Sounds faded away. Slipping past one another like tectonic plates in the night, the noises evaporated like so much milk. Lights dimmed, as though the finger of Goddo had gently pressed down on the fader control. Vibrations and ejaculations and other sources of frequency and distraction abated. Like wading on a pond, a glacial duck in free fall, things just sort of hung about.
Glow Zoondon hovered. With all the chaos turning into neat little tidy rows of order all around him, he blitzed out like a zen monk. With a blink of his thoughts he turned screaming babies and a jackhammer into a peaceful little synthclav piece. A gentle stroke was all it took to unwind the raspy tick-tock o'clock.
Zoondon levitated, rotated, and zoomed through the sky. Air whooshed around his streamlined body. Blips of jingly harmonic music attuned to his ear's desire. What a wishful world, he thought to himself.
CRACK! A whip shattered the silence. Standing astride rich lathery puffs of smoke, a decked-out warrioress held her laser blazer aloft. "Glow!" she yells.
After witnessing the jumble from observer-space, you decide you're ready to take action. A quick mind-click and you're materialized in the phasemetry. Standing between Zoondon and the warrioress, you focus your mental energy.
What are the morals of the tale?