Inside every spider's head was a white room. Each morning, when the delicious glittering dew dripped onto the intricate web form, the dark body would go quietly to absorb these vibrating beams from the slowly awakened world. Meditating as it seemed, the furry legs clutched together neatly. The spider learned to let thoughts fly as other wise men would do among the snowy Tibet mountains. Inhale and exhale.

        Inside every white room, it smelled like lemon cleaners. Bacteria found it hard to survive and so did Creativity. Creativity lied flat with its tummy down. It had stopped breathing for a while. Its skin had reduced its lively shimmering glow to a marble like cool corpulent. The unbearable whiteness sucked in all bits of noises and exhaled ambiguous white rays bouncing around in this tightly packed space. "Exit" or "Entry" was not part of the floor plan. Nor was any windows or doors. The room was designed to be completely isolated. Any holes were lawfully forbidden. However an unfathomable accidental mistake opened up its invisible (to the naked eye) dimension to Creativity's nostrils.

       The hole was silent. It emitted a thread of yellow curry smoke. The smoke coming out from the perfectly round hole (in the radius of 0.6 x 10 to the -6 mm) transcended vertically to two downwards nonfunctional organic openings.

                               
                                 reckoned
                                 commented                        banana blossom
                                 suggested                           crimson catchup
                                 inquired                               snowy cotton sugar
         The hole          intoned                                black winter night
                                 thought                                 silver high heel
                                 recommended                     orange fat cat
                                questioned                             purple drilling machine
                                pointed out



The nose paused and reflected.



                       harsh                           white                                   light
                                                           tormenting
                                                         half closed eye lids

                                                 stubborn brown eye balls
                                                           soaked in

                                                           a-m-o-n-i-a



Unexpected metamorphosis took in place:


                                                                        smelly doggy                 paws
                                                                       butterfly bald                    head
                                                                       frozen Asian                     ribs
                                                                       hypodermic bulging          pimples  
                                                /                      measles textured             wings
Creativity                     ---                               rosy glistening                  kidneys
                                                \                       plastic wrinkled                 legs 
                                                                        springing tadpole             tail
                                                                       cross-contoured                 pleats



         The process was engaging with the result. The transformation was in a continuous loop. The invisible hole was euphemistic for majestic, timeless and enigmatically powerful. In history it stood next to the Great Pyramid. The function was both constructive and also destructive.

         Nevertheless the dialogue between the hole and Creativity remained highly classified and untouchable. However the hole couldn't exist forever as the room detected the open wound and self-cured it.

         Creativity was slowly bumping again. The redemption of the hole was told to come every four cycles.

         Most importantly, outside the white room, Mr. Spider had just wiped off one grasshopper's arm from his mouth and stood there gracefully with eight tip toes.

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