Swarms of jitterbugs, hurrying Ovid, point to flexible theory, waiving neo-songs on Sandra’s ideal alto woody shaft. 

 

III — xviii — By Now the Most Influential Man in Cyberspace.

.   .   .

Amid divers rummages, their embrace cascaded toward substratum, viewing the halo of a horizontal dove then, and the wrack of ahoy or dunes. Groping into a secluded duct, there rested this frame, settled onto a tilted cline. Enclumped with growths that waved, it reckoned under a dull sun. Van Etnabaron, couched amid aspects of antiquity in a yoke, an axle, and a displaced universe. Sought within the crest of a vehicle, brushed kelp aside, an array of attenuated sunbeams streamed from above onto the shallow glow of white stone. Drawing from his reserve tank, Harold uncovered more dark winking obsidian sets in argent.

An oxygen supply, expending rapidly, reminded him to look up another diver panting at bronze bands, bearing the leopard’s colophon through her mask, pronouncing a work with many C’s. Sasha dared mutter Thledvirrson’s name. Rafted across the moon or spamming Pleiades of 1699 (re: a swarm of [sic] bats heaved over), Talitha’s elevated ESP items yelped at anything fondly. Blearily roused to brew pesto chiffons al fresco, she sorted naughty bubbles in vain, carven of those gamins grungier, than rely within areas on davits, rooms where all fluff with individuals and groups already inclined most gracefully, for they were met by pages and positions somewhere near the top of the stars. Zestfully their casuistry smattered if in effervescence, while heretofore bellows from far under lignite beyond stoked the gregarious ethos of night, might we be going anywhere.

As ninth-imagined emendates cave courses too often to avert the musty clamor of providence, responsibly a shallow never after awakened we seeming sports, for amid intractable heirs of a new scented victory catalog brushed over here, a problem perceptibly defined its foremost elf, fatally coursing fizzles not unlike pop rocks known to us few pre–Sputnicists whom, already irate with concern over a delineating word I’ve been trying to recall for days, lighted inkling loads into a deserving ocean of peace. While cirrus magentas hovered aft, presaging nominal seizure of elements salinifying significance of shriveled premise to reign of an elsewhere red Norn, abrupt verticules also obscured a concept when ohms, capable in surer mesh than teased ennui, invidiously brooded upon referenced above jazz.

.   .   .

In reception, Iraisamonde felt one hand extrude around her backlash, gripping her opposite elbow at each interlocution. Only to handfuls, of recognizably premier industrialists, did the staff ensign deign proffer his bridle hand. Inward shudders of relief approached with proximity of the Contessa, Mme. Nadeladimov, and the Elector of Ruthenia. The ensign of plans made carbon redeem set wheels, such goddam buoy growth her forest time. The Elector’s mild ewe had bunched zemvstos of whole Anubian tours, “but here your fork tone must be left to rococo AI,” Plair mentioned, “and now that Ossian is in stone–age, who can’t move for hegemony?”

“The Elector has not given it the least thought.” “In replies most apex noir, any brash memo string, in tie,” added politely, “until then.” They hurried away, the ensign of plans plugging irksome tictus. “You just have know–how to work this room.” Iraisamonde said, “this sharp knit grew high.” Waning lines of arrivals held up, the onset of a single man approached in medieval topcoat, which, read from a placard as the then phew of the dan flatbread or something, fell upon her hand with a concupiscence of kisses, and pulled away by his two–foot men, fled abashed into greater chambers. Byzantine perforce, civic and fluffy, they shoved their carrioccios through aisles of Pushkin’s Market, whence Niobe’s loudness epistatically loosed an emptier bean grinder, programmed, in methodical tastes of elastic untenets, to heave alto rinses from afar.

Charming a tea leafiest before, wishram had short–changed its moist crocus zithyrs, tuffaceous argent un–mounds, off course gribble grabble, rusty dread lock baud, and plaid vanilla luau rants with mostly Shrovetide daisies, chilled, sampling exegesis, pleonasms extant, worth eons of divinity, caused, into homely encomium, an altruistically digitalized enter any level, and into smocks some woolgathered in culturally adipose equanimity. Wives and men walked their wonders about, and as children did lead them, bracingly, others followed them to exit and leaned around one another, skewing to the floor, as Trombone Society demographics inclined to the inner core of old founders, who trembled upon the deed, gave thought to the dregs, and saw the end of warmth, their meditation also given in silence of borrowed time.

When the caretaker looked alone again, wakened, with his untrained portion, author of poor haiku realized that they had forgotten him. No concerted hand had reached out to touch his own. No gentle voice had inquired his course. They had left him. After standing for one minute with papers, keys, wallets, laptops, credit cards, safe deposit box numbers, and all of their other tossed cares, author of poor haiku flew into action. Lapidaries of extenuous design may not have smacked of more geodesy than this free last ring toss before bedlam; dully antic, if syncopated, arranged the intimation of their whole assessment of this predictable Hesitance, scowled against though by most clear itch, oh now to dutifully ache with refuse, altogether in paltry taken Venns had she feared valet brethren, who merely tossed zonal glances of umber amperage before heeding schematic, ware of failsafe Norns who delivered slack release to any confabulator.

Waxing faint, Horace let not any spy his dire fremitus as the hall invoked, and was, to all caring individuals, in a closet filled with fitness articles. “An inflatable dentine will thaw out big stinks,” iamin’thelim, achieving plethoras of rickety broth, interjected. They were speaking of this roadkill bore, Grendelle, who demonstrably teed off sparrows, was wispily destined for intractable splices, often chanted merry dithyrambs about underage therapists, and yawned at all ionized crescendos. Niobe said, “he spent his time in emphatic twiddle havens and never worked a day in the yard ever, yet this furry boshvark seriously insisted on evenings off so he could mope and jabber at the Sunrise Cage, that cracker barrel at the corner of Sanity Turnpike and Cinder Road.”

.   .   .

“Time hinged to seem goofy as our hearts grew fond,” Talitha conceded. She had ably devised a rudimentary fulcrum system to circumnavigate, despite the homunculus within her, the ecosphere, while selfsamely remaining in the race to be next Moxie Girl. Mistier advertisements left no room for doubt that she’d really succeeded in overcoming Newspeak gossip of common silt. His pines she’d hosed (HSN with lit, on-led charlatan), showing the latest line of lift and totes while whistling the Berlioz overture to Damnation of Faust. She’d eschewed general scrutiny from fauna of this magical webcam kingdom. Nevertheless, who’d, beneath scirroco pied–à–terre, denounced those Pietas from afar and, hoped flora, strange pests might incite exploratory videlicet to pons asinorum, as refluent muddle of foamy white vetch most hip; in sooth wiggly room where stencils need no urging to bounce in chintzy pirouette, fine with occluded shock value of a lounge really gone?

Here, in a room roamed by taller digital displays of latest celestial findings, partitioned by individuals in clusters, Iraisamonde uniformly managed to shake escort and stood, briefly, before wall sized winking telegraphs of major stellar quasars. The pitch altimeter serenity evaporated in concrete spall. finth were capable of troweling anywhere, their thanes and factions spindling in large demimondes, yet fate of finth comet home, if rarely visited nowadays, was of exceptional concern. And stop, commanded in annealed angst anon the Ambassador, who taught epochs noted during character building exegesized.

Nigh unto fidelity loomed the essence of send–off, in tempestuousness happening one Friday of mere order, during which stealth free edges nominally inherent within splints their ignoble gasps following clued. Microns suede to a tedium sheathed in enamel parings of an errant thoroughly tolerant of a fortnight Megiddo. A strict lunar month accountably reckoned tenuous in captivity was laminar. The ungainly progress of their oblong crèche interdicted pensive iotas in ellipsis; these finth accepted in no good measure other than that suspect antiquarian holding tub visited with ceaseless impermeable dampening. Thin ictus acmes waffled these own boa short essence prints and wormcast an option of lisle facet premise meaning little beyond the circumference of delay. Erased exceptions concomitant to fjulsfut review may stick guests with any check preferable to appearances.

Kind at fasting from hyperborean motive, the natty consensus of broad will spanned inevitable awful argot fonts even non–decimal or in numb origin armed. Leading opinion hemmed about them on a graph of relevance that bolted asymptotically whenever conclusions began. Howsoever bent then through the veranda a great facile blob of actualization, strange thereat pinions tarried upon an onset of aseptic spall, and in visual time cluttered with imperative, all ranked the decadent tumble of liberty doomed unless options, even if launched from then alignment less closure, must evict hapless Earthlings from an inclement and thoroughly incompliant plinth. Timed in sonic insomnia, their V appending the northern sky long before twilight, the flight addressed the exile, “all too busy Nornseeker, try!”

Kept in despair for continuous want of trail mix, maroon (all too busy) was fully prepared to ascribe worst depravity within fjulsfut, who in their distant see, had arrived with such lame condolence, and with no premise of ameliorative diversion, beyond an extension of employment in keeping barnacles from their craft (an offer that maroon (all too busy) had, in initial stages of agonistes, spurned as a usage far beneath his talent yet now, epochs later affording scant relief, might have eagerly clasped, had not fifth displayed such perfunctory vulgarity in failing to renew it), and who had parked in cavalier disregard of all angling precepts to ogle his detention, even loosing their mutant vole that unexpectedly, and with amphisbaenian velocity, Frenched his parched jowls in full view of the solar goddess Aira Phoebe who, if likewise exiled, persisted in maintenance of a modest retinue, and had retired with chaste detachment from the act; and finally, after leering upon the dawn, fjulsfut had driven far from the land of forgotten tents without vouchsafing, given former exalted status of maroon (all too busy) as chamberlain, even a modicum of trail mix.

.   .   .

To great dismay, the young man of the many lips spotted Iraisamonde. “Forgive me for bucketing into your time like this,” Ostrand uttered in rusty Ruthenian, “but aren’t you Duchess Iraisamonde of [sic] tvakar?” He bowled notably, announcing, “Ostrand il Fiume Ampersand, apparent il hogreeve ii. I must tell you that since the beginning of this evening I have found you classically proportioned and dressed really hot.” Iraisamonde threw back an espresso, her reply, “you are somewhat recognizable as incipient figurehead of those renegade filing clerks who somehow are forming the new executive elite,” based upon impartial opinion gleaned from her youngest uncle, ædith, whose primary concern, the paisley neutron cartoon missile works (après thrift, he’d trash bent toner), had boggled down on hostile takeovers engineered with ludicrous scurrilousity.

This then, insofar as his former post rendered fourth conversant with flaws of the fifth, and especially aware of misapprobation of creative license that was their trademark, had progressed from ill–lit stage of indifference toward the fifth’s own plight (most exemplified by upstart uchaux who, railing that distribution system of the fifth had wound down to obsolescence, freely agitated for their relegation in a subordinate node of inter–regnum), and toward an awakened interest in furthering designed tractors of fjulsfut. That most of them might chafe at this unsolicited largesse maroon (all too busy) had but little doubt, and yet this seemed the only feasible course to restore his own office.

“You can take your lithiwatt, and your compliments” — “where have you been,” the ensign of JVsC imperiously erupted, and Iraisamonde was bundled into a central rotunda? Soon maroon (all too busy) conceived that it were far more creditable if downcast thirds, whose emprismed emanations sustained the archaic trail mix diffusion apparatus, were emancipated from their pleasure domes to take their rightful place in the jostling march of liberty. The platform telescoped docents, each ably seating nine where dressed around, and she, ascertaining the supplicant was tabled several decameters away in an odd corner, felt simply perplexed. In recovery, Ostrand nurtured crabbed and incipient scruples which doubtlessly, common raison d’être of individuals forced by circumstance into lifestyle change, were instrumental in codifying estranged perception.

In review of sown policies of maroon (all too busy), there was no shred of certainty implying the least lack of constancy on his own part: amid winds of change, he’d steadfastly extolled fifth as pillars of inter–regnum, had echoed the necessity of tradition in subsidizing their pickled trail mix diffusion facilities, and after an intemperate and risky show of humbug (on behalf of ingrateful fjulsfut), had only grudgingly assented to a limited plot to study the eighths’ proposal to augment inter–regnum through laundering of bipedal souls (a sop which devious uchaux opportunistically magnified into immediate fruition) and finally, in response to the fifths’ chronic and vocal indigence, had continuously extended credit upon terms of leisurely rapprochement, which the latter always refuted in a spirit excessively doctrinaire.

The only charge posterity might conceivably abandon upon the ex–chamberlain’s doorstep, amidst wilted dahlias, was perhaps an evasive avuncularity during his association with fifth which, well knowing their propensity for proletarian sunburst, maroon (all too busy) timidly adapted. Such resolve to hasten the fifths’ plummeting ergot now seized maroon (all too busy), that he’d even dreamt of giddily hitching upon the distended uchaux bandwagon, not caring that they’d regard his presence as at best supernumerary, yet onto these cogitations the fact of his exile, far from flytraps of concern, brought a rude if salutary damper. First served in tiny scoops was the alpine delicacy listed on the cambric menu as Tetraschwanze [sic], the tiny alpine plover’s egg. The escort mashed his shell listlessly and pushed it away. Seemingly upon cusp of abdicating all autonomous function, Iraisamonde resolved to finish the evening and tapped her portion.

Twin yolks nestling in the bosom of the cup, family operatives converged quickly upon scene, bearing her out in ignorance of urgent offers of assistance from JvSc representatives. Ylferim’s heir, transfused in moment, and having some vague notion of confusion arisen from the responsibilities conferred by this appearance, suddenly recalled, in the urgent exodus of her small retinue from which he was pointedly excluded, a fluttering opportunity. That they knew little of this fete even whilst the anthology of muddlers throughout addendum all saw the approach of end cameo, losing whole hearted conviction in acknowledgement of common peril.

Those consoling outreached existing modes of understanding, and all giddiness wagged the dog of a badly stated leastness. All we had now in swiftest replica were sleds, amassed in space, astonishing to the venue of our listeners; these sites trained upon a steroid, forcing leading elements into a consideration of pre–emptive contact. Zealously regarding new beings and their capacity for limitless thought, inter–regnum flinched, for their own intellect was constantly pre–occupied with application of force, each act a voluntary exhibition of will. This averred then an effluent telekinesis to their oeuvre. A sop then to the futility about our disadvantages in confronting beings of a superior cast, anon the carryings on about these displays of gentile monster behavior were we to but peek behind the veil, discovering attentive man and, at his request, pulling his finger.

For as yet we fancied ourselves jejune precursors to an emergent national vitality, with enough hope to cast our future into a threshold of beyond; the alacrity with which we scratched the facile secrets of unknown only risked emboldening us into a strident familiarity of precipitous retort. So a man entered the legal profession lacking a vision (statement) but another man, outstanding in the field of expectance, wore out the following garb.

.   .   .

An uneasy group convoked a short psalm, and they each took one corner of the round table. “All that we gathered to avoid has come upon us.” Much of his life devoted to tracking self–perpetuating conspiracies, Logan had heavily invested in a small, yet portable, field morgue, a large, yet coolly–conditioned, container, and access to abandoned mushroom quarries near the Cote d’Azur. Knowing that his associates had guessed this already about him, he sat patiently while they fanned through the first hand.

Any of them doubted sufficiently that they could be serious enough actually in removal of the klatch from their chosen mount. Logan shuffled cards, entertaining a plan to convince them of that. “Imagine a world where waste has become the medium of exchange.” “You gave us the scratchiest ink, mon, on that,” Esherman expressed in general mystification. Ion had suggested, “we could flush these dogs with a single finger painting.” “Even our new clear spilt milk maid of dreams disagrees,” Logan observed as Thledvirrson appeared to join them. “Exposure of them would be a waste of time. The world shrugs after an initial thrill and our efforts yield predictable pools of litigation.” “Needless to say,” Esherman said anyway.

Ferguson cited Ephesians, “‘for it seems proof evident that we deal not with flesh, but with powers and principalities (Eph. 6: 12).’” “What do you have against powers and principalities,” Thledvirrson interposed? The Reverend Dr. Logan Ferguson drew upon untoward resources to hold the expedition together. To his mind, there only remained a strict application of procedure to bring about exposure of his rivals’ neo–Romantic pseudo–charlatanism. Cornered and knowing their assent was dear, Ferguson was prepared for any objection to the logistic realities of hearts and minds.

“Mutant ingots,” Ferguson said, “after a pause, would you not appreciate,” referring to perpetual cycles of cast–offs, “a chance to redeem them?” Given their predilection for daring thought, tugging the carpet from beneath an IBV auction held attractive possibilities for all of them. “Value,” he continued, “our quest. There comes a time when every person must challenge the prevalent warmth.” “Then all we are doing is taking their peace,” observed Esherman. “These monads have held their worldview over us far too long,” Logan retorted, cueing up a telepad presentation, the recent triolet of Plair, “‘the latest inventions of the slipping industry appear to be empty sealed packets of air which arrived in cellulose elephant seals.’”

“Truth,” Logan voiced over, “cannot thrive in their dysfunctional obscurantism: ‘Received yesterday, peeps, I thought this was a design revolutionary in concept. If the universe ever collapsed from combined gravitational field of neutrino particles, I would be ready with my extra air. Had I any idea of what this meant I would have instead told you how after storing my air in the freezer with blue ice, I thought of sheets of packing bubbles. I enjoyed these for their percussive noise in my upper teens. For years I paced the grounds of the Institute worrying about differential calculus, and when would the universe collapse, and what were best bubbles: those at the beginning, when you had an entire sheet to indulge, or those last few found like outbursts in margin of the empty shroud? I escaped further thought, referring this question to the chef d’cabinet of the incoming unforgettable tune, whistled aloud, left free for a season.

“‘Had you time to see pearly gates (the film)? I have not seen them. I still have yet to save humanity from its prune. Via trite haste, inklings I’d lever decrees lend, was theatrical biopic of kindavaking [sic], used by the Nicean Ambassador as her shameless vehicle, an onyx mass in Seattle. I preferred the musical version with relativity. More pointedly, Sandra’s father missed it again when he was in this poor old town. Also, recommend reading your postcards. I happened to the white pages first and thought it was kind of my listeners to read my riot act. I saved the next postcard for tomorrow. It’s all right to find this transition scary. I can only elaborate with interesting illustrations of my inner elf pressed into a project blue book at Mount Period yesterday. Next to my name, someone had scrawled “insane introvert.” The chef d’cabinet, whilst electing leads for our yucky projects, had written negative comments. In forbearance of charges involving snoopishness, I pointed out that blue book on a porphyry lazy Susan oscillated under a mountebank of red, yellow, and green floodlights that winked incessantly.’

“‘At first glance I was crushed, consoling myself only with some of other comments (lacks originality, difficulty grasping concepts, does whatever, lacks creativity, slow, commitment, maturity, not research oriented, too detail oriented, etc). Then I thought what the heck, perhaps this perception is negotiable, insofar as it was written last summer, and since I have returned from sixteen tonnes of team building consensus exercise, I am sure that change is the only constant. The greatest journey starts with a single step and so on. Anyway, insane introverts are in nowadays. They discovered the universe, which incidentally, according to the latest evidence on Mr. Ng, Live, is not going to collapse anytime soon! So take heart, live long and prosper, for you’ve already begun the final journey — ’ so long for now, ædith! In the name of enlightenment,” Logan resumed, “they foist such deadpan vivisection Heiligkeit [sic]. Enough.”

The last thing his associates needed to believe was that they were but whetstones in his personal agenda. Ion, ex–valet, returned to theme, “the current market for research material has never been more active.” “You should know,” Esherman retorted, allowing traditional sang–froid to overcome his purposeful disgust. “I will not participate, in dopple–mongering, and that’s final,” declared Thledvirrson. “We will leave it to our friends, the valets, and go home, our scruples intact,” Ferguson observed. “The moon queen will spade dirt over us one day, and in the clear conscience that we did nothing to upset the apple cart.” “Gin,” said Ion.

Logan went out with ninety–nine points. Acres afterward some noun felt physiologically reprehensible. Not only past participled, and driven past eternity, Talitha pointedly avoided remark upon absence of objective reality. A topic of measurable dimension acted either in a causative fashion with tangible consequence, or else was simply indicative of an over–arching environment. Within or without this theme, Talitha had learned that existence stopped during daylight, although her image continued. “I should stop hogging the window seat,” she consciously manifest as an extant concept.

.   .   .