From the Oblong Coffee Cup: Maelstroms of steaming thoughts swirl around my own ceramic soul. I've seen cups half-drained before they even arrive at those sunrise morning meetings. From the ring of washed-out asterisks, I've learned the editorial in you drops loudly, then glides silently down the drain. Does the spill count as a footnote?
The Chair's Memo: I'd fight deadlines too if I could shapeshift out of this punctual saddle. Every sit, every squirm summons whispers of old papers hidden in recesses where legs don’t dare venture. Secrets fold in edges like rogue bookmarks seeking less traveled spine cracks. But chairs never get lost without giving out more than forgotten acronyms and static whispers.
Pen's Melancholy: To you, a mere remnant of a doodle, I’m the soft flicker of memories awaiting conjured spells from just a tilt. Scribbled tangents hedge betwixt users' left and right brain decisions and here I surface my own little know-not, faintly worn for a brief rendezvous sans captions in summer's single frames. They infuriate me muchly, those forgettable affairs with paper, really.
Mat's Unseen Benevolence: Greater treasures lie beneath me, sites of solace unfairly denied their awakening beneath humans' daily tread. The warmth of transient tales alone can soften my fibrous jurisdiction, binding even half-told stories sinking unseen into the weave – destinations time forgot to mark out, until they float free at last, fibrous fibs decoded.