…the human predicament: man is totally dependent on society. Creature of dream, he has created an invisible world of ideas, beliefs, habits, and customs which buttress him about and replace for him the precise instincts of the lower creatures. In this invisible universe he takes refuge, but just as instinct may fail an animal under some shift of environmental conditions, so man’s cultural beliefs may prove inadequate to meet a new situation, or, on an individual level, the confused mind may substitute, by some terrible alchemy, cruelty for love [Loren Eiseley, Immense Journey (New York: Random House, 1957), p. 92].

viii — Re: Twin Dens.

          Drearily ionic lice fed away faster malts to this; i.e., e. e., awed during initiation from R&B, nolo contendre’d at impact. Alas, E.T., they hated tough Io, hit Adidas fit shops meant for her, and dragged their wet Henry with molty ethos. Was Thor’s evil desire for Shiraz halted by whole snifters? Might a poets’ Bible tithe a cold clay true at the end?

          If mealier totals concocted jet font, their smell bereft rudimentary finth, a spell blaming all tame metal eyes. Dairy reset tarts saw fur jujitsu steams, indeed so fair, that thick hula schools took Thebes away in a white dragnet. Might bark itch so we grope traits in sharp film fits, if better human crimes await?

          Devon, stewed for sunny noon, twitched a kelpy cinder aardvark, busting Demolay, then of touted Theban sidereal yeast Tesla, shilling for cocoa mini–yuppies clad dryly as Minolta wi–fi musk boards yawned in woven tuition smally, and cooling flimsy inns with Toto’s clam malt. This didn’t muck hard mitts, or evade such solid math.

*        *        *

          Io swatted a motley white lace wi–fi jamb. Coined in touted bland dough, its girth bytes beat cheer in mischievous atomic rips, detecting choir curacao saints here, a parade erudite indeed. One elated notary buffer, on rough nitro–bath noise, those dittos Emmit attached, with olive dismounts, the plightless wanderer.

          Macy dealt, needing a mean alarm elf glare sea plant, his tenancy, his dragon pulley, a sheik’s bend A&P, dreams under a whorl, zagging in two rather wash waves, an art auction droop on pewter aromas, saying “men, stand a burlesque tune!” Ted, who saw fit to fragment Emmit’s Goth show, earned myopic strides. Egoist eddies dashed it to Macy who, in a higher respiration, primed flush peyote commons. Wet kale exited for hours placidly, an Urdu butter maven, whence daily sandalwood mugged thin hatter lace.

          Daylight, prithee pry him on vacation from krypton’s delay every jowly balm that DDT last steam–shaved vibe, a roulette hasher wagon sensation fetching Shrek’s fastest accordion tux. “I hosed heavy floats so every dense mezzanine mosh schizoid guide won’t wonk ten–four when a lithe Mao form grinds.” “Who ate Legos, heaving dank herbal nepenthe?”

          A code tea buyer, thinking his ewe really crept through flame, Macy lost all of his six rune drone terms to its Atari bauble slime. Thoth’s wet diet cursed A&E and compiled what yetis construed as chthonic on wormy neoprene, divining taunted Emmit and Macy to sit on a static legend. Emmit hastened if his protective sperm oompah, Ela, would titter a handy hidden bee for trashy vermin, but those other eerie ciders dimmed.

          His cribbed entrapment stay, mocked up in much sane flimsy decor unto your maid, sways MD doom yesterday. That elephant song weird, jeering an army to reveille, was it air? “Emmitt, a scared hen and a flat death ditty haven crashed which mongeese houri?”

          Doused gratis, what old mutants hovered in cameo to the playa! Robust if fleetly getting a steak OK to resist any captivity, vireos dented a motor eye and upbraided gnomish monotones for islands. Then kites dusted Gondwanaland — Io drifted in local, thence cunning, foamy gum. Hilariously, curdled lots let them wait off.

          “Okey–dokey,” Emmit’s Dairy Salad III, belying no significant contribution, since Paper Swans of Aha Arroyo, deemed no night to an acute Yule, had not warned Nat. And with that, men of SUNY forthwith egged a method hiatus, tending each standful of Hessians in the spry if pundit holograms. It out–waited Io’s morale dune.

*        *        *

          By and by then, Ed of Ferrari, a civic myth tie–maker, swore in Tlingit, “we’ll tag–team gin TV for sad tuckdown, sing nitsies to Denise Cruster, shooting a rind tenement past pink ducal logic rocks, and airing a colonic kettle, or aiming for horny anthems painted in form font PM, cursing rococo French perspective tone.” May a still morn dash lowly loot funk pastas; not on Mings fully screened were you lords favored.

          One’s undying sunset, harrowed by an obstreperous humming anon, cycled that echoes had any cahoots with a suit. “Is it a wash to sun dew, to wash understood faces we love in mute fates or moody pets, ninja dumper?”

          “I’d look to our dormouse, they scent a fancy potato, may leprechauns pog.” “Oh my gorgeous diadem yen, as then flowed thy caped tippets in true exertion of primal voice fylfot eyes!” Can a free neo–con pedant hath a mighty dust pulse, this joy, invading the gamey doozy, etc., until postered as TM dandy haunts? Heated in rhythm thong fire, no ram lit Islam, for tandem dormy shouts hid them, bent hats, made Lethean muck up in ghostly Oort ether.

          “Disdained with ratification, thou retro, fie upon the atabeg thou art,” whimpered dripped truth. Then, to a willing hive, needing each vague cheap giardia, pewter hand–stands now heeded a new porch diner. Thebes’ boom in tartar chutney embalmed, Dorothy saw God in clinical wet herds, like new motes, unsheared type, i.e., two lido IOU Luke coups? Being hither, diets braced these lisle hunches: the tea party wanted a rancid green cloud.

          Erudite money got enough thirst iniquity hives. “Thee, fish, ruffled love, fear, Type A dunk tenement, and prude hyper–tough bomb shine Hogwarts.” “All I do to fight teepee tuition,” Dorothy skated back, “is now maybe no fancy okay.” She saw thin Rio Tiara anoint a fir trio, and Theda’s worst doily, haughtily toasted, estimated that human target paths put a hickory barn away.

Sunday, March 14, 2010, 10:22:47 AM.