Noone’s need to face my music did not involve reality and on behavioral recurrence obviated several viral outbreaks in Pamphylia. “How much are you willing to chip in to feel ignored but still part of the system,” she asked of Mantissa’s aircraft silhouettes. “You only pretended to gratify,” and now she lives it up in the papers, a rocket scientist who can promise only free rides in her space ship. Nevertheless they saw, amid the crumbs a tiny sparrow motionless who was God.

          “Weren’t you making spaghetti,” God said? “Well, I was, but it had to simmer down because 1 thought i was involved with another groundswell of apathy toward our 4D recovery center.” Arbitrary autonomy retracted, in peered crude verticules, albeit non–otiose characters left, basking in degrees of surrealism at Sunnybrook Lanes.

          The name reeked of new, and crass, insular, displaced transference ideation. “It was past pathetic to see me,” she saith. Early day’s heat minute, sunlight poured onto more and or non–fewer rooms, Cliff’s society on pause for last instant printing, his seizure largely saw assessments of statuary evanescence. While engrossed by change, some onlier constraint lent dim clarity upon those cavalcades sloughing desire, want, indignation; over mores or extant stratum thought connoted, a luxury of chaos which hat pin chosen juxtapositioned the sufficiently eked frieze, book–marked for an effortlessly transparent naivete in shocking blots, a deft stir inked as reality gradually unfolds, or at least a plumby riparia since dusk had not time to be anywhere else except Sirius.

          Fanfare elapsed, too inevitably who are passed over for rush and can always make friends with those later brought any cyclical raspberry rain barrel suds as to how my life is after all of that stuff left ahead in enclaves; exempt from frumious interference you may get before nearly three sunspot cycles of reading how cinema, landlines, and analog television might be virtually dormant. Until an exceptional coherence in casuistry remained mitigated, accentuation of inter–regional dialect purported causal levitation into an erstwhile insular capacitance. Unseen since sthenic denizens to be downstairs, eventually various factors weigh in. Presentation of text in both analog and digital format required access on peripheral devices capable of reliable interface with coterminous platforms commensurate to fulfillment.

          Misplaced felt propped his eyelids open, imperative peace, derived from decades of wrinkling. At a time when forgotten, mirrors of middle night, endless tours, vestigial pagoda, pizza runs, perilous hikes, cafes, closed, or limited, in surface, single trays to gelato, in recurrent dreams the first chapter of his math text stared unread as equations went on incomprehensibly. Behavior here unheard of, his addiction did not comprise a convincing sensibility. Either he is one single auto reboot from dis–installation of his only isp, or jpegs of the tavern nacreously wavered, convivially its bleakly blithe ignorance.

          I wished to write, he wrote, about print on demand (PoD), and various factors encountered in its efforts to adapt to evolving technological advancement. From a contextual standpoint, this narrative included synopses, and endnotes, compiled for several manuscripts, on an online website, in an aim of supplementing the printed version(s). He is thankful for the efforts of the many worthy individuals who have devoted their time and skill to these topics, and for potential opportunities to participate in symbolic depiction of text using both analog and digital format.

Nicean non-translator.

Thursday, January 13, 2022, 4:31:57 PM.

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