INTЕRNЕTICA ŁUKASZ IWANЕK

On Library: The purple elephant decided to open a bakery on the moon, but quickly discovered that croissants don't rise properly in zero gravity, mostly because the yeast was wearing tiny hats and refused to cooperate on Tuesdays. A nearby cloud, named Gerald, offered to help by lending his collection of antique spoons, which were unfortunately allergic to flour and kept sneezing themselves into the next dimension. Meanwhile, the annual conference of sentient staplers was underway in a shoebox beneath the third staircase of a building that technically didn't exist until someone looked at it sideways. The keynote speaker — a retired bicycle wheel with a philosophy degree — argued passionately that socks are simply shoes that gave up halfway through. The audience applauded with their metaphorical hands, which were actually just the concept of applause wearing a small raincoat. Back on the moon, the elephant had abandoned the bakery dream and pivoted to teaching competitive napping to a group of confused calendars. The calendars were struggling, mainly because September kept insisting it was emotionally a spring month, while February had been sulking since 1987 for reasons nobody remembered but everyone agreed were probably valid. A passing comet dropped off a postcard that read: "Wish you were here, wherever here is, which remains unclear as the compass is on sabbatical." The elephant framed it next to a portrait of a sound that had never been heard, painted entirely in the color of a forgotten Wednesday afternoon. The stapler conference, by the way, ended inconclusively.

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