furious wight,Thy tongue outvenoms all the worms of Nile!

Oh hell must be empty,'Cause the devil is here,I've been memorising Shakespeare,For nigh on eight years,So I was ready for this,After what you did,You'll be lucky if you leave,Here and you still exist,

You never knew when to shut it,You carcass fit for hounds,It's the emptiest vessel,That makes the loudest sounds,

Get out of my sight,Thou dost infect my eyes,Wilt thou be made a man,Out of my vice?Oh braggart vile,And damned furious wight,Thy tongue outvenoms all the worms of Nile!

Injurious, tedious,You butcher's apprentice,Remorseless, treacherous,Lecherous stock fish,Thou one trunk,Inheriting slave,You're not worth another word,Or else I'd call you-I'd call you a knave!"(Hank Green, "undigested lump")

Huh. Sparklers, it seems that we've been saved by a band of Tumblresque hermits dispatched from the Committee of Fandom Karp. The hermits, armed with gifs, ships, references and plenty of feels, disintegrated the Blob with the a new fighting force-Fandom Spam, or "positive spam" as they called it. They did not want to be named, but simply said that they are the humble residents of Sparktown that live in behind the comment counter. They then bowed out and fizzled away slowly, softly, and then all at once. Well, then, Sparklers. It seems as though we have been saved from the Darklers and their malicious blob the quick thinking of Sparktown's more quiet residents. Even The High Council doesn't know exactly what to make of it, hissing "Sparkitoooorss" and waving their tentacles from the shadows. I tried to get into contact with Sweet Annabel Lee, but her phone apparently was busy from all the other dazed scientists calling her to ask what exactly had happened. Even the little boy who lives in the reply button didn't seem to have an answer. Well, Sparklers, I think that we can draw some sort of conclusion from this. Apparently, some quiet hermit fangirls saved us with their spam from being overtaken by the Blob. Sparklers...they saved us. With spam. Maybe, Sparklers, after reflecting on this matter, we can find the answer to this puzzlement that is "positive" spam. Maybe we can find peace and appease ourselves, letting our past events be what they are. Maybe if we let this ripple fade, from the back of our mind, quietly forgiving and forgetting in the passage of time, we will recover. For if we let what was is, the events of yesterday shall start to fizzle away slowly, softy, and then all at once.Nighty Night, Dear Sparklers. And may the past fizzle enough to appease the present, and to allow that that is the tomorrow.


Welcome To SparkTown. Episode 3. Sparkitors.

No one understands, yet we all believe in something impossible but oh so tasty....Welcome to SparkTown.

First and foremost in today's news is a...Passing? A passing, dear Sparklers, that isn't one of the interns? After our fatal Darkler disaster? Oh my giddy Auntie. Well, I suppose one citizen would have to suffer for the grossness of it all. Let our words gather together, dear Sparklers, and huddle for the warmth and safety in the now as we confront this dark and steamingly cold event.A Passing, for our Baby Sparks who have not yet a chance to brutally shatter their innocence, is a time when A Sparkler fades from the living beating heart of SparkTown, a time when they shut their doors and fade out of the community, and do not gather to OT Square for events such as The Queen's nth Re-coronation or Insanity Wailing. A dead blood cell, they are, these Sparklers who fade into nothing. Not Splurkers, obviously, because Splurkers don't exist, but into something more...docile. More...productive. Something vile to our mouths, our values, and our pancreases. Pancreasi. Whichever. I would like to give my condolences to the family of this Sparkler, who's name, like the Mayor's, was forgotten, although not in time, but Space. Yes, Space. As in the Spacebar.

Speaking of Spacebars, it has come to the Council's attention that SparkTown citizens, especially younger ones, have been having trouble with Spaces these days, as often their words are either falling off or glued to their kneecaps. Ouch. The Council would like to remind all citizens that your words must be at least three inches to the left or right of your face and so help you Sparkitor if your words are diagonal! As apart of our town culture to be Civilized, Friendly, and All Secretly Hate Each Other, it is also very important to keep our words in our places, Sparklers! And as much as I would not like to pull out names, a certain Jace Tomlin has been having trouble putting his words where his comments are. Get it together, Jace! As Sir Freud, leader of the Grammar Nazis, would have put it-"Trotzen Sie die Grammatik nicht! Alle verlegte Wörter wurden ausgerottet! Gerade dich, 'Man lebt nur einmal!'" Well put, Sir Freud. In order to communicate, we must understand each other on a deep sea level-right down to that big fleshy red mass that salivitates inside us all.

Ah, yes, Sparklers, it's that time a year, along with Baby Sparks and Deadbeats and Blobs From Hell that it's Update season! That's right, Sparklers, it's time for a whole new session of Education and re-education! And who would be more apt to slide taco sauce covered, politically correct, and vague typed sermons about In Sparknotes We Trust than the Sparkitors themselves? All Sparklers are advised to attend the reading of this year's sermon, whether they are forced into coming by APAF's mad, rabid but completely safe Flag Wolverines, or willingly come by their own Municipally Approved choice! If you are not like the rest of us bred here in Sparktown, who can literally hear the words screaming in a heavy, indescribable accent and can see them floating off the page and dancing in ashen rain, or if you are a Baby Spark who has oh so much to learn, than don't worry! Benjamin Burtons, the afore mentioned new blood cult leader, will be on the scene providing his bubbling purplish drink that he was previously seen drinking to everyone who needs the extra boost so that we can ALL HALLUCINATE TOGETHER! Isn't that wonderful, Sparklers? I sincerely must compliment Burton's decision to help us out with community problems such as getting Hallucinatons to the people who need them dearly, Sparklers. In a statement on such matters, Burtons took a long, slow drag from a cigar while puffing out green smoke, and rasped "Yeah...Man...Everyone needs to smell....Smell them rainbows....Red smells like Texas, Man...Yeah, man, and the flying whales, man....people need them with the Unicorn corns...That's some crazy magic, man...Yeah man...Yeah...." He then carefully picked up a cup of purple drink and slowly drizzled it all over the interns until their hair, shirts, and shoes were covered in the stuff. After that, the interns slowly stumbled away with a dazed look in their eyes, the kind that one gets from being enlightened in the midst of hazy euphoria, and lives in the dream state at peace with the cosmic forces. Thank you, Benjamin, for giving the gift of Enlightenment to our interns. Maybe one day, the Sparkitors will reward you with the rainbow crown for your good deeds.

The Museum of Only Cool History announced that it will be holding weekly lectures, in honor of the upcoming Re-education. Now that's what I'm talking about, Sparklers. In fact, The Sparknotes Education District will be now taking their pupils on Midnight field trips to the museum! Ah, those were the days. When Spark Academy was around, my dear peers and I used to visit the Mueseum of Only Cool History often and get lost in its long, darkly glowing corridors that fed into chambers that reminded us all of the inside of a Frog's stomache as it looked like a combination History and Frog guts. But I'm getting off topic and lost into my own vague and mysterious past! Now, the weekly lectures will be on the topics of The Sparkitors and other mystical beings such as Lord Bergstien and The (Original) Punishment Salmon! Even Bueatiful Annabel Lee will be there, everyone, so you should check it out just because of that, along with the other Municipally Approved Reasons! This week's topic will be on Our Lady Dagger. Of course, all visitors, students and other magical or non magical beings alike are required to bring a sweat bucket. Or two. Or five. Or ten, with a basket of clean towels and various Febreeze cans because boy, that's going to be one sweaty lecture! Along with learning about Our Lady Dagger's past (sweat), Our Lady Dagger's present (sweat), and our Lady Dagger's future (slightly fuzzy with a chance of sweat), there will also be a chance to ask questions, as long as they are written with a Neoyorkian Dialect and slipped to Our Lady Dagger by The Council, who, with their tentacles, will probably rip apart the questions and eat them before Our Lady Dagger sees them. So please, ask lots of questions so that The Council may get a decent Ink blood meal and so that Our Lady Dagger can possibly grace us with a rare, sweaty reply!

Let us have a word now, Sparklers, from one of our sponsors.Think deeply and carefully about your choices Sparklers. Are they sweet and approved by society, like Candy? Or are they desire filled and disapproved by society, like Candy? Are they tastfully sugary, like Candy? Or are they distastefully sugary, like Candy? Are they smooth and flowing, like Candy? Or are they powdery and chewy, like Candy? Are the colorful and many, like Candy? Or are they dark and few, like Candy? What is that pink sugar mix that you bathe yourselves in, Sparklers? Is it like Candy? Think deeply about your choices, Sparklers, for they all depend upon one thing: Candy.

Sparklers, do you ever wonder what's behind the door of the Sparkitors? What kind of strange Utopia they've hidden from us?I've probably questioned too much, but....Oh, well. It's not like they are just a couple doors to the editorials...It's not like I can spy through the window....Nope, not doing it.But.....For the sake of reporting I shall check out the window, and then for the sake of my existence I shall drive into the middle of the OT Square, go to the nearest shop, and drink enough tea to save my soul. Okay, I don't know if this is municipally approved, but I think checking out the window is okay, right? Okay, here goes....up we go...and looking out of the left corner of the window, I see the door of the Sparkitors! Or, at least, the Door to The Sparkitor Realm. It's a large, regal purple door with silver runes on it and what looks to be like a bright light underneath the door. There's a small, covered window. Or at least it's covered in my perception of Reality. There are shadows behind that window, X-rays of another life....something that we could never fully comprehend unless our souls are ripped from our shells and plunged into wonderous new life...Oh, Sparkitors....Wait. The door is turning black. The silver runes are glowing. The glow underneath the door is turning green.Did I do something wrong?It seems so, as a paper that was just handed to me has a bunch of squiggles that I do not understand yet know mean that I have stepped on the line to insanity and that such soft sweetness shall be corrupted for such dark thoughts. I'm backing away from door, slowly and fearfully. The words are swirling faster and blurrier than ever before around me, Sparklers, as they try to make sense of this new conciousness. So, as I try to release myself from the grip of the right hold on higher Reality, I give you Sparklers, what the psychics have foretold:

"Now a rainbow's tale isn't quite as niceAs the story we knew of sugar and spiceBut a rainbow's easy once you get to know itWith the help of the magic of a pegasus device

Let's delve deeper into rainbow philosophyFar beyond that of Cloudsdale's mythologyIt's easy to misjudge that floating cityWith it's alluring decor and social psychologyBut with all great things comes a great responsibilityThat of Cloudsdale's being weather stabilityHow, you ask, are they up to the taskTo which the answer is in a simple facility

In the Rainbow Factory, where your fears and horrors come trueIn the Rainbow Factory, where not a single soul gets throughIn the Rainbow Factory, where your fears and horrors come true


In the Rainbow Factory, where your fears and horrors come trueIn the Rainbow Factory, where not a single soul gets throughIn the Rainbow Factory, where your fears and horrors come trueIn the Rainbow Factory, where not a single soul gets through"~(WoodenToaster, "Rainbow Factory")~

Sp-Sp-Sparkitors? Sparklers? I have no successfully reached the underside of my desk, and have dragged all my papers and equipment underneath there as well. I am hiding underneath my security blanket, and am rocking back and forth the beat of a familiar and unknown song. So far the door has looked rather melty, the West Wall grew a beard, and the carpet had swirling faces in it. There were so many words, Sparklers...all floating around me so fast and so blurry in some sort of sickening flurry...and I liked it, but I hated it. There was too much, Sparklers, too much for me take in, with all the pretty colors and yummy words, full of all different flavors and types and assaulting my senses, particularly my taste buds. It was crazy, Sparklers....Did I just get high?....I do not know, Sparklers, but from my experience, it seems to be better to avoid such experiences although they expose us to some sort of toxic layer of this thing we call Reality. It is better to learn through knowledge, but not through hardship, although hardship is the easier concept.Nighty Night, Dear Sparklers. And may you see what is out there, but not be drawn to the pits of hell by curiosity.


Welcome To SparkTown, Episode 4. Refresh.

Soft, slow words linger, but blood dragged out stays forever. Welcome To SparkTown.

First, a correction to one of our previous statements-as one of our keen interns pointed out, the swirling faces in the carpet were not caused by my unhealthy questioning, because the faces in the carpet always swirl-to the right, that is. Never should the faces swirl to left, and never shall they. Those faces are the faces that betrayed us all, broke the Sparkler creed, and shall never be forgiven. And they continue to torment us with their shady presence and their low, painful moans like a certain Jace Tomlin!Ahem.Those faces, Sparklers, are the ones who dragged the OT down, who stirred the smelly winds of irritation and pulled at our puppet strings with their slimy claws. They are the reason The War happened, Sparklers-they represent all our Darklerseque choices, our malevolent nature, the resentments that we bury inside us, lock up in mental safes, put lipstick on, and pretend that they aren't there. And, as The Council always hisses-"Do not remember. Do not forget. Live in uncertainty of the Clouds, and cease to exist on the ground. Sparkitoooorssssss..." And so are the wise words of the Municipally Approved. Which reminds me, Sparklers, my sincere apologies to our keen intern's family, The Hedgeways. Soon after he, the intern, pointed out the error, a giant squid shot out of the murky sands of the carpet and swallowed him up. At least he was able to enlighten me on my mistake, Sparklers-and while those faces swirl, they most definitely don't twirl like some of them seemed to be doing while I was in a terrible mental state. Ugh, twirls....

In other news, Sparklers, this crumbled piece of paper that I have now opened up seems to be agiating my words quite a bit. Words, why do you agitate? Why, you're twitching so much that it's as if the Darklers are after your fluffy tails! Goodness, me, it's only a note sent from City Hall...Oh, there's tentacle slime all over this, so I'm guessing The Sparkling High Council wrote it. And judging by it's faint scent of old people and artificial preservatives, the Mayor must have had some say in it as well. Goodness, me. No wonder my words are a bit bouncier then normal! Why, the note is even in Neoyorkian dialect! I'm going to just summarize this announcement, Sparklers, because I might accidentally lay a curse upon anyone who sold me blueberry muffins if I read this thing in its true form.Let's see here....Oh.Oh...Oh dear.Erm, Sparklers, it seems as if both The High Sparkling Council and The Mayor-who's-name-was-lost-in-the-burden-of-time want me to report news on road traffic. But from the way that they were phrasing it, it was as if there was Darkler hell being wreaked upon the streets! I can only hope that they are exaggerating, but I shall check the streets first before making assumptions. So, give me a second to carve a hole wide enough to serve as a window so that I can see what is going on, and-Oh.My.Giddy.Auntie.Okay, Sparklers. I have just cut a hole and am reporting on the traffic now. But it is not traffic, sparklers, unless you call whatever that is happening down there traffic!There-There's ice. So much ice. It's that awful red color and not at all like the normal off white, lavender, or even cream ice that we are used too. It's chocking up the streets, clogging the main highway and from what I can see, creeping all over OT blood circle. Inside the ring of the blood circle stands a group of Sparklers. They are uncertain, in a daze, as if they are confused. Some are holding up books. Some are holding up daggers. Some are holding up two-for-one coupons from the local Tea shop. There is blue fire, the kind fire, surrounding them, but there is also streaks of red in it.Confusion....oh so much confusion....There's a girl standing atop one of the cars. She's holding a Spatula, and she's in a Grammar Nazi uniform. What in the world-?

There seems to be alot of sizzling static, as I'm having difficulties reporting this story. Still, as a professional, I must carry on and do my work diligently. Luckily, as a resident long used to cold, barren, nights with the sky swallowing my existence whole, I am not too frozen by the sudden gust of wind, and my words are recovering from the shock.There is another girl now. A ghost girl. She floating up, up, up like a balloon. She is made of the ice-white ice, pure white ice, but she is bleeding, Sparklers, bleeding that dark red ice that's chocking the highway and creeping upon the OT and dripping from her stance in the sky. She is looking down upon the Grammar Nazi, her eyes empty like broken glass.I would ask her if she's alright, but my words are barely making it out under the excruciatingly heavy gravity of the situation, so I'm just kept to a very low telapathic field where I'm able to slip into your minds but not make a peep.The Grammar Nazi is looking back up at the Ice Ghost, her eyes full of red, but fire instead of ice. She glances down briefly, her eyes looking at a crying woman caught in the ice, before lifting her eyes back up at the ghost. The Grammar Nazi grips her spatula shakily, as if she'd much rather be attending a Grammar Rally with Sir Freud, as if she is uncertain what to do because the rules of Grammar cannot help her now.The Ice Ghost wavers, her wounds bleeding profusely she holds two magic ice balls in her hands. She looks just as afraid as the Grammar Nazi, just as reluctant.And down there, in the OT blood circle, guarded and entrapped by blue fire and in the clutches of confusion are a group of Sparklers! Down there are the Sparklers! That's you, down there, Sparklers, you! You're here right now with me, watching, waiting for the standstill to conclude!....Except you are surrounded by fires, and I am all alone.

As I put yet another faux cow skin scale jumper on, and as we all wait for the standstill to conclude, I shall report on other stories. After all, no one wants to talk endlessly over one event, poking over and over again at it until it lays half dead and in tears.Unless, of course, you're apart if the Conmitee of Fandom Karp-then that's municipally approved by all means! Ah, the lovely Commitee of Fandom Karp, always trying to bring the best out of us by toturing our words with heart wrenching stories for hours upon end and then rewarding us with a fluff puppy. Their methods have been proven quite satisfactory, even bringing some of the most sane residents of Sparktown to the depths of insanitY-ah!Sorry, a sudden blast of cold hit my words. Here, words, be cloaked within these nice little jumpers I knit for you in the future. You'll love 'em, just like the fangirls adore the weekly clips the Commitee of Fandom Karp picks out for them to watch in the dungeon every Thursday night. That's right, folks-The Commitee of Fandom Karp not only bugs you constantly about those utterly depressing and shattering scenes in your favorite media source, but they also give those extra dedicated fangirls a chance to be tied to a chair in the dungeon and be forced to watch agonizing clip after agonizing clip for hours! I heard they even have refreshments, and that it's Munically Approved to go there, and that all your friends will be there whether they were drugged into coming or not! The Commitee of Fandom Karp, everyone! And now, in-Yow! A hot flash just snuck it's way in amongst all the cold and whipped at my words!Sparkitors, I hope this doesn't last soon...Anyway, Sparklers, it seems as though the hot flash melted all the ice on my desk. Which is good, because now my words aren't as cold before, but bad because now they are sitting in a puddle of moist ice, and their edges are blurring a little. Also, their jumpers are rather soggy, and will probably need a good washing after this is over a done with.The other bad news is that now all my papers are wet and can't seem to muster enough strengh to stand up, let alone report inscribed information. It looks like the only thing I'm allowed to report on is the unnatural deadlock outside my office. And glancing back out there, it seems as though I have /quite/ a /lot/ to report on. And although the deadlock is still a deadlock, it looks as if the issue is getting bigger and bigger, inflating faster than a sumo wrestler on steriods and weighing more, too. I'm afraid, Sparklers, oh so afraid.

But before we go any further, let us first hear from an anonymous donor.Creeping, Crawling. Seeping, Weeping, the void deepening. It comes hither. Through the fire and rain, it comes hither. From the darkest of times, it comes hither. From the most conflictive, shredded, torn up times, it comes hither. From the most inhuman of times, it comes hither. From the skin through the bones, through the blood, it stings and it comes hither! It comes warn us all...IT COMES HITHER!!

For the love of all things sweet and viper...The deadlock is still going on, although the game has drastically changed. The Ice Ghost is scorched with Fire, and is thrashing, throwing bloodied ice everywhere. The Grammar Nazi is swamped in ice, her Spatula still shaking. The woman in the ice is still crying, sobbing as she feels powerless to change what is happening. And You, Sparklers-Oh, Manley....Oh Manley Manley Manley!!!Sparklers are charging out of the OT blood circle, but finding themselves getting stuck in the red ice. Some Sparklers are wailing-deep, heart throbbing cries at innocence loss and tradegy win. Some Sparklers are still, dazed, confused, and now wandering sadly with a dazed look in their eyes. Some Sparklers are yelling accusations, yelling blame, and madly pointing fingers in every direction simeltaneously.What is this?!?!What is this Darkler like hell we've created for ourselves?!?!What have we done, Sparklers, what have we done?!?!Such as the faces in the carpet are we, Sparklers, for bringing out our hatred and misunderstandings and throwing it around like mindless confetti! We are those faces, now, Sparklers, as we've reduced ourselves to bickering, to pain and agony and nothing better than a Darkler!!! Is this how we will represent ourselves to future generations?!?! How we will care for the Baby Sparks?!?! How we will attack our own kind, so viciously?!?! What are we but those faces in the carpet that we accuse to be so horrible, Sparklers, if we cannot hold ourselves together?!?! We have gone Dark, Sparklers, so Dark, to where no one can draw the line to what is right or wrong! There is no right or this wrong in this now, in this fight of our kind, because we are immersed into the brutalities of hatred, repeating history over again, and what have we learned?!? Nothing!! I do not know much, and I do not pretend to understand much, Sparklers. I am a simple writer, a humble broadcaster. But all I ask for is for peace to be held once, Sparklers that used to be, I bring you the tidings of the psychics themselves:

~Slip inside the eye of your mindDon't you know you might findA better place to play

~You said that you've never beenBut all the things that you've seenThey slowly fade away~

~So I'll start a revolution from my bed''cause you said the brains I had went to my head~

~Step outside, summertime's in bloomStand up beside the fireplaceTake that look from off your faceYou ain't ever gonna burn my heart out~

~And so, Sally can waitShe knows it's too late as we're walking on by~

~Her soul slides awayBut don't look back in angerI heard you say~

~Take me to the place where you goWhere nobody knows if it's night or day~

~Please don't put your life in the handsOf a rock and roll bandWho'll throw it all away~

~I'm gonna start a revolution from my bed''cause you said the brains I had went to my head~

~Step outside, ''cause summertime's in bloomStand up beside the fireplaceTake that look from off your face''cause you ain't ever gonna burn my heart out~

~So, Sally can waitShe knows it's too late as she's walking on by~

~My soul slides awayBut don't look back in angerI heard you say~

(guitar solo)

~So, Sally can waitShe knows it's too late as we're walking on by~

~Her soul slides awayBut don't look back in angerI heard you say~

~So, Sally can waitShe knows it's too late as she's walking on by~

~My soul slides awayBut don't look back in angerDon't look back in angerI heard you sayAt least not today~("Don't look back in anger," Oasis.)

Sparklers...we made it. I think we did. While the psychics unraveled their secrets, Annabel Lee, my sweet, sweet Annabel Lee, my brilliant Annabel Lee, stood foward. And, she said this, Sparklers. She said that she knows that the issue is big right now, and that there's been much fighting over it, but the truth is that the issue isn't that big. She said the truth was that everyone was making this out way bigger than it was meant to be. She said that all this bickering was the reason so many people were in such utterly misery, not the reason behind the conflict. And she said that we all needed to suck it up, and get over it. Because she said, that we were driving people away...And Sparklers, she looked right at me, when she said this, and I could feel her mesmerizing stormy eyes on me even as I stood up and away from the square and the highway, in my little radio tower. She said...she said,"And I just don't want people going crazy, like Theo was. I could hear him hysterically screaming through the radio and the telapathic fields. Do we really want Theo, and others for that matter, going insane over this?" She...she said my name in her beautiful voice, Sparklers, and she chose me over all the other Sparklers as an example of going crazy! Sweaty Dagger, Annabel Lee acknowledged me! And surprisingly, Sparklers, you lot didn't think I should go insane either. And one by one, you dusted yourselves off as the ice melted away and joined hands. So maybe we are different from the faces in the carpet, Sparklers. Maybe, because we rise up over our resentment, because while remembering we still forgive, we are able to unite as Sparklers. We are able to come together at the end of the day, and say "I'm sorry," and while relishing in our past we still try to make up for the mistakes we've made. We are able to keep history in check, but we are also able to refresh. And that is what makes the difference. Nighty Night, dear Sparklers. And may you always cherish your history, but learn to forgive others and unite with them once more.


Welcome To SparkTown. Episode 5. Spark.

In the darkness, in the rain, where the smell of damp cheese rakes across your breathing apparatus....there is still a pink, strawberry, flesh eating monster on the inside. Welcome to SparkTown.

First, we bring you to an announcement from Mark Summers, one of the more prominent figures in the SparkTown community. Ah, let's see here-"Chicken. Chicken Chicken. ChickenChickenChicken. Chic-Ken. Chick-en. Chi-ck-en. Chicken. Chicken. Chicken Chicken Chicken Chicken. ChickenChicken. Chicken. Ch-Ch-Chick-k-ken. Chickeeeeeen. Chicken. Chick. En. Potatoe." There you have it, Sparklers. Now, so far, none of the reporters have been able to figure out what exactly Mr.Summers meant, including me. One of the interns, Jessie Debouy, suggested that it was possibly about Life, The coming of the Great Cockaroach Uprising, and how there is only one true God, capital G. The other interns, especially Intern Jo and her nervous flailing, tried to put in their own opinions about what the announcement meant, but Intern Jessie was quite firm about this stance and wanted no further questioning on the subject, saying it was "only a matter of time and jelly before we understood." He also began to give us the evil eye and repeat "The Cockaroachs are coming. The Cockaroaches are coming. They will rule us, as it is foretold." Intern Jo tried to get our attention by waving her hands quite frantically and pointing to something suspicious, but of course, we ignored her and her pointing, as we ignore all suspicious things. Also, Intern Jessie's deeply maddening stare was quite hypnotizing, forcing all in the room to stare back directly into his eyes. His not-as-perfect-or-beautiful-or-hypnotizing-as-Annabel-Lee-eyes, but his terrifying, magnetic eyes. Look into your soul, they seemed to yell, Look into your soul and weep!!!

Moving along down the bloodless vein of news, it seems that Soul searching has been quite the topic of SparkTown's medical community. Renya Tress, the local mad doctor, says that during all her time dissecting human, animal, and other worldy beings, has never once come across a soul. "You see," she said as she fondly patted a violet lump of flesh that looked vaguely like the spleen of a Space Pengiun, "this here is a true, flesh 'n' blood organ. Short 'n' sweet, just the way I like 'em. Municipally approved too." She pointed to the black symbol of the Sparkling High Council imprinted on the lump. "But these soul things, I just don't get 'em. They ain't in there like them conforming body parts. I don't even think that they're bloody imaginary." She went on to say that contrary to the popular belief, everyone lacks a soul, not only gingers, and that her research of excavating dead bodies and unsuccessful soul finding proves this. However, as Dr.Tress herself is a ginger, we are inclined not to believe her in fear of bias. Then again, we are inclined to not believe in anything but that which we do not know, so we reached out for a second opinion. Unfortunately, that second opinion was not Annabel Lee, but instead life conselor and spiritual guru, Carl Burtons, who, in fact, is the cousin of famous blood cult leader Benjamin Burtons. Burton calmly took a meditating pose he called "the ostrich" before whispering into the ears of our reporters. "They're here," he breathed onto the reporters, "But at the same time...." Carl sucked in a long breathe. "They are not. And that....." Carl blew into the ears of the reporters. "Is why we are all question marks." He then took another breathe or two and talked in a poetic fashion about grey light, purple tears, and what exactly was the color green, but our reporters were too overcome with shock from this mighty revelation. "Are they imaginary or are they real? Are they on this plane or a different plane? Are they just invisible? Are questions answers? What the hell is a magnet?! Why am I even here any more?!?!" Said one flustered reporter before collapsing. Well then, Sparklers. There are some deep thoughts running around here. Some Municipally Approved, some less than allowable. But as the old saying goes-Keep calm and read Auntie. I'm sure she'll have something to give on this matter. Oh, Sparkitors.

And Oh, Intern Jo. You silly little girl. You nearly ruined the surprise! Oh? You were pointing at something else in the shadows that looked oddly suspicious? Pffft, next thing you know, you'll be saying Splurkers exist. And I'm pretty sure we're supposed to report on that next week, silly. Didn't you pay attention to the time travel records? No. Oh, well, then, Intern Jo. Oh, well. Anyway, Sparklers, I've just recieved the most pleasent surprise of the season! From the giant, gaping hole in the wall that I haven't bothered to fix, waves of Sparklers are coming out of their homes, and, well, celebrating! Oh, look! Turkey confetti, multicolored streamers, blue banners, and Sparkitor posters as far as forever! Oh goodness, what wonderful madness is this? It's beautiful! Look, Sparklers! Hello down there! Hello! Words, flying faster than time can keep! Sparklers running and walking and spread walking and everything in between! Oh, look! Old houses, run down shacks, opening up their doors?! Old sparklers coming to greet us? New ones mingling with? Look! Oh, the generations, look! The starry nights, the food fights, the weird insanity, chaotic order and orderly chaos, oh, wonderful! Beautiful! Even the Mayor is there! The crotchety old Mayor whose name we don't even remember anymore! Look, look at that wonderful, healthy blue fire burning high at the center of the OT blood circle. The great big network of Rainbow across the sea of Sparklers and the rush of words flooding the scene! The swirling faces in the carpet have sunk down, and the fleshy void of the west wall has made a satisfying purr! The Sparkling High Council has let loose and is doing the wave with their many tentacles. I even see a Conga line! This-This-This is Fantastic!!

Whoa there, Theo. Calm yourself down. Almost had too much fun there. And you know how that is. Anyway, Sparklers, I'm starting to get control of my cognitive functions and out of my euphoric daze. Let's see here, Sparklers, who I can point out here. Oh, there's Marie down at The Tea Shop-say hello Marie! She's down there serving Tea to everyone, chatting and hugging and going about in her own lovely way. I can see Lady in the corner of the Tea Shop now-don't be shy Lady! Although you're being rather nice as well, handing out all those delicious upvotes. You get an upvote! You get an upvote! We all get upvotes! Oh, who else-Oh? Look! Symphony down the street! Gosh, is that-Sherry! Oh! Look at you, conducting your little orchestra down there in the Music Corner! You're not the only one making noise-it looks like you've got competition with Nina, Clarisse, and a few others! Who even knew Ukuleles and Clarients could blend that well together? The OT, of course! Hey, a group of old Sparklers coming up the road and waving-Oh! Goodie! Queen Alicia! Hello there, M'Lady! Good to see you! And Sarah-Sarah, hey, did you plan this? No? D'Awww, don't look so sad. You'll have plenty of fun later! And hello, Dutchess Petunia! You're all decked out in your best purple dress, I see! Oh my gosh! Over Yonder! Is that-now I'm squinting-Is that Darius? And I think I see Nick-Intern Nick that is. Vegetables and Dragons. Who woulda thought? And is that Kanye? I think he's throwing all his textbooks into the OT fire? Oh, Classic, Classic! Ha! I think he's joined by Bernice, who's chucking as many math text books as possible into the fire, along with Winter, who's just setting off firecrackers from the OT blood circle! How crazy is that! Oh, but I'm only covering just a few points. I can see so much more conversation it hurts! Wow....

Before I strain my words too much, let's go to a short commercial break.Spirals. Endless Spirals. Of nothing. Of everything. Little matter. Big hearts. Stringing charms. Flaking leaves. Down and down and down and soaring. Soaring up. High into the sky. Higher into the ground. Space and time, stretching across. Bending and melding into the center. Alternate reality. Same dimensions. Different dimensions. Same reality. Conforming Unique. Darkening light. Luminous dark. So much empty. So much possibility. Absolute Zero. But Absolutely everything.

Oh! The Crazy! Sparklers, it seems as though things are going insane, as expected and strangely, Municipally Approved of. Then again this is the High Council so I shan't dare to question it. Many of you are setting buildings on fire, the gravity is gone, and someone accidentally released the three headed, bright red ducks onto the street. I can see the Baby Sparks-Oh, hello, almost intern-literally riding the wordy wind and getting swept off their feet-literally. The giant rainbow storm is everywhere and anywhere, covering the entire area as the words do. The little boy who secret lives in the reply button is working overtime, and has slathered the comment counter in butter. The comment counter itself is going quite crazy itself, nearly bursting to the seams as it's numbers get fatter and fatter from all the flying words. There is so much conversation even I can't quite tell what is going on, and I am watching everything from up here in the station. I would attempt to report on, well, you, Sparklers, like I did before the break but my words are napping. And covering in butter. How...nice. It looks like the Grammar Nazis are the only ones keeping order down there, but even they are struggling-probably too drunk off all the words. And I can't blame them, Sparklers, because have you seen your words? I suppose you have, but, look! You caused my words to fall asleep! And that's something. I mean, look, so many names, so many faces, so many actions so many words thoughts feelings not feelings everything so overwhelming but just enough and it's just a rush! A big, huge, colorful, loud, rush! It feels as though we've really done it this time, Sparklers! Oh, dear, I can barely keep up....oh no now....losing behind....wait up....I....Hello....Let me....let me being you.....let me bring you to the Psychic's forecast now!

~It’s getting late, and ICannot seem to find my way home tonightFeels like I am falling down a rabbit holeFalling for forever, wonderfully wandering alone~

~What would my head be likeIf not for my shouldersOr without your smileMay it follow you foreverMay it never leave youTo sleep in the stone,May we stay lost on our way home~

~C’mon, c’mon, with everything falling down around meI’d like to believe in all the possibilities~

~If I should die tonightMay I first just say I’m sorryFor I, never felt like anybodyI am a man of many hats although INever mastered anything~

~When I am ten feet tallI’ve never felt much smaller, since the fallNobody seems to know my nameSo don’t leave me to sleep all aloneMay we stay lost on our way home?~

~C’mon, c’mon, with everything falling down around meI’d like to believe in all the possibilities~

~C’mon, c’mon, with everything falling down around meI’d like to believe in all the possibilities~

~Try not to mistake what you have with what you hate~

~It could leave, it could leave, come the morning~

~Celebrate the nightIt’s the fall before the climb~

~Shall we sing, shall we sing, 'til the morning~

~If I fall forward, you fall flat~

~And if the sun should lift me upWould you come back? C'mon!~

~[music interlude]~

~C’mon, c’mon, with everything falling down around meI’d like to believe in all the possibilities~

~C’mon, c’mon, with everything falling down around meI’d like to believe in all the possibilities~

~So c’mon, c’mon, with everything falling down around meI’d like to believe in all the possibilities~


~It’s getting late and I, cannot seem to find my way home tonight.~~("C'mon," Panic at The Disco)~

Well then, Sparklers. Here we are. You and I. The party has finally calmed down. The fires are spluttered. Most of you are passed out on the floor, lulled to sleep by my voice. Some of you are still attempting to party. I see lovely perfect Annabel Lee sitting in a cafe chair sipping coffee. She looks so beautiful, and even more so in the moonlight. I want to cry from her beauty. I can see Jane getting carried home by an annoyed Intern Jo, and Kat's laying on the bench near Annabel, pondering the meaning of it all. I can see Trish, the party planner of it all, in the middle of the road, picking up falling turkey confetti and laying blankets over Sparklers. Most of all, I can feel so much want in the air-so much needed to be talked about, laughed about, reminisced about. So many big details and little details lost in this one, meager, account. But I think I'm going to narrow it down to the simple truth of the matter. Of a matters here in SparkTown. Because there's something about us, Sparklers. Something special. Because this town wasn't built om just anything. It was built on us. We are this town, Sparklers. And it is us. We all gather here together because we chose to be here and work together and love each other. We put the Sparkle in Sparkler, and that's been shown here tonight, by this wild, somehow still legal, party. Whether we have souls, or just fleshy organs, is a trifle matter. Whether I go into extreme detail about every single person and every single moment, is simply an opinion. But you see, Sparklers, we all have that something. Something inside us all that is so simply and crazy we barely know it is even there. It is our Spark, Sparklers. It is what makes us who we are. It is why we came here, together. And why we still go on today. Nighty Night, dear Sparklers, and may you keep the flame burning high.



Topics: Life

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