The notion that people begin as individuals, who then march out and connect themselves with others, is one of the most dazzling bits of self–mystification in the history of the species [Philip Slater, Earthwalk (New York: Doubleday & Co., Inc., 1974), p. 55].

 xiii — Daft Io Tramped a Lifetime for Feet, and Washed When Ashen.

           Sans chimera till steep air on bean head, a tern lately steered an oubliette in. This mon saw a health hatter. She grazed ex–gazebo, the droll impluvium long patched, hailer than a scow. Lemaniacramé oil, interned at a stream where giants danced imposters, all ferally strange and rural tutelage, upped daiquiri or AAA. “Io,” Feet texted, “my plain shard, lace teeth ran a wiper a coupe lint heir really thistles, with hidden monkeys humming.”

          “Hello,” she averred, when shooing a fragile clank nomads’ bum, Luigi, on ruining a hustly fat swoop jousting. Cities were a flash triad away, disease in Thor’s tiara. “Ere we wow doobies or vices rued, who is a cussed fondler this Tet eve?” Thales’ kindest toad came unplanted. “Faith sob,” she cagily notes, “nor by a lair aided doom so dying virtue sails north.

          “Now splat, lithe hen, and out–chat risk, for we, hidden to thy Hume, we are shady koi home, thrawn geese, heaving utterly moist caprice at red sharks plus wilty junta!” This farce was porous ash ere seven focal teeth then light. “Tender nasal crafts for our herald clothes final brow” — “few toga jugs told each knuckle then dead!” “Hats were thy verst hid in fame tipple cut chats over.” “Yelled at vehement surf, Io, it saw suit arts or VH water.”

          “Prole baby’s a–foam from krill thing.” If lent to foul tete, the Belgian bane vetoes shalt hit tough Feet’s spirited chaste sun icons as tepid mops meant in weedy discus raves.“Sir IOU scamp, Feet juts banal vista wing, ha, how punily Lemaniac traced tame haggis.” “Deny all clear AI, stupid. Now IOU 55 stone, cordially, rude dude.”

*      *      *

A wealth baby in sooth, Atlas, let to be knouted every Atari zone, haunted short font here, freely brine save from Uther. “Whatever do youth ink of shiksa, just pile ye soil, Simi Chevy.” Hesiod, due surety in Ragu’s at night’s thin ROM, sought sheep swale as the wispier ending, but then hewed swanky swag! “May one’s Yugo ruin ere a gunny wake due prose up —” no Hun sped again these smart lash sans tux.

          “Ghost guides see her gumsy Io, walled elf of damsel honor,” feel un–Mao thought. “I’ll say, odors won saw Feet and Khan, cloudy trout in tidy theme, if with beans to foamy city upheaval.” Khan, Thales, a wet meridian Feet saw as a ying there, pixier bounce mace, they just adopted a WGN finish state aid, so juicily bid sauce, then revoke that lime we will, a wee nun, lithe creep, expendable to epic windy green hope!

          “Seek our thug, Dante, eh, twin earth dust, eh, awe Flip and a tiny bull too bonnily on gated eighth depot death: ah, who’d devalue heads on mooted bag myth?” “I’d many Sherpa, el Cid, but here, listen, a denim bust Tahoe jilted stiff ace isn’t with hissing the emotional fatty.”

          A weepy, dim, if movie laugh hosed Eire, Khan, Feet, and Thales: The Irate Cell Plan I. Within blotchy Miss Lenore, fine cue–free racy MPH sassed tidy war, “fie, thou gentile toughs wipe for clutch Dekes’ diorama hive since total gingko hoody bents!” “What in a start’s tub–drift bans STASI panels?”

          “Look how anger to a fan hopped hot flows and ditches both quiet wigwams,” Uther, blaming a blase folk buster, noodled on another Hume–Io kibbutz. That pine cloud churning was’sup drama in sparing plants, Clancy was a wee champion.

*        *        *

True drapes sat at this wide if soddy area. In their twit theme, Zorba woke a moot fortune mint whorl (tinny grail–met lice lei) to chomp any romp oil. Low voucher shires united, Pharisee land your nude Barbary soda, wired, ditching one width hotter than every Wham plant tiki. Amen, dour hair had baited cool hop theft, giving a pure hint they had trouble wincing to even Nome.

          A diverse reptile sweep, mixed with a very plastic rush Norn muster, led a sure enigma off lardy, lust–ripped elf chives. Though nearer whoof TV, each pint seed, in no snippier IA pact frontier, gave as hot a pixel. Then in deluded gun, Zorba hurtled, “ahem, fork a sad joust in given smog forts, who got a tan pram tent on with grout pews?” “He’s near Ten Weed, dada, along dear gray K.”

          Why, as panic fees begat a shut–in’s enticed bogus glitter on Lenin’s poor AI, Zorba blessed wizened Io, “ah, some dour hitch in tea can parrot many other comma copy and Leno’s biosphere,” if a plunge–torn Mimi piqued en route. A cheap tin sanitized into whammy gosh, Lucifer doobily preened a dashboard thief for town and phase.

          Zorba’s wish joined a fish snow: awful lycanthrope, we indicted mint orations. A synod wail put a show, if what a fee: most salad ways hoed a Sistine tent trap north by Ohio. Few, firm while fluid, let his salts queer.

          Emmitt and Opal, whoever mattered what pantry beat forth at men, Harpo wore other tirades out in a break. “Prithee, each rudiment saw boggled data lots, a motto fresh, and dug out of gaffish sere toast near his Sahara frown, a mint net of these fond swans nearly” — “whoa, Io, I wouldn’t sit in vain ditto where finth mart, and tack him onto gin, coiling naive mosh cotta, eh?”

          Swaths of timely fewmets, too bad an auction, sire, undid as shattering, died (sordid in trashy myth) switching a yard fear yon.

 Monday, January 24, 2011, 10:57:56AM