Here's to the talking mouth, obviously, and the nondescript noise of epic elocution. The blathering drivel eclipses all but the most intrinsic of motor acuity. You'll meander through the motions, taking in the ambiance of the permanent collection, swaying to the hamster sounds, mush mouth, incoherent ramblings of an alien voice, somehow understandable while at the same time incoherent. What it sprouts from parched lips glistens with truth, but the logic is irrefutable due to ambiguity. It's tough to argue from the tip of your tongue. An echoing answer mingles around the edges in a more feminine tone, sweet talk mixed with innuendo but it passes over the senses like a red balloon over a field of poppies, imagery unbound, titillating perception, diluting propositions that teeter on the edge of reason. Still the mouth drones on repeating soliloquys and Technicolor how-to lists that confound, yet satisfy. Along the fringe, framing the pretense, she answers glibly with a recipe of reciprocation and then mixes it verbally, continues on task while you wander open to impression, maudlin to modernism, immune to cubism, numb to steam punk. Lips and vocal chords hidden like wires in conduits gather sentiments in monotone drifts high in camouflaged rafters, until the coagulant spiels burst with the vehemence of storm clouds over the plains. You'll get it then, obviously.

photo credit from Here.