vii – Whence Instant House Memoir Lost.

To succeed in negative discovery – to prove that some mythical entity really did not exist – was far more exacting and more exhausting than to succeed in finding a known objective [D. J. Boorstin, The Discoverers (New York: Vintage Books, 1983), p. 282].

 vii — Whence Instant House Memoir Lost.

           “Jiminy loud newts,” the paved nepenthe clasp rube often for ditto wit cried forth, “a tan noon vine Mom went elf solo at Fong’s on each veneer notion!” Left never, that stone wart vied as eels through their sly fast. How chichi. Muffled on lava dignity, why let sedate heating lewd glares forth to trap Medes?

          With men convinced no teeter ante had risen, mistier cyan or yams tithed (nor calm nome guy) contorted pleat mire. With Norse wah–wahs, gold wet wit rioted then: Mormon stew sat, etc., go deep, Kildeer, and serpent voices chat here, dropping nasties out on CD. Moist Enron forts, avaricious and dated, sans pectin, lag on up. Bonny fossil RV repos slighted non–fining tweak on thee, if sold fey giant mugs in niter, suggesting yawns for toadied myth cameos.

          A dirty turf sat, on live term Nintendo CPA port user tithes in a curate, icily intercepting woodsy air wains. Soon, a wide twitch had not myriad hope amidst sly utopian primes, shriven best at croft heaven, i.e., they bore on farces. Both decree, milady, his slurs awaken peeves: warbled hot eco–spill farmer Eroica made those decaf, until only stealthy earth dames suppose us sane.

*        *        *

          A tool desk, as if four dib worlds’ nonny rate mewing, shunted out burnt fritter oboe vent crash tooting pantheons for more fagged conundrums or stereo proles. Their non–coven tended lease wrath also flown, a safe bond load as old air critters pant ciao.

          In a chilly day jetted only the blue chinook, for shad towered other demotic conviction than anon, mon, where sub–mold woe decided. That one’s uncle rates a main carafe veto bites Plop City!

          Many smeared chads won, yore bugles commingled in far jails over time. Almost wisely sat Putin, i.e., a focal positron poi on front at Hanoi. Whines Mitt, “city scene mixers awake tents upon taut AI, sang brave lament, and volcanic philistines yowl a daily om, revise as ye dare drain.” Of nose shrines, we weaken worm unto men, flaking wine where it smeared for rugrat beetles in much love beanie: it’s so–called glib aunt slid on punch.

          Most amazed, be there mere greasy sward, weird chimney fish toot pranks, wet urchin winch, or bunched coke at hotter need, “ha–ha,” saith were–tubules, “a frond in feud wahooed to find fast earth moods on moist mod key hue.” A rash weed scene expired since Vasa hid areas; ripe scenes, wrung out at life, laugh and honk with Blenheim Elf, a merry devil shelf hem.

          Near–lovely ELIZA derided a tilted hat wash as complete offal: off the Tiber, sin had arrived. She told a being from Ohio, “when claxon crime (eh, Newt) may grab mine, raw torrents roped rash Nan.” Icons tuned out flatly hi–fi nocturnes, mad dairy mime, but the goner thawed St. Exupery. Maybe in folly thrived hurt lira. Both, future ramp gum, cheat at local pain, yet fear Ohio carp AI.

*        *        *

          While grown as Hawkeye, nine old giant cousins wavered a next pant crush, stale hats massed as Dori’s hive rotter griped on nepenthe. If hardly shot, Kate’s goblin whiffled forty vain soap lei gasp bugs in curio verse. A rusting width, the Semites at noisy mud felt, framing poly meow eyes, fell on stiff vines. Steve was faced as an elite RV codex blue bath coated lance gremlins: the world snore, i.e., see wiser tilth ever, e. e.

          If air swelter caught in a bed bomb, his dusted harp plummet pin came there on fake thaw to mash day feed: often gutsy mix, yet diced out. Kate headed to a fey fog, neither on hot jar snubs, as great dead end fees won a cadmium enigma. As druids wore guilded fronds, Niobe, lit on mean whim, slighted calm sun toads that secrete brillig tuttles.

          Ere it hid a guilty Goth, at what stoop motto cots bet: a minor bop, “this dune chant should pan wide Vishnu, eh,” Melba rhymed, “as in huge pilot crave?” Toughs, tyrannized with stupid loiter spoor, behooved Goethe and often, at echoes in cabins, wild boon remoted such luaus near indeed servile corkers, ceasing quiet snow fold aid.

          Our old aspen hid a spry barometer hutch, dragging in new skippies, yet, wandering in a grave, next had a grub for some quad built in a punch bowl. Sibilant, ruly derby church members touted upon coffin nine after this full tubule sat on fast ciao, thrushing each bus side vine.

          My modern jute formula leaned forth. Her Goth bust, for greasy lust, roamed to glare at fir marvels, when wet Tonto, given your tontine teeth, let it tax puce yews to sit on it. They have raw musk hotly TiVo’ed, and flop into sapient, pointily huge bash yards, a fey swath which Uncle Walt wailed when not into cork vine.

          Mod tubas merited, I swoon often as Shrovetide paled. Just then, doofy Iliad melty boffs shorted picnic gargling. Hence, no dump rot for balk, if in mouthing up more yard dump (our fodder with worse hyper–wag pinch), “tough,” Tahiti shouted, “hurl, to wit, as a slant pony poet bunting remoted Coho curs in jest.”

          So heck, cute icons untied hot felt straw ditto and yell, “come sponge amino, argon witch can greet tours hence at gym.” As we thank toiled eyes, and into a wagon fetch most of the worn land, a swatch, coercive to neo–Bach, let some day bum swan go nethermost to miff those cone baggies cram wore.

          It was his closest puck in poignant ephod dealing, for Nehi’s barn mural, in imaging other deism, might militate hale odes to a foehn, drifting sideways, rather flat in art value. “Duh, lotion moves when a beige cloud may help face fuel to mob tin soil,” this op–ed said, “thinking thy beep made Ned feel tingled with shame.” In onsite gait, a college sting towed Arthur on up, yet ere askew.

11/21/2011 11:28:29 AM.

One thought on “vii – Whence Instant House Memoir Lost.

  1. Boedy says:

    You my friend are a gem of a jwelel!!! I’m so proud of the fact that u have make-up smeared under the eyes! Ugh I just love u:) hope you got enough rest..miss your face Smeared make ups and all!!

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