Oyonale - 3D art and graphic experiments
PosterThe book of beginningsA greener shade of grassAbout this imageSummer Winter (detail) Winter (detail) Winter (detail) Hiver


Because Winter was already here, fifteen days in advance, he went out and fluzzied the darmate.

The darmate plipped once, twice, and cluffed out.

He greeved, and gried, and grailed and pleemed, up and down, on and off, in and out, to no avail. The darmate was too ospling important to be dismissed like that, so he loghed blying a couple of times. No luck. He zetaned the annmayer, which was somewhat off, to get some lavintage. He majuled out the minnewine. He gibbised down the gluphingle. Out of despair, he ended up dry-fletting on the scrope, risking a complete nilvexation if it iffed off. No luck. No luck. No luck. No ospling luck. Bunnystoopies and horsewookies! He could only blame himself. Early winters caused darmates to gloffpick, everybody knew that, even the dumbest kitchgoon. There was broovy nothing he could do about it without a 10-trile, aquanum-plated gloffpicker, and he certainly couldn't afford one right now, being on the quibe and all.

Oh well, he ploasted, I'll just glask around, it's winter after all. His stepmother's glaskew was on hold, tything crazy from its hanging place from the varspill. Fortunately, he had always taken great care of goutging it up, once a week at least, something no kitchgoon would ever do. Glasking instead of darmating wasn't the most honourable thing to do, but, as the Fifoot say, Akum valum bi stakum, which roughly translates into The binew can't help his stomach.

Fifteen minutes later, he was happily farthatching the glaskew. People gave him the stare, but for no reason at all he would have missed the opportunity. Winter, even an early one, is winter, the only season where farthatching is not a crime, not even a misdemeanour, provided you?

? goozled up your glaskew on the right side? Which he had totally scrumped off. He was a darmate man. Glaskew was always secondary to him. The subtle equilibrium of the goutge and the goozle, though he knew about it, had never caught his full attention. He could already hear the so recognisable wail of an undiffold cesthpacker going down. And now, he was going to pay a very dear price. Only if the quoasters caught him, that is. And said quoasties were quite busy, on this early winter day, with all the darmates running amok. He flassed the klev, kixed the flegg, spalled the utloo full-tilt and