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Description
Interesting colors, produced by a new version of colorscript which I don't yet have a full grasp on. It will sink in. The color jumps are caused by 'feeding' the RGB bytes every once in a while.

I used to visit a playground as a child which was a perfectly normal playground, except that I still occasionally have dreams about it, as if it were in reality a portal to an alternative reality, or such a reality itself. It was in a profoundly sleepy area in a village, and the playground had a sleepy, dreamy, almost delirious quality of its own. This quality was only enhanced by the fact that the playground was well-kempt to the point of being immaculate, and that even on a Sunday afternoon there were almost never any kids around. As if the playground merely existed in itself and for itself. Contemplating contemplation. There was something not quite right about it. Maybe there were hardly ever any kids because they knew that bad things happened there. Things performed not by the mean and wicked villagers, but by the friendly, 'decent' ones. The nice old 'gentlemen'. I don't think I have any suppressed memories about it myself, though. It was just the weird, surreal atmosphere. These colors for some reason reminded me of that playground.

Description
Interesting colors, produced by a new version of colorscript which I don't yet have a full grasp on. It will sink in. The color jumps are caused by 'feeding' the RGB bytes every once in a while.

I used to visit a playground as a child which was a perfectly normal playground, except that I still occasionally have dreams about it, as if it were in reality a portal to an alternative reality, or such a reality itself. It was in a profoundly sleepy area in a village, and the playground had a sleepy, dreamy, almost delirious quality of its own. This quality was only enhanced by the fact that the playground was well-kempt to the point of being immaculate, and that even on a Sunday afternoon there were almost never any kids around. As if the playground merely existed in itself and for itself. Contemplating contemplation. There was something not quite right about it. Maybe there were hardly ever any kids because they knew that bad things happened there. Things performed not by the mean and wicked villagers, but by the friendly, 'decent' ones. The nice old 'gentlemen'. I don't think I have any suppressed memories about it myself, though. It was just the weird, surreal atmosphere. These colors for some reason reminded me of that playground.