This is the style I used when I wrote my very first short story. Then I had it critiqued and realized how far up my own ass I was and how incredibly and surprisingly ineffective and insubstantial, like an onyx plastic garbage bag inflated to a gargantuan volume with seems straining to burst from a violent tempestuous powerful gust but lacking the requisite  weight to have any ability to exert a force and free itself from the unyielding barrier of an oak telephone pole once upon a time stained red by a chemical dye derived from rusty iron in a factory but faded by prolonged exposure to bleaching penetrative ultraviolet rays to a gradient of pink that lightened the higher the pole climbed upward extending its finger into the screaming and howling slate gray sky crying chilling tears of rage, excess description was for conveying my ideas.