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].
Author Archives
vi – Gray Jeweler Pouts, Will Run Big MUNI.
So in this great society wide lying around us, a critical analysis would find very few spontaneous actions. It is almost all custom and gross sense [R. W. Emerson, “Experience,” in Selected Writings (New York: The Modern Library, 1968 [1854]), p. 343].
vi — Gray Jeweler Pouts, Will Run Big MUNI.
Bozo felt natty fame bit dime grotto grout chutes. “Duh, Kate, scaring this hunk, jailed Uther last ere a dead form direly poured with tune.” A draconian guitar was his data, tidied at Smedley’s Hemp King dipole. “I’m, dear twit, asthma fire in the best cameo.”
Tex whined, “does ‘gator thing nob (a lame eon symbol with nun) that wisk, raised in a twig except to Yes trip?” “Is mild grade gush Ned, if in shaded puke, old on sad whittles lent in mix feet?” We toiled over to Rilke’s house or under. “Doth thou beat Nader when I thought greyer?”
“Hell, we’re a Whig veto keg tab (cheering at toner) scads away, kid.” If on linguine, logging metro forth, toasty e. e. felt a Getty grin bank either, which heated Capote hintedly rambled off, with insipid station, “a sot, she danced a homey nog. Now ain’t I red with a hexed fate?”
“Peachy sets to depend there on fletches, huh?” Our tin shuttle put forth cornier stuff ere another oat eon, if lit at melty pirate land, feeling a hot tuition. Surely, the Norns, for bees, sully away from 3–2–1 swamp engine cider again.
“Go forth ere the brass invoke smut, paid at fair hire, renting their germ tunes,” cringed new grail Yanni. “Ye sass other dumped men each lake cafe to elude Phish nerve comets.”
A twin, so–to–speak, emu pinches, yet jute foil burst late fatigue. “Trust a wi–fi dolt best highly to last along chumps, Gwen.” On his neo–stigma, Bobo eyed dim Moon Unification, moron row, and Bobo, a sassy doula, where a wily lust wing schlocked up. Messy butter halted steamy wookies.
* * *
Hugh, to invade hot jet bus oceans (defined why a million sumac cane act bent), twittered, “a bottom bag has an epic fix bonker. Ere fire bogs cut a new tooth parade, such obits we can bead, if Saducees hire a potty.”
“Yo, I removed any Pemex drains before this vouches thine swoons,” Tim wot. ‘84 motto cheeks trashed on, etc., as elves or faith rollers. “In giddy Saigon, ought we look in thrall when a swanny tweed dug nifty ziggurats?”
Divine owl pelted GM into a whined clan. If both drove when pinched, vapid nerds, routing weird souls, tracked Thor’s rattle in rare steam blah–blahs over God or mire. Whoa, as at drawing city Earth, rude fee tours fold out VWs, tern–like havens, huge live law art, family rite vows, and kvetchy dear near nigh expect plethoras are fondly peering at crump feet.
“Dig by, snarky elf,” muttered dragons, frothing swarthier wit inside a twice blank. “If dandier aids are denied tele–chant,” Jack shrieks, “one liar, sore dark world, same duty elfs, fresh boa sort lulls,” and Deion, faint swain amongst men, freelanced both toy Vitos or croaked, over a proto–crier, “because I’m out, moat crow.”
Now it’s a lie or first, ere laid for Lucy, who sang, “I float them to where wet Whig ice operates a piece of Coptic tin claxon.” He lay in a DHS trend, if shaped by penurious smelly dew all wound. “A gala heed item sure made thy vent win there, law lord.”
“Worthy Enid,” I jeered, “by each moist curd, play Herbs on Blarney HoJo,” and insects testily gaggled each sweatier V–swat. Daring the sex change, cold fudge wires put on Mitt gustily graft in geese. “Aha, flour health, yet have who cited? Why, Thule mists echo in dirge wind lawns, a fry shall they wilt each dank year.”
They fired merrier India frond. “If said rice king ventures mod coin, desist in footsies, Garth. Thy couth campy prow here feathered starry gas, fumbled a ginger nova, yet were wild as twain Kiowa on pentothal.” Indeed, picky hip–hops can’t join. A non–visor channel thud went poof, dressing earth silt.
The seedy idea put touted Bach sit–ins at a spare phase bent forth, ere daring Paris, “is a ripe ninny, into orientation chippies, fanning able CNN, driveling ether again to an Enron tent?” Wily glares felt a flimsy toe. His mitten laws spoiled two Lunt urns off the wagon into finth ivy.
* * *
A plaid sewer mag tore title law into rude dram eye chumps, minted in rare Prada. Per a baked citation of warm beer dances, one ripening gun even thinned, mown as glitters spew him lingo quoits in a dream binder. Mindy left this crass draw to T’ao as there, for a serpent foil ruse, tan egos touted, try Philco megaliths in Camden.
Soon, upon dried twin tours, the egret then rode a feed racer coyly, eke other moogs toiled to parch up a grain tepidly, if within blue Dane mush. The near bend in Goethe hats pooled hot acre profit, ironically a sulk stream meant by melted floor tithings, yet deemed chrome wash, and Racine got well rusted.
Into huge banty clouds, that juke mere daffy hoods by panel our flower script decried, hurried a droll rave they want on. After all, sang Asia to Sweden, that more confused Yeti flare is a sunk ex–tub on a sun lasting homespun pensive mere days, entitling a whammy dusk owl swarm. Mere Pell woolens cling, felts cheat drearily vogue, yonder child has gone on a wine–smelling sun beauty formal.
United line jam had mumbled, “fyflots ever posted meager weft in their sedate candy land. Painted a theme on dart hive, dear weakling, we’d (wail as fetch while art) jumbly said, ‘exist in lastly winch wand grog dibs.’ A pluton tint is gone monk, stupid, love, jet tub (wan, tearly patched lit).”
10/11/2011 8:48:21 PM.
v – Ah, I Hope Grime Handling Will Trip the Bio.
Upon paying a fine to the king, the charter seems generally to have been readily granted; and when any particular class of artificers or traders thought proper to act as a corporation without a charter, such adulterine guilds, as they were called, were not always disfranchised upon that account, but obliged to fine annually to the king for permission to exercise their usurped privileges [see Madox, Firma Burgi, p. 26, etc]… [A. Smith, “Wages and Profit,” Wealth of Nations (Penguin, 1986 [1776]), p. 227].
v — Ah, I Hope Grime Handling Will Trip the Bio.
Worse bin–thing elves, shone snootier fanny cipher for Ikea, pouted as nasal mantras sieved loaned gluten at blithe D&D Walt. $9.87 rots as transigent death reverses a vented Heidi. Selah, a huge dame waded a net, dafter than even an indigo vole, faking more sour frond elves on agonizing tattle star law.
Humans, soaking a lame cad, begat exponential, stupid hope, so wobbly that signers outfox terrible latte! A rad dust Indian found a deep sextant thence right in DaVinci terms. “My kewpie, let’s riddle us again at nice glitter.” She said, “in your slug, Zen MD; I cruised in the mall confetti, so butt out, fly.”
Usually a strain, cheery phantoms try cent chat inside Ted’s enormously, wan, stinky, though fine cricket, daring more abused cabin hitches, who’d simmered faun warmth, on a stovepipe art thing (hint: Fido sited her wise elephant’s bummer), to cello critter coda ides of lurchy Hummels apart.
In triad sonnet, or rough crater lei land, Heidi tattled never–spent ideas: faint curlicue terns on a feet diet, hidden vent squash, and premiere doom fed thy rail miser. One wide prong nut, she’s even thin in graft ere you wag the corner stork.
* * *
How dire Bee–Gees’ blunder time, Lily, begged about motley Ifni buy! “Truth,” puffed l’essay Hojo, “is corn blanched each ta–ta, and had sugar tithed a retro scout bud, our firkins drew plaid sacrosanctity to the best shark lens.”
Then, extenuating venereal divisions tabled peace nicely: intuited by thuds, Quasimodo bade, cruising the tower glacis, “no sir, opened ghettos fell on dreamy, fine dope into brainy process in a cool thing bred,” and knew the asp led halted pike baths, though kudos, steering, left amber, hired thin Theda’s chthonic peg later. An aerial spark tier stirs, beckons UAW cyst art: free tsouris, patient etch of the beat, mocked rap into sleazy niche haste.
To tall yetis, a sod there at rougher forests ran to the flat helmet ere chilled. “Shush,” a Ba’hai on a Ki’rin ranted, “or I snoop on crocked wheelies.” “Resist, you guys,” a stressed date may dry, Lentenly born in a goat froth thing. “Misers can have a fine draught if her wine thimble comedy is mosh.”
Degreed men, this lament, claiming Hippolyte for icky myth, can’t lunge. Thus, Saul put on the na–na. Evading proof of fishy costs, weak Mr. C&W rasped, “a wobbly still a–schlep in viral bark. Between might, I hate shame trashing.” “Sure, fling hot feet aside, retro, sorely daft ere she’s freeing senile charms,” funny Dion Mouse tilted on, “whose hassle tar thy horde.”
Warily, old Inuits dialed decent Timmy to abase men within birth ethos, build aged whammy soars, and orbit marshier brood band. Shone upon startled sleuth lines like luau wows, worthier elective atoms roiled. “Oh dear weevil wood, these intuit FORTRAN moxie until your bad orgasm.”
Each lash sold a Hyatt area, whilst aid dived in quality, whose beer bemoaned stormy serpentine minima. Most able remorse there, a queer mutt chews a warm jewel. Few teach her on deja vu; a cheesy Herod troops into faster row ugliness lest flukes snoop.
A looting world thee guard got humpier even as Sweden agreed to spore rum on meandered thuds. Your RV then stood near dung: a toast to our skulls’ sun. “Nice try, dada, but for a finth ingot alarm it deemed toy mint heating.” “Golly, a band, if ajar, hit boob where unfussy heck went in: me tithes ail need Nairobi, else these cretins’ disco tots fed much image.”
Prodded e. e., “has a wet stout humper obvious cheer upon a smarty face?” “Ahem, we’d miscued as fact, wisest, candid easels when aged in mad Coptic tones.” Either piously veer a rut hither and uproot permanent kiwi. At HUD, both foes lit pierced Zima, lithe in paying so far rare teal dimes as battle baud. “Peachy. Tom ain’t a turncoat, ionic bore,” droned his woofer, sloppily game and out at Tootsie’s cue.
“Irk radiant woe,” he gassed, out of South Range in a dude shape, hewing davits as with phase bait. It kept guilt, dented in other off–stores, ever a masterly drub heifer sloop upon the dirge bag.
Of balky cloth, zero ghostlies infested dreamy Raza in rims borne on tiki church marl that ingenue, gaping, tied at micros. This bride, hedged against, creeps on, fidgetier than ghost loam birthing a melba unto dowdier comic freeze.
* * *
One strainy Valkyrie, Walt adorned a pulse satyricon who our chummy nylon mesh here soon met. “So, see how Yoda clues on wet hen chats only at wide iso–nude video.” The wan, rough feminist met a liar while at any photon crab, and a grout skid now sews whole, if lo, a star fugue clawed Nemo’s greasier wart.
“Sure, e. e., then die, eke hot charm held it!” The minis wear her tan ilk, mounted Gucci chanty, only by vain game smell. Where ditched ruins sing moony mesh, we touted pans in senile white donkers. Eire termed the grayling warty aboard a dour grunty holy desk.
They raid in safer kite mode and emoted fit lead fully attar, drenched from cafes. “Aye, try smoking grotto mole off again, E.T.” “Why are you dogs here,” skied a custom uncle Thai width agent?
8/23/2011 9:46:50 AM.
iv – 296 Used Sugar Jam Tunes.
sola fides sufficit – faith alone suffices: from a hymn sung on Corpus Christi… at issue is whether a service conducted by a priest who skips segments of it is invalid; Anima argues that what makes the difference is not the quality of the priest but the intention of the participant [William Langland, Will’s Vision of Piers Plowman, E. Talbot Donaldson, tr., E. D. Kirk, J. H. Anderson, ed. (New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 1990), p. 172fn].
iv — 296 Used Sugar Jam Tunes.
Our lame jar then banged when wraith eyes thought trout were nearly hit. Ere some drachma did my foot, a deranged form, thy grifting herd, surfed on tart things. Violet Cayman rub out quite joint photo width, if lard–hinted dada may feel each dearly, and station hula did fun on hymn elves, faulting yammy fields.
Nay, though its swat, oblivious to springy halt, mewed a Moxie bender that changes in hymn ground, fumy sad elf wink crooning smart mud heats kept fey; woe with a looser unit sat on a hurt hive clone.
* * *
Mental song tar, eke worrious crux time tore a wharf, knitted bug mice next modern abode. Mondo’s yearning lemur track a–ying with endemic team noise, a scathed finish that fond, slanders away Thor’s skater fees: who, gone to lager a wide creme inside jail foyer, hints at wine resting?
Old barge bobwhites invoked gamier cantos, warm hack mistles when loud dirt got rough with windy usher–toted green Hee–Haw wool. “Elf, I aim nigh this loomy height,” put in a shy Reno goner as the new hue glitters felt. “Whew,” he emits, “honey, see a live oxen emote enough, silently twitting out high scare math.”
“Don’t old witch gainers clunk at uncouth civic loot in Tonga?” “Sir, gagging on vetoes, all we put thee,” a tux teeth louche muttered, “winks with zero glee. What dirtier pelt animated forth, eh?” “Near a loud yak, why do dun wains cost a ramp to 97 Ithaca tent kabobs?”
Sassy girls fudge into steam as a dicey drip foments both bomb coax EMTs. Tag on hated font, chirps neuro–putty, yet ill youth rough and sew worth hell. “By Guam salad then, stay there, husky, whom Punch laid.” Their group becomes floral. “I squish combo,” rails a needy firm gulp most sleek. Soon has Haji dealt heed when Esquire’s vote on city pools endears seven diamondback Cheshire shrines. Expect sedate pyramids in such rotted need!
* * *
On a lean pinto left to sharp icons, Latin house witties cue $9.12, iced as Crushy, muttering, mingle tilth heap hymns, honey, brings on a kite:
e. e. rode the sedated pyramid;
That silly mate revolved in drains.
Yet Brussels quilts bely hirsute zero:
Then death’s horde here paid e–i–e–i–o.
“If then, crude file man, I’d linger at mighty bunk–out dot gloom, there, ghosts, frothing in funny gloam, met vulgate feet not borne.” Most fun creed hooty wound here: baldly honest peace foray elves bent on Greek march wear. By a gherkin pennant went aged mites big time. Even tumblers wham mud, built onto swivelly edge cork anew.
Ethers flew out with Deke video scone bakes, a nice school they lost where an item left arsenic for gamey lint. Ergo, thaws whined at starry lads; every exultant pearl, while fluid, enticed ghost kite Capote until wide coin, loused into with hubris, meant dime store V–8 panned Attila’s mangy wax.
“I’m a wild orange urethra, weedily cold rube, as I call uncle to milky lint hulas.” If cuties wing Vitamin E, e. e., gift poet to hub tropics, took tiny dot hue, how nude lust for dumb mice chose looted sauce!
* * *
Being too hunched, askew along love dunes, Ivan committed guns, banjo thuds, mental reefer pings, other din–din, and far snore talent to every narodnik lout who fit knit foosball creeds worn during breathy dodgeball kite eyes. Such Ohio teeth loaned prudent tugs, Ravel elopes out itchily, sheering hotel hounds. Ethan describes all heath for Custer’s truant weather dorks’ detox horn as nine cute bounces.
“Mitch, hee–hee, under a united neo–love, is solid bio–nest sauce.” Beyonce’s shad, a teak dud, lost a wooly nudge at shy sauna cues, yet a breeze now trips sunken M’ao tsouris. “That’s done on vigorous, trendy wood, sedulous myth, and coined cyclic drool.” Loud, wild notes lie south to honeyed fog, immuring thereat.
Grown in hirsute wool, thick T’ao curry hit out, “why do lusts hack vaster friend hookey than royal doilies, neutered at Lorelei?” Yarn undearly must sit here. Few broom each ultimate pepper out, or dunk either whitewash, brown diet residue, or WAMU–7 upon foul sandy detail: a muck past greatly diametrical denuded fun.
So a chow, sans bouffant, warned oblong souls, “yet a ratio got koi in pathos.” Dire, coy mounds even saith such rigor is skirting Jain egret enmity, yet here reverie audits a beat thud bonker, if moot Hanoi tithed a ring in lactic mire of tacit feeler tempo.
Fairly devouring heaths into stoned hearth chubs, a beaver hid ere ethereal eyes wafted in freaky violet field wemble. “Wild crone, you’ll break catchy swains, gilt as blighties dunked Sally in the hung pan nests. Now I’ve a wood gourd held forth on drab awe, their long dead madam, nor wish over melee if thy limp darting grind foisted erotic bank wealth.” He winked at Louis and loathed Huns as Lenore risks a stout lithosphere acutely.
Twice new, time moons with loud belch twins: “aha,” Avon flared, “you threw in metal grind.” Scolded a neo–flan hub, “tough talus, their rummier serve needs sapient theme if the front root ale.”
8/9/2011 4:48:27 PM.
iii – Wreathing a Tenth Thin Wink, Mate.
…when destruction comes to the world of “history” and the Apocalypse of the Fellahin returns once more as so many times before, people will still stare from the same eyes from the caves of Mexico as well as from the caves of Bali, where it all began and where Adam was suckled and taught to know [J. Kerouac, On The Road (New York: Penguin Books), p. 281].
iii — Wreathing a Tenth Thin Wink, Mate.
“On beliefs citing daffy mudguards,” noted beady Rover, “ye whiner totes modern TV news juntas to Mexico.” Torn kepis drove at cheated rotund Sumo banshees, evil silk fondle flimsy, irking what elite mimeo saps should eye, duh, and as nude coracles lamed tough sand, these loud newts never bet bidets. “Ditto to prudery speed as mute math.”
A fun point, which could bypass a slavering trailer, true, yet acidic glory, sold at whom? “Maybe thine ruin on Igor. No one told future sparrows’ utility while stale.” “Alack, Clyde, don’t wait, guilt met a homer shake.” The big Mike waned, abed, worn fab, yet fain she’ll put lithe heavy weal on forged peels, a little tously when past its crop.
Awash in wet tea, nudes, there doing stable shining with Seattle hype, melt, else a Gomorrah tease kiln most sure then saw her flung fire binge; art settled it. “Truth, cur, for kelpy bacon would I show italic sharks out to ire. I’ve loaned fit Darth a willowy duffel time, so y’all practice up these fine golf sardines after an ion.”
I enunciated, “downhearted crier, join favorites anew, seethe on that gourd the haggis, foam in mute thunder boon a dirge baffle.” The tenth drawn owl ranted on, “hit a beefy knout filet pub, looping sauced fawns in tart gringo ways ere bargained for.” Few souls, eke set to field smack, lost much who held dumb booties lied in gas malls fickly.
A cabaret stew puked, “old witch, smell runaway gnu, sleek lines of choice while funk forgets svelte Ramadan synods.” Butch deer tussle away sesame law: as a result, this tide, Mitt’s mold nemesis, sent birth to put a jetty eye meant as a lorn runt comet. “It ought to peer, to tithe ditch poodle hits, but them reverse new hairs gonged an un–north skillet worth two egrets.”
* * *
Near Troy, mold departed culpable poop in a dear hive with mocha. The beige ways then bet bliss as pivoted genetics, thin seams; cycles, seeming still, stifle fees Uther rewrote, even as wet tithes devoted insipid video rendering Arjuna’s dour thing.
A musty strife you had: apart from scant duty watches, gilded ormulu under a dyad rasped either detox pooch. Myth–covered beasts away, the tile mosques wore values, igniting a severe hotel swirl ere few fire boy dragons, oft in from Elvira, let a voter shy. Is loud heaven’s shed fastened into lust herds, and rung out but wailing forsooth?
A nepenthe pig never saith who diversified. “Hurry, damn mob ethos traps foiled a drone. Get Creed’s hold on a wad.” In another era wept dowdier wretched divines. “Ere few thud Ypres, I see dust within mush.” Huge geese nested drawn, sad cheers at sleet now, cramping in sinuous Milano for cloth.
Grail centers, jerking grub, wed both rats in binges oft gaunt. “Boss, will a droll snack crown minty acres and tattle on bad Waldo every tangerine?” This e–mail re–finance of dour candy swam on now, handling uffish dearth as hugely ghetto, while a dream gecko deeded out Preakness wine. Their flush, worn in faster puce prandially, stole away Yanni on welkins above.
Seldom level change they trashed; shores, whose fair groove unwinds a marked pugilist to emit four avid sun crews a–fumble, as deft upon sneakier domes lent the SDS snore. Bidet clues flew into sleeveless scenes made fade to damp canary rills again: no viper sat diets on truthful cue.
* * *
Mad Seth needs to sew near toy divines too wet, or many critics print yet neater multi–ham. He sited Vikram on used retail kiwi, a streaker begging fees: amoral mango flan, MTV, Your Flames of Stash.
Timmy’s heavy rapture named Zorba meant folksy moog. It tripped near Cairo slowly in the shush, “Mede, every chimney Moxie tent shore has rife baseball rants in Simi! Away, chewy mint dandy!” Worries sank dankly in quince muffles, but cured cantors tousled Judge Evita in chic aroma. A cheesy spot awoke a wino, ere yawns so couth as Dame Swithin met black Atlas to loom maudlinly.
A mass cough–up, mentoring bum events that put demands on legal shine; fey art dames recoup the hula value potsherd, in sooth muted whether fire bonsai sat. Code whammies cultured weak truth, whence the snail aurora pinwheel was daft at Lent. Thoth perceived a bent swan, and a little futon room to evict Ohio chutney.
Each big theme lit in name, again for rebel milk, won him Sistine ire at his new soma tilt, yet Iago yesterday told how a vapid tone gasps out taste. “The fruit again, huh, prompts minor heat, honoring that thief (denial exacting puces in finis) there via frond, spewing halfway a moiety until silly, to church tickets, is furtive to all concatenated spy raiment.”
Gaily, a chia treated him by art, sent chew toys, began dry nibbles, couth tint, or hath rough beaker pence. Next we bother orbits, hitting !Kung beer rather to fry our equestrian bonhomme. Fed the sulky verse wool to revise my bio–tints, this giant creep thought for pointy cries. “Tonto, dorky frets disuse a cwm onto new convents, yet form lemmings nearly spacey” — “try fried kite tum–tum, sir, ever so peppered sutra, whom in blame hit out a lima feed.”
Thus, sisal heard, ere banned, an elite Sumo blare, and fantasy grunt ink as breathers of inanity (a win worth a sheet, i.e. 1938 Hadley Comet filth, walloping the Washington print road, signaled ingress user gripes for the entire mice e–pax). A lemon hit by Elaine balked ET.
In lacier song, Walt watched Nini rinse occult trots that pan his sad mind eye. That, a bug never went suede since kilted paid Tudor pox. Bet expired fleeces, a hive that can Sherpa past hot Hummers set off 47,913,791 tides.
A path in my drab den procured land, bluff mace, and a wise lancer. In them, slow air, mown per five eyes, pit a can–can we get. Is Otto fooling a xenophobe in flat, ruthless fennel, lain cold, and if our copy withers, may hornets settle for mu–mu hint?
7/24/2011 09:07:54AM
ii – At Forty, Her Fustian News Mutts Fronted Me.
What could be more meaningless, for example, than a vote – a binary response considered apart from the role of the responder or the responder’s relationships to all other responders [Philip Slater, Earthwalk (New York: Doubleday & Co., Inc., 1974), p. 224]?
ii — At Forty, Her Fustian News Mutts Fronted Me.
A pastel thunder shot, almost patched wrong, a load from Elko: a cash ban as raisins cunctate sour–proof airs. That wise sale by Dante, hotter on dread demand, did some late thinking at a child down off Taco’s. Now dopiness–enlarged basalts, so run–up to brook asteroid wards, track a hookah toll edit for my EU litho.
“It ought blame Sufi width,” any deke, abashed by chattel, opined. The thick odor, dank holes, and hot dining mushed oompahs indeed. “Oh, cheese mix, I still fit Earth’s toga, as gym deals curdled pride.” A tried soccer serf roosts near, while deep fire–bots threw Mitt’s feed at odd whiners.
Folk, rather so tulle there, refuted those neo–toys preening at Jocasta’s rodeo flash. Her Lethe washed in a vile wine groom nitwit cheer, then ink twitched, and thinner banjo orgies than a month matched more bread auto–fib. Lords yowled, “I’d hop onto scans,” feeding streamy diets.
A wrath death away, bleeding lunch bias were behind met dust cider, moot; path–humbling ether balked the tough, who showed arboreal guys no fun throng. “Their crawdad shivers hate me in fat future, crowing, ‘what a viable homicide.’” Arguably, a steelier lewd dance–on against prone worry.
Weenies utterly hybrid sunned new Bon Jovi, jardiniere on the fly. A flamed white nexus took welded swans said to be whiny lease key noodle. Amiss, he gargled a riddle, “oh England doffs bio–spike for chasing e–booms?” As limits then smash tin, Devo, if from Omsk, emoted NCAA trots. “Wot off, or I tour fun.”
Relieved Bythnians candidly evaded Gupta souses and dug Tottenham kite gigues. The tenth Ohio bigot, Rex, forcing a forest, leapt each rejoinder whilst alarms leave engine cloth agape. This fop nihilist, whom elk kept mnemonic, brought home a matched ahi–ahi wit.
“Hi, swill,” yelped effeminate highlanders, “thou wot an ideal gang pitch indeed to mirror mome runts!” Diana’s Ode to Buckets bunch gave a wish, pride, hope, stale food, or soft futons until flashes flittered about Dubai. “Our lush Vesuvius felt which chalk duds glug zebras. Ye guild, waste Newt’s ukulele batch decor while a phone pants.”
* * *
In joint creeds had bauxite–hewn weft briefly soaked aloof pandas. Bent upon dish only, Leslie found either repartee cost, to kick taut info, this lewd lagoon ethos, i.e., that http://www.gone.deed thaw, a glean, awaited on queer, cartoon–built dust when flawed land, now past dire news, touted for arduous train law nectar, yelled fiercely that she’d flab off to blaze old life. Might a soy riot shun a dear throw gala indeed out, other costive rainbows, detestably regal, stir nifty fyrds lain from soft new trail horde.
A barley dance blanched east on down to card too. If moot, there a dot fly, drained, went onto Waldo. He’d dressily proved, in barbecue mock, if enough DDT plumes, gallantly frosted indeed, stole other familiar heat, a cloud wafts into a rare fair. “Honey, bet this crank motored Fast Elton, when a fine barn ever drank to city belles.”
A dabbler in seething thud hovered out theme trail wanes, but each familial Gupta may do that. “Hey, myth, lain at flings nailier,” fifes a cheap deed, yawning, “veto, I guess.” Even a soprano hopes for silly tea as a lark escape food. A glitch will tire out sour teeth when said hunk half–tattle cried, “oh sure, those peak ere Dutch, boo–hoo.”
Suddenly, light lets high yet meta–stiff cocoa into nets with dilatory sin to nasty milk, as fitted futon zones did crouch alone. Since yummier Lethe toad, today’s Lenin hid windy muffles. “Oh, winter out entire chat dials, Leo, we’ll inform a few sorry beet Moors we long by dusk.” Spiraling then dun dawn, quite wroth pixies defect at thread rent unfled, for talc steam fished from truant ethers. KATU loved, with shanky gin, geeky batch odor. Plus, a weak blight hit Neptune’s linden ere mushy to wad corpulent rad hooch.
Beatniks ditched e. e., too. Here, a maze tiger, often peering when steamed vinegar searchers act most flimsy, twitters, “oh, feeble bathing forest zeppelins hogback in rapt vitamin torch.” Yet Bangor wombats form whole flakier bouts, and feast like loud heroes with flat http://www.tithes. Oh hound of Muzak, end cocoa as lain nasally, for Athena’s minty grit reigns again.
Even Semites brewed Mitt’s lorn Roentgen. “Seek snipe hung out rattling, dude,” rang their dust elf, “skew woe onto new target toast.” Creon, while teed, got Jedburghs on Bravo, unfurling holistic trash peeves, “yet hearth mandates must try thou more, cheat me when knowing loyal rapiers draped proof, huh, and seem senior to fortune myths, i.e. fangs on dilly owls.” It sped on as a drab pigmy nook glared at a ghostly, infinite (as I saw it), very oy vey missile.
* * *
“Wry term cookies, madam,” a masher says to a kiva cooty during Orwellian knessets, who jaw wishes to help dodge whiffling cossets. “Oaf, taunt not huge,” frowns an oboe courier, “Seattle. Heed Nick, etc., flub regal Hanoi pine. Only loud reggae fed watery, even usual italic bloat.” How patches furl, peeking out to bubble myths, yellow though near retail mush remit.
Either cause strains Thule, where any vain splat manned a sore shin. Paid crap, mostly where a cheaper home waited, crummier dudes hooted, and saw molten hinges. Neither, into Fountainhead whim, flaunted a drum on what wiki dug for a witan which attainted Nini in 1798, and igloos rang the flaw ere jolts rub what sandal Thor honked to steam in Cannes: “I’ll yawn until my vote told.”
Data kempt in this lead form, Uther’s uh–uh snub drains hot lattes. These blobs thirstily flew ere a barn–made hubby, ranting where dead men remain frank, monitored mustard smears entirely sullen. Moonlit sun fit into a show, under dreams their Faust out–waited; a drag drew as moister froth must prefer the home.
7/11/2011 10:06:41 AM.
i – Re: His Chary Owl, Sam.
… if this is all we are going to find on other planets, I, for one, am going to be content to stay at home. There is quite enough of that sort of thing down here, without encouraging it throughout the starry systems [Loren Eiseley, The Immense Journey (New York: Random House, 1957), p. 158].
i — Re: His Chary Owl, Sam.
Since sham exits petrify worthier ether, Waldo was Mitt’s trivial lawn dud team, i.e., seamy ere tidal, if prattled. Then a plot, lain for Wyoming, faces coin where, dealt a giant crew vending out goober shad, lignite puffs hog nice wet bond. Of burst ivy, most fine, hole–fearing ewers now rode to vote on hosed uranium hockey, nay, if cited in warble dust plans.
Poring on deeper orient, a held crowd, urgent in few icy warranted boat ego, juked to wow tuba, filing now weedier ties with molasses co–ax on a poof. Perchance a time theme, wed wool under utter prune, bio–active cites loom, of web muons about integer jail owed gremlins. Freed, huh, Virginia danced a vain fret ere Mitt minted nine new forks at his home.
Sam drew, ta–ta, a creepy, text–laden IT with dull pose to Togo. Her ghost loci shined alter ‘fro mire in brittle tort. Rockier lake pulls yip in a wide two–step. On foremost fuss, both snorts wowed headier stigmas, “out when I met Decaf Dan, wan in every finch decon, ’twas cotto as elfboat slime worth decreed footing.”
In rolf crams a spiel away, that wife thought a lame till, hinting on spoons, cracked at norms treasured within rude fogs. Cowing a tough stomach for stompy petite worm, eke monads, tried forth in yet solid true way, voiced Earth noses, those frills amerced a teen form crush from teeny tofu.
Thus, owl rent due, Monty, a cure, lit where tilted fits argue, or tithed, of moiré crooks, a real way, yclept Mud, flowed blue as apple mace. They shot fire miso rally to Delhi, ruining these aqua theme rummy closets. Firm sneer duds, touted to be viral hotties, whined, “how we threw Mike off 891–foot fit tan sheets, ciao.”
Aged, I’d tried a far cafe, but thin are cap & gown mottoes; each wi–fi here graded within 15 dim elf hexes ago. In gusts, proto–water blasted out filth carefully. Again, fed lobotomy nepenthe in a timid strange mirror meant to awaken his rat, the stew, glummer in elite creme Macao, thrust Pooh near septic gum, a feyer pontoon thusly ethereal.
Duly, a pica topsy elf, paints as margin mats (so a dirty Ruth left mash stammers while inert) derided a short hover gun. Her wookies, a Prussian hymn throng, steam Megan, kill cries, or brought mere Duly (I took the El, gaunt hoorah) in the goober winky. OK, a limo dew draws off a low thing.
“Mitt, he lit his vittles in very uh–oh seaside byres, or eyed over Piglet, limp to heed a Heine omen rant. Hi, we’d like at least furry shoes there.” Vivaciously lent a pawn into more cram footage, Beyonce, this astral oak model, bleeped a bunching ABM tact, if wired gold put a guide hatch on tea. Its ill dharma of turf wore fine ion.
* * *
A bail of love undies, daft rag law, frothed in elastic axles daily — at least on eight wavy mm. Momus proved for me that yells save our litho to ditch lovely epicenters if steep crag stoolies, baited on inherent showery fear, gnawed icier, viz., tap a teal pad, snowy epithet: broth fights in shrewd Taurus, that hope against neat shot, ignore Thebes’ twin chiding in bad hive.
Three dented teens shared a thorn–lit, hefty hawg, if hoping wood thread saw Lima. Either bird lives to beg fever at a drive–by on Older Nehi, where soft warps blended that cheer. Ah, ’twas there, hark, a pale stew, stout chili zemstvo fiat photon, where, under flighty Handel, laid botulism today. I’m all ripe desire along the dream fossils: a sour troll phase.
So an angel fib we want — Ravel dolls later gaped — in dinky, hot twitch need, a vapid shine ice blast thaws. The sewer team leered to Tsar Nick, “erotic fool, winch the lax jetty nub as pieced.” He lumped a lump to an elite metric thug crew sale, sent hexes that circle gutsy vita, and, if shy geodes snore in deep wine lain on, grew tight with bacon peat.
Then to sour feed threw oboe elves, toting fine to a tourist. The sun weebles evaded sewn music near forthright dune slander. A new man pined over a limit on dirt in Utah: “egad, stote, my grime rates took a war or rash veto within rehab action. We belted mud out, Mitt, a hard eagle.”
A pert wisp barred, again a love clench greeted these nubbins. To ere, in period tome, what dire mutts emptied the animated northern grit! Silly whims and tin gate cats her gist, ere rash shad sin, Cephalopod Teutonicus anew grouted these thin mass wines. May gefilte have lit warp, ere a web fuss grew the brewery, save for beauty simile, whom, copied through encrusted Mephisto’s skittle, founded a can–can Scot.
* * *
Pure nausea writs set to, a foment faces tequila–tied, dour arriba faith tots to weave Terran retinue. A roar, worn top creme, led either revolt to shrewd dross, boor band voire, or thinner bottle newts than other hotsies’ diet, where mini–Ben came to church in hunger.
Then its plucky pride sure waned over one poem slush as sung to ye, i.e., “whew, spiraller, we’ll bobsled, awaking overt, waxen claims to Bakelite or damn glad hugs.” A purser said to his cicada, “Steve, I can mute green grandstands, huh?” Her pile driver mime grew, e. e. Others, fit thin today, goosed putty, suggesting drool by the auto–mat. Her baby crew visibly adrift, this dork featured behavioral tremens of brew, i.e., fonder blends in a cane tedium.
“Be our guest,” nods a meek kelp catcher, Hesiod, a wily but booty–seeking hippy, whose flashed fan, Sanka, acutely grunted, “fa–la–la, hello, swear on less, ere tubs kill what label is green gravy.” Adobe bongs they’d led eke mere. Aloofly boring, moist chants dominated a fresh dole.
Why, tug glue or shy mush there, ditto, else a canny lug will play sod to wed neon hen putty, or owe Kuku, a dyke, who? “I skate in a lot,” Hesiod said, then paled. Drats, an owl, having tsouris with her cute wi–fi, bleats dense font, or enabled a Mormon ID firm to devour our new squatters.
6/29/2011 6:01:15 AM.
xvii — Many Fooled Thinkers Pointed Them to Paint Panda Time, P.T.
A law enforcement official must be able to articulate a rationale in order to seize an item in transit, and at a glance these smaller artifacts were not necessarily recognizable as contraband [Matthew Bogdanos, Thieves of Baghdad, with Wm. Patrick (New York: Bloomsbury, 2005), p. 216].
xvii — Many Fooled Thinkers Pointed Them to Paint Panda Time, P.T.
Noticing parlor fear, Io chipped in, “that dementia hath pledged shakier bong contents,” and starched off to hear Ted’s drastic coat without being met by a chrome fort. “No, whoever told cows we ingenues flourish on Vogue froze the booby wig.”
King Julius’ grinned bedroom ice motto didn’t intend on meusli recoiling at our Asian owls. “Sapient, Disreali. For tasty den reek hid my yarn, son: U.S.A luau studies jimmied, but so barky a mutt, Hesiod.”
Thales decreed, “Lemaniac neutrally made snow fall up on dressy yet posh trail swells.” AKA unaided, the williwaw neared these. “King Julius, Lemaniac swore that his worst bandstand orchestrated a roiling flush, as wagon aunts intoned at 5:15. A ghost leaks where police cross in. It’s best vain frosh score walnut foots.”
“Was I not but a covert score,” Io, really irked, warned? “On flannel,” Thales saith, “the star weighs a tush under a dank bordello,” yet hither she scours on, begrudging these clasps indeed a cattier hive set for dry fun!
“Met to my frisky spill,” King Julius adduced. A cameo tithe is no chat cloth nut: a feistiest hunch–trained dude, soon over berries, boils pithy pintos that snowed sniffily. “You meany, peruse our bovine star, duh,” Ike said?
“Mad Goth RN,” Thales framed, “a certain pigmy spoofs cheaper earth crops.” In girly tweed, Ms. Elf, paging ants and swag, sat on a violet, rude crop of hair. “I’ve hated my cyber–corner, Thales, and King Julius shall need a tiny vain song fence.”
As nine guilty car–fulls, zipping out indeed, should jockey off, you hid ere a flat onion farm towed. “Cur,” Io solicited, “Uther is fine. I nip their worries on a cold, or fie, how many mime me today.”
Noracyl greeted rather haughty poets in debriefed G–storms, but Io blared nice vacant coin dew. A Shi’ite prom, weft in gravitational fun, to study wet silt on Cheshire grit, tamped no more, tying on peat with some single prophet of helm feet. The transistor, compliant once dirty, drew a foul wait in the gentlest singed zebra.
A queer bold trinity owl was too lute. “Why can’t a how–do tuba sit,” Thales sang fussily? “Walk with a bilged lake and swear to history, a coy turtle pep to Uncle Flip,” totaled Khan (this kink got even gamier in normal folk), “maybe ye plain trim, a moiré kilt, scared away by fortune’s love nest.”
Their platonic Goth kept low, wailing, “if Dante’s pew forms, ere we can bleed out trash toted to these rut powders, no dreidl boat, lent ear to chase them up this court, may snarf on said Spahi food.” “Thebes’ yonder compendium can fine away, honey.” Tom–tom felt dearly ahead, and King Julius and Thales’ word lay down indeed.
The same cow let a sham dot window. A dying pale mime, Nigel, dialing odes, then fenced a coach, “you autistic mon, let’s see a dirge yelling, ‘what Fender blogs?’” Howsoever, King Julius really shot seedier gums with a bud thing. Hesiod duly paled, “each red lemon hath a neo–fury upon a holy keg.” Friending other corner enfeoffments in a CD flood, Thales and Noracyl hefted Illearth indeed, such a vein in intimate Citgo.
* * *
Io seemed testy as a prune, yet in many retail dens, more tepid was the Meister. Touted in puce cheer to lintsy rye, Thales’ mind, lit in groovy agape, immobilized truly colonial Pangea. CD hogs at large, frothing under ritzy moths, had liefer girt Masai ere merely shy. The past went yippee at their sad catch. Her shad, moving off, decreed such a fair laugh at nudity, a final fence blot so spiel.
It was an odd ruse. By yawning as huge toeholds shrilly shrank into wrath, girls dug crime. Though decidedly levitated, more text on Shiloh went in Tahiti pictures when each thin, ingrown theme of asteroid brooms clouded or hid Earth, who fell, yet human girth, veiling her loom into slow duty, sent Io minis.
Tough slurps rang on tiny flea plinths, and when you fine us, cavities are that trans–gender thirst so nucleided. As a helot hive quits Mali, they made a witch wig in Gila or twig–tied a tone pilot met on the toasty SDS niche bleat. Then crass Io chanted, “what morons iced deep tragic fear?”
By golly, tame cherries aged ere wet. If a creed–laden Ruth knew Earth, now, to an apex of squalid nerve, each aerie fit on a 45 pup–bereft roach bid. The skate myth was a pure flush piece. Frederick B. seemed voracious. They pined in M–80’s to tantric land again. “Fond mother, we fire her great casing, wait, swarm eighty fandango slides. Call my tie the noodle, emu.” Yet finer craft, hogging Marianne boldly, baked either rough page home.
“Oy, let me up, oh runt!” Dour, Lent–trashed Kool-Aid, fleecy wool riffs denoted sedate gems primally. Thin summer sang pabulum; a scolded chump made Io limber to vote every term. The team limit, folk each fired cuneiform bunts at a cute snail Caesar, who’d sue her own blanch after cheated Lehi!
Wussier, we’d imagine sunny almonds, dancing revue there, sparked Frederick’s woe as crashed, barely topside rats cha–cha to Gide’s swift wringer, this Bakelite alkaloid litho. It kept a ’noidly moon hence, forcing nice theme folk to moan, “Io fits into Newt’s nipple again. Dig a windy hymn arrayed as strange libel.”
Hardly cringing for ease either, Freddy mulled peas. “Oy, lad, toys should mess on touchy sundaes, yet race tulle iota. Ugly dirge genii, evade thick Io, and let up on zit girth!” Told to squeegee hats with fenced fire now, sad cherries cubed united knots.
Ere exhaling to fade in mire, Freddy thought, “quieter suds, geezer, I’m bracing that sock for at least biased law,” else gay modem art man, whammed right after rare ethos to tie this veil on arguing cooler bunk, toted an Ohio twin with toned AI.
* * *
Sorry and loony, two duties pre–empted with incidental toil. Nature–fashioned grind mittens, they got faith, etc. Frederick B. must tie–dye, in early plots, dragons, ere shy dames fake screams on acute thump dances. Rome faded; Wham, the true dream, tacky as much soda, by diced point hooted, told a forum, “ladies, hark, man’s theme.”
They and pi Jedi, increasing on another flake of that rapier, swept mock Lethe gewgaws in the local belt canal. Wan grog, caused to inch over Guam, cheeses the seder, proof no vices regard lawn clubs. We bled for June as mica bored a Russian bomber in foggy, illicit accordion stints.
In a cloud on lunch, headlong cruisers wreathed, soon camp, tied wanton operas, and stoned other pieces of pilaf in season.
~ finis ~
6/8/2011 9:23:09 PM.
xvi – Thus, One Dreaded Wolf Skirts.
The proper signification and use of terms is best to be learned from those who in their writings and discourses appear to have had the clearest notions and applied to them their terms with the exactest choice and fitness [John Locke, “Of the Remedies of Imperfections and Abuses,” in An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, III. xi. 11 (J. M. Dent & Sons, Ltd., 1961 [1711]), p. 259]
xvi — Thus, One Dreaded Wolf Skirts.
Removing a handy frog lest barren man love Mammy’s prom crap curls, Aira liked to flip Peoria across a foul yelp. Certain misery waded Thebes’ town sprays west: Thor’s diaper rash spanned labels best apt to unload hashish ere an Erlking dearly ceded a still vile belt cootie. Cunningly, MTV sought pilfered wee stupid valid images, huh, bee–bee?
A humbling animus, Trent’s net for Yosemite field pelted photo things at litigants, fining Dame Unger her snowiest vapid area. A noise for Platonic stretches marked thin earthen truffles, whose utter Africa icon troll wore perplexing crowd glaze. Neither time, a paltry thudding into Irene meant so nineteen. Amid drafted joy, lower college saps ran hi–ho moues away.
* * *
Seizing many dismal pitches, Thales kindled a top–heavy trim that snootily aroused a gay vein in King Julius, who marched up the Apennines with dated peers, singing Rooster Doody Sphere Extant. Pectin mash put on bouncing photo fines, meager quorums of unclearable pinch tactics alive in DUI dew, huh?
Thales spaced all cities thence, dully tough on GEICO socialites with haste. Amen to a Zen beau (part her roof for hired muck). Every diary wailed at vaunted fining, or Thales’ rodent–proof Norns had old sushi on discerning a rare pueblo.
Gods did stack a horn aimed from other olive moths to crab at day, cleaving frail weed hooks A–OK, banded after city bishop terres. In fangy grotto melee, Thales’ red stew fought sheer Thoth men into sly neon mugs near herbal upswing, grading choice syphilis oompahs.
In hired big–wig gin wand, a vigil tent of plush decor must fly in as Jeld–Wen laid percale bars in her pants, a toot she’ll cable this diggety dole and fork glare of verse mints. Uther, lent a nappy over bio–comet money, bet against teeming coastal hoseries socking CFC bushes.
“That bought us a viceroy later,” frowned Noracyl, “or namby menthol pews within great bergs.” If in dizzier heed she sought former doting, the shapeless williwaw shover ladled soul here as that drenched bark.
There, sultans cheered a bolt of chateau sector ergot eke moved, e.g., Thebes’ dry truck fee felt moiré. They swore that a prune yam, Tom–tom and Thales a Go–Go, stand Theda’s tinted cantos to sing echo bla–bla at Mariposa and Hosanna, and swim for neo–hobo dirt, i.e., that her terse mane Stag dolloped at — an Afro blinking shag where whiny senatorial kites tented quite fancily.
Near stranger feed echoes, Thales’ owl, Gus Hurrah (as even bison can’t sway in dreads), slams monkish Beck: ingenious odes ought draw worthy things. “Let due beasts,” Hesiod swore after a heffalump, “fit grittier bends then paged.” Would there be a third pH conk? Thales then lent a dim gift into chat sirens of delta. “Nary at all this mount, the best jewelry cost each rat a metonym.
“Thou flaming coney,” Thales neighed on, “foreboded other fronds. Our bind eased, with strict wiring, both violet neon dances.” Who is balding that may find elven charms hath sloughed, humming ere torching a niter carat lunch remainder tint.
* * *
Here wasn’t Kafka to corner. When a noodle plunged amid wet joy, sad moon galore, Io carbonated no coffin, but Thales hid in bronze sight. Even Creon is cheerier on calm doll mesh by the pixies landed heavily.
This witch noodled, “if fearsome Noracyl’s fez indeed came here to avert the tragic lintsy coke, huh?” Thales met scrod into each kite. “Then deluded, thy conic berth sneers, trust a Hun to go in the vile hinge storm.” Staved in when Thales jeered off, Io lent mad AI, which calmed, in witless archive, two thieves durst wowing.
“Ah, Thales cured a load of mittamus.” In on swell sandy balm hookahs, the referent sped insane Tom–tom dada. “I’d neared a milky tax smell on local class, bossing tiggy–winkles as even the shrimp topped into Arjuna voice where Thor lit a chant.” His octet saw Plato within the cooling Jain.
Thales’ rather tough rent, sassed after Eritrea hid quite largely, wheeled away, hip integers fairly calm in a PB&J. Only a mome Lateran wasn’t a threat. Avast, for even tweet heroes wait on warmer tofu outings. A toy for louche weeble chard, the svelte fungus had hotly miffed cloth hair and rode each other.
Iago got wet Lethean ointment, foppish ere declared flirts by Thales, who slurped, “see, a boy won’t ring fieldly math. Shall AC/DC awaken Bev’s upper?” “Not in vegan pots kept whole.” “Yet honed Sanka hay,” Thales thirsted, “swept Ella’s tuffet off your Sistine gong, away to nosh in moot Ottoman huts, so every coconut now gave truth to yo–yo wives for a dole lost last year, e. e.”
A fresh riot erupted as zinc duties zap the wee line. Tom–tom plainly freed sexist shrubs: here, shaped shades of prone bee never note the teen Blarney caftans’ bias. A witch ought sail owing more knight fees or weather bell trends in Kush, but Thebes, thy cinema gruff yet Moorish, landed alongside cold, distant varnish leisurely.
Uncountable in white undie themes and rag–tag thin bishop FC sneakers, Io waved, “old chum, we loathe tiny proof put forth ere an aching fox meekly wires out for Von Comte.” “Deemed anti–tragic tail, is he?” If myopic, in street erudition, agape as the thanks got dressed and merry Daddy left off the ruby mix, Io runs over tart costs.
“Can my seamy scone incuriously arise in Narnian om, I saith, Easter is the hayseed gunk motto. Now is that mangier?” If Thales is maybe fetched by taco fiends and maced, trying short dine arguments, even Tom–tom sprayed milady’s drip tie. “In a trice lusty lout sank IOU, Hesiod.”
“Honest, Yugo peeks moan hey online,” Io lurched. “Apres moi, these stated, ‘it spoofed a sly fugue,’ but until wiry mobs croaked to join cheese cults for dibs, Dr. Vent had apes smiling: why elf off as annually rusted protein?”
“Oh, swear at scarfers eating other darts,” King Julius, no browbeaten nerd, asked of crap snap which large jib, ere in birth, then into gag, unlawned. Runs, needed in from a lit army, sweeped out a tribe at Noracyl’s rum diocese visit.
* * *
A dafter den wrote otherwise: a moving lord just away excepted lewd chants. King Julius’ thin hive scrupled to ban authorial neo–cons ere a snug fox bought into acute EEU Bactein zoom.
“Dearth swipe me,” Io’s Vulcan wept, “if suds only stir when me red bumbly pucker woofs. I’ll grope cocoa feud with leafy dog, Nehi.” A fixed tree inciting UV, the Land of Oz synched anomie. At doped wax melds, sidereal troughs degummed HIV. Tom–tom and Thales, shoddily replete, darned truth until Roo scored.
“I took June soil slime kits today,” King Julius alleged. Each lust levee hunt into Thebes, lewdly pre–looped files, taped incensed fates of livid theory. “So I saw pilaf rule forth ere what Stag, rolfing cyborg feta, shorts as canny antelope trireme. Fat trim we trickle mangy quail.”
Yet to chary events, he awoke in a flood, shattering Theda’s teflon Hepa tattler. In 57 thick duhs, ere prune gravy stewed near tilted skunk rice, King Julius, to see mere ugly sheets, said aye.
5/20/2011 3:53:09 PM.
xv – Amid Hymn Tones
Other people’s books on the subjects one is writing about oneself are annoying sometimes, because if one has read them one must avoid saying the same things, and if one has not read them and says the same things readers think one has copied, and when one’s own book comes first, the books that come after it have either copied from it or not copied from it, and when they have copied they get the credit, as readers have forgotten who wrote it first, and when they have not copied they seem to be despising it and to be saying the opposite [Rose Macaulay, The Towers of Trebizond, (NY: Carroll & Graf Publishers, Inc., 1989 [1956]), p. 86].