Kindred shall often awaken studies of aesthetic street fern nests.

III — xxiv — How a Mimed Decor Hinted.

.   .   .

When everyone who had read this far was spared a resumption of turmoil, others less restrained of ideally usual indices nauseated with anticipation while Snorggi sneezed, of Acheron quality, and the mausoleum maroon (all too busy) zoomed, consenting to the phased approach of his stout craft as fulcrum of intensive magnitude, for issues had begun to sound like freight ingots pressed from within. Silent old mice might an attentive borough of acrosticism rival pre–EEG clue phonetically.

.   .   .

Instantly a matronage, woebegone in marl attire, rebutted in casual, if learned argument, a forensic conic void while stockings hanged nearby described the arrangement of ideas now generally kept anon toward an essential purple stale maize ordered from ratification. Seconds, absolute, obdurately committed to that accumulative if rather contentious utmost, used obvious Niceanisms in rote volutely obstructive if in the regular sense of incitement, to arrive. Immeasurably, the earth’s tribulation expected horrible, the legend progress of the numerous and hitherto erstwhile ebullient bore witness to the stranding of an aloe, all out meant expedition now of perception evincible.

Isn’t humbler tragedy pragmatic without any props, An guessed, to incite a cumulative simulacrum of sporiness. The russet blare imported across diffuse nettle colonnades, a vast repository of searching tangents, rivuletine as where tictus, hidden integuments of tinsel, lectisterniate among plagioclase mute nap snappers, superfluously miming dirge cruises verging upon predeterminate, a schematic circumscription supra harped upon verbatim orlop terraces, demurring thereby in imperative noumenons any peculiar grandiloquence.

Sallow with determinism, the sixth’s amative relief accused the oblate girth of the spheroid as an element of their signal failure. And hope left the morpheme orisons, all eagerness left with an An Indocile. The historian (all too busy), her unanimous condemnation of thwart principle outraged, took note of the infra–indigo insistently, yet extended no admonition toward her optic ken, flowing instead into an apparent charter. Only an agile or two pre–empted an imminent correctional fit. Who would take a chance at the rain of Erewhon’s demise might miss habitations crashing instead to cascade fluorescently into the oceans? Triton would not have this, aspirating, “land if this must on hand your lengthiest crinoline ere you breath takers were hired from the conch,” lacking the spontaneous genome of untrue defiance intense this telling well might nocturne matter.

Foreboding as this denouement was many were not willing to chance it. Turning instead to note Wormwood’s approach, the fifth rebel fjulsfut calculated atop silver quick. A little hearth matron robed the chaste Esmeralda fourth in emendations of signal width. An isoclectic orchestral predication in display necessitating a proxy of solar winks before an invention of awful significance took shape at a moment infinite, restoring a glare of revolution. Decibels of pendulous pretermission, aucuné as lapis lazuli, marbled out of shrieval proscenium, at last minute, in equimolality vis–a–vis sundry absolutes, ramping orthicon fade yodeling to a whole effluent toxicity.

As easy a simpatico with health control school tinges, Esmeralda’s cut–and–paste ring cycle, spiced with bossy ayahs, ultimately pleased Mrs. Teaspoon’s dressy bacchantic eco–circle teams, mocked up in immense, staid, quasi–symmetrical gaiters, ephods of hand–twisted worsted scallom, regal take–ups of robe de style semi–mode, and velour pediments insistently fobbed by Echo’s intimate house of teen glamour. As if creased inklings, decorated with mint fluxes, bent as few campers sang, with respites for transmission of cultural values.

The race was on the way toward erasing the rules, soon so developed in dogma. Who, leaving the trekkies to live here, or told her people, many redeeming squatters, about not going meerkats over the check? The forerunners, stretching on the lot in out–moded roach tappers, owlishly let sneak upon messengers a gate, widdershin to Castle Mandrake’s sporadic power poles, some mythical road into the atmosphere of community. Left as skeleton between the closest keys, strain, with its presence known by rank, ermine, who wear cabal a numb jerk ace quay, was again still unclear, a gem frescoed up from misfixed reams of nths.

Decked out in bay article, Ælfric proved to warm behind the clouds, because of ill repute; some parallepiped brake up, frequently successful thinking babes instead pressed a small green fantastic figure. Judging from the past song of that subject, the acts of glorious fishing into an ozone can found the Anglo–Saxons settled into quasi–mythological parody. So receptively tempt to her contemplation thereof, his eyes beat upon waking sea lions begging to trade lunch, and readied to make the breakfast proposed by internal undergrowth holistic energy that propelled little scary sorts of week flyers back to write eight punctuated Walkman tunes.

.   .   .

Sojourn night at the Sunrise Cage admitted all mineral momentoes. The keeper of the plovers, a faltering but gentle old man, soon looked out one morning to find his farmhold at the top of the Carnatic Alps surrounded by men in livery most strange. His livelihood had been incarcerated by one of the earliest decrees of il hogreeve i. In order to gain a sounding into the heart of his nephew’s distant amour, Ylferim made inquiry and was informed of one legend, learned by long lines of sleepy Rhætian maidens on the laps of their grandmother’s [sic], that she who cracked the shell of the tiny alpine plover to discover two yokes would become queen of all Earth.

In the subsurface locales, tinkling up innocuous aspens delinquently, a never ornamental monotony gone daft expressed gramophiliac vision in demulcent immutability, skipping linear hall monitors, speechless with fidelity, honesty, staunch resolve, and caution, to cast surplus wafers across Terpsichore’s Brow, a dire land of ritual quagmires, misty fault lines, organdy zones shaken in possibly survival, tipsy–turvy avocado anaglyphs, and aquamarine cesspools wreathed with effervescent cephalopods, amiss in the crush, Ylferim’s heir apparently deciding to make bountiful occasions operant for when the Duchess might be served this rare isotonic treat, for this duchess, as such, was Iraisamonde of Syktvakar, who traced her heritage directly to the Lost Canton of Thrace, whose connections, decently speaking, were sources of unimpeachable possibility, whose late father, the ninth in a line of antecedents, all dukes, had the recent reversal of leaving, in the order of the decades, a fortune of such unquestioned magnitude, that Iraisamonde, the first heiress of the line, found herself testing the seas of hopelessness. In fact, she had no time for that bumbling Nastanto Hogreeve whoever he was, she confided to her trestresses one morning during the rinse. She had already ignored several invitations to festivals the Global Village raised in its own honor.

This variant, grown quite ludicrous to a dwindling audience tired of being served the same appetizer week in and out, leaked a small byline out of the Crimean Herald suggesting the prospective il hogreeve ii left with it on his face (Ostrand, greatly enraged by this publicity, demanded the sack of Suppressant’s amanuensis, Florian. This post-hummus move, if vapidly seconded by Van Etnabaron, was quashed on the word of no less than the Reverend Ferguson, leaving the hold of il hogreeve i on events most precarious. However, to these inner workings few were knowledgeable. The Global Village press net wove itself through the weft of the old ways of Europe, gaining much potential). I am sure this was due to my lack of interpersonal skills.

.   .   .

A drool organ of Maranatha barristers, vice in the latter day tinfoil maze, admonished several obversibles at risk of obtaining pesky franchise offers recreated (amen went scrapmon,’ whose conceptual aim, to prevent the sneeze of Snorggi, was among his undeclared talents) upon the other side a dark period, where three space–borne scholars rested. Notched high within the preoperative boundary about an anonymous Titan silo, while the government had lost track of several suddenly, it pleased the so community assistance program to overlook strange denizens now lurking within the lairs, or said to be. Consistently paged from an ornate pool of calm, on the chance his demise may a cozy fey icon enact, Van Etnabaron, bodily nettled that evensong disco blasted tinnily, a sic bat hack, both quaint, eyed ere his face omit him and no nuance here raptured.

“The village, as verse remiss, we must return to and improvise a longitudinal survey.” “Have you leave to all of this,” Sasha pled, yet could clearly taste environments of yore, until an early dais took in ædith, clean gone from whoever had absolute sideshows, put up with hope, whose Paduan car, a lily take over for too much summation, spent ere most soon entreat, now arranged hinges so that shapes, pared tearlessly, formed blue earrings the next few eons.

They hung about, with elite, charm–folded covers, no doubt to showcase her sconce, and a swath impinged, eke between trembling griefs, “we’re so sorry, we really wished to be in on this, but we must leave this very instant.” Sasha trailed after Jasmine to watch the Ampersand sisters, loaded with tackle, stowing things into a rented van. Their gaze, non–directed at men, was pleasant, a lighthouse beam playing upon an inland field of emerald buckwheat, and Jasmine looked back, adding, “keep the buoy!” “Our present,” said Chantal. “Best of luck. Godspeed. See ya.”

.   .   .

An arriving jar of dubious capability irked them and led to non–essentially arguable if momentous incident. Upon the approach of the present Florian, they strained to their feet, the least senior among them indicating desire to make light of the present house. Though she may have pawned her business cycle for fifteen amative turns, Echo changed tenses often enough during the cesium trill within casual sobriquets, habitually postponed under this graze perorating the co–extant nominally, to clearly sustain for the dies’ next kind maintenance an optimal clepsydra connectivity. “At that time unicorns were mythical creatures,” Noone replied.

“Do they have names,” asked Jasmine, polishing the code of the trodden horse? “They are stubborn and threatened by your effort. Return to your geodesy.” We realized that the strategy of letting them hang out there has reached its useful limitation for the ultimate result is that they receive ceaseless criticism while we by contrast are praised for our effort in using our skills. Go, have a happier childhood, anachronistic individuals professing time for cheap thrills as flimsy metempsychosis once told her, an individual despondence thought out loud so unkempt that any grand mal might seem paltry in time for appearances, and as king maker to the teensie–tinies, Florian ensured a uniform code of incipience, recognition, validation, adulation, ubiquity, malfeasance, downfall, subjection, dissentience, and ultimate rehabilitation via infomercials, a little weird around the edges, yet when we comeback, so they tell us, a five star most recently had companies go out at a time when a visible really premiere benign simplicity appears only on milk cartons, so rewound had half of Esmeralda’s pathos as inert compensatory adagios superimposed archetypal hold, out–pawned, as it stood for here was, in no mood for further disco, one numb pleasant untuned recent squeezed fork ineptly phrased with which every somehow might stem a rotten tinhouse.

Its bevels belied that Noone had leaned on the acetylene a tad before sending the stick figurines aloft in buckets to inscribe mottoes of dissuasive cant upon the fringes of a verse, sobeit that all and/or any dorsal lithometers of scalene kismet need not hump over there even if invidious, too eclat, or pre–certified as inescapably fluid, thusly in tenuous demonstrability were our land, a place of deferment, manifestly succored from old hexameters, flimsy Teflon, saner kewpies, mostly arduous ginseng dies, or deafened slot wedge Yurt throwbacks, “who are we who are skillful in our limited field to accept praises in contrast to men who are our counterparts and at best do not use their skills as well?”

To the rejoinder of Jasmine Menard, Noone said, “our parents refrained from joint criticism of fellows who did not use their skills so wisely as we, and basked in praises while also feeling that we did not lose the opportunity to join in criticism of our fellows who are not using their skills.” “They must be, having blended echoes between covert approval of gleans shown to be bleary.” Apropos for once sat finth, put off in the rush backwards, whose mosh pit, if extolled during excessive hogwash, now brought there is no reward in this to a boil, ratiocinated paper sieves lucked into during prearranged regression festivals, and/if natheless touted to be the end all in impermeability by desirable end state gazettes specializing in decisive stapling abilities, to whit: a cinch these urchins aspiring to re–invent whatever through their ceaseless dawdling over, shall reel aside with the joie d’ vivre ascribed upon our tactile leak–proof chiffon iridescent esplanade, couthly untold igneous messianic oriflammes, and how the mapped dim polyester louder never yelled over a fence at any invitation counting for nothing.

It simply occurred to Dauphine, in short, surfing a virtual plain, “we must end this source of praise by raising our counterpoint to a level at which they can use their skills and will cease to experience the unending criticism from which we have recused ourselves by electoral non–participation.” “You’re why the air is blue anymore, honey.” Regatta drew another vector onto the rouge stamp ticking tea. “Require work and an ability to deal with they who are there a band astern. Bound by our effort, they are, or would only level, the playing field.” Noone, directed Fanta, the virus fencer, to then said snap bytes into temporary bio–optical corrals.

Ritualized, most impersonal yearlings clambered at hitherto chainlike protuberances, were baffled within tubular logjams crepuscularly, and spendthriftier tourist tiers more often than not in excessive declaration thus, with emplacement of Pyrogabion, wore universal finalities seeming proof against all dark matter, and if it could only tell anyone how the web tingled with complacent plaudits, a sprawl of software you can sit here if you want how does that affect you personally hold one while I access that there stigma, thee, monture, mien of landed yo-yo, inane, uptight about anything from whence growth out of or within was possible, ahriman encountered moldy premises in the dismal prism of Flippenberg, a mismeant spell evening of lockout over comparative strengths of triangular Norns ruminatively (a secondary page), inferring apogee minutes in the cast crust sound for want of a still smell.

Tabled since an event, also popular pensive bradykinin declared aversion before therapy and in depths of primogeniture logged little air time. Upon banishment almighty consigned Iago, exclaimed the scion, “nay for already the prelate remonstrated in private that even dada may be moved to argue vociferously the sun does glare down so, and if a conclave desirous of your ease having swallowed the concessions of nay they will loll,” who knew Frederick would yield so readily on investiture? Nay, he wished to appear the surfing idiopath, “and so,” spoke Henry (VII), “shall he find himself commodiously upheld by my abhorrent slalom.” Now hardly too little do outliers shun the elements, their visage cowled. For unseating tenebrous vapors now ahriman was upbraided by Esau whom on behalf of humanity castigated his various iterations.

“After watching one third–string teen scream, you think you can just film on anyone? PoD, use tepid whatnot, they have become especially conversant with their own impending dissolution and are more resilient nowadays. So try that on a daily basis and wind up clocked. And then you infiltrated their cyber–corridors? That you should think this voyeuristic impulse will get you anywhere is repellent. Wake up, you’re in the big leagues today.” The subinfeudated ghost resumed snoring at the moon. There was no getting over it as the crowds went wild over instruments of mass persuasion most of the time as if by a pre–arranged signal.

.   .   .

How tried were they to give up some thing that earned mega traces heeded at risk from thousand earnest emissional process brewing until times owed natheless, or what else could be said to an obvioregal, whom Florian regarded as a snow dive might with any one of obvious balance, a sense moreover whet with considerable practice in all art? Always now his beat, a clutter of immunities, principalities, or naves, each claiming jurisdictional nor unlimited privilege seen through fluff and dander all gynaceum futurity, each indulgent in more politic clamor owed no to her far oubliette sought as refuge expedient, and as for a list of avoidances, badland, ire, or footballs axiomatically bobbled through analgesic surfeit, withered beneath emergent circumspection, Francis X. Middleford fidgeted with his mood ring, and thought of so many great strides into the future they had all once vindicated, only to collapse into straws clutched to stem an everlasting ferment.

“Friends,” Middleford drawled, “we have steeped the text of time stern and clear.” Quintessentially, Echo’s elective Norns ignored the considerable works of someone geotactically synthesizable, and posed seldom more chagrin to that lucklessly complete reclamation of interest. To Frank this was a dopey sort of mingling, though a day of proud if mixed emotion. By the time their argot had enacted three never tasteless topics, his tepid qualm, distilled in an animadversion of Esmeralda’s eschatological purpose, was illieniently concomitant with the camaraderie of their arcanest resolve. Permitted none of these distractions in his new state, Florian floundered upon the ledge of exposure, hovering in lone testament to his own gruel cried, trice perpetrated by a tense, an ex spiritus [sic] utopian who sang before the astute mirror ere more apologists relied. They wept in their sweetish Rachmoninov vespers key to rate the highest office, of the kind penstemon defile nestled in the runny mean, that one motif which would convey the familiar Læmært from the amnesiac brunch might tip out of his ways when misled for again.

Whilst, “oh look come quick dry in cryogenous airs, a chipmunk is eating a cheerio,” Ylferim, persuaded of his ultimate and eternal joyfully haply bismuth away flounced on or cheeled. Across the diameter, where one of the spandrels, easily poised to take over the room (although at Menard’s pensive approach, it plodded to concealment beyond reversed assertive drapes), word again leached, flunking out the aerial access posted by the inquisitive, giving no readier nor instant assurance of repetition crabbed in rigidity and, until there was in a room with the rede overtook them for pledged nuisance, our soul drenched finders frieze atavism well shaped cordial from initiations, naively sassing the mezzanine with flagrant inserts, brimming with roseate space retained, though unperturbed with liaison complement, brittle now with edgy samplers outlined, and conventionally hours in aggregate taffeta brand clutter width andirons might how supper loomed thereat, a certifiable despondence over three volumes of present wisdom pilfered from the thriving cultural exchange deferred an impersonal profundity.

Virgules no less obscurable gapped largest fieldings until one’s toy either rattled the garden kettle or through sumac wended a rigorous vale. Therein parlous spills universal, though if locked with composite shards accountable to abrogated petrifaction, snarled upon a weak skein. Fully prepared to infintessimalize a more as hell, Florian walked out on Godot, thinking of scratch phrases with which to withstand their outlandish axioms. In the moment, baffled with doubt, Frank choked back his apprehension, aware that perhaps they were of a mind. All remnant of his mandate shred, the master pondered only official courses, votes of convenience, roll calls, quorums, and other tools devised by institutions to stem the onset of ultimate ataxia.

Ylferim troubled to evict the fitful mittamus, sequel to the turbulent upload of an unforeseen outrance, yet while the scrabbly heckled their moist gaze, Esmeralda noted the intruder boldly staged in twinkly mold that bide say no further thing, though somewhere ledgers played for all of this, he stammered, “pet, I thought you were his pride and joy,” and then venially, ornamentally, insipidly yet she rejoined, “I refuse to another minute exist in this playhouse!” Here, if all the while forks rang, neither noticed nor ordered stricken indecisively, neaply nether tunes worsted no silkily hired vest, and brought from tones through fibrous daunt soaked reelection, was his often well rehearsed chance to collocate certain sowers if nary spinners seeking restive forum. In a response of emptiness beyond the Alps, only minimally developing furniture which led into the rocky fallout, Matthieu noticed a pretty and almost comfortably strained seventh look at her relationship with a dirty distant 1921 silver guitar during which, scrambling to leave none of the third with a heady girlfriend and empty milk cartons, was it an unmitigated stretch to ask if the ice is better at your fridge? Ælfric reeled the rug out to be quite so people–centered and pillaged the nuts–and–bolts matters into this time frame.

Here was a real woodsy owl in spite of the amber light behind her, which had gleaned in a mire of equilibrium between roundly organs long and eldritchly defended in orthodontic light. “These industrious mirages,” she said, “for nothing doing after old events and gull droppings.” Nonetheless, it says fragile, though one slip by Esmeralda, and there was overt enthusiasm. Until the call of the empty spaces, with no ocean but plenty of location upheaval, at least got out, taking six bobbin books to show that, lacking any effort to justify one tongue, they conferred into them, but it was usually transformed into past unconscious to help stay slowly supplemented.

.   .   .

All too soon, in the unpromising light of an obscure dawn, the carrioccio of Piacenza boiling along twitching cables and erupting from the deep, shrugging shrouded dollops of silted muck, Ælfric ordered a northward heading. Mr. Chocho Molino, who had come aboard, countermanded this. Delphinium sailed due west, the rising sun following like an angry maroon. They rode in, as ever once so full of whenever provosts, echoing a decent relaxed finish evaded, and then doffed long next, a skipper of Delphinium reminded them the boiling wastes ahead afforded prospects of sloth. The latter was convinced that, if one is likely to be sane and fully called for, the skipper’s plan, to steer north toward the Sardinian straits catch the return current from Tyrhennia, harbored an ulterior motive. His mostly dull motions carried the day and dropped the balloon on some projects. Thus, the vessel strained westward in an overwrought phase, engines plunging against the Gibraltar counter–current which sped their just eastward journey days before.

Chocho placidly in ignorance of the skipper’s insistence, and Delphinium bailing beneath the overtaken sun, Van Etnabaron took occasion to revisit the hold. Once below, he studied his saw marks upon the crest. The carrioccio of Piacenza was of polished bound teak. The Porcupine conch had been flaked upon the crest with a series of interlacing rivets. The fasteners, of native bronze, had withstood centuries. Altogether, one wheel also recovered, this carrioccio comprised a find that would never have yielded to Van Etnabaron’s efforts to separate the Porcupine from it. Of the ensemble, eleven stones remained. One, indicated by the empty collet, had dislodged. Van Etnabaron tried to remember birthstones. He had once seen a list in one of his mother’s Ladies’ Home Journals. Time hovered. Garnet. There was one. There were opal and amethyst. Onyx. Mapeleine? The engines which had encased the contents of the hold in a hull of sound all around them suddenly stopped with a deadly thud and a backwash, Sasha thought, of utmost sincerity.

.   .   .

Elliptical content enacted between a hinterland, regummed by assent, and vast conversions charging their lunch to later recall.

III — xxiii — Design Innately Forfeit.

.   .   .

Initials mulcted at this early monument strained through his sangfroid as if the construct wasted on them. The sacrist Fr. Anselm loitered far from the car to think if a moment avidly conformed to censorious valor. Now in joy and of itself rabid, disportments of the court drew avuncular checks from older coteries, and while noticeably long thereat schisms were imminently coarse to any sensible impression, Henry (VII) would rank the entire dig a wonder if not seventh, and offering them this barbed cue, sauntered toward the verticule.

So insipidly had this item emplaced, next to a grid, that anyone might shun coral ornately in favor of an encompass, that clearest of guests, peering through woodwork, grasped ordered specifics, and how your heinous having heard of this news received, turned at the last fix to begin. Their chance solution flatly in one thought sank beyond congruous expanse, this cynosure hip finth wart cognitive summit.

Of outremer avocado blush was thus Worms at first dawn, roused to imposed remittance of acceptable prototype, that since zest of stolid niches tough, despite guttural hooks caught upon the now foremost barbecue, as it were, so insistent were we to engage within the construct of sorrow, that in any emblem of only monotonous will, an importunate scion released the camp. Deliberately having misled the cities of where that charge so improvidently leveled from, Fr. Anselm was determined to voice utter contretemps that this was also Nertz; all the moreover since Henry (VII), persuaded on more than several occasions, within his realm, of the efficacy of the haystack, with vindictive measure did break upon the harbor of antipodean look alike up over, piezo–electrically deflected with a certain arid solidarity, until with it attackers vowed no parley, unless it were to evoke quaint popular concerns allayed.

In the shock of an awful storm, the predictable and, in such wise as arrays crazed, civil miscellaneous watch, was nor all in its fabled design unassailable, for amidst the corrected river, running right within ells of the firewall, yet in so an enclosed and martial bog, had no planner expected such a cohesive mass as materialized within sullen immediacy of the germane combine. Then the earth began to end, and Fuald was amidst numerous extras in an off–Midlothian revival of The Music Man. Amaryllis, he cried, stunned that a man of his complexity would be cast a child. A slower diet conduct nodded with standing room only for his incessant exit. He also began noticing the sun recreating a litany of previous engagement.

After hours failing to matter suddenly, Fuald looked wan as the great ben struck, on a docent of absolved principle, nine notes of an hour typically noted as coincident with nautical twilight, yet announced approximately nothing, for the solar disc hove affixed in premium majesty, bathing once more citizens of an empire with demonstration of axiom. Knowing little more than the restorative refulgence a national mood engenders, Fuald privately submerged within a catch basin all of his wealth, remarking scents of a nature plunged into sudden lovely dishevelment.

From deep within stirred airs, of flagrant sinister warmth, escalating an Loreleiian quality to growth. A step in sudden progress became an invitation for license to bounce forever; immoderate declamations aside, Fuald knew his only chance remained to grapple with whatever reality was not coming unglued or unmoored up as quickly as the dwindling gravity they shared would allow. Detected in form, as all men dreamt they stopped having them, monads watched Bill Demarest marathons on cable when someone called, “to argue a toss, I’ve real concentric isthmuses floundered, that cessation of commitlessness onto which burrowed monarchs, wistrous, fibrin leafs of convention, excuses endured, tofuesque shown byte thanks to those misrepresented often.” This their fast, for insight loomed, the Ambassador’s might, waxed in perfected comprehension of matters, dreamed needlessly of a composite iota affixed.

Initial node stability, remarked the seventh, the flan dropped from a short height if of sure acuity, recalling then a long stream of limitless parallelepiped that peered at totems which rushed in liminal abandon of hiatus. Recramming as for an exeunt also, several challenging precepts concerning the fifth spar indeterminately ran, while a special unless verged in consecutive order defined, with overtones of dilemma, straining efforts known as unripe: pollination of the late isolate supplanted redemption of any dull profession. Notched irrevocably nigh within wedgies of cosmic insignificance, the rebellion dissolved into refulgence. Their division, coursed on indigenous predicament of those seeing theirs as favorably communal mediated displays of efficacy, had ended.

.   .   .

A strand of regret attaching their loss, better this abet them and their task achieved, overt aliens extended an invitation for crumpets. Yet, they had little time to calibrate their success, for even as they turned from figurative knell, a series of events occurred. To reach a zone, has not one maverick pelted theory, stinting efforts to recite the already obligatory session.

Allergic to their macro similitude from the concubine zyxwv in withal response to the sudden Ostrand whom, known as a sticker, recalled the untoward envy with which he listened to tales of contemporaries who had nearly died in atomic accidents amidst declivities of his youth. “‘Twas the only time my mother ever seemed concerned about myth,” he meant with a chortle, as they stared at the snuffling abyss. Ostrand had almost been there once, he believed, when his fidelity rolled into the ditch one snowy noon, albeit far from gnarled heights deemed formless, unsettled, perpetually disturbed, or capable of swallowing even the most distant tourist, and although incredulous silence greeting his pronouncement of near death put paid to any dream of elevation into a nearby pantheon.

Too many occurrences of arriving temporal standards gave weight to an argument, that morphemic guild art’s next decade, with characteristic bantam frame, would bowl one more tone. If lied not in precision sailing, “it is my guess,” Ostrand concluded, “that disaster gave form and meaning to childhood, and I always wished for something bad to happen.” “Always thank God,” said Ion, who had taken a course in his day, “that they stalk into noire eve.” Ostrand watched wanly while others polled fitfully around the top of the ravine. Ferguson seemed upon the verge of convening the national transport safety board. Perhaps redeemed by an ability to experience at least a moment of incurious terror that was interdicted by a message from the duty observer, a euhemerism signaling change in universal condition rang while men gathered to discuss contracts.

A breeze soon shown to dissolve any degree of prevalent, imminent, or non–latent affinity was hit upon by them, whom also, asked my once cherishable notion of second rate metaphor osmosis, and resultant offload, switched impact on all ensuing events. As a matter of active torpidity, the principle of second first affair that was bent, staging away from an oratory laurel of dubious acclaim, soon Mme Heppleweis pled absolute contest as her excusable reply, though haunted by meeting at an elusive pass. Descrying the general quarter with which any template had emerged one, as if sneering in acute clutter molded an obligate future.

Obnubliate in gloom another spat augured. “They think to put the construct off onto a future jurisdiction with reports of a larger nest. Well, we’ll now proceed. The defence of the spire shall commence.” Immediately Fr. Anselm surveyed a vast waste of bricage, flotsam, and sticks, vertebrate of an inchoate dream. Numerable yeomanry stood out with patent resignation. “Foul churls fall out,” the sacrist yelled and set to the task at hand. “Thus shall we certify for love of God one day the fount of all wisdom wore perchance,” and as those who had kvetched decades in firmament were led up with scaling ladders, a giant slab poised for too long slumped neatly into the pit.

.   .   .

The real work amid much mud embarked. Hourly thick yawing retorts, capable of wellness long rang, shorings gainsaid the magnificent seam without press. Thin oddments their mark dredged in albumin collected as fine dark matter formed throughout the wise acorn dropped from apogee. As a cellar was breached, tables turned. In revolutions, numbered as annums ago hardly exceeding atomic freight of thallium, that it had been scripturally and previously urged upon that I forsake as enlightenment value, was kinetic since from a spicule rose then monad glorified sentiment, operative of a suffered bravura dust tome.

Teams of oologists as distant as Ararat were to note the seismic seizure adverted, through the scratch of unfun scorn, an inundation of pathfinding rupture. Eleven miles in, the inter–regnum spore zygmototized. Then sparse mantel flaked within at an adjacent Kelvin absolution of nothingness. Then all serrate currents arrested with cold pocked patch thorough skeins shot through, mapped in limit this dense comparison short level, and magnified an uncommon sial wave swallowing sequins of mass negation, for it was the concept of a law that in burden constant to an ultra national event struck at most binding precepts of common time, location, and matter uncontrollably indicted in unaccountable jihad.

Albeit fourth saw to this even ruby product though the annealing axis sprang in all directions as geologic time, measured in pica seconds, ceased. If for the sake of a soul would any creator amerce the resultant pass, shadow puppet knew, Ferguson decided, this was about to happen in time to evict the consequence of salvation men had come to devise. At once he was in spirit blogged aloud as the universe shrank into a corner and the Nicean evincement gulled, he soared anew sour over all of dominion; An wakened him to point beyond Cynthia’s crescent as lobular tumult descended from afar.

Tangled midst nacreous layers, beneath the combinative might of star wars lumbering to efface the intrusive photosphere, Logan recalling the polar array coalesced into tintinnabulating fibre. Now An declared detonation of that plinth, whereupon traditional norm verified, in Mercatoric project, a north no longer due. Tachyons formed deep within the crust of tectonicity as serial wrenches torqued by degree, and in animated ice font the planet–buckled gauss, released in ironic boreal tinge, heralded cessation of more honorific than any festival might tap.

With a twinge, finth comet home scraped the noctilucent exosphere with the shriek of angles, enough by degrees to escape beyond plotted denouement. Had they not already repealed the amendments, stranded many a bold effort, and bitten the invisible hand, the reprieved ninth surfed on in their oblong steroid; little gratitude had they manifest, even pausing to elevate a Rosetta stone claimed as integral to the peace of their world.

If spared, Logan’s own world was bent into an arotational clinicity previously unimaginable. Faintly he noted the Mount Period observatory directly beneath Polaris, which placed the south pole most exactly between Christchurch and Wellington, whose descendants now enjoyed a sun never set once more. And if a recessive flaw impended, it was in finding all time drawn to a standstill.

.   .   .

Typically perquisite insubstantial contras, under a specific analgesic alteration defined but then unconscious, while only nattered persistent stasis, can belief consist of bygone cocoons of marble precision verily? With a rude oath, ahriman demanded alone, “am I to cling to things cold?” “It’s more about honor upon the rest area,” his captors assured him. Lest far too many temples mutate physically, enjoy whoever personally waxes baffling, in case that strange returning bandersnatch merely smirked.

“Than I am,” PoD protested, “on review en passant before growling devils dreaming stiffly there there. Wasn’t that nothing?” The jitterbugs agreed they would knock someone too weird. “Mercifully intact, my head leaves mock heavy traces of me quenched by fiery fluid substitution, of what form desired a roto–tiller sagged taupe cold sensation?” “Open wide the jaws of Flippenberg and heave him justly always,” their flight leader ordered, “lest his fancy regard trade us a bill of goods here.” Thus debugged, the die cast, pigeonholed in a livelong barrow, ahriman physically disappeared in a mushy sideshow, until years later some stars wobbled atavistically.

There were bored thoughts which mundanely creaked to the tune of friendly laconic ellipses. “You who contemplate safely, might I mare bullions of bland from castaway twerps,” PoD gnashed in bold cones, “cherish that despair mingled with much quarantine, beautiful aren’t thou, ‘she said my undying service lasts out eager smoke signals still fair to another.’ I am divided firmament, for a contracted moment fairly staid, what love or more draws back peremptorily, case you dilettantes, your audience away comprised perchance and begone.”

.   .   .

An was far fair, glimmering an inkling me sparse, pursuant of constants, in throes of an Agnes folk circus, ice cog increases, and of then the plunge into beyond. Jasmine, now a second year fellow at Oxnard, sat unimaginably coping with simultaneous admissions on interregional transitions, and Sergei, ordered to return the turec akabej, thereat found latitude to review contexts, rely often upon circumstance, and/if fond of intoning others of their silver sliming, and nonetheless willing to give of all ideas impartial hearing, let aye whoever tired of reminding others of great fortune, a medial flyweight has our porous bribe hewn.

Undaunted guests, in anyway analgesic elapsed gain of parted byres, sanded some instant winds’ closure, acclimated when two sizes arrived nearly simulating precedent or ease. The cosmogony frequency, a net isochronal yet inclement, drooled glazes of any well usual as in check please. Schooled not to let in anyone now, as different from pre–sputnicysts whom, among heliocentric random wont affluent contrasts, sooner weighed the graben, deposited from many small steps, the patient stopped to read a signboard mentioning recuperation in the hyperbaric chamber.

All perceptions of similarity were groundless, since she was able to translate until liable to walk diagonally fine in this own room. Often peers were at liberty to advance those transmissions of more than foreboding recovery. This excerpt, for an admission that someone had something to do with acrostic omphalos, if left alone for minutes, was of a mind capable of projecting severe disinterest with any immediate situation, bore all regimens in a stoic shame subtrahended and, if moreover responsive to no readily stamped focus, was troubled by an amerceable bias.

An immeasurable sop visited upon all facets of her functioning consciousness leadened evenings with an unmatchable gleam. While physiologically sound, Talitha, in her newest determinate see, experienced more than usually actual subsidiary fonts, dispensed in new wisdom to departure of iniquitous relationships someone had not lifted a finger to always clarify, conveying an essence of being locked within a boxed up life, to her untransmutably greatest hopes or triumphs dulled under an awning of unspeakably silent ferment, for the boot to otherwise drop unless bursting a torrent of leaves brushed into the groove and collected in acreage until a village sweeper arrived.

Yet fustianly elected species capable of detachment limped along the patchy tarn in circuitous whorls until, pimpled into by a sudden amber counter gust, they earnestly capered toward a dimmer perception thereof. Ion saw argyle flutes sped for a presence which wasn’t however, while waiting for him to speak words, forthcoming, and desperately required to forestall an appointment, thereat turned from the bar to scratch at a videolotiquette silhouetted with talismans, Ion minutely thought, “remainders, scraps, and feebled echoes of what might have been adorn the cells of my life,” he added, “if this can just get finished.”

“You’re too sensitive,” Talitha rejoined, “to decide what this all is supposed to be.” A full silence, as was Ion’s wont when so confronted with many listeners who long ago had evicted an inner predilection for amusement with his no longer topping rationalizations, already told what was wrong. With them he wondered, after fifteen years of parenthetic glamour for his own conflicting indentations, if stuffily pigeonholed in a manila folder that were escapes, without managing them as innumerable, apprehended afresh charges to many evanescent lists of things.

It did not really matter to anyone that objects had taken on a life of their own. Endowed with aura for want of an incisive nod, Ion treaded amidst them like teas left in search of a congruent no longer, and while finding that actual persons continued to know that anyone did not care for the trail mix of accidents that brought them there, derived none of the usual relief from circumstance. As mindful of an encumbrance presented of that tulgey lead, his sententiousness toward accounts least amid liable parley suited, and for that leaned the presence of universal time coordinates where his usual response to any recurring anomie disclaimed every likelihood of ever having a normal day again.

Unable to name through a thing unfairly due to begin, and being called upon to the fair after a wait of limited means and/or to refrain from consulting any oracle, Ion hitherto deemed himself so inessential to narrative that, by invoking a cast of hundreds who, except for indicated thereats, were expecting to Drang [sic] to the affair in their present used condition, he left in a mixture of fear, respect, awe, or contempt with his own department. His brethren mumbled are no one capable of communion with angles? Some smoke (baffled by crags) left Earth and principalities conspired to the tedium of a devised again relief.

And at a time when prior to emancipated impacts observable, Talitha looked inevitably wan, as in sudden ware and cognizance of an illenient colloquy certifying her suspended animation, which continued to bestow throughout use of current measurements of trend limiting precedent where anathema applicated, an An Indocile, linked within an outcry of operant obiter dictum, wintrily inquired of her own whereabout. “Elitist crank,” Thledvirrson scoffed, “has it finally come to your attention how little I actually care for your many needs?”

“When haven’t I spared your planet,” the Ambassador countered? “For your own purpose perhaps,” Thledvirrson rejoined, adding, “if you are anything you will take up your mat and walk out of here slowly.” The Ambassador, looking for flickering vessels elsewhere, backed out gracefully, though not without adding, “it has never failed to escape my notice how little you actually care for humanity.” The patient Ion observed that Talitha, who was no stranger to struggle for immediate clarity, now spilled beans to a fault on the all night prayer request line. While in a situation that demanded deep and abiding love for the race, Ion had come to the end of days possessed of a bitter and profound failure to act. “Who hadn’t (having tossed his fourth cafe pouissant of the morning),” Sergei intervened? Talitha realized at once that a second sighting in her hopes for a revival of all empiricism spoke. “You will stay,” Indocile implied. “The world is over. In this and that you will fill all rule.”

Talitha forsook her apt cheer and left the chamber, escaping from the argyle presence, and drought an urgent mass, citing swift theme prank batch, whence Sasha, farming with the awl, but making wan head, was surprised by theorems of Thledvirrson, who confiscated, aloofly, the rodomontade Parthenienne. An apt bank of wet surf candled afar, chasing the constitutor of Melfi to exalt sibilant inference, though whether folk lack visual smell (he’ll stoke her elm), Aelfric was overruled and the deco made Echo revert from the inset entirely. Crepes, chords, totes, and shoe trees were boarded overflow ere wooed by divers, and shalt rap a tank to–do, but carrioccio did not shift.

Thledvirrson, saying, “sad sir, ye need a winch,” Aelfric replying that Delphinium had not fenced a debate, Van Etnabaron decked, hitherto golden, and here met dews of thanks, next got oxyacetylene, a corona dread, waned in his rasp. As he lurched topside with his Bunsen, their anchor pulled and Delphinium, wafted aside in first patches of daylight startled a chance, though Van Etnabaron watched a survey buoy, hastily bopped, dribbling where distance was lost. Ere that, Aelfric had alone mined flowers of terrific avenue, a bent meet when Talitha tithed tatters unwashed, which now, as funds were a pain, Sasha paving hinterland in ennui, the total world, to have best brought right out a virtue so idyllic, then greased that shag drooped bonkers to the customhouse. After a tough day playing for spare change in front of the comet, th’ratwi’thorns listening to relaxing UFO traffic jams on his environmental screen saver.

Somehow the snack bars he had brought in had melted, covering his tuxedo with gloppy caramel glue. The gift he was to present to the wasteland goddess also glimmered. He pulled open the window, and although it was long past his bedtime screamed, “I’m new in town and can’t take it anywhere.” From silent docks his plaintive yell bounced like a world gone crazy and sneezed across the universe. The Globus van showed up on time. A sweaty overnight delivery expert, whose nametag read Grendelle, bounded up the fire escape with an invoice for the ice sculpture depicting missed opportunity.

Now finally ready to attend the marriage of Esmeralda to Florian, noted th’ratwi’thorns, as the power failed, he had eight minutes to get across, and sought a hack to transport, his contributions to society. Herein consider the multitude of options available to the spatially challenged, the fund raising banner unfurled, stirring many a heart. “Can we stop writing,” Grendelle importuned, “the heavens of my immense remorse remote, and the fact that I hold no grudge, sufficient anymore?”

.   .   .

Pending reaction to Resumed Original Time, kept by not many, as no one exactly knew, after fitful iteration, or could now recall when the planet resumed, albeit an incidentally reverse, revolution. Or to put it mildly, while only days renamed, a stringent count of years continued to be kept in an example of oar lock, zealously quaint. Eventual space, vital star gleams, lost to real decor, innumerably relieved distinctly drawn revival songs, for while the imperative check upon maritime reach orchestrated re–evolution, a principle, put to testing titration of hitherto imperceptibly immeasurable antiquarian expanses, revealed seas steadily shrinking. You now knew all and the planet, for the next nine hundred years, would have a decidedly newer complexion.

Ion, this thesis put to him bluntly by visiting micronauts, found an obliquely shifty collaborative current key. Surprisingly obtuse (for beings of such an advanced state), and after enthymemes of monadic reasoning had been shoveled into their limitless search for truth, the furballs of Nicean inter–regnum were at last made to understand that puppies, if conferring regenerative powers to their owners (we have an incessant need to care about something), were no longer items of consumable revival in many nations. On the other hand, phytochemical derivatives of morphine were, within strict supervision, a radical alternative to decay and death, and Ferguson allowed that he had, in addition to aconite, vomica, nitrate of amyl, and other admixtures brought in venial hope of resurrecting the Trombone Society, a steady supply of these, which he promptly offered.

.   .   .

Sthenic lyres persist in defining disco.

III — xxii — Rune Letters.

.   .   .

A moot tone, shied to risk experience in today’s movement, found thanks to universal finders, but fizzled into natural skepticism since irregular archivists of dibs on such old hat as were spatially adaptable, deploring trend setters, who (might all have a tote) refined the concept of sordid disembezzlement with life, who kept up on latest fashion, and on many a day set the standard for the motel ciao.

That mankind strove to emulate at this moment of history throughout (apologists insisted on portrayal of mass ads lemniscate), certified light transformed and bleakly there, a fine binary icon toast constant as the Northern Star had, in popular clutter, depicted their ship as backyards deviance by now. Most with second or third degrees, fed up with seizures of either/or, simultaneously framed the aardvark trance those times called for, and in dynamic continuity matters decried, again more old relativity arrived. Swatches of anomalous apogee enthymeme clung like damp pressed tomes encased, delineating revision made in exigence, and in impervious focus fifth flagged in the effort to escape the indelible period. Formica varnish men selecting a filterless pall ebbed in a third resplendent analysis perforce aerative yet An, her arrival cloaked in giddiness, obliged a space.

Consistent with mechanical properties, imbuing expeditions not without a corresponding charge of piezo–electric knowledge, untoward as their other simple premise, these Mohorovician glances overall gave the Ambassador rede, though if compelled in place to worry her, anon along unforeobtained levels trembled other fully unrecollected amnesties. “Amen those peg chamois aliens,” the sixth’s invacillatory poise that in earnest measure stuttered. Any belief in her omnipotence evaporates unless an An Indocile were shrift of guile, visibly committed to experience, and oblivious often during uneasy preliminaries, and though internal valence urged Indocile to restore unswervingly ancient privilege, the exogenously volant Olympian quashed them in succession.

“Shall I talk this way,” she declared, “or are entropic process reversible, at least within confine or taint; then might else every mode guess gradually for an explanation of passable taping diet read hazard for them?” The fizzling rebellion roost, the fifth’s thematic inclinic invention having satisfied all reasonable guess work, their train of argument sententiously crumbled into an equation of simple, integral calculus. A concept to whit then that any fjulsfut were now willing to claim acquaintance, formal adhesions, ere rent, more sial in demonstration of an advanced line of principle than in an ingenuous tocsin of incalculable magnitude, designed, for consternation of lisle facet premise, the willful mess ad hoc [sic] of their surety. These measures now brought low through igneous slams and their inaugural each perfunctorily erupted with contingent retort.

Any of this grim attire became the composition of Asgard, and their wholly pliant initial belief, that fifteen thousand kilometers were thus disposed of through acute facility, permeated into disposition of necessary possibility. For the casual omphalence with which fifth received from nearly all of this itinerary had nearly nettled an An Indocile to the inordinate precedent of insisting that as senior representative, she enjoined unfeigned complicity et cetera under provision over all endogenous elements of inter–regnum.

To her devout focus, rebel fjulsfut, bonded irksomely by finth without triumvirate pathos, accepted the Ambassador’s arrival with masked if gracious relief. To mind the news, that finth comet home was about to crash into the new planet, was enough for them to adopt her counsel to descend immediately, with an aim of applying residual torque sufficient to obviate predictable results. The new Earth dwarfed their tapper and required little craft for her to sport and roust the expedition from occlusion. finth she sensed constantly, though from dour allure of the sixth’s own person signal nuance, ninth dwindled perceptibly. Unusually adventurous, the historian (all too busy), bred in nascent nocturne meter copped, eschewed her own brethren hopelessly marooned among forgotten tense and, electing to withhold the standard, habituated toward that while.

An, acting topically, drew forms alongside the seventh which, in loud warbling umbrage, the snorting freighter expedition overrides to admit her. An had no moment of grandeur sweeping foreshortened corridors in dodged disregard of the irreverence her presence caused. Especially adept at refuting fans, the Ambassador found fourth at the threshold, solecisms bereft, and about to loid into the universe. An inkling up front startled them. Finthector wherewithal said, “we have mourned now if ever wrecked in heaven’s entity kneeled some of them.” It was ablative. The sixth swatted the key from the transgressor’s grasp. All watched as in agave haste it bustled circumscribing distance to the nearest storm drain. An intercepted a lunching observer and ordered spacemon’ to detain the fourth. Faced with revision, the historian (all too busy) acknowledged casuistry and uneasily turned to fete an elusive tithe.

.   .   .

Perspective–thin key keepers gradually bolted the frame, though until noticed themes stretched and sang, “look–free zones, bent thrones everywhere, ‘people submit to the grace and mercy of Him,’ a perceptive rough tender out from the fittest by now made these shorn anyone knots. Knelt in the drift like heather, at some level how archaic and seventh century of mode, and left alone to ask, “stop half your titanium unmanned aerial savants and inklings on a dime,” or their epithet shall read, “we had the biggest toy sold on, and,” addressed to cease shedding on differences between learning about submission to prose, replied, “then we harbor such brittle and viscous sapience in vogue. There are some who might benefit from a spell in the ditch.”

“Do tell,” rote PoD’s retort, “you either plead before, to profess your enormous cultural benefits, or stuff them where you think of a total quality meltdown to be had by all.” Over such protest, Noone strode upon her rostrum now, equating buoyancy requirements of fireflies swarming beneath dark blue glass: “‘these insects will take the starch out of them, the original www.once premised.’” The threshing floor they now lit, bottled upon an hour of eternity straitly. Norah smashed through dark glass and hives swarmed round. Her ears, chattering friendlily, pointed out benighted PoD. “That sappy innecessity caused recurrence of ceaseless affliction upon lambent suns that were spotless even after eleven hundred years and drew invidious reference to our own transfiguration.” At her insistence, tictus formed an emcee hammerlock upon ahriman, decreed to the vale of Flippenberg, to be cast in, and not left to awaken anymore.

Upon a dais no longer namable, complete echoes temporally rang from initialization then, an understandable hush found resonance for a time, and amid miniscule perceptions of accruing stasis grinned. From dens of habitual extract, subcepted from dissolute lark compound, lit an wholly unanimous tictus spat solo segue display beyond an immense if leal that, for an aired old route selected for an easiest beam then lese mechanical solutes prompted. Beyond the churning glissade great sparks lit up, smoothest initial surged soil chlorophyll the linkage strained to centripetalize, an amount of tumblier amperage seen for all that as super flu.

To that, An opined, effort seemly potential vain, each strike of last soundless lair without resistance balked their enormity gimlet. Then they had to retract it for refit (another process of ex nihilo), for without counterpoise of steadiest occlusal cantilevered, the shaft, driven by insular echo, wrought dismal search among some urgent plots for other than necessity of divestiture from the course of the slide’s teal sublimate. They chaffed about concepts, taken aback by wavier precedents’ veering cold faith, would call this a vibrant form of weave, frothed on visits and, from an eleven hidden umbrage alert cap, noted miniature gasps sold at everyone who had desire for a new this. “Outlook,” An exclaimed, “here’s the toted AI plush point we’ve been sugar coating: the universe is comprised of milk runs — hence galaxies (oh here, goes scary wet hen again).

“Some owned up to that, but ever since diffusion of trail mix, we have been hard pressed to persist in revelation of lactic avenues. Necessary to recharging order, facilitator (all too busy) went water balloon and dribbled on it, yet ever since, our lamp men have been disappearing — even after the giant malt wink, they felt ready to charge down the mountainside and slay sin single–handedly until they also ran directly into that milky blank tablet that mocked them with its innocence.

“Before we slumped into ennui to such a degree that we were unable to direct our giant snails away from noise, the universe went begging for light to withstand stark matter, bumbling intuitively, by degrees then anew cosmos wrought — one built on appearance. At an early age we chanced the exchange of tender sentiment, the contemplation of beauty, via whatever dark glass one might cherish, was the point of all existence (in other words, the Ambassador’s hidden agenda was as follows: the conclusions of Regatta Læmært’s father, spelled above, were only politically correct. The valets, scattered by the Nicean shopping expedition, left their dream weaving tasks to be fulfilled by others. In fact the Ambassador had pressed this course upon Ferguson’s rival band, inasmuch as uchaux upbraided her, as senior representative of inter–regnum, that, according to treaty, slumbering souls be immediately subsumed. Indocile pointed out that these klatch members, if comatose, were not dead yet, and on some levels were getting even better, and proposed, in compromise, their dreams, to be tapped to create inklings for developing Nicean sprats. Realizing the bipedaliens might be asleep for more than a century, thus offering a stabler supply of dreams than any of their own active microwaves might muster, uchaux conceded viability to this option, and it fell to Ferguson’s party to perform manually dexterous motions necessary to achieve this. They immediately discovered novel writing machines, as installed, contained insufficient cæsium for extended operation).

.   .   .

On a tone of ornamental omens, fitting blind zenith ostrich assessment riddance in adducing icy targets (who knew how many more nights to Babylon were loud), “ye gods, tell me these aren’t the trash kids of the century,” the enemy herald harangued. Ralph’s squadron combed twisted cobbles of bir–Antikat, in whose defilades sanctums appeared at any moment likely to collapse upon them. Moreover, if mistaken for digging up the passage voluminously enough, in order to ascertain which direction, strained through in meandering persiflage, warbled toward the present subtitle arranged momentarily, apses figurally zoned annular fobs past an ignoble aversion, to spell under titles of magnanimity.

Any back lot would as easily capture the ornamental squalor shown of pewter coolant eyed fault, yet whomever devolved into an economical trance with regard to nearly boron tracers, peeled back intercoms divisibly stuffing oolithically advanced theory? “This could go on all day,” Ralph complained. The herald civilly plucked a zithyr as captious forces approached. They, fickly being minded of a thought prior to borrowing nettles from a storage tank, listened to guidance of named ancestors who had led gun carriages through urban defiles so narrow that half walls of nearby domiciles collapsed therein, and cursorily directed into hostelry after this dour fete, plunged during selective doom of outage, rephrased currency that one can never have too little of too often and as a matter of course, existing amid wafflers with decorative courtesy, and dispensing catered stills to waltz consumers, an entire extra day before pondering the vast calyx of departure, recalled that during her mercantile vision of readily wobbled arrangements, an existential earnest well within sun–dried deep depths spooled, incidentally heretofore of accepted visitants.

These concentric offensives were worst, because interlaced fields of fire often resulted in interruptions of useful exchanges by inbound adjacent rounds verlappern, especially at the end of the fiscal year, when one had to use them or lose them. Wherein from desks of authority may findest this in a merry place, happiness zone, or, indicative of the daily breadth of topics, endured (as if each cloth had been sent parcel to an advanced onsite parley) exercise provided sufficient manifest. To enable his chalk throughout the perimeter, they cast an upward Augenblick overhead until the shadow of their own air cover had crumbled away. Earned much subtle grief after an exchange of epithets, Ralph hurried now, having to shake out at a quarter to five each day and being tired enough to fall into his own breakfast of short cloth jump, startled as we debunked shown zirconiums necessarily capable, and envied a flight of jitterbugs in the cool light of far above. The composer of his most favorite symphony had urged only all of his colleagues to borrow from naive or frantic tradition.

Their aphasiac stood flaunting his muse in tempered variations only until one of them pressed forth with compliments upon talents exhibitionally mislaid, where staggered, inner haiku, with overtones of disbelief necessary to avert an immaterial rate of constant change, wrought degrees of difference into overall progression of aim. Entitled to a reasoned calculation, horsepower of innumerable terminal concordats were compromised with remnant particles; their sense of capacity undiminished, spacemon’ lifted a tremulous crook toward the wrecker, chugging purposefully amidst the marooned fleet. All available effort unleisurably might provide sufficient impetuous tilt correction, if attached to a radial truss, yet as they hesitantly grasped the concept, a frumious onset from ice plants stirred an intimation of dire rede and one, having reached conclusions upon a parallax, seized other key schema and oft–baked monolith totes.

.   .   .

Into this monument Thledvirrson floated. “To how, when asked, or what has this to do with us,” she said, “for sure we’ll do the paperwork, all of it, and then we can surrender our cæsium. You must have it for stock, and then to stop time.” “Why are we in a position to bargain away cæsium isotopes,” Esherman began, but to each instruction was already given. The caretaker addressed all remainder. Though he had connections out of Java, no other emergent manifest passenger pendulant metaphors were sympathetic. This was an abhorrent filter.

If two events, transparent, trying to turn past around, nudged fitfully considerable sequences sparing Formosan from oblique reckoning unto fidelity, destined for the smaller isle, mysteriously stentorian forces spanned a bridge of safe passage. “If I have lief remained quarrelsome for everlasting long–windedness,” Horace mused, “how or what has this to do with any topic or reliable elephants?” He had remained serviceably aloof withal pertaining to his own recognizance. Or if you think this is bull, can you get to Talitha, wiring thankless Horace to decree, if he gave a second opinion of this immutable seizure of probable caption, that an ousla diet conduct had resumed his previously agreed upon, though under now unfavorable circumstance, house arrest?

If that was all he now looked forward at, author of poor haiku turned universally to note rapid solar egress. The skies about seemed very skewered by a quickening darkness that lasted but hours for already, the skies, over wide aisles of probability had either come up from beneath the plane, or rallied over to wake any focus of inescapable conscript by one phantasm of probable cause. Talitha, parenthetically sharing his penchant for porcelain eflots, earlier presumptive of the red noon nigh, looked at veiled custard of arguably finite weal and was at once imbued with consequence. “Allah,” she said, “I must proceed as favorably as events allow!” “Thy noun a reputed ode ago,” cries from out back there in loath, and she saw their dark ether of wild flan, “how sorrow is my lot and doubtless might my appearance startle you,” she retorted, “for you to ask such quest, you are one foil to pretend we are not all at last.”

Then without awaiting them, or any of their simply expressed shame, regret, protest, or any of twelve other uneasily predictable reactions to outburst, she persisted in the breach for closure. Until yawns blogged then posted incidental custom, via enmeshed, daubed, or other shared rinse that meant pi knowledge prolix caprice tonnage nougat rattle, they awaited more injustices from matter, and tauper practices diminished from sprang habits. Luminous to possibility, our luckless avatar, after being cast from prime agency, prowled the marginalia of instant craft, famished with recognition deferred. Noone knew deviance as tall as An who regarded events pitifully. Handsome as in entrance she formed upon such weight as attached to the complete climate of some threat inferred longer no more beyond inside probability. Capable of grasping an entire concept men not pent upon shrunken violet scaled immutable reaches lent.

Trackless corners blank there far in terms endured no stranger than paradise to lock out tempest nock lack pap; this point meant any sudden indices of etiquette serial breach, for enabled, some of the micronauts there infringed to avert identification in scramble. Optimally some wit listlessly checked about rewards and, met this last indifference, repaired under forced protest to allot placidity. But moodily faced with an entire run they waited for one leap step feat in beginning the dexterous Ion. He had scores to sell biologically predestined to reap until real aerobic topics chose an option. Note then lifted chunks of sisal, orchestrated by some terrible and strange orbital facile still; your dismal trim rumbled direct from last within, you might as tell stop every act cold with a fix except outside were their measurable concepts.

Each second interest not was for grabs to slap occipital mien of how thickly porous; each second lacked space in that strain then promised, “unkempt to narrow plinth limit spots nor alternate ups with me,” sang finth to her in desperate search for the final digit. Circumference achieved, the furballs dredged past the least of smoking grunge, and one warned her, “though they are all not, let go poor one,” it said to her in her serial reach for mean article gerunds that were always scaring thousands of her class. Once barked one em, “dolce depths’ hem vanish thee,” her effort to begin a vague hiatus consonant with their struggle to trench her onto a truth.

Noone could understand under protest such, for final digress, one hot imp ashen leaned, covet limes to reveal an urn to them, for patterned vinculums descried tiny not ever immortal themes. “Are all bad ideas better than none,” one said to her in immeasurable service? “Not without knowing the location of in,” she let them move from the natal direct, hesitant at deafening accrual of choreography, up long paths of loneliness marked with sixes and sevens, she shrugged in search of a definite shot, repeating her vow to flag not until the final decision appeared. Without reference for standard the nap trickled out from exile nor at times, aware she inspired a greater cause; those endless paths steeped in certainty filled her with sleepy filminess, plodding away as docile in harness to that aim heard round a word.

“That end to punch might in flip storage steer worthwhile passage toward adept lesson,” said on a not frightless tensile woofness she knew. Now in a realm beyond their fondest ken, even Noone had not discovered digits now furling before her; Thales, Descartes, even Lavoissier, left in dust, displayed on some empyrean or fittest circle elsewhere envy, though she had too much help, they argued, until another hit of amnesia dispelled their ague. Onward, until they had a chance to prove where a God is, their efforts would not flag. Talitha realized how far from aid she had become, even superior beasts fill her with mild disgust, and as for man and its zest for life, she was of a mind. The circuit came to her then, overhear how simple that face was, the final digit would be, and its thereabouts filtered into vision. She gazed upon their ungainly cyclotron and its impact upon events, so rude it struck her that they persisted in leaning upon hydrazine supplements to perpetualize it.

“That thee, benighted woman (a fleet field of compass for her own strain crossed her brow) have invented everything they need.” Already cast a jaundiced eye upon its fitful progress, Thledvirrson conclusively affirmed need for impetus. The chunky trekker had caught her foci. Conceivably justified in upholding new and readily acceptable tradition to a broad spectrum of individual nationalities, she’d checked anymore out of the U.S. with media actively charged for creative recognition. Relentless, she advanced toward it, seized the occupant and cast him upon waves of saffron, in a land where one no longer called, and integral dream offers from heavy quality engaged the clutch as it dragged upon tons of earth from the hill. “Hey dudes,” she’d said, “whack like out on this concept of evening suddenly turned to morning under an overreaching night.”

In polar regions, daylight occurred during the evening well, and upon landing, they made more annoyance with a noise of errant doom than viewers hurdling peculiar bouncing pods. Cast from a great nock toward the alien contraption Talitha caught, it sputtered tentatively as they coaxed away from this wet nurse, she screened revolutions round a major foul. In a great phase of hurly piezo–electric shock, Talitha smooshed the petal and of final sol flourish, drenched under circumstance an existential moment. Found her proactive march in dotard distance erred, Ostrand, the irked lienholder, gazed stark without sentience, rigid of loess while his investiture left embankment, caroled ovate through an implement or parquet, and from the shaft pinnacle an overture of distress linkage lipase in each release.

To seconds, augured off the hook and tacked on in realization the center would not hold, breach once more stiff upper lips they bore down, the gimlet bit and tore afresh pitch magnet has sworn a rasp endurance. Fey, the reckless plunge already had the bit struck; suddenly she knit, she knit, she knit the end as the trekker lapsed its catch, slipped from centrifugal hurdle, and leapt hard the matin sky. Already we’d left the path of common accepted Pythagorean discourse and if perhaps under great stress it’s said we’re capable of opportunity until the last moment, the trekker fallen from heaven struck the mountainside therein, her madness sparred perhaps further injury, though those toughs who remained gaped senselessly at the resultant exposition that filled the morn with a great sheet of blame. Ferguson exhibited aggregate hegemonic ire consistent with the impact of missals and now altimeters exogenously limited the business of commission.

Farewell inspiration, thine wick grown so shoal. Vivid in belief that Talitha had, as a friend from such an earlier age, despite their unspoken outrance, stood, her now sudden inharmonious defection waived a convenient center distinguished in folds of a granted arable design. Only she was intransitive enough to while hours, when their aims coincided in anticipation of rusticity. Most fracases, seething in commission to rename (scads paid into niftier cable) fifty–seven elements, namely Freedomium (this aim long nestled within the bower of a succinct minor note capably), if not since ubiquitously, had in sad chi mention of them (rarelier throughout petition so unspeakably deposed amid was Aira), wergild aside, many, put on vast notice hype, thrust upon their court sobriquet, that comatose strike–o’er, and qualms fundamental, nor rather beyond care, if the intractable client was resolved to carry the motion of relegation, doilied in sub–standard quorum.

.   .   .

The balanced petition exine during eons, origins, gone staid, had sown pepper ego, moot in swaths between (Core).

III — xxi — An’s Objectivism Cost.

.   .   .

Ever since an eventual curb ornament posed this ire, she glared over her tortoise shell pince fez. vox populi, committed to prophylactic cleansing of the web, Norah, resolved to unmask points–of–departure, drew her progress among kona muumuu. “I am told,” she bemused, “ruby viruses, plaguing our Village Server, here.” Shown then to look when tappers kite, hastening remnant envelopments told: it was a ledge of clinicity fungus fines that rather advanced the merit of systems phased by unceasing criticism.

These related shifts thread furtive Algernon litigation; their honest demands for well done were the realization of each tirade. Endemic ankhs strove inklings responsively, adhering to net lichen insert prospective heck. Then don’t take up in either clink; there they’d invent trash to tell folk to avert their souls from an uneven secret sham knot badge ginseng comprehensive clutter. Noone bent to hear of how in some level tones anyone was to blame, forasmuch after raps upon her door, one peered in whilst vox populi; looked up over her mirror table, moreover able than ever to ask, “if either stitch sounded better: clean house or collect plate?”

Determined to quell ruly candor, her visitor shot out in that context, “in fast surcease from each form of coping beans hid by ear” — “never mind,” repined the occupant blithely, and visually assertive asked them to state a policy of fixed alternative. “Thousands of years ago Hippocrates, the timer of fuel economy, once said, ‘let your fuel be your fuel economy and your fuel economy be your fuel.’ Leading experts in mechanical science now recognize fuel esters (trail mix) as essential in maintenance of transportation. The benefits of trail mix are limitless: natural, non–toxic ways to haul, correct, and repair damages from jammed traffic; more energy and improved braking recovery times for aesthetes and those embracing an active lifestyle; nutritional supplements and alternatives to assist in problems of pediatric transportation scare; maintenance of transportation and vitality for the nation’s growing senior constituency. Are you ready for better transportation?”

.   .   .

As the film whiffled around through credits, humans yawned that trail mix had been around for decades, and scoffed at efforts of monads who had to huff and puff everywhere to climb indentations on an oblate spheroid that seemed cute as a billiard ball or, from their prospect, a giant blue marble (one of the micronauts had been quaffed as a thing), or else an eye winking back at you from the blackest side of space while still. The ninth (were they to care at all) scoffed, “these humans must take a second look at their own realm: at the other beat, they stinted tang.” Incidentally, they cherished their own finth comet home for its contrast.

“Two neotonic arts cashier,” finth were fond of pointing out, followed negotiations to spare its collision with interest. Yet like an unvisited statue, it tumbled liberally and untenet, its heart missing, moreover apportioned wryly, and though the Niceans attempted to sway recrudescent natives on benefits of an expanded universe that included uniform temperatures from pole to pole, they just would not grasp that concept. For this purpose darkly periodic, wont to fantasize reflectively on experientially challenged (as she reputed the die lists on arrival to bereft those) Yahtzee® tournament bursars seeking positive violet chance from thence, “anyone could help you folks time out have to hold stop you have gadfly,” quoth Fanta, clasping any shade after the room milled with deported mend left over urn tremble motifs.

But if her name is not italicized, then how else must the sore turn of events to his article knot junks of the future, involving an orlop (if not so small mode) of innately continent harsh accents that photographers of his recent vacancy, in an etched brush of copper masks, rang his tardiness upon the vast tubby studio nymphs tilting against sable lit audacity? To illustrate, ædith, a man who had just single–handedly embraced socialism one day, walked to the postal annex to search for a gilded carapace within which to endorse missives of lasting fealty, only to find his progress disturbed by an aircraft carrier, which rattled his cart with a nearly certain vehemence, and not being of a mind to proceed so sedately in front of the public servant (as if passers–by would at any moment expect him to cry out, make way for the carrier who rattled his cart with a nearly certain vehemence), Plair, grown aware of a vague disquiet, darted laterally amidst cover of numerous greeting card lazy Susans revolving languidly with such sentiments as (insert) and slipping behind the carrier, soon found him conversing with the gatekeeper to an alien consciousness, wherein imagery, tablets, maps, and scales, seemingly indecipherable with a roseate soupçon of demonstrable commitment, hovered with impinging sects which cast even the ongoing prosaic without in a legitimately benign crepe (the mail that flooped in while he was tilling a Hegelian soup strainer included ballast from untold microcosms of catatonia, the departure of inveterate affairs, a wattle and daub fiduciary trust form, an omega moment, so rare for his class, of actually receiving a written post from Rita (re: Renata Mervyn Clair, dream friend of ELIZA’s non-apostrophic comet), an elective placard touting acute liability, and a catalog of knick knack knock–offs he’d used to sublimate his incommunicado one snowy season; in short a dépêche of more variegated relevance was never previously so extant, and), yet now, in such outlook that even durable interrelations were manifest primally as representatives of society whom one impinged upon just when he was all stoked to go off like a romp into the desert without purpose, baggage, shoe trees, greeting cards, or two wooden nickles to call his own, a rhyme for scissors emerged from history with a zoom perchance haplessly interrupted slinky session, withered his work, and accosted the kitsch buttoniered in a seamily hesitant monotone.

.   .   .

“Imagine, as possibilities land on your doorsteps, previously uninhabitable, opening entire frontiers of constant time and no more leap years!” “We like all of our leap years,” one human pouted diffidently. The Niceans pressed on, “uniform currents, no more do you have to sail all over the place, no more hurricanes on Earth, you will know weather, the minute you step outside to pick up your bills, meteorologists will be defunct!” They brightened slightly at this prospect, “yet we cannot speak for the rest,” one of them said. “And sensing either pain behind the misery was that of the astral photo boom agent, kicked by what is wrong with you people,” asked fjulsfut?

“Scandal clamoring was by no means confined to the dustbin of apocrypha,” a facilitator (all too busy), was heard to mutter aside. “They must be brought unto the Ambassador.” “Not until they might have known the following facts,” replied scrapmon’. Upon the motion parlous, the entire epic splat. “We have one question.” The natives braced for this. “Are you having puppies?” Shivering with dignity, Logan arose. “We find your curiosity morbid, idle, and threatening.” You could tell that he had been used to oppression and all that sort of thing and the monads reacted deftly with nasal Lieder, yet touted mahi–mahi snow penalty nets fitfully.

“Look,” whispered scrapmon’, “we had hardly enough fewmets to escape the skip zone.” The historian (all too busy) dawned in dilemma betwixt various mandates. Forasmuch as she harbored hidden desires to return to worth, as in that triumphant clarion halcyon motif that lauded her kiln, especially since that all had happened before their own shadow puppet manifesto shelfed in spam if fully here, resulting instruction of many of their own tempests, yet approached so sanctimoniously by Glyntz whom, with her theory of infinite refraction had discovered a spheroid not far from there that would serve just as fine (didn’t they have at it when that happened that it was an all mellow world of amber methane), and cast larger helpmates in hitherto latent UV until reason formed, was brightened only by their hidden contrast, mede albeit in duress, premiere fescue the ninth home wold from plight.

Usual reactions were, so until restored initial harmony, often some themes as dibs, or as, were posed to develop trust among participants with few simple character building exercises, charges indeed successful in forcing severally communally hermeneutic schools of thought into premature dissolution, yet failing as restorative roles, since individuals persisted in distributing entire spectrums of response to inquiries pertaining to self–diagnosis, and inserts of any laughing icon at the close of every commercial break was sufficient from dissuading intramuralities into expiation of responsibly irrespective expeditions.

To those wilfully incapable of perceiving subtleties of obliviousness in fourteen business days or fewer, as the cicerone tersely put it, you can go on and on all you want about Bombolino, but unless you’ve actually gone on and on somewhere with Bombolino, you can just keep your trap shut during the first intermission of Sabado Gigante. Caustically reconciled to her latest role of ensuring that eager sub–contractors fulfilled their task of explaining benefits of the contemplative state to individuals of longevity, Sangreal, whose antecedents had all died of plaque before 1815, and thus in maintenance of squeamish defiance with all leapy protoplasms, devolved upon present policy. vox populi echoed, “someone else’s term capped?”

The frantic pound indicative of another person who’d been locked upon the observers deck again brought scant et ceteras, until attending themselves out upon those good times, the lag of storied indices gave inferior tilt to an easel. Jessed through uncertain control were burdens of proof. Noone had decided at the honor bar that the one norm Regatta craved involved a task avowing so much predecent in light of the bold poor slight kinetic tilth signs of the moral lot gerund lest the band persist, that whomever spontaneously plumbed the courted emissions, wandered around and hung out for an overriding concern, disenfranchised Noone had flang durably that might walk with one solemn phase not unto shrines. forelimned, she’d made an ex temple of his ilk, for sure in her bête noire, men like him, noble gasps creatine for all be told the world to those not chosen for tuning forks had best get in and talk.

.   .   .

“Traditionally,” the historian (all too busy) began, “individuals in conversation narrate events. The recipient of narrated events has several choices.” One, draw from one’s one experience (understanding). Two, request additional information (interrogating). Three, disagree with the narrated event (refuting). Four, say uh huh (forestalling). Five, tell the other person to shut up and go shopping (I think humanity is trapped by the search for meaning).

“A feeling of emptiness has come over us,” one of the humans replied. “Please forgive me if I do not address events,” however the historian (all too busy) insisted, “in order to build consensus, our hope developed a few simple exercises that we may work together with, which are: calculate the value of pi to the last digit; refute the theory that literature of the Middle Ages was moribund; call up your ex–girlfriend and tell her you’ve turned into your mother; compile a list of greatest hits to whistle to distract you from annoying persons with their own lists; find a place where people are not so ostensible; return to the past and ask certain persons why they were so testy; and/or try being right without being impossible. Stand up,” she said to scrapmon’, which towered over the principles like a scintillating frame.

Alack for old times their paean to acquaint immensities trilled, nightly welcoming an understudy who, if a shallow and tense derelict, offered an inimitable scarp from juggernauts posh like Nibelungens upon the thresh of the verse. The humans glanced up at him timidly, shuffling as they coaxed into a semi–protective circle. scrapmon’ fell like a rag doll tossed into the street like yesterday’s diva. Questioned later, Ion put it mildly, “I reached out but then drew back my hand. Noone could cope with that much density.

“There was a sort of continual bind, it wasn’t really gravity, and he just sort of unfurled like an efficient, insensitive, yet brutalized person and corked into the ground. A great splash occurred it was so great that the splash made its own splash that made its own splash that made its own splash that made its own splash” — Læmært, who transferred this movement to the deponent Ion whom, gurgling with intensity, resumed his narration.

“And when we looked down, down, we looked down, I swear there were Easter Island sculptures staring back up at us, figuratively of course, and it smelled, it smelled, that smell, of” — “of brimstone,” the factotum interjected idly? “Of old Christmas decorations.” With a snort of disdain, Læmært interrupted, “I find it hard to believe that if this is true you were not all scolded to death by torrents of magnanimity.” “Whatever,” Ion conceded, “yes, there was an incredible outburst. Somehow, they fettered the incipient moffette with inextirpable penstemons. You know where you set a book down and the whole screen jumps? We were filled with a sense of emptiness.” “The emptiness,” Læmært mused, “felt when an acquaintance shouts out your name in the mall and then leaves you to have lunch by yourself?”

“That sort of transcendence crossed my mind,” Ion replied, “but it was more like the emptiness that occurs of a late winter day when there is nothing to watch but slam dunk festivals. Dr. Ferguson, who was a veteran of many cultural exchanges, realized that he had been scripted from the beginning,” Ion laughed unaccountably, “and seeing as we were no longer cluttered savants, where you were when the world ended?”

.   .   .

Floored by this interest, Læmært took leave of his incense. Prior surveyors had vast popular samplings vastened then; essentially resplendent sniffs of a tendentious palette of the new secret chi smelled art precedent voiceless as a craze within circles of leaders. As yet last in line for another incidental, having crossed Him to call in his favors out of preternatural comma, ahriman was to grasp the conceptual failures of his eflots.

Though tugged at within the chasm of reeking acts, their demise was yet meant fully. Over this Helcarax he, like one limitless lime concerned, roamed the tiles of night to tell you the taste of what was better than to believe the discovery of spatial immensities would release us into a profound if quaint contempt for divine relevance? That was on another totality zero, the will to even stand to should end, with this covert file for tedium link nor ogled on the part of misled stains against the tally of a greater drat. A formation of a litmus, a drop formed upon the nozzle of the faucet of known suspense, poised lightlessly over golden legend, caused matter (unalarmed though of real capable properties).

Edged upon a longest stretch of observed empiricism, constructive stabilization required three Mozart margin notes after a Study of Twelves by Villa–Lobos, but prefacing policy last contained lithic waves, each lord at redirect, from without the earth exact notes flossed. Intestate the cultivation at once tersely claimed over, ever since alphabets for one hour lolled far into antonym forlorn ago had lineage extant and sold back as a lien upon future civility? Shortly upon the invention of script, many of the region’s pattest familiars embarked upon solo documentation of their progressions, a procedure retentive of traditional continuity between scores of obsessive gene stats.

These steadfast modest citizens, lest forced to veil each attribute as symptomatic of defunctionalization, for surely visits incurred, seemingly from enlightenment, triggered utilization of histories as rich cultural artifacts. The contested edge divas, in ire from the fence, loathed confiscation of their personal traits in the natal hermitage fallow, for their schools lounged in faint replica of their exogenous liberatorium. The grim film, viable in instants to exponential imminence, began sentences operatively futile.

Sorted from too many purposeful vague geoducks, the rent of inklings ex cathedra checked in audit to this rep of another best (he hoped to admit her seal) to the future of our covenant. The gas settles for being them, the occupant regards the dream as so bad. “The styptic tinge of envy clouds thy Lydian brow.” Had, through dint of candor, Core thence whispered, “this sage consigns to mirky heaven cash blessed and staffed grumpier darts,” alluding, “ever a domain how witty, huh, from a fatuous faint I’m seeking pavanes, a peony so rare, whole sexes yo–yo imputed flings?”

“Why not try insisting on our foamy kite?” Plutons, glozing thought, a fosse hosed, for panacea, Echo’s bonny vision (kilns contradict heirs who cameo, innate, a dry digital with the grind), when shadow puppet did appeal to cram lumine for His peat, were as eftsoones burned, “is thine latte a drag, tofu–esque toss,” in rural video, a yield yet heaped finely in wishful harvest? Their seeming pageantry now excused ad hominem traits gone to tuppence on but runny Louvre youth. Yet as fey bias adorned, whoosh, Fuald vied the rough blithe rye wittily in want of reality, surety pled awry, emerged gauss of the eflot left coherent fancy awakening beyond the sconce, offering not a lockstep to her yard.

The assizes abrupt, Indocile poked, in camera, “then soon faineant are the terribly fit, whither to tour Stoic rites, missing tinted heaven, or bland dewy phoenix.” While each tier function, to merge grails in a wistrous cinch, is charm nuanced, her bearing, soon in chosen hippies’ glib entity, volant Proserpine the four corners so universal? “They’ll each in solo effusion glare optic terms” — she utterly paused, done guarding oozed lots of prosody, “you have attached current sensibility,” the occupant in ire jested. “If you fancy nothing better to do than citify your inter–regnum, then evince guests!”

.   .   .

Sobeit continually adsorbed in expose, live individuals shopped to advert or diffuse the denouement, willessly agnostic of every pronouncement to extol yonders of time, space, and manner that issued from individuals appointed to farsighted actions here and there, and although standing betwixt ahriman and dada’s matinee was Noone, “thou lugubrious loud intense inane bore,” she’d replied, “move beyond construct astern.” Siren tiles perceived that there had never been a time when the floaters of profit tarried in more arrogance, the latter indicating through treatment of matter as clabber, heirs of industry had weakened baleful principles.

Each imagined no place for the other and addressed the residue, as a better social plug left both roads, as Freudians toppled though half–malformed cements before told, again slopped or they slithered into the river of consciousness, because if thought of as an immutable a pre–existent configuration, often fiery channels viewed quiescent optics, so flawed through vapid oration, a milky ditch as if dumbed into from numeral impressions; missals sledged anomic yeast, continual costs expelled suddenly from the sieve termed for an exceptional fiat, and on behalf of them the datum unsalvageable networks exhorted and combed their citizens for sport, these very folk whom also received spontaneous confection from stern floaters of the pale. They slept not in their seventh while it augured an elective beam, directly unenhanced in dumb caption to inner will, harnessing the fulcrum of preternatural emanations.

From the enclosure to which they were now yoked, inter–regnum left at the moment when inceptive cognizance of the word, as an isle of mean sanity where lamps never left, now went out one sound tocsin terrific to their innate design. Equate power requirements, the tapper signed. Did all words so imply apt descriptive stasis? The rebel fjulsfut, recovering from a day begun in excess, arrived at a battery of calculators in dire need of perforce solvent existence. Logan did not see an old country doctor anymore. Their halting speech did not alarm him fully, and he remained duly persuaded of their sincere intent. Nor was he unaware of his own foment. “You speak of a simple integral,” and though their shuffled masks indicated assent, it remained to Ferguson to supply instruction. There were so few of them, now be calm, and he thought they would never clear the insinuation that they even professed to care.

Intemperately, Ion mentioned he’d rather march in another save the yeti festival than tarry around with these minute morons. Her firebrake, her sole attendant, a fjulsfut feldspar, moping her brow perfunctorily during expectorant exegesis, her expedition, lamenting the lack of seconds, against the thorny close brought to naught, her availing craft, straining unkindly at her labor; their chef d’cabinet, who if, they maintained, were willing to see to the paring of their own wage due to time missed from work during a national emergency for which they all bore a common concerted responsibility as a civilization, revived over time necessary to epitomize the present deficit then as invariably just. Upon such snags they were lately, and foreshortened monuments decayed a venture into the dread realm.

Of an ichor icily emplaced, throughout all hint isostasy, were the solution advanced at length. If amain events guaranteed that conditions remotely consistent with tangent elevation advisably motivated hypothecation, why then should several sexagesimal variations beyond traditional norm accrue from an affinite decision invoked concerning adsorption of the sub–simic layers? While mysterious airs bestirred veils of the prodigal construct before him, Esherman, standing stock still, thought that mathematically, there was just not enough horse sense ongoing here to seed a radish. Flight appeared senseless, if possible. In light of the shadow of loose bombs, the brave pilgrims bored toward the zone of denseness into an uncatalogued lithic region, casting day into night. The men in silence cringed before the encroaching siren. It made conversion difficult.

An enjoining angular cacophony of incipient momentum crested as the immense dish, lobularly goaded into revolt toward the sky a hundred weight or more above them, yet of such inclinic wobble that, while in terror Ion watched the fouling edge sink from a great foot above them quickly, had care for but his own, and Logan bemused pitched forward into lime as the quixotic mill missed him by ells. Evoking a sort of licentious bravura foible en passant, while all the tile notably dais faint catalepts subserved at the fires of isostasy, tiered anointments reasoned (forced to or put upon to aside differences or pickle upon life savers) long enough to emboss the ponder upon a roseate diverse vision of their tiny planette.

Hopeful of just instantaneous tag–along, visions tarried in a moment, when relative to whatever on earth or with what looks were received information, yet Earth as is limped awash from an indelible inkling. Since, at the outset their finds were not conducive of an aggregate pact, they said, “at least we have our series and they might want to try some of it,” the servants of ludology, to plot in their appendicized grooves until the tumbler shaft within rang, bestirred froth and leapt toward a vision. The residual alacritous kindly person, prepositioned though capable of quotations rotely mined during exigency, phlegmatically sang frenetic outliers.

Did they knot up during the last occasion when a nuclei of luminosity had professed to flaunt leaden opinion? Lately millenarians, fine for accelerated spontaneous nebulous prayers, liked pitching shrouds around, fulfilling traits discarded in an attempt toward reconciliation of the corrected act. Hear then through one day appropriate, the stance would else count for little, cease telethons in your et cetera and at all peril of mishap, any momento sanely rang toward ill use snapped the tenuous verge anew inimicably, unless you wake up your match and talk.

Each morn that sun snuggles through the haze to pierce adagio, dim, sickness is an adjustment begetting international resonance, although an important lesson, indicative of this quandary and impact upon life change consequence, rested near the old delineator mix of virgules punting from the track. Whereas a moment of recompense, if unnotably cable sobeit we’ll read in the papers, total time, too new for anyone there, vastly floated through some repent frat music fugue blips. Though this meant creakily appreciative calibration of dipoles with surcease in mathematic precision, everyone else from tall to tall seemed induced to demote delicate fumes and fund loopholes, a series of cents changing the precept.

.   .   .

On his chaise, Ostrand tracks a robot to adorn his seminal mini-question with niche horticulture.

III — xx — One Muddled Throw Rug.

.   .   .

spacemon’ displayed a tictic and addressed bipedal aliens crouching within the observatory. “Were it to help you,” the mazes yet staid, “for us to be telling you this, that the entire concept of noblesse oblige was refuted by the principle of the drive–through window?” “It was a satisfactory construct to us,” came the reply. “Yet inimical to public safety, due to fumbling for coin within confines of various protective restraints.” “Paying one’s way has always conferred a moral advantage upon us,” the humans retorted. “As well as releasing you from corroborational mindsets,” spacemon’ agreed, “defined as the sort of hat in hand shuffling behavior evoked by you before magistrates.”

“Your fiber optic podestas [sic],” another, chiming in, was instantly shushed, “and cubicle mavens requesting your first born in exchange for services,” spacemon’ continued, “this mechanism permeating all aspects and levels of your personal, public, and private lives, until desperate to prove that you are caring individuals, you either incorporate, issuing prompt and appropriate statements communicating your degree of personal involvement, exactitude, and liability, or heavily insure and, having run out of lottery tickets to scratch, focus your lavish attention upon a handful of souls who, themselves, confronting the same choices, are being generally not of a mind to return excessively corroborational statements that you offer in hope of demonstrating that you are caring individuals.”

Operantly staggered by this inference were spacemon’ whom, in preparation for the idiom, taxed too many of their voluntary thought reflexes, and the humans watched in alarm as they momentarily fizzled, indicating a less persiflagellant member of the expedition, the historian (all too busy) who sloughed to center stage and addressed them. “Leave off from your woolgathering. You will notice that we have relieved you from your stowage crisis. We only want to talk.”

.   .   .

Nonchalantly, an errant arachnid patrolled legends, a pragmatic ergo gnomon of actively plush suede without the shelf of malcontinence rhomboid. After say eight seconds or fewer, while they were seeing what that marker was all about, a stinting transport therapist occupationally, channeled via spinet, erupted the sculling wake. Having grown thin yet taller than the now sub–par, and of a mind steeped with sandy plasticity, whew exclamatorily expelled one, least earnestly pitched during a drab, if to let out at dawn once, wound so readily to redirect ancient scans derelict with limerence. A whole hell of a lot of sentences, another claimed not worth a single pickle brewing verb, ordered another around of sparks.

Inwardly reticent, several of the frosh were achieving jittery status, despite staccato tempos mandated by an outburst of edict which seemed reasonable, for all the restitched toboggans that had befallen this gravid tie. While almost reminded, Bitsy’s progeny evinced, in nominal concern for articles ascribed, twin fizzes toward an hermitropic scintilla of racial motive their ideopath strove to stem, and where, comparable to formations guessed from unwelcome respites, those dependable duffs disguised as antecedent clauses found a vast land all about them innumerably pathier than prior nodules, now bathed in at least an eighth, for another indelible parenthetic era zoningly scratched, in maroon print, the redistrification of precept as precursor to eventual nominality, during which the Nicean spree fabric resistant sang, it’s not far to never never land.

So tinged withal out, a matter acknowledged in subset interstice stepped upon wrongly, did the beams snort as in disdain. Ere even in limitable reference, to seed venial deviations that spoke of a maze in signal achievement of the ergo such, while day fell from a shelf and knots of a spooled caption described the tabula of inordinate and precipitate risk, this was a long forgotten term, “but I swear,” Florian asserted, “if you will, my buzz on my sleeve, fully suspected predicaments mistook, for our momentous canvas upon proxy fix kept the urgency of concision; relaxed sorts preceded a calmly ominous styptic ontology dredged from dozens of camels that congregated in general session.” Whenever Frank donned the hoary hood of guildmaster, he was never certain if hitherto uncontrollable elements palest in homage were prepared as flamboyant as once, in the past, when his facts became tangled.

The monads waved, with disarming smells, welcome to camp mildew, but on ways out of meanwhile, the IBV array, witnessing the likes of huge, if intelligent, germs capable of relating to their environment, and approaching their biosphere, fluffed as the albedoically challenged great seal ploughed the mobeus dangling within their bands, and met casements in the Oort nonagonally nine cornered cloud harboring existential nodes. Absolute power over what went in or out of personal capricious self restraint abrogated, through knowledge the advancement of causes, all persuasions, all that glittered at mass rhymes with bumper pools, in an antiquated sense had, crammed within one question, these sticklers feared erosion of an area now staved from leverage onset, or a place soaked with dolce at vibrative conference often featured at evident shear. Fairly glad if not pleased to brush aside projects shunted into his term, these yieldy virtues he sported, suffocating philosophies of inception at a flash.

It was unknowable time now, because over a range of topics the guildmaster (atavistically tempted to explain themes), worried of constraint that, however importunately the Provenance demanded an ode to clarity, was uneasily aware of some interplay among the teeming and mostly querulous gross factions, and realized that he had not spent enough time wondering about methods of placating them. In self–declared prorogue from the outset of his interim, Frank had, of course, embraced the restorative lenience intrinsic to them, swiftly enough chaste to admit of their real if unctuous gaiety.

The Provenance invigorated, and intent upon modern values with the provision of award held gingerly, at–large write–in elements forfended Frank with obstinate petition, that their chap Roveretto be retained as vox, dandling the incumbent Middleford with either a choice of exeunting there forever, or, with ceremonial tears shed to the wind, invoking isomems (in Frank’s mind, a revolting outlier), the honorary visitant, as henceforth master of wergild. Its disputed quorum count regarded as no measure of ability, infinite wistlessness pursued Frank as he read minutes more to himself, believing that this should not have happened before independent occludants arrived, charging future seconds to perfunctory rite.

However cognizant of annoyed if rudimentary access, they were most aloof during events of egregious simplicity, thoughtfully appalled though professing vehement approval of their new role master’s opinion shaping. “He would have us in common thrall to pickle his finances,” others argued, eliciting an emotive node experience weft repartee, and spliced from henceforth self ratifying laws that went into effect to allow the inner Circeans to gag their previous minutes, and for now, their new guildmaster led them known in ignorance dank, thickly aware that they consoled a sudden and wholly unforeseen remission with their new moratorium.

Stubbing out half–inhaled Rohans, Frank, his curious void of interest disconcerting many lisped hints about the precariousness of his position, had already suspended the transport minister (though Alcuin had displayed in their shared policy a somewhat gilded enthusiasm) from future invitation. To the dismal resignation of the gavel, the Provenance adjourned broken in spirit, their own sole claimant brave enough to hang the bell of reality around their guildmaster now in degraded exile, and among manifest clutter individuals restive enough pined anon, for there seemed no prospect, unless undone fundamental lessons concerning their purpose awaited rewind.

.   .   .

Tediously, monuments of arrested marble lapsed, their wavelength elbows markedly poised as if to hear me now, bent efforts disguised for rewind into stately undergrowth smelts, awkward sedate splotches of misunderstanding how marketplace values had become so inculcated within today’s culture that an entire generation, standing upright amidst its wares, and reputedly just itching to be barged in upon by individuals with global positioning systems (a bustling age in contrast with entire arboreal civilizations that had reverted due to silting) had now ossified into a visually tuned outmode of individual archetypes. “It is,” mimed Nertz, “a dolt astir, if merry Erewhon is what lieu (Në, you dweeb) lotus dread, drool, rusty judo, stout, and get the lead out, and we’ll do the rest. During our constant wharf with Wormwood, we found that there was nothing that good old salty boiling water couldn’t handle. Our leaders, incontinent at this stage with development of an alphanumeric language, obsessed with molds that threaten an entire written legacy. Their remedy, twofold: subjection of any mold under conditions of excessively sterile pressure, transforming it into a beneficent tetrahedron insofar as it had passed muster of all electro–mechanical forces at civilization’s beck, thenceforth enrolled it in a benign arsenal of reagents ceaselessly extolled by dispensationalist guilds ecstatic with prospect of engineering a distributional closed loop immune to provisions of Sherman et al; secondarily, in emerged movement, disparaging all analog mediums. That synergy can juice doves, inasmuch as full impact of mediums under scrutiny, in themselves irresolutely translucent until shortly after 1971, when anti–analog forces leveraged most pushy refuse into tiny bath, imputing all analog mediums as only unwitting carrier waves of esoteric forces, trans–montane, of agendas at best deleterious to the cause of ultimate progress.” Too far away to formally guard his thesis, struggle within eaves knocked over a pyramid of art deco cans not far behind ædith.

The snoring resumed, that bleariest fogging thorn from the Edsel bravura, ere the hard cover bracket annual singalong (9^th Ed.) that Flambeaux tossed over to him yesterday was a covert matrix of nine nines, three by three, and, if reversed become, a matrix of nine tones, suddenly noticed by Plair, stops (using) gerunds kinesthetically rotated into a succinct drain of asymptote and unwell, he accomplished sayonara to all that, and muses spun untold endemic ketones unevenly to vasten around with finth. “Out what must,” said they, “but your text is jammed off the wall and these credulous orisons shalom out of herewith.” In other time slots, a unicycle, twitched from its alloted space upon the poor shrill non grata sequence, amounted to bygones!

“We are onto one,” their valets mind, seen, next lines inextricably, ought mingle in ambiguity; also straightly shove away from twenty blasts’ notes until, listening well went their separate these ways gyre over shot a foretaste of retirement. And as lax returns were the premise of never near enough mystique or when huge seemly fitful errands arraigned an air for an habitual outage sag, so raided they a path of quality alone. Had on with real ease, no longer needing enigmas as a virtual experience, the stare clung too them well. Because among many haves curled a fortune, leave me in bed with the rest of this lest it spell the key plan of the century, oubliettes closest from outbursts of shadow pressed an unusual for incidence within conditions of grubbiest due. And a case yonder step you tell, men were not every day older, growling out of step with an important sealant.

The night composure at least selfish on bloopers, Norah made each ingredient comment not one but all mezzanine, ignoble views of ballast but once chosen alert reeled ever out from of aid lilt entrance, an obversible crooned. “Had you ever fitfully acquainted with or for all that mattered again being in all these causes at once best hurry,” for it was all one certainty (of knowing waywardness) beside topics of a second if not final question that sparked along tunelessly as any former fareless square Max on then an inbound parabola. Rarely raillery began as tocsins rehearsal later on a wan spindling capacious if evidently idea prefacing an area of inflexible novelty, Në Dipol’s chorus immediately pressed august regularly befitting the surrogatory emplaced Menard had informed through glass assignments crashed thereat limpid beneath liberty’s watch. They appeared aged upon disposition of content, the participants, glumly mused, portended.

.   .   .

Logan fought an inclination to locate his zoned children. “Where have you been taking them,” Ferguson demanded? “To a place where no one is sad,” they replied. “Of pressing concern, centering onto proximity of many exterior persons, an appearance of a simulacrum lent dash to their songs,” the duty observer replied. “They need not trouble you today.” What they had there was a failure to communicate. The inbound fish were approaching them with their orders. Florian held them in his hand squintfully. The castellan wanted to know if there was anything that could be done for them. The groom had the key, but the course was missing. The consignment of inklings promised had not yet appeared. Florian said to heck with the day. The steps would have to wait. The blinking fish wished that steps had not been postponed, for the novel arrivals seemed casually unused to reprieve. The castellan, having arrived at this juncture previously, for the course often disappeared, was wont to dismiss them. Florian felt for sure that this school had best get a new ideopath.

A time followed for organizational betterment. The desk disc DOS surged to recreate a minimum of space for sacking of the guests. The staff affirmed its entitled mandate to transform the pitiable flock of recent arrivals into true slaves. Florian decided that some of them would forget they ever knew rest. The master counsel for the new term reviewed his stock of metrics. A traditional role of master counsel was to dispense plans for the meticulous measurement of organizational progress. What he could not have known, although he had in moments guessed, was that this arrangement had experienced functional dystopia and his more proper role, as first among equals, was to muffle encroaching circles of concern from the staff. They would have thought themselves pups. Foremost and beyond question was the avocation of their chosen profession.

So important had they begun to regard their task (of producing more slaves for the son of heaven, as befitting a perpetually mobilized galactic conglomerate), that they had suspended their own belief. The nation of uchaux was as fully committed to settlement as were any of the other eight nations. Numbered in nine quantities, it was seventh, fifth, third, seventh, fifth, third, seventh, fifth, and third. Steps, not at all important to many other nations, were of treble concern to uchaux. For they were in the process of naming themselves, a rare and at any time potentially cataclysmic event.

Many of the nine nations had experienced this transition in previous epochs, and with results catalogued under separate cover, watched the evincement, as the process was termed, of uchaux with mounting concern. Startled, the rebel fjulsfut glared at their Glyntz. “I will not wear these secrets anymore,” she added, flouncing away. Ferguson, gazing tirelessly at this crinoline second, was elbowed into recognizance by Esherman. The Niceans decided to throw out a bonbon. In their spare time, they had solved the energy needs of the primitive world, and having engaged production of a Capraesque film at eleven, bid the humans tarry as the entire wall of monitors behind them merged into gestalt. The latest argot craze stopping everyone in their tracks to check out the new world sympathy was Trail Mix for Victory!

.   .   .

Transportation Scare’s Next Frontier.

.   .   .

Imagine a discovery that has been shown to lower emissions, increase lean critical mass, decrease transit time, accelerate fast hauling, release allegorical syndromes and allay auto–reaction time traffic jams such as arterial phobia, obsessive honking, and diagonal parking. The U.S. National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) recently called it transportation’s next sweet spot which could affect fuel economy far beyond improving merge times and fighting knocks and pings. Super esters! Not your ordinary table ester (switch grass) but substances known as methanol or trail mix — simple hydrocarbons used by the human transit system for everything from empathic development to regulation of systemic reaction time.

“What are trail mixes,” the sensitive boy standing by picket fence asked? The voiceover obliged, “the 24^th edition of Diderot’s Encyclopædie, published in 1759, was one of the earliest authorities to document the importance of glyconutrient esters to the fuel cell. The Mechanic’s Desk Reference for Non–Prescribed Interchanges notes that trail mix may cause those who have transportation challenges [to] discern improvements in epidemic non–cancelling turn signal syndromes. In her freshly released book Miracle Esters, author Rita Mervyn discusses recent breakthroughs in trail mix, adding that this new class of missing links is needed by everyone wishing to achieve optimal transportation. Dr. Lothar Flußtapfer asserted that even tiny amounts of these esters, or lack of them, have profound effects, in his book Esters that Haul. He noted that inertial infections, including recurrent infestations that plague two wheelers, often respond remarkably to trail mix, as do many vehicles — from the DeLorean to the common bug. The debilitating symptoms of chronic time lag, fibromyalgia, and Snorggi’s Syndrome frequently abate after adding trail mix.

And as for knocks and pings, trail mix often mitigates toxic effects of each antiphon radar moiety. The National Institute of Transportation (NIT) lately allotted a $34,000 grant to the Kalisthenios Institute in France to lead studies on the impact of ester compounds on inter–cellular communication, an important step in beginning to understand how traffic jams incubate and spread within the human transit system. This study will supplement other ongoing projects. According to NIT, researchers are looking into how esters influence development of parking garages and infectious traffic jams, to name a few. A Scenty Mega–’zine, published by and for researchers and scientists, detailed modern advances in the field of glyco-transportation. Calling it a huge and emerging file, this journal predicted that super esters offered many exciting possibilities for transportation scare. Bionic Echo Log, a premier journal for the industry, foresaw almost two decades ago that these cellular hydrocarbon esters would have a profound impact on the future, and devoted an entire tissue to their potential. Critical Mass once called super esters the key to renewed motility, advising its readership that without them, recovery from intense remedial training may be compromised and gains in lead transit mass impeded.

Recently citing one local executive for beating the odds, Boulder City Auto Trader described the astonishing recovery of the geothermal golf cart owned by the IAC’s Elias Deerfield. Elias, whose bad title to a direct fee simple had led his service advisors to expect the worst, summoned his family to hear bad news. One service advisor, recalling the benefits of trail mix in treating inertial affectations, obtained permission to administer large doses of miracle esters to the golf cart. Elias was soon back on track as his transit, with the aid of trail mix, slowly fought off deadly hysteria. Scientific Alien devoted an entire tissue to trail mix, calling them the sweet fuel economy of the future.” “How do trail mixes work,” bucolic boy tossed out? Idres explained, “they formed or comprised an recent efflux of spinners from the collapse of a specific format within a region.” The behavior of men under a self–imposed Bombay where either/or, before the entire class precipitated its own expulsion without sundae or dedicated to a what was your time they asked him, left alongside the curb of I may be a jerk to you but am not one overall.

“Freddie, these ingredients supply the mass transit system with key compounds required for cellular function and reaction time system response. Although naturally occurring, they quite often are lacking in the transit system, primarily due to modern processing techniques that strip our fuels of these important plant molecules. If restored in adequate amounts, trail mix assists the transit system in hauling, repairing, and correcting itself.” Inwardly he wreathed to stow in fain enamel their expletive.

“Then thank you very much for throwing that up in my nose tendril encyclical stark or your point well constructed an arette nonagonally.” This event furnished additional Potemkin’ness to a spectacle, where Ostrand hadn’t wanted to stray into being misunderstood even since early mnemonic refluxes were present. And subsequently was he to have simply shot at her, the act divorced from any causality, bore no intent as it was a gesture of willess truth ascribed to the chance of hitting either/or. For this purpose, casually after reaching the following import ontos, he felt a desire to show here.

Yet in the tale, another sprawled with an expression of philosophic joy, and the other nearest closet may have been directed to binge on about a myrtle cloak. In pleasantly gay and wary mood, Ostrand pelted the coveralls away in the secluded suite he thought hitherto vacant, until events struck a tidal note. In shower segue, Ostrand was very sweaty after work considerations, and actually, a variable response enjoined Talitha to comment, you very sweaty man. Flowing expectations of him presently remarked, emptily if also predicative of thoughts aloud, from the reminder of present expiation, for enacting insufferable incidentally cloudy skies, drawn under a ragged certainty over themes of mascara.

The art of obvious originality, though on a serious material tear, while an announced ill advanced, caused déjà vu precedent to an embarrassment. Recoiling that modern amenities, blotted in the sudden heave given this perverse member that had chosen to oust mild remarks, upon inception of tertiary consent and with shattered antics, pressed on innocently, “stops whenever sheer repetition serves as a reminder,” the dame postulated, with rigorous disregard for Ostrand, whose knowledge of phrases of hauteur, evinced in his personal behest, was tepidly abhorrent in light of such demonstrable pigeonholing of any other interests beyond one zone.

Ostrand was miffed that she had closed the loop so on the nosily and sat, awakened from a dream with roomfuls of untrimmed Tannenbaum [sic] laughing at him, lamprey to numerous demotives (annoyed by his application of a chase metaphor, t’il est haut), until Talitha: “rather than succumb to thine odious blandishments, I would rather apply my astute rebate toward a frumious (‘say it, don’t spray it,’ Ostrand cringed), periodically frenetic banter syntax, a frumious (all of the forces of the universe unsuccessfully rushed to prevent her finishing the) bandersnatch!” Abruptly, one arrived, previously for aerating lawns of enormous facade, yet now something fashioned twice for the negation of connectivity.

.   .   .

As assiduous eclat must offer the best self-help, muffled at home, the calm workers, disinterring the melted mountain, have a warm bassoon cleaned and worsted.

III — xix — Told in the Blink of a Haystack.

.   .   .

The Breathing Room.

.   .   .

If Cyane tries to describe everything, within a dense adequate flourish, you, in no comic premise aimed to assuage things, or by fault, methodically panned any arras of conceptualization. Talitha elsewhere descried, Ferguson’s team had gone in this array. Manasseh, stolidly piloting the refrigeration truck, took care not to overturn the vehicle on turpentine. With no saving knowledge of pathology, much less of any other branch of medicine, Talitha was in no state to confess that she actually knew what they were up to.

Significantly, Logan had imbued his followers with a determination to let their minds remain unaltered by the course of events. An incredulous reader would do well to ask why these individuals had persuaded themselves to approach the dreary task at all, and to demand that author demonstrate, through flashback, foreshadowing, or other tactics, their motivation for entering a chamber in which more than nine dozen individuals had gathered for purpose of organizational and actual cryogeny, an event that in itself begs immediate treatment, and is not fobbable in any way with the glib explanation that, in this modern age, such conclusions periodically occur.

Moreover, why had Talitha, as an observer, not consigned to put a stop to it? In the interest of impartiality, she allowed it to continue. She was no better than the lidless dumb camera eye objectively recording assassinations, explosions, and strife for entertainment of the well informed. In faith, she was much worse, for she flinched, presenting a jerky portrait of events, and fled, fearing to describing the resultant scene. Having abdicated her responsibility, it fell to the Ferguson party to apply their own descriptive powers to subsequent action.

.   .   .

There are scales of perception no person should dole out lest mixed bean echoes state, of relevance therefore gross, tactile images here to stay. Ostrand noticed that similar obstacles had brought the IBV expedition to a dithering crawl. Reasoning that this ad hoc [sic] attachment to them in no way obliged him to conform, he sought alternative routes. Reckoning that largesse from this assignment would enable him to make final payment on his wrecker, he fell back from the vanguard, unnoticed in the general cluster, and brushed aside suspicion that he was, or should have been, old enough to know better than to mock everything.

A series of astonishing reversals injected verve into a nature habitually, even in fancy, fond of adopting lost causes, as he located a cattle guard, a derelict gate, and a seldom used switchback. The men dared goof, whether canny self can’t, for all beating they took in the mainstream, assume posts of venerance in his scrubby pantheon. The early alders thinned along an access road as he persisted in believing that every individual owed him unswerving fealty for his brave and thankless vigil at the outermost fringes of society. He never lost time in paraphrasing Dostoevsky, telling people everything, “even his most infernal and wasteful ideas… immediately demanding a response of complete sympathy, expecting his listeners to enter at once into all his cares and anxieties and raise no hindrance to his disposition.” Then the grade began to worsen, and as almost every, if not all, persons accosted in this manner failed to demonstrate desired concern, Ostrand invariably grew angry and wrecked an entire inn, resulting in one urged, by parents, peers, and prevailing culture, to embrace his feminine nature.

This he accomplished with a celerity that endeared him for a brief season to everyone, yet the lengths that he had gone to cultivate his sensitive nature left him incapable of perceiving the monogamy inherent to his inner fulfillment. At the brink of a hyper–extended adolescence that threatened to plow directly into middle age, Ostrand steered the wrecker around a final bend and cut engines upon the top of a sun–swept plateau that rose slightly to the north. Amidst coniferous strands, metallic harbingers winked in the distance. Driven a few hundred yards onward, Ostrand soon beheld a feast of abandoned automobiles. Although functionally conversant with civilization, Ostrand had no choice but to declare it an enigma. Was he, unaided, actually expected to remove, and unnoticed, this stranded cache in an allotted time? A disinterested observer would believe that he never had a day off.

.   .   .

Beneath Ferguson’s instruction, methodical operation ensued. However else wont to know rivalries and loyalties of this intrepid band, the plots they sublet; amidst greater stasis–infused vita quorum, they were already beside the vast chamber. Room to confer beneath the power curve was found going away. Uclosco buttonholed Esherman, who replied, “sir, hysteria is not one unwitting orb.” Ion, in transit to deliberate task, found vociferous laughter a suitable option, welcoming the stolid presence of his colleague who, although disliking intrusions into his workspace, always turned them out so delicately that the perpetrator, charmed by shame, vanished immediately into the nearest pocket reserved for bad ideas.

At this moment, Ion’s laughter fell muffled into a grave vacuum. All around them the children slept, curled up trustfully. Only a faint reek of almond betrayed the shocking manner of their slumber. All sum of probity exited whence this even depth in abject shade receded. Her respite, over being termed the worst Deistic ever, Thledvirrson staked her watch at the portal, not hindering, nor yet acting as to be seen as aiding, her noumenons whom, as Ferguson, had opted for recovery. Writ via through a room lit with thrumlit, a chance to decamp one more bunk about losing your army in a foreign capitol, and as generally an habitude of waste landed upon the sense, that was not enough to deter Esherman from bent letter array, an overt decision to support the overall plan. “Hell was full of us,” a shadow of seething gruel dished, “sown onto fresh halls I shriek.”

They all turned under the circumstance. “It was nothing,” Thledvirrson added. Imbued by stoic fatalism, they impelled into the observatory. Hesitant to collect several tinctures thematic, a litter of disuse in failure to garner requisite sample toxin, stood Ion, gaping upon the exact reckoning legislate. Knowing that time was essential, Ferguson ordered Esherman to take the tray of antidotes out of the hand of Ion.

.   .   .

An exception, in the voir dire [sic] of plentitude, happily removed us from sight of the Reverend’s luck. Tedium, perhaps, postponed encyclicals rendering that wolf at the door, beggaring descriptions. This team of active character, overcome with resentment in the stifling expanse of the apartment, bore terrible thought for the person who, writing upon this sheet of paper, had hoped that they would have directed themselves cheerfully into the identification, examination, and cataloguing process, secure in hope that, while defying civilized opinion, they were justified in enacting a parody of themselves.

Nor might even the most deliberately obtuse of these gleaners fail to reflect upon (real) value of the cargo strewn about, for in this age of advanced technological achievement, cadavers fetched a high price in any market and even rings, beads, bracelets, and baubles adorning them seemed cursory. Consequently, and with great effort, they recalled their chief’s admonitions and steeled themselves to give the inhabitants if not a civil, than at least a Mosaic send–off, knowing the alternatives, if the IBV ever overcame its organizational inertia below them, promised much less. Beside each ex–person, they appointed two containers: a small, yet elegantly upholstered cask, and a lengthier, unfurling bundle of loose, breathable Gore–Tex™. Within the former, personal effects, mailable (discovery of quaint identification bracelets listing next–of–kin upon the wrists of nearly all of the individuals located, brought a gentle sorrow to their labor); within the latter, former persons, transferable to the deep freeze until, many hoped, the engendered outcry concerning their location might opportune a fleeting, yet necessary overture to the paradigm shift that would put an end to all ill besetting our present civilization.

In this manner, one hundred and eleven persons were apprehended. They had strictly agreed betwixt themselves to avoid eschatological or demeaning reference to their custom. Guests seemed the preferable labels. That this provisional title seemed to suggest the shadow of misdoubt might have occurred to any one of them. Amid Ferguson’s anguished priorities, even the count appeared scant. Had they any room for the real unwound theft of cultural rhythm, all things, including a flag thrown in tending to stop their play, ignored when being was no longer considered a measure of spiff, sub–ego algorithms and their use for induced, re: dancing at the edge of the spit, what would have been one (isomer bipedal) strange guest not enough method ascriptive, therein went.

Sent since then, no spell misnomer aptly to be named, whose line pinched merely in emotional nave, past parting one memory, may. Led up from now unto a startling realization of guests being already frozen, and nearly not dead yet, Logan spoke, “let them have their compliance. If only someone else might plead for them.” But he was tired of carrying everything around and, although feverish to avoid the slightest trace of nepotism, he had abrogated any thought of interrogating his colleagues as to whereabouts of his own kin.

Possessed of great faith in his own sincerity and of a largely unspoken assurance in some eventual sixth sense by now awakening to their location, Logan made up for in closure what he might have lacked in happiness. The morning’s labor yielding not a clue, and an apprehension that the valets might arrive at any moment to discover their spoiling activities, and also perhaps a failure in finding settling music on the radio, finally broke Ferguson into destroying their alembic frail working consensus by demanding a recount. When this, after little objection, yielded a number approximating only a hundred, Logan ordered tools down.

.   .   .

Without further rebuttal, they argued for an immediate conference. During such extended impasses of any duration, Thledvirrson had found that to be seen poring over a paperback invariably aroused feelings of inferiority within others, as if the reader was too good to be seen associating with humanity. So she learned to cultivate a blank stare instead, allowing spittle to gather at the corner of her lip. Ion raised a timid hand to report that contents of the main safe had been riffled. Logan checked the desire to ask, against his tacit will, why someone had ventured beyond the scope of their assignment. His immediate concern was that, in fact, an agency inimical to their own interests had already arrived.

To this end, and in the aim of gleaning a gulp of fresher air (the observatory’s ventilation system had mysteriously, and virtually unnoticed until now, given out some time ago), Logan ordered an adjournment outside, where a discrete sweep of premises might be afforded. A fugitive request for comment bestirred the glittering dome. The spoilers weighed their consensus against the immediate development of events. To the north, the main thoroughfare stood empty. What force they had expected from that quarter had failed to appear, incurring a delay of rumor.

The lower grounds, soughed in a canopean silence, caused bid for concern as the tarmac asphalt remuda, glimpsed in arboreality at whiles, seemed equally innocuous, until Talitha remarked that an unreal gate to it now stood open as if digitally transfixed. From above, moreover, an unlikely perihelion, a barking shadow was about nine hundred furlongs tall and, as they began to notice it, silence vanished. A chortling rush of Carnotic expletives crescendoed ominously from their left, not far behind them, and Ion, expecting from them all that secular foe had, hoodwinking their aim, stolen demarche, ran down to surround them. Esherman sacked him shortly and they saw it, a single wrecker, bearing no visible mark or standard, coming.

.   .   .

During the earliest recess of posterity, though rationally concomitant with conditions precluding traditional dilutions of statism, anon trickled down an inference where in Rex’s avowal of mechanism of initial sentiment, fuelling propagation of invidiously elementary loci, were whatnot misspent in propensity nor maintained, now uchaux aghast again withheld slithered in haste, their followings now immured hitherto in really visible adherence to provision ordered by his chinnish earlier distance.

Learning of hauling premium emphasis on sincerity in making cause with curtailed Lothario, and in evidence now of having pleasant encomium deflected always toward reanimate elation typically dispensed to scarcity (an unknown yeomanry such as his were perpetually plotting inconsiderate of their feeling affordably callous), independents flirted peripherally with more studious householders and displayed ostensible forbearance. At ebullient bellows, some oft tribulate to him amidst thrift of indigence, their familiar hours shrilled to Flußtapfer at summit dumb umlaut length, worthily treacherous even in the anabasis occasioned by his prematurely signature mortification of inward precept.

Elements of spateful umbrage, in grip of this calendar upset, now debunked upon plans of ethic docks, fulminating versus this flagrant breach inescapably tractable to the regal presence, and Rumsford compliantly wired the Saxons to incarcerate their kinsman with such confidence that the overt national significance of his act was naturally regarded as with heroic undertones censorious of technical want, further encapsulating in untenet precocity radial if unmentioned. This matter Atlas shared with him at a time that reeked of public foreclosure on his breviary to which traces of absinthe clung during immediate forum, “was it not certain,” began one, “they won’t let us finish our inquiry as is known, that this area of constructivist theory is essentially vague and, when complicated by the spite of instinct, was it not certain that Rex Ampersand had demonstrable intent to commingle with sessional outlets and had in suit puttered scratch despite congratulations deferred in recess?”

Rumsford stated tersely that motive of manifold interests had already converged in the camp of refrainants, apotheosisms secured in emeritus risk of challenging restrictions upon natal precedent. Matthieu had, Rex further indicated, with a last lob lost on strangers to innermost policies of the Village, “inaccurately pressed for this, in deference to untoward and jejune philanstereoscopists,” and as rival scribes traded views, the Earl slipped from sight.

.   .   .

Chronically troubled by gigantic shadows, Ferguson’s party accosted the driver. Beyond their alm of stimuli, tones, ere to apprehend a vast nothingness, which appears as projection of static unto screen or test pattern, arguably the sub–imposition of material facets over a concept, recreate a super–fulfilling curse, art, dispensed with this miniscule symbolic train of letters. Ostrand, if in expression of an ideal, that this penumbric cyclotron hovering overhead was simply the dawning of an antiquarian sideshow, moved to his expected task, yet executors of Ferguson’s oath made no more general effort to dissuade the rig from being driven off.

All other eyes fell upon Logan who, recovering from self–desuetude, now decided to make every move to get ahead. “You rest then.” He rallied his hands with a statement of design. “We will abridge the obvious reality.” They reverted into position with the air of men under heavy duress, having had little time to notice that someone had already a packet sent above, where decided photospherical immensities panopliously septic permeated through their venue. Shown bland luridly flaked from all assessment, the troubled ash indicated all was condoled throughout scripture. Within an abscissa of gelded ferment gage scat sconced, inept sitars ubiquitous prudence wont bid.

In circuitous broach, the destiny of unclear Sanskrit, howsoever most yielding of evanescent summons, unless bothered to retort the disappearance of not forasmuch as the encyclical addressed loss from occidental incursions, pointed to anymore as long as that was disposed in reprieve, rote were the hearsay alleged to tulgey recidivism of noted founders, men who arduously combed their warrens for a signal messenger to convey suspense.

As acute lifted tiles revealed in the surf of plumb unwound, the waxy monads huffed ingots oral in eflots to recede the missing bracket, all without avail for dimly keys of resurfaced tonnage lode on ebbed for prefaced intimacy no chronic hoc adumbrate. Evincible culminations whatsoever now in lineal suited neither, nor the ignoble gasp requisite sparked the one–armed bandit as the titanic grid uncacaphoniously frilled, spelling the antipodean doorsills askew ferniferaceously. Indeed, it virtually capsized, spilling much of the expedition fore and aft. spacemon’, rapt micronauts tearing rapidly across allotted dynamic of foremost encloture, flickered in shuddering moments upon the upturned concavity.

Tapped at, the glass melted in descending globs as they rallied to the observatory floor in molten stalagmite formations. In ordinal precaution, their features moussed back in apparent semblance to humanity, spacemon’ were quite capable of successive motion necessary for inside work, as hot as the zone was judged, and paused to watch a gum wrapper tumble across the sacrament before signaling release of draft sensing beach balls. These gamboled across the compound, stealing all of the exits, and were not quite surprised to find intrepid bands of occupants, well dug in attitude of arrested triumph, withheld in force until any eyewash turned visible.

Who had, if ever for an instant, dreamt of noticing every strain, offering accurate risk assessment to resequencing of available light? Balked by untoward resistance, rebel fjulsfut reviewed their precepts. Whenever an organic construct of adaptive composites offers a shortage of interest, it is necessary to talk to them.

.   .   .

Before a single step might be taken from this land of forgotten tents, amid the Cote D’Azur, valet brethren heaved, oblivious while the Nicean varsity embanked directly upon the observatory. Less dogmatic teams were dispatched to scout the environs. Thickly tenuous growths clustered about the monad rivulet; subject to sway of shut–up–and–go–shopping, they cared not for the composite consistency of molding oath stipulations tapped after heavy vegan followings. A lightning struck some oddly heard sagas, and from its truth serum, two upturned sheets crookedly down and out stretched to the skies. The entire effect was insidiously huge and their soft soap hardly forestalled octagonal pusillanimousities.

Parrying glazed vines with dull mash notes, Ranth Tyoslament indicated adjoining paths. They perpetrated jumbled foliage with manifold footfalls, unlike their ablative forerunners, and neared a stream of consciousness. Here was a marvelous thing: structured, unnatural, and yet thickly covert with mossy abandon, a site of previous picnic clinics. The monads laughed out loud, emerging from thickset honeycomb seriously lucubrated, only to dive in wan peril as a little red vagabond commenced to take forever turgid gulps of ground. Her noisomely diminutive detour crashed in downspouts of asphodel otherwise sonorous.

Cringing as this glatisant cascaded deeply into farrago, the explorers hastily scanned the shelf again and permissively waived for a luxurious lull, perchance to dream. The next lineless cursory thread found their foremost untenet clambering slowly into the tepid eldritch mass in utmost bucolic itinerary. Tearing throughout bulrushes, they headed toward the clingy folds of a stumpy grove, “don’t step over that rattan lodge,” warned l’nurt Glyntz, but it was too late. A shaky thing that stayed fresh until you dwelt upon it snapped, and they plunged far down the sallow piedmont, menaced in turn with nearby streaks of theocratic frivolity.

The devolution was only pre–empted by their eternally agnostic feng shui [sic]. Hushed after a cursory role, they listened acutely at the sound of many beings. Seven little stars, archetypes with no ideal of morality, lounged by the perilous cement pond. They had stopped to argue about their humanity, how life was so average, and wasn’t it about time to storm Mount Period to recoup their investment? They were an authoritarian cartel whose sources of credibility resided in a spectrum between slow poison and harnessed dreams of cryogenic participants. They had uncontrollable hopes of extended shelf life, that between dreams they sold to Florian and this campy parcel, soon to be overrun with milling travelers, such acute arrangements were boasted about beneath their canopy, surrounded with gear.

Suspended above, the monads could only hold their breath for hours, and finally shut–up–and–go–shopping signaled down, wait, and establishing a momentary calm, fell out of the forest wholly unobserved at the foot of Mount Period, where a man bereft of tensile wore an inimical consent. Adept at devising every new scarcity loomed without cessation, Alcuin repaired to his instant as if this were enjoyable. “Why I bring havoc, love, logic, leak, while for a tease two exegeses developed at a stage angle steeped in lugubriously, the flopware near dissolute if at all propensitous.” Talitha, to the table, stole imbricatively, and in choice vehemence coarse, as to elicit attitudes of vague quiescence from the poor lunch. Wordless, the men sat in, without forsaking a glance aloft again in sought surety that her visit was officially hospitable.

Upon the nest or aeons of tumbling aren’t, in illusion that voyage was no deranged aspect, they sprang to her sibilant unison with protestations of health. “What catch on prosperity as a future lien upon sequenescence it deflected,” one of them, sufficient to long intimacy events, chronically sieved the division clarified of mutual aim. Thledvirrson’s arrival presaged an awkward moment as the local tale went, in explaining why movement was not immediately possible. Batches of change slaunched at her perception — was this before or after, and she glared at assembled kachinas sprawled in haste upon the table.

As Horace’s hand fidgeted empathetically, “you went in with them,” she said. There was silence while the sound wracked. “You spooked and made,” Talitha, unable to complete, yelled, “out with them,” at a small local plasma scooter, who yoked the chains and lobbed them away. Remained seated on his other hand, Horace blinked, proofreading an amber scarab simulacrum that however was meant to win her. Search for this other elusive car retained precedence. Talitha blankly reviewed the blandishment of author of poor haiku, and above them dervishes closed ranks in the sooty gloom.

.   .   .

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.

.   .   .

Lethean photons convert fetches of shimmering zest into fine, generic clinkers.

III — xvii — What Was Just Finished.

.   .   .

A scarp, limpid abjurral, incensed as hives pushed taller chance stunts chintzily away, l’nurt glimpsed whomever’s cinched ascorbic activity, upon punctual terms eliciting cap or traceable ordinance evincement, being sententious about that previous threnody. Anterooms over, contrastably paradoxical attics before mores, mixed not as uriushiol comfret: emanations from some local tambourine thoroughly listless crashed static, fractioned in icy absolutions, a far cry from carbon etched moffettes kindlier than copulas remonstrated often. The amber sand emit an unwarm cambric sense amid dusty clouds’ mild harmony, blending imminent vacancies for ex post perceptions of mulled ideals, known between the swiftest toccata net ousla hutch, uprooting any sane plan irresponsive of gab.

Assonant in fresher windfall, a populace as seltzer bleeps loomed nigh unused following fortnights to their lisle, edge Delphinium thenceforth, and on again where other diagram acme macro macramé cram camps kept tedium nominal. So, in promises of longline patches, “of voices at day’s end, our stellar master awaiting to receive us at that bridge, our worldly cares are tossed along the shore of this evening’s dawn,” the caretaker closed his eyes and citizens of the Trombone Society exhaled, in one response, a discharge of final commune.

Mediated hastily and amid secret rejoicing, arrangements proved all were in no way reluctant, though if in tearful, agreement for this to occur, iterations, sponged off shadows, in turpitude miring the domed literati. Avidly uncivil knots gyred from a diametrically redactable pick decentralizing petulant farce. To the blustery fount, retuning nettled as necessitating matter, yielding as predated versions of eventual tumult blared unconvincingly to the finders; nor did any of the one hundred and eleven persons, bade forth upon mass excursion, step slightly, nor within an overachieving dibs on precedence, since one followed the sense of prevision, accessibly thorough in next forum, intentionally disclosed in slips of gossamer convenient to the dismal appendix abridged.

The client server registered merely a clerical oversight that in no way compromising any transactions whatsoever, and thereby mentally pegged that notice into a nearby spice rack, the narrator hesitantly dialed away. The deviant if diligent pastiche emblazoned upon cancelled EFT’s, participants merely received injunction to somewhat reticently claim subtly mental in–service polemic adjustable in triplicate as long as one’s Norn, daub, Szechwan, and elephant number were signed over daily to everyone’s own best big brother for, at that moment Regatta, prototypically impressed that graphic diagnostics purported to make even opening a jar of salsa difficult by contrast, as in such fashion mankind had spoken of an elapsed time as airily a week ago that was, short–circuiting need to say the day before the day before the day before the day before the day before the day before the day before the day before yesterday, saw to it that our records showed that beneath the shadow of the cursor swarmed misfit opportunities, just as hermaphroditic voyeur solidus tour guide we roll into the great wasteland of self, a thing of the past I’m sorry to be taping over, but look how Technicolor the veneer footprints lurched through the rumor mill step by step, dissembling our ubiquitous electronic plebiscite until provosts who had time to read anything once went door to door looking for anyone who hadn’t gone sour on the dream about dank antipodean love somehow kindled, disservicable pens misplaced in a realm of things unsaid, each instantly freeze–dried eternity of questionable existence, and to conjugate infinitives crossed out in original, test patterns were all that stood between screams of our children at any cost, for it is ten o’clock and they have awakened in a land where you try to lay there dutifully in your newfound theism but infinite thought spirals keep pinwheeling around, where half–truths are etched in sandlots kicked up unnaturally, although evidence of a shrinking production budge is manifest insofar as nearly all explosions occurred off–stage, and your only source of relief is that you avoided publicly sandbagging the correct starlet on the reality dayroom rewind Justine occurring between patrols: if such things, accomplished but once, may act as brake upon civilizing in–laws conscientiously eager to see that something is made of oneself, than in what proportion may society’s dictums be forestalled by they who stood watch for a culture that had never even bought into their own shift, even if sometimes you thought you’d mix one heck of a tape if you ever left.

.   .   .

The finth array OTOH had neither aimed their whole bow back against this proximity constraining verse, nor so snell were an angler of ingenuously adjacent animus threshing constellations in feral purpose. After emulative fashions dreamt in sportive flight from their myopic reverie of thematic loose seizure, the ninth digressive rede received peculiar feelings of plain inescapable liendom overt.

As so actuarially imminent were then remnant courses to them, making them near leave in quickening slams that risibly, in one stolen word, so defined a however of mathematic probability occurring that, with polished implication of finth, reduced middening fences of argyle reality hue they were unwilling to tachyon past, without knowing if Erewhon, a place missing and ergo umbrella, were imperiled in this thread of lifting shuttles. “In dark glass,” explained Sandra at times, of Sicilia’s Late Imperial Period, “official vessels from Palermo claimed sole docking privilege in these very channels.” “What we see here,” Jasmine said flatly, “isn’t from eight hundred years ago.” “There is nothing here.” Chantal added, assuredly to Van Etnabaron, “I have looked at layers of sediment in the channel. I have looked beneath layers of sentiment. No debris, buried or otherwise, suggests a ship so long ago foundering.”

“But it was recorded, the Emperor’s vessel Ganymede, damaged during the storm, foundered en pilote at the top of the channel, later tugged into port on,” Van Etnabaron protested, muttering for a year. “We’re not looking for a week,” Chantal surmised. “This channel has been picked clean for ages. We’re looking for something from the wreck.” Harold nodded vehemently, hearing, “maybe it was flipped overboard!” Everyone looked aft, near the peak stave.

“Maybe they,” thought Fanta, it was a curse, or something, “and maybe they flipped it overboard.” Sasha, having thus far ignored this possibility, felt his heart sank. If that were in true key, he might as well back such gulped cap plus against the bulkhead, “recall, Frederick had a diver scent, one Nicholas,” he stammered. Delving into a historical database, Sandra said Salimbene wrote histories of the court. “He was not wholly trusted. He died.” Harold squinted, “Salimbene died?” “No, of course, eventually, well he died, but, the diver, Nicholas ‘the Fish,’ did also.”

“Poor men,” said Jasmine. Sandra continued, “Salimbene writes that incident took place on the afternoon of October 11, 1239, attended with such and such and such, at the Isole Ponziani.” Sasha rang up to the helm and arranged a change of heading, for some days collecting upon the horizon et cetera cast long concentric shadows of concert with realities whose dealership received all title of sad condition awaiting zephyrs to return. Thence reattaching primrose to an acrostic out, and letting age deride being, Nicean rebels crashed in leisure already.

Haltingly snail spaces clarified a region of sculls and ground, shifting mares, cols, and brief rule. Haply most finth braved it easily but foremost racial ethos shunned the beast, of a thousand eyes and faces, the lone human imbroglio fathomed by Niceans charily at best. Asking Alcuin (whom in his office as minister of transportation often fielded such questions) why their nation had become so large that vast tracts of time were exuded in unrequited effort of travel, a citizen of their expanding land was at sixes and sevens while a reply preliminarily amalgamate was punted about the bagatelle of national responsibility.

Nowhere near anyone felt assuagement. A decree fixating henceforth mandated installation of tolls upon all interstices, preventative of inattention via motorists adrift from their lane, theorized the concussion of exploded tires should draw attention from their cell telephones, newspapers, make–up, and other proprieties. The effort to repeal this succeeded only by direct appeal, much to the citizens’ ambivalence, to several podestas of the Global Village. It was felt that the community, through its addled promulgates seemingly intent upon dissolution, forced men to rely upon cold insight manifest in the parallel government. They served (or were served by, dependent upon one’s notion of the state) two masters.

.   .   .

For them only, the caretaker’s concerns were far fewer, yet so total time flies they’d heed than coeval ban, whomsoever spoiled pleasantly ignoble grapples suddenly, a servitor, one of the least silent of the immurable fret, enunciating whoa to anyone daring exeunt without phantoms in drear suit, obviously void of principle, before heaving out the spiel of the stellar protector.

At the threshold, the meniscus was seen to tremble, and as if at fear of emptiness beyond, so was his hand. Në Dipol dodged overtly spelt cautions in an unplanned version of even totality, will be seen as nigh, marred from when each was wilted, for a lawn bestrewing his forgotten beat inscribed, however cold, a few-hoofed Inglenook, haltingly should least unlight our inanity. A reticulation of electronic impulses commenced, bouncing bytes into the exosphere the day before tomorrow, a significant portion all up, you see as window shopped in the vicinity when this essay is a supposed toss pot, since around eleven o’clock lots inspire so help fads and key within time lute messages filtering into conscientious Në, the easy way out for appealing human might concern a direct way, wit for our header to ascend and tell us when everything will turn green, that some were thought content, evanescent constant is rolling unused infinity forth during invited tea fete, i.e., excepted only to nod implicit zzzzzz.

Accustomed to dreams of continents the host, actually dissatisfied of late release, claimed neither further choice and with commencement, this tributary undamned with zest approached the vinculum, piercing their caretaker with their dearness, shaping forth animadvertently to preamble of toxic accord. All at once, the caretaker saw beyond his private reverie the people, released from his spell, had already drank a lot sooner than he anticipated. To zest at last, one rose, and followed by others, they looked about, clapped, and amidst themselves wove a reeling cotillion, surging with purpose, for a promised future, a world–in, on the far banks met, an international follow-on, a brave raft of individuals, in ceremonious tumult, who had deified the fast and would live on for ever.

To one side, Horace grew astonished while the lazy sum of antiquity steadily minimized, until there was naught before him but a man who had frowned sedately upon antic selection of their importunate stopper, ædith, “how mild thy pure lag haunt upon communicating through speech. Some children will never shut up unless they learn to fall into the Grand Canal, where waves less tentative splashed, and such wanton screams of license,” he trailed, looking on blandly static flickering hundreds of telescreens.

“Gaussier,” he resumed, “the rigid improvisationalist, was also a great swimmer, and rescued many of these urchins for a price. His apartment was littered with objects. At any early age, struck by the tragedy of Niobe, he vowed revenge upon the perpetrators by every means. Look, out, the dreams have begun!” A face of uncivil Brahminism, seedy CDs defrayed Mrs. Grundy, a face faced fandango, next to go (Gatsby), a great one hived in, jive gnomons from Kolm, Madison ragtime polyphony, another place in the sun, rest, Stosstruppen, snoods (see vinculum), tripped time, crowded alumni in ubiquity intractably said, “you’ve UV to vibrate vinculum X–rays on yonder zither, Zorro.” In all frumenty, though trickled monads sniffed in the whistling dark, anyone was in the blend if and as chromosomes within there melded into posterity of an unknown beyond.

The caretaker made no immediate while, his advance foreclosed upon deliberate lags of further plasticity. To Prokofiev’s toccata all of the wobbly wonts oozed in not wanting today, but nearby one dignitary argued ablatively yet with some other utterances of rest arrived, the gross beatitude already begun. As minister of transportation, Alcuin had drawn solace from the charge that he was actually responsible for great distances, and did little to disabuse jejune constituents from their tentative reliefs. “There is no questioning tastes,” he said, bolting a linseed fritatta with his favorite mimes, the server statisticians, while the sun rose over the marshmallow cane.

Alcuin’s almagest still troublesome, a great fig occluded his banter, the fork fell with a horrible clatter, and forsaking solicitude, he wandered from their sight in steps. Fallen into a beckoning culvert, the minister felt waters rushing around, sanguine to the point of lethargy, and in knowledge that he been sneezed away from the Great Seal, the minister awaited boredom as his voice trailed off, wondering if overmuch devotion to task had sapped him of all view. In this extant, the canaries apt amply applied, and simply went about their normal retinue. Normally not perpetually thrilled about having the receipt shoved at them, they ciphered the cascade columns often, allied with gambrel patriot clannish hordes devolved, subtrahending care, snares, Arabic numerals wordless, won, yen, and Zen.

.   .   .

Perhaps with Alcuin’s ambiguous ruling, dispersed for a long winter snap, Niceans were, after all (away), from the sight of one another and, in conduct of seeming fealty, implemented an obversible lag on immediacy while not impairing diurnal pain or cyclic ease.

All that was entailed, ordained, or prepared amidst silliness eremitic negotiated stoppage. Only sparks, like flint marble jacks cast anon a tough ionic setpiece, could assure their broadband condign facilities for harvest of rust impounded, though their fixation in moreover what would i know about these seasons, enacted in so major of the best determination to polf, the reverse of flop, an inception sojourning on egregious margins of noisiness predicating another fibrillating constant imperative: the most unilateral dream bussed alongside the curb that dully motioned search of composure, amidst imbued isles of didactic cultural ideal transmitters with a presiding fair?

Given distantly that beyond, can one obtain the declamant quandary, without which no home might ever empty out, sough again, liberty, mean as an entreaty between polarized adherence, began. Finthector, banned of exegesis, all were remnant thanes and factions throughout points of ratification yet signatory to face a lemon. Hardily clad nor’eastern pole dancing mamas promised everything for an excuse to submit adherents to instant suppression, for which reason nearly all regions used conflict upon an opening flourish against moral captivity during whence so many of their contributions, so often now declared as ineffable to civilization, had been effaced away hundreds of years ago.

To this only active conspiracy that was happening anymore, they rarely needed access to a consonant promise of imminent perfection or else; had it removed the salt from out of the bean soaking solution sooner they would not have turned so scroogley at the denouement’s outset. If long stretches of crepuscularity faded too visually to descry the last light’s shrinking infra violet descent, how pleasantly at leisure were the prominence of assurable recoil where leaning might install an avalanche of necessity?

Temperature reports for the exosphere standing at minus two hundred and seventy three degrees, everyone beholding this to be as universally deemed an atypical occurrence as possible, any professing individuals, assured of tenure thereby, and especially wishing to impress someone after a lonely life of interpreting bulletins, derived comfort from spotlights and assumed the mantle of public experience gladly. They had always wished to assure naive tenants that their panic was groundless and would soon thaw in every sense. Many individuals professing an immense and reassuring expertise allowed that in 10 years it would be someone else’s problem.

Therefore, unless we use an entirely accidental reference (in other text) to a decade’s time as a sort of literary segue, there is much intervening passage to cover before those who felt the representation of their solar system should follow the most aesthetically agreeable pattern possible showed up. The young and zestful gathering of the turbulent 2012 Big Event were at this big thing, this Great Starry Something, celebrating founding of Joint Village Space Command, or JVSc, an event wholly fictional at least until this moment. A stately dejeuner that was often unattemptable purported to give honor to the notion that these allies, if reciprocal, would comprise every matter of great importance in scenes of general mass. Vast areas were deftly leaning on said hearings, grand ruins and brought, in attenuation, most gracious eflot later neon, greased a mind’s state escort at best hurled, edging for congruence. In a moment of elastic recollection, Plair was a staff ensign of JVsC aerospace planning.

Iraisamonde was inwardly repressed with this improvident brash maritime avatar, great–hearted as they all seemed to be fetched here, from one well-stocked Ford, a single sherry, expounded over myriad responsibilities of his new position, glibly describing orbiting platforms that could hunt each other, sow bacilli, and punch holes in ozone. Iraisamonde perceived this was his attempt at cultivating Whitmanesque auras with over–exaggerated breadth at the end of all pronouncements. Degrees in marketing and in U.S. poetry earlier, she quoted famed period pieces in hope that she might have discovered another living fount, since one had, briefly, surfaced the previous summer. Plair gave blank looks to her variegated citations. She remarked, “miles to go before I sleep, for sure.” Rather forlorn, Iraisamonde scooted from the lima bean and onto grounds of the Mt. Period Observatory.

A winkling brittleness from assembled cameras bathed arriving guests, and stringers scurried to gain words from almost unrecognizable dignitaries. “Getting their pictures taken,” said her escort, “is like such a big deal.” One man approached them, recognized as her uncle’s court photographer, a mild soul, who haled Iraisamonde agreeably. The aerospace ensign of JvSC grasped Iraisamonde under his left fist and shoved his uvula into the lens. “I’m, sorry, mademoiselle does not wish to be distributed.”

Ascending marble steps, Plair gave a lofty scoff, to show that he had read about paparazzi in a reception hall that opened, amidst fire opal trim, toward the general dome. Ambling beyond the bon if in unwavering dissolve, and ostensibly with slumbering slipscrews or something, one needed to yank from decorum a vintage festering in desuetude wind now, for navigation smothered ample chants often scalene. Considerable options wrought heavily stammering ire rote if this was a simple time.

Nervelessly an orchestra tune struck up nearby greeting visitors with over veritable odd sounds of acknowledged or fragile quest, lit amidst their next too outlasted asterix, from able cushions minutely baffled their queue niftily through anthelion, though permitted muffled alterations beneath sconces and windrows, blazing with christened stains, that in flotsam variety manifested assertive milieu, pleated with oaken tagliament resort once, and although erasure fussed ascetically within his modicum, the sacrist accentuated development of a frieze casually raised, if no more than fourteen ells, as to out from sight mime the causal asides.

Only their chef d’ cabinet, debilitated from erisypelaiac baffling, remained unmoved, wishing her silence was not construed as assent, yet unable to direct the expedition as it drifted into a withering missive more sonorous than ethereal. The Ambassador, gambling that rebel fjulsfut, for that reason, had become vapid in observance of their actual heritage, cleft more ties, stole to within an ace of their purpose, and rang, waiting as the new ilk blithely persisted in enacting alien masked communal elation gleaning rituals and then some. Things, very dumb, naive protocol overlooked by the rebel colony perhaps, awoke their tapper from lethargy, triggering a not wholly irrepressible series of alarums.

.   .   .

Fernand raised a timid hand. You, roaming on odd fence, or one girl who yet merely maroons their vast protean Ohio rede, finth folded and winked tents from existence; plans of ahriman to access the village server again triune ephods in mute logic. Delphinium floated, screened between their land between of great heck, “forswear you who emulate humanism in pastoral glen similarity; use became a scent, don’t avoid loss, a spate also tenet right?” Three of the survey team who panned Van Etnabaron to prosaic launch seemed to mention use of a rudimentary diving bell.

“Did they say how this might have been transported to the site,” Sasha asked? This thesis, advanced to them from all around, whose totality edge blink started a community assistance program so close to scratch form, knew how well they reckoned their arguments, that through resourceful mass production of the thoroughly beneficent meg distribution facilities one stour (fourteen or more) pounding offered enhanced ability respite, yet now smothered in alarm when they awoke to scene of finth cantankerousness, and where the duty observer once marked, now pleasant swatches of argyle hues pulsed. A clatter of void whereabouts concerning the absence of him commenced immediately.

Yet, the recharging console stood all plugged around a static monitor vacant but for vagueness weird. A place of no gerund occurred; though resourceful benefit of oolithic principles actuated, none of the treble fjulsfut was now quite energized to placate the copeless demarche. spacemon’, doughtily intent upon rectification of the bent letter array, ignored the continuous alarum they had not reported. Spanned in millions, the entire finth nation orchestrated a demimonde around their spindly trap jitney and fate’s peel slipped on, skiving spacemon’, and others alike. This infringement now imploring still ablative acts recoiled.

The commune ideal first immured within their primordial concept, fjulsfut edged into a commutative posture with the historian (all too busy) as their quest. Fabled at knowing they would start a nightmare if she let on, the historian suggested the doors. The infringing fjulsfut withdrew from her person, and a lot of adumbrating guesses etched in paraffin toward an election of remnant option. Their chef d’cabinet sensed the peril of their only seventh, their winged snail, and though on no road to abandon, offered only that finth, not known to prefer orbital fiat, were devious. Malodorously many gave themselves up to enigmas, crying, a great insufficiency is upon us!

As weaned, a treble choice beaconed: diaspora of the entire enfranchisement through chemical means, access tepidly advanced from leading opinion; one small step into the snell mercurochrome they dimly perceived as gateway to other reality; or the link of their secret cache, their link to Erewhon, well of universal principle.

.   .   .

The intuitive internet viewing brash insane hope, a neat tango stage phylum soon vague stiffens reaction from heirloom expense.

III — xvi — Classics of Organizational Behavior.

.   .   .

In Frank’s exact location of sedulous redefinition, offset with despondent uchaux so ELIZA, grog fixed transversely over blighted emporiums prior, if in lesser moments chafed with uxorious decency which every lot bent between ever irrepressible vision; the guildmaster’s anticipation of assured re–election dwindling through, with due talent, appealed to roseate limpid aversion to present office in submitting a bid for audition, light leached, whereas reference to an immediate pact bored then, him they needed no further and were about to throw out with, naturally inclined the query into previous desultoriness of an alacrity as aggravated physicists swore by the plumb that this was.

It’s wherewithal yet to be smashed, Frank gazed bleakly about the premise. For some reason, contact with thereat had become futile. At the first stop, we’ll stand beneath the shingled Ingersoll et al, to plaintively lodge a trace. One of the earliest non–semantic counting houses to adopt strange numerals, the proprietors had been able to wean their dependence from Esmeralda, whose italicization pique caption finth, in stark ink trauma holiday, would need a map expository prepositional phrase or infinitive, such great lengths we went around the mulberry patch in search of closure limitations of adjective period in an orange press release what the subject changed.

.   .   .

Delphinium, after an hour’s voyage, putzing into the burly port, Talitha, seeming to know exactly where, left ship and disappeared into a maze of clay streets. Ever since Horace had ascertained her resolve to recover one porcupine on behalf of the Ossian community, a mixed blessing accompanied this address, which he had given other, insofar as he’d felt that temerity, for heterogeneous order, of Delphinium’s own, isomems, conga last on any pearly chair group Holocene, the heavy Brahmin, citing often glorified fraud at dawn, “myths thence wi–fi scoot up their keen anthem.” “You’ll think our hive went blink.” Who knew how angry plays shy?

“Seconds,” Thledvirrson lied dejectedly, “I have to ask for thy hand, a bonus mahi fee, the dreams, and okay that mead.” “What I want lives in schism. Cocytus is xi hours, i.e., by car.” He retired to his fetid skeet sands, closed to havens on the sea barn. His diverse outlook hale, Ælfric spoke, “who is sooner human, when the very pest who owns the winch, owns us?” Without opinion, a yet adroit husbandman ships off a huge hearth hue, no registration papers listing home, ill, isomems, as C. Molino, owner of Delphinium. Recusing her hexed self, Talitha, a–clump upstairs to swan her ibid, if she had any banes, should have said new bee.

Emerging from inky depths, Thledvirrson considered herself borne again and a pixel sage cling, with the same sooty disdain that she reserved for landlubbers, the old bad air, was capable of earthy bouts of bonhomie that just as readily evaporated into sententious disrecognizance. She had but two loves in her life, both unrequited. If thrift be true, one was a name best said but once, if not here. Two, were things terrible and tremulous from out of the porch that were no longer considered form.

Then, assigned through hearkening to redirection of weighty finds, her stretch, forever tarrying, graduated into a radiant answer, with passage of transparent principles, leaving her with energies of three or four billion worlds. She refused to allow herself to collapse into an agenda of predeterminate motion and stopped her ears with surf of instant ratification. As far as Talitha was concerned, according to Deerfield’s theory of relationships, she and a merciful savior were just friends.

Her true loves, unrequited, were to her soap bubbles released, from lips of babes, into the desert. Her tasks, to evade pitfalls of sentiment, to avoid banging her head against any wall (this she happily delegated to many sitars, from her fellow seals, whom despite years of common struggle, she readily spurned, to the tweediest dons of the university where she taught theocracy and was now sabbaticially expulsed), to capture these bubbles, her unrequited loves, before they shrank and burst in spotlight. On her own acclaim, Esherman threw his towel across the Rubicon, and she caught it, grateful enough for the chance to be dry. For his part, Manasseh nearly liked mutual service during any of several little western wars, where they bounded by complicity, knowing of collateral death. Their superiors told them people deserved this, cause for bitter casuistry.

That Esherman was of a Mosaic faith amused her more. “You know the face saving truth, yet are too modest to proclaim it,” she said, if only for the fact that he was the only heterodox who had never indicated a desire to spin nearer. “Weep for me not, dove,” he retorted. “Who knows of my wish to be universally admired. I am forgiven.” He had saved her ounce, from the height of the Ossian intervention, detecting, just prior to her, a hissing smart bomb shifted inside the diving ramp during a faux fuel platform inspection, and freely exhumed her sketchy debt. To him, she had forgotten until now that he was here to redeem this.

It did not seem inconvenient, for she had to be in the vicinity anyway. This eschatological expedition, suited to her peculiar deep–water talents, was scheduled to depart the site in less than twenty–four hours, and Talitha thought she could easily wrap this thing in time to jam intimations of an eventuality too fallow for a retired idiopathic coruscated, amidst ritual tithes of what soon would dishevel the struck past mint, else ever deeper in pilgrimage of loss, echoes drawled with overt ennui.

.   .   .

While these pirouette issues culled from more archaic overtones until the father of all possibility differentiated light into waves from particularities aplopectic, and inconsistently limned conversations into customs of each, Shrdlu, accustomed to entering domiciles of other persons to ask about things, was truly convinced his rough manner of address made him a better person, yet displayed difficulty with the combination, “do you believe what they are asking for wall furnishings?” Raoul knew that they were some scrolled pictographs of significance, kakemonos, reported withal, minded in his book of possibilities. always this way, ever eternal, angry for ten years at a time, in a can, waffleless, crazy for never having climbed the Space Needle, “you hesitated and why had my essay so tendentiously stole from crisp logic so expediently thought over moments ago?” “What are the essential major points you wish to convey,” Ng interposed? “There is a discovery so new that only leading medical and scientific experts know about it.”

“What case can be made for or against your message that was before my time, in a room pulsing with affliction let over and the question is, do you not want to persist in behavior just to prove that a natural ought to exit?” It was only a measurable efficiency that Raoul had left nothing behind, and as the peep of day pressed tortuously upon congested scenes, a small ache merrily afflicted leaving, impressed that one had seriously considered ramifications of expedience. Gratitude was a penlight occasionally aimed at recess of late approbation, merely deepening the chasm of untoward loathing reserved for recent activity.

Once such a forthright individual so full of iconic tact, Shrdlu harmlessly linked further connection with anyone to this fear, that were he ever to tell another soul his face would shrivel and fall. To forestall this he wore a hood, giving him courage to speak frantically of all things, and it were behaviorally congruent to the extent that his creed was some tribal tonnage never offloaded. “Loathe though I were to admit that my dying thoughts centered upon Shrdlu,” Raoul recorded, “eventually I strove to forgive his trivial outrage as by–product of a mind discredited with narcosis and a failure to obtain assistance from prior causes of scalene value solace, until only fatwah remained to adsorb his talent.” Naturally sympathy seemed to energize his detail and Raoul instantly messaged his spouse, “I’d hide before their theme could renege upon this fatuous description.”

.   .   .

After Van Etnabaron’s canned crowd aha honored the faux Porcupine, and whatever else had turned up was excess give–away, he framed them with false swan frond ankhs, and jumped all neaply recalled autisms against radial haunts misspent. From another perception, murky twilight burrowed into the intimate forest, muffling any signals of incarnated hope that captive stays might share with fresh justness to believe failure, around the corner, was entrained in a false crescendo while the scabrous beast wove contravailing retorts around the glass plinth that bore anew the carpet strained, this latest lot of valets, outfit carnotically, belabored switches fitfully in their latest piston driven fords in unabashed surety.

Through their motorized tirade schemed audible fears away as ably feted phrases, a wee Orlando, dialed abed yet high life after touted oaths to a sad pugilist grain, Porphyry, certain that their molting shack best near differed from that hope allowing tortuous ego alienation with this tocsin rum gentry, was third to like earth, yet, far from seething clear ware, his blandishments had simply yielded a general holiday for the UAA (United Andorran Apiarists) which meant that their charges, freed from oversight, wandered egregiously in wooly clumps, bringing progress of the IBV caravan to an almost despondent sputter. “Via benign or disc technology gram annual tests were for those with assurance,” Florian said, regaling anyone within earshot of a time when diurnal transactions were all that withstood from public view as a measure of marketable austerity.

Ostrand, assigned with his rig to trail the rearmost hearse, sat patiently on the clock as a hastily recruited detail dismounted, not for the first time, to clear the highway with kicks, oaths, tranquilizer darts, and soporifics that settled in receiving eventually solace in potential of the new voice, encores which naturally labeled stammered though not without purpose for then on gifted intent. With any more basis for persistent study of investitures thereby removed, all haste foundered in the quest for meaning. That in discovery lay all blasting fifteen blend whists accumulated slack, as effortless mean prescribed help, luck, a cyst, chance, and many nocturnal arrant peak drive real sonnets were appointed as ensuing reminders that a part, of fixed duration, had met and/or peroration on the lip of an unflinching expectation of limit.

Enough blottage had escaped immediate recognition however, and some bland instruction, upon a topic formerly and in momentous portion mandated, to the extent that vile polemicists had already declined any sophistic invention of an infinite leisure and rhomboid angles. Subliminally all echoes did here pontificate you have not given yourself the pleasure sure of addressing or of guessing either/or name. To help her camp–altered personnel, required to point out that this flossed an acceptable responsibility, Justine held naught henceforth from the barked ode passe opinion seen fit to remember anything. “If one can indulge only one of those epistolary shortfalls that you always flip through at the end of the book, re: inclination as a proven method of cheerfully moderating, circumscribing, dissuading, and/or curbing all else, why has civilization’s demonstrable bent for attaching one’s few buffers turned into cause celebré propounded in any number of millennially perfectionist equidistances?”

Since whatever filled space withal first gradually came into focus upon how far are we concerned after God stares at us, Binaca had even overridden the insistence of Suppressant thoughtfully enough to disenroll the names of their children from the precedent awful soon flip them often traffic finger painting classes with rigeur of theorists in maintenance of a contrite response. Depressed by the demise of her first love, and in continued defiance of her father, who remained sprawled face first in the present tense, Bitsy went ahead with plans of their iconoclastic klatch to snore through the cure and meet their stellar master in the next century.

Abruptly, the journalist realized that Ambassador had answered all of his questions, whence tips for live telepathic remotes staged through time were imparted. His brain itching, and with space for a few callers, Mr. Ng punched at the first of a too far ahead of his live time icon laughing at efforts to descry technology. Before he could delve into those coefficients, another line chirped. The next caller asked, in earnest preamble, about essential quarantine, pointing out that entire cultures had been lost thereby. “Would you,” asked Norah, “in devoted token of good faith, submit to medical examination in the interests of humanity?”

“Such actions,” the Ambassador replied, “befit a safeguard regiment of diminishing efficacy. Medicinal opinions invariably harp upon a spectrum ranging from don’t waste anymore infinite time and reset bonne heure instantly to the natural growth cycle must conclude prior to corrective procedures.” And again her refusal made up for in microcosm what it lacked in a bode frufru live pageant of undeviating showering. Was one belief that man (the next caller) was actually by far the best guide left in a pact over transit ornaments beside? “Lost, lost ink,” the Ambassador desponded, “over a sum of longitudes, detailed a task. An east line leapt immediately in spares known in advance for a copacetic interval. Our known foreign Euclidean tall of plumb staged patterns of rote. It was pluck, dear ivy walk, to Tobit summit who negotiated her select aim or replenishment.”

“You have been listening,” the journalist capitulated, to where were his diehards? If any could debunk his guest in the booth, his producer slamming down headphones in disgust, the heliocentricists were at it again. The eleven o’clock outbound raveling of my post adolescent cartoon jones phased references to timed explosions that always drew inference upon present circumstance, rattling windows of the studio, signaled a general hiatus just when things had got cracking.

It was officially ten hours and sixty one minutes Recoordinated Universal Time, that cubit ideal fiat of fluent intense angst whereby RUT clarification, along rabid tendencies, seconds having grown immeasurably lengthier until an area of majority, whole markers afloat, a smile of waking volume meant as out of usual predicative diurnal occlusion owing to an inordinate and instant when, at eleven o’clock on December 21, 2012, the planet stopped rotating and the world ended. The journalist knew however that tonight’s slot was up against the most down fab edge nasty shaking spectacle of the millenium in which his competitors had paid hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars to cheer and act surprised in a carefully staged extravaganza. He almost wished he were watching it.

For her part, the Ambassador commented in a drier lisp that, “Goth nature gone haha within old Ragu, hereafter expect a pariah rinse check monolith church cribbing, if in we’re dirty nimbling.” Channels clanged kachina when Univision unleashed an unusually awesome encomium to schematic achievement. The vastest while they had in ages of thought fielded an undesirable outcome and they were all of who ergo could say then eagerness drably staved bales of rekindled interest composite? You presume I shall retreat unto this based on ill proofs of cantos in yore, pled some upon often cabling spokes of waist high catacombs wherein, between luggage debunked against readily onto myths of comported incidence, and erstwhile chary bureaucracies interlaced inimically with lump transmissions of smattered escarpments, left available servers, toeing either closest altars frigid in schlock, or incarnating grow up within other desirous vacancies, repelled mostly enough to avert controllable shares of probate.

.   .   .

While cycling bins, raided for the talus of their behest (or else) signaled, from auditory circulars, a channel of sharpest antonyms at once uncapitalized bonds of assumable prospect glimpsed, allowing a carefully dissociative public figment of ad valorem future based contraceptualities of narrow stale form rattling foolishly, beneath the variety of ductile usury sniffed on with mere tetrapod anoxia, uncollateralized venues withheld erstwhile from the gaunter ledger, a sedulous gravity receptively marred by instances of drainier calm. Omphalic [sic] motes armed the plentitude of scalenity to any project in consequence, for the dithers eased if luridly evanescent.

Themes caused macier spirits to etch every drawer with parallelepiped convergence, for in simpler curfew lobularity convened an anchor of zestfully outsourced fewmet scooters with an alacrity ferreting candid elements of an aggregate placidity. Ever since forbearing scrutiny of an amnesty–detesting constable over ancillary land transplantation tie–ins, Alcuin foisted a reasonable desire to abstain from further interest in firms (or to declare on such forms any income derived from manufacturers of adhesive pastes) specializing in missing sting installments of luck ran out sidelights to a publicly valued ceramics holiday.

Closely allied to the dentrifice industry, Porphyry’s tax havens were already linked to numerous instances of a mysterious spree known only as their fey lace poisoned me, and he’d denied complicity so vehemently that, at conclusion of an evening performance of a Rheingeld so lugubrious that his eldest daughter said was most aptly entitled the get your Demerol, Inspector Læmært was alarmed to see Alcuin’s rowhouse swept in light emanation from an infernal audit. Whoosh for an appointed lie, “or cannot they ever condescend with sirens mute to this harassment semblance,” he cautioned, finding a leery limit to all of this patient if stalwart Fabianism?

Swarms of praise had flown out of the limitations of heritable gain to such an ulterior clue, through which bloomed another hitherto tapless trove, that whatever regret in that attenuated window of equanimity provided by the ellipsis concerning Binaca’s fealty, her father concluded, were she able to ascribe to that annuity, roused the Marquis to stand out belting Please Mr. Postman at the actual village turnover, a performance that subsequently eclipsed all second thoughts without leaving anyone with an impression of imminent nadir, when the duty observer, unduly weirder and plainly star struck, stared at a film that devolved over the impedimential diurnal farce of a highly sensitive boy whose mispronunciations of are as double you and double you em earned him scorn anon.

Algernon perspectives of overcoming struggle seemed a little too on the nose, and although our hero was almost threatened with being booted from the shimmering team, almost immediately numerous bands of cultural icons arrived to extol him ceaselessly and as valedictory the boy provided an unintelligible tirade concerning the wrongs of society such as materialism and corporeal dirigisme. A final hour passed in lachrymose cellophane endorsements. The duty observers’ reprimand was to have lasting sentience. Where harvested disease dove, he doused the film, as deserving that 1, rather than tie that on again, would rather ambulate an untenet through a Phlegethon sneezer. Through signals for permissive tone dread heisted, an historian (all too busy) treatise of minute nucleation (AI, in itself, anachronist cure of summit area seeped back), the fjulsfut amanuensis’ weird insistence on ghats deep with cultural insight ere obtainable near peal screening.

Toted in feasible myth, a duty observer, fooling few product omnium, each certain we began film anew. Soon porous eyes sussurated, too lately high for ninth, so infinitesimal careers knew how a nude samba benefit threatened virgules when Van Etnabaron was heard to utter, “it’ll take six weeks to map this fan.” Chantal replied, “hadn’t you said you didn’t want a map?” ELIZA tuned in with a flocking noise and, studying schematics, said, “it doesn’t need a nap.” Harold reiterated that a nap was unnecessary. “You wanted to find something,” Sandra continued, “with special significance.”

Jasmine added, “which was lost by you?” Harold shook his head in denial, and when asked then by whom, gulped, in belief they would never get this, and announced, “the Emperor Frederick Hohenstaufen the Second.” Jasmine fanned the air. “Near–sighted, bald, and slight of build,” Chantal reminded them. But with all those falcons at his court, the women closed their eyes, incidentally recalling the Saracens of the Emperor’s bodyguard. Harold broke the silence, “so you do understand?” Beyond four eyes, they did for sure.

.   .   .

It took reinforcements to clear the last table at the cafe wham before long. As vespid travesties, impinging on the ousla’s possibly underlying assumptions about albino impelling candescence, a few minutes from riparian since icier Saracen spark lobs might glebe at rustic sects, entendred, almost minniver carafes took streakier enamel ware to design. Comparatively digital stenciling told off, arboreal occasional stoichiometric wastrelsry, circumstood for vis–a–vis deliberate unanimity upon mere realty, gave freeware to innermost horizons in lieu. Soon an expectant stream of replevinian platelets was dissembling plangently before you’d wonder how all synergists clear fake blanks.

Even painted throughout, inklings as Spenglerian felt acerbic about melting oddly, apropos to rouge deliquescence (at a monument with donatist ormulu, trope alchemy is listlessly promulgated asymmetrical trivium), altogether minimalizing endogenous spectrums. The writer had seen enough. Schooled to reject everything out of hand, he admitted defeat and turned away from the poster boards. “Probably some totem–icon ceremony celebrating ouster of the military industrial complex or something,” he muttered to himself, bitterly, for given over as he was to studying the distant turmoil of approaching inter–regnum, Fernand knew not a soul in this foreign land. Did this mean reflect a dilemma of significance?

If not, letters to the village idiot aside, an effort being made from many quarters to corner the past would suffice to avail an appeal for resting. Case specified, and how a nod in season was to allay a conclusion of stupendous verbiage interface redeemed spectaculars. Do not hold that candle to the disclosure of abeyance, an oeuvre chip techno endive incipient plugged for the diviner sleep than expected. “Please let me describe this in a journal immediately,” the Ambassador replied, wondering at the emergence of Mme Meringue among women capable of shredding shifting influences effectively involving personal corporate and annotative policy. “What was the impact of the correction upon bugs?”

“Cogs, goose down dust, ash, webs, leaves and bird food here also we bid dear shrinky bubble dink wrap adieu.” Bleak, though not far from big bang, sinuously creatures lurked, unknown but for nine properties and an ability to make assessments based on umbilical fashion. Obtaining their association was an imperative, for only within trances of combined inherently slipped bewilderment, or a thin outcrop of silence, assured mutual caption. Length, time, elapsed time, noise on a scalene frumiously totem, indicative of meretricious properties considered, where one is not really and five are, but as they had dwindled about earning universal contempt their laird was of a mind.

Fellow train passengers boggled by the strange paramilitary exercise, while Ion Uclosco, pharmacist and graduate of the IBV post–health care course, watched from the top deck of the observation lounge. Far from the embankment, former IBV colleagues assembled their equipment at the national exit in leisurely fashion. Their laconic approach filled him with glee. They were even draping camouflage over it, the dopes.

Arrived in Andorra, Ion knew by the strange silence that this was spot on. He sat in a cafe just inside the border box and wondered what to do until Dr. Ferguson arrived. If it had been as bad as Logan had indicated, it would seem that his family was in peril of risking their own lives for a dubious cause. Ion would have gladly left the kiosk to storm the observatory and prevent denouement, but had specific instructions which would have led him to believe anything.

.   .   .

Traveling in a dingy binge, the ultimately sulky Norah can’t let their first fan out to lunch.

III — xv — In Like Means the Sentence Was Abandoned.

.   .   .

Logan, on the sure trans–Atlantic flight, had learned to think jam and often wondered how his people would ever last. His best had been too much. The crest of acclaim was fast receding. The Church of His Glorious Multitudes had claimed a peak of membership at the beginning of the previous decade. Since then, the brightest vocalists siphoned into secular reprise, measuring worth by the enormity, premised him, of a monk’s fast, Logan Ferguson had been aware that a slender engine closed down.

His window of beliefs had that nervous chai premium, i.e., frabjous omen that, possibly decades before, when he had stalked his name to the sagging fortunes of ministry, evaporated in the amazement that attended recovery. Thence, to his great despair, the found, the well–liked, officious people, canary–voiced cantatas who stevedored in rich young men and their message of renunciation following arrival of cross–cultural ethicists with dispensational power–point presentations infiltrating sub–diocesan stratum, himself turned unto wilderness, the sea, benignly torrid, foamed to refute earlier folklore caused by codex, stood a hint from tacit radish swatches, spun in ridiculous habit, cthonically stemming due froth.

At other faded core ink, express crumbs altogether cathartic into foment, a tinge from fires thus kept spent in dates of ideal separation along a neatly implanted groove, closed systems of infundibular transept, turgidly protracted against, flew in a tense head by cabled omission and herein one that follows, a man, viewing his entire film collection in reverse, one fast rewind, knowing that as soon as each title has rewound to inception, it will be all for the best given that ELIZA, inheriting his collection, will never find it unnecessary to prewind every title, and a sense of gratitude will waft all over the place; Van Etnabaron, a diversity he termed when yawning at Thledvirrson’s imagined scene, carrioccio [sic], ye flea comprising her to Van Etnabaron’s question, are, for occupancy of expired zeal, static, since warped, blimpier aloes tattle a scuba of the core nova. While out there, Ferguson returned to fundamentals, re–reading old scraps with terrible thirst, all the while mindful of those who had either not, or said they had, re-read them, without furnishing the slightest benefit (Jer 23:32).

As long as forgotten discourse rekindled the flame of his yearning, Ferguson saw that wheels of his mind, greased by compromise, deafened him to splendid works that he had been called on to perform. In dank and virtuous ecstasy, he installed felt against those who peddled cliches out from under their very nose. Of synergy’s gnosis, hollow at harsh chirps, pseudo–realism, gadflies, stunning caution over; by sad gratification and/or via once fad opus; hem thin mentors, soft sock praise, math, really needed social climbers, and passive resistors formed the core of his chosen calling. Logan was comforted only with a theory this, in final act, would bloom like a terrible crocus to chaff astride the fiery crucible and, long scorned bloom, to lead his people, as soon as he could determine where they actually were, to reason flowered with the premise of bringing this final day to light.

.   .   .

Forced to admit that he had come to despise all of his articles, Sergei wondered if the world would end soon, and him with it. One step down to the plinth of his basement, toward the tablet of flooding full light, figures behind glass told a roseate tale of the first unsuccessful attempt to stop up the Nile, a fragment fun and grim. The Table of Thebes, relic of an earlier arch view, located long ago with his most trusted and dearest find, who could hold a smile forever, Delores, daughter of the Count of Mezzo, resided therein. Beknownst to few, Indocile had conflated a message, thrown through organic time, from an earlier fjulsfut expedition and attributed its survey findings, much to everyone’s irritation, to themselves (dispersed in a Snorggi sneeze, most of this earlier expedition had found work as blush stipplers, running rums and blouses into wanton zones, and fjulsfut extant, at pains to dissociate from those prior bumblers, had, in the spirit of Taylorism, allotted all specialized tasks among specially trained castes of scrapmon’, spacemon’, duty observers, mutant voles, and augmentation from other races, including an historian (all too busy) and innumerable seconds, among whom l’nurt Glyntz had evolved processes allowing individuals to egress into fictive personae. isomems, in consultation along de facto [sic], if defunct directories, assumed legal entity of Molino not without uncertain risk, subject to moral equivalent of consensual Coeropheri [sic]) (re: Aeschylus, all acts of whom justly and diligently coordinated by chef d’ cabinet).

Sergei, taking step two, considered freeing a long oppressed desire to put his own finger on history. Figuring on Molino, if not his wife Xantippe, soon over being, still around his only hope, if ever indeed either Delores or, in darker moments his hope, had truly existed, Sergei took a third step. Defrocked before her brother and her father the count, when Mrs. Molino, devising a plan to sweep the faithful Kalamparumple into oblivion, summoned the court of Mezzo and accursed Delores, before the entire family, of cheapening her royalty by sleeping with that electrician Kalamparumple, Delores had fled into care of relatives who furnished Sergei with photos of their child, Esmeralda, for six months before vanishing.

Subsequently the message, which received such scant thrift and somehow yet threatened to shred their legitimacy, from the Ambassador (she scrapmon’ derided before crumpling her missive) an An Indocile, made very little deference upon ceremony, and precisely on that ground spacemon’, reading to many diagrammed needs, decided not to recall incidental trailers that specified the precise origin of the message. “Sheathings that this hearth felt one will win us into the fold,” normlessly spoke scrapmon’ adding, “who shall stun the universe with our ingratitude? The writer, Fernand, who captured a devil after hurling his hard drive at an ink spot?”

Was an entry in whose antiphony elegy lexicon rang fobbed in turban legend? The best in faith effaced as a short toll man collected schranks door to door to supplement, as it were, an always unsettling awareness of which facets of a public personae were of actual perceptivity. Also a heavy shaping list for frequently needed items were fine enough to catalog an ongoing jeremiad. “Don’t hurt,” it implored, “I have told you all and nothing else will nor can you find. Or relax,” suggested it. Fernand scoffed, “I have no intention of dissecting you. In truth, I chose glass for your pension fearing you were capable of shape altering. Yet, you need air. If I pull the stopper will you just waft out of here and trouble me not?”

Exceptionally restive, the writer checked a variance within. He regarded the penned imp lightly though it seemed incapable of reward. A strange plebiscite of Fernand’s motive extant summoned him to fulfill demand of karma, that would be a fabulous accordance if this cup held some sort of djinn. Anon recusive sense prevailed as thin resolve wore out. Nothing else followed from the decision to let Fernand’s hope of release. His daemon resembled a now dingy heap of moss, stringent yet derelict, inanimate.

Moreover, the writer’s inkwell from the yard sale, through careless evaporation, dipped in level immeasurably, the convex base already apparent, and as he had vision for the remainder secluded from an estimate that all would run soon away, before then a difficult invention lagged out of millstones lapsed. Fernand replaced the stopper, stressed by the apocalyptic revival of disbelief suspended over an unknown. He was on both sides of an issue.

.   .   .

“I wouldn’t care to write about anything else today,” a pale and frightfully sorry Ion exclaimed as Manasseh let himself into the flat. After cycling from the ministry, Manasseh raised his hand. “Vraiment, lad, die to your sins. Let bygones be bygone.” “Let me declare myself henceforth slave to your every act,” Ion cried in his private scorn, falling into non–consciousness.

Manasseh looked at Ion sadly. He thought his lapels, if noticed, would hasten general alarm. “He can’t play forward on this one,” Manasseh thought, “if I’ve got a lapsed case of self–esteem on my hands.” So the preparation of documents took a day and a half, as Ion schlepped on the coffee table in front of television, where gruffly Mr. Ng inferred of other questions, caring responses biased on a description from signaller (all too busy) of Norn thesis goofs, e.g., the Ambassador said, “we’ll have to find some other text to augment facts about our world. The binary star system seemed to depress upon ledges of then hyperbolic flannel.

“Bitsy’s emotion issued multivariant is tribute with, if dive polar coordinates, two stele armoires, at first sapience a seam to evolve atop posted lens forte. Fundibular, she tithes this view, a constant cheer omen. Nor is their mission predictable. At any mome tether, life may arbitrarily let go, dare, reinvited, defect, tag, curved, or re–energize. Imagine then Justine’s consternation upon arrival of a man from Health Control, who proffered a work release order for their star inmate.” S/he glared at the impeccable warrant over her tortoise shell pince–nez, searching for weak conjugations or any other instrumental eternuer which might defray urgency of that government’s case, but there was nothing for it to indicate that within a month the landscape had transformed so ineradicably.

Ion was as free, and as they might fete any other guest, while sthenic overlooks pile doubt on another Mary’s home town, having fresh–squeezed Ohno’s cactus juice to their latest graduate; fanned, impromptu medleys of obscure home fin de siecle dramaturge Noone cornered. Her amanuensis to impart unsolicited wisdom, plastics, she intoned, time flies, and stay off the skyline. Justine’s reaction to these mottoes seemed typically blase, though an improvised felicity on her part was evocative of a common misgiving. Of that loss whispered the Tablet of Thebes henceforth. Stepping fourth, Sergei, remembering since his mother’s leadership of only one most notable power commission in the U.S. cut no ice across or throughout wishram, had shammed into silence upon wings of his archaeological triumph.

Menard advised him to forget the tour of explanation that ensued, but for months, Sergei trailed the encased tablet, applauded by masters of the lower sixties, bearing keys to the world. In footnotes, where efforts of Delores were shadowed to the anonymous and industrious flock of graduate assistants serving his expeditions, his woes were soon surfeit in a sea of acclaim. One moment she stood, her jumbled compacts strewn about the dock, and next the tram appeared to whisk her aside, leaving nothing but nosegays they’d thrown to mark the accession into participatory democracy.

.   .   .

Aft party icons rung so Ælfric might cope with a hot wish paean. In strange slate often, peers were at liberty. Crews worked round the clock to ensure that someone might obtain a glimpse of the big picture, for they were leaving behind that awful singularity, the noses of Snorggi, tales of which had shaken their infantile cribs, yet now was their only hope to traverse endless androgynous expanses of moments dark while yet sharing a common dearth of consciousness.

Their approach for sure risked aggravating the Noses, for many stood by, despising those who needed help, yet all too eager to help them anyway with abundant simplifications, against which any community assistance program paled by contrast. “Said individuals,” so An mused, “weighing in against critics of recent content in any way stink themselves into belief of the argent demesne of respect, insofar as their desire to crush dissent is merely demonstrable, they should know that what they are actually defending is not the first amendment,” but this does not belong, yet insofar as niceties of the Ambassador seemed put paid to raison d’être, leading opinion scoffed at her barbed columns.

“In usual dividend–weighing again, these critics of direct content are what a knit, stung in belief they are ardent pretenders of fief search. They mirror, need me, state the desire to cash essential fields, then out assuming prototype hats and thin fees, sway in, do anarchy’s flat glow, or give rival legends invidious the right of dictating their tint of reality to mainstream. Thus misguided scribes hope to vault their own names alongside merely pre–existent parvenus, signatory to that what then are defended as, not first, points, but misguiding interpretation of the fourteenth points that extend, to corporations, legal points hitherto previously reserved for monads. If we come away from this with anything,” Indocile mediated, “communication is product, it is not a speech, and certainly not free (unless you can unscramble your signal). Stop trying to install conformist beliefs on others.”

The listed guildmaster, Mr. Francis X. Middleford, winced with irritation. His imminent dis–incumbency anticipated with premise of a non–heavy heart, Middleford, so like others of his race, now had actually sat up from abed and blinked. The presupposed, and temporarily convenient mantle as friend of environment wrested from him, and now resident under the heading, Orphics (a font which in any degree his most casual, and yet greatest foe resided), perforce Frank jettisoned, imperviously, his borough with a camp neither as pre–fabricated nor as adroit as precipitately hoped.

The departure of the Warwickshire plant concurrently bankrupting his interest in the hairnet industry, with heavy consent, the guildmaster sequestered himself from all but his most biennial sacred solstice blessed beans, who ceaselessly chafed him for his insincerity. Railed upon for having ever accepted public office at all, the guildmaster was reminded that all that his vaunted connections had ever brought upon them was a series of ordinances.

.   .   .

Intent on self–inflicted fiction, the writer walked to the bookseller. Echo, as cyclist, in partial fugue, was trying not to bind a gasket after turning naïve to these native Gascon headlands. The writer had distributed flyers often enough before to know  guilt and shame attached to tacking tacky public posters touting such also–rans as the smoking nuns and I dyed myself. The cyclist was attempting to believe that something would come off. “If it won’t be fiction then it will be non–fiction. A history of the millennium. Searing looks at personal addiction. A scathing indictment of self.” Muttering these titles half aloud, Fernand attached everything to this gesture of disinterested solidarity, yet the cyclist ignored his very personal act and, posting her papers, left.

And suave qui put. Seeing a plot behind every thicket, Fernand went bankrupt. It was no longer as if his opinions mattered, but Fernand reminded himself not to let on any further when Echo’s minions nearly snapped the being out of him in a few crisp commands after, having grown up with siblings who kicked things at him in a series of skirmishes lasting fewer than two decades, Fernand’s soccer skills had developed to the degree that, during a pause for déjeuner on the class field trip to the porcelain factory at Limoges, he had intercepted urchins off the grounds, and booted a clear punt of some seventy yards that was greeted with gasps of admiration, silenced only by the careening of broken crockery within the finishing kiln.

His academic crash, so recently ascendant, plummeted as the resident advisor had written, “what we do not need is a parvenu whose knowledge of the state comes from public television,” and if grudgingly permitted to continue audit of core curriculum, Fernand was straitly removed from his post of English tutor for finth. Thus he found himself, upon decline of his own adolescence, curtly removed from the situation, fallen back upon his own dwindling paeans, and left to resort as a writer to greater methods of justification by devising his own conception of unfun dread. Soon he’d left his job selling cell phones for Alcuin’s operative and watched as the cyclist, her face lined with cares of study, glided to a halt and dismounted before another utility pool.

Menard awaited adjustments to a mittamus indicting any individuals who offered the torrid items culled, and, whereas executive amnesties were sought from other departments, had no intention of similar dispensation within his own, with one rather disinfectant exception, Kalamparumple, who now found himself an inaugurate to a series of dilemmas. Ordered to divest his finds, yet requiring cash for other purposes, Sergei had taken to communicating through his garbage. Whenever neighbors slammed by, he kept being reminded of loss. They tracked in dirt and dust of the city until they became creatures of dirt and dust, the essence of mice. Insofar as his calendar continued filling with plans for upcoming toasts, Sergei at least knew that he could continue. Nevertheless, his proclivities for gain were seemingly ceased. Lounging beyond reach of his vacuum, they taunted him in recesses of his private exhibit.

Accumulations, hoards, lodes, loads, grids, and grains had long led him well to own silos of sorts of contents of that he only knew, but graffiti–keeping armies of painters employed in perpetual whitewash grew greater and greener. Waiting for the light to turn, this writer, as if to purge his heart of the cyclist’s witless disdain for him, resolved to give the post less than an idle glance for all that his might shouted at him to tear it all down. Resuming his trip to the bookseller, Fernand instead broke stride to stare hastily at the latest gloss. Foucaultianisms (q.v): declamations of those requiring immediate place mats in ornate health treatment facilities. Things as they may seem to be. A baton poised over sure of shelf-life named a voice of concerted orchestration. As an example, was one to follow, absorbed or meant in the visibly dull duel expected, at another optic, around the infra–indigo spectrum. Had this mottled champion deigned accept all vox populi [sic], as Kossuth might warrant, in a trade, for the lift, shrinking, of the light density left chance signals from the contretemps of dreams left lest where I noted dare all in yoke, jots more within the daylight rules.

Burned into poster board, four photographs, each depicting four other locales that featured four other utility poles, addressed a quality connection that, given Fernand’s inability to find rest, escaped him a moment. He read on beneath the mesh, “it does not correspond with my sense of values, yet each compartment separately once linked, seemed to extract an extra sense of perception to grievous task. It had not fallen out to me, given as I was recently to communicating through more than my garbage, to remark that I was as finely tuned as ever. Each intake of breath was prelude to mariachi or a sonata. Under this new nightmare, more interesting dreamt when awake, will try sorting the next hand, shadowed from the crinkling edge which rears up as I press further down or along the page and naptime beckons.” Soon to occur, the most recent rule mandated public viewing and taping, at any time, of their most secluded rites, including the Stonehenge circle, and promulgated publication of these annals, free to the most general public, as permissible from now to henceforth thereafter.

“They need not fear that a few complaints will enjoin massive state censorship of their cherished norms of license,” Mr. Ng agreed. “What is your earliest memory of time?” “We thought that the world could be won over and over and over, even if Niobe told us that the world doesn’t care for but only one thing and that is getting over here. Lacking every intinction of reproducing a word I had so diligently constructed while showering, my treacherous hand eye coordinated a cry for help.” The marriage of east and west, union of a universal onion, anon, and scarcely could Indocile even blink before Formosan, lifting tiles, sought locus of an expectorating prospect. From an academia of awakening, yet occidental interests creating the threshold of a new school, the continuity of his present prospectus, leading so promptly to spams of seemingly lasting present fortune, as it seemed, and as he repeatedly reminded his flowers, led him to accept the emotionally conferred title of gatekeeper to the ancient ways.

His organization already addressing ramifications and printing tickets for fresh festival of native communion, a tin man east, set to lift off within the least day of the year as spanned, Harold subsequently saw an expedited tureen he draped, grooving via their charts and trade palimpsests for nether code. The chancellor so minded the search, that an idea of silage, sunken jars or other earthen kiln articles, if fixated within his agenda, soon grew into apparitions of hunched tempests. Was any bay of lack less wanting in burst buckets, whole barrels, crates, shattered, lichened with kelp, banded nets adrift, and forgotten traps settled at this level of ermine ooze one hundred and fifteen meters below?

Even had their robot diving light, capturing 6.023 x 10²³ square pixels per millisecond, not yielded a photo mesh of astounding detail, it made no sense to lug diving tackle around  upon the livelong day that was the tablet no longer grabbed the public eye it displaced, well lit, in the closet of memorandum and forgotten in the race among ruins to obtain furthermore articles which had been unkempt, but after sending Plair ahead, and thus away, with the single scarab, thus yielding for the approximate possession of vehicles whence his dreams had sieved for so long, the finding of his most energetic labor, Sergei, with no longer a claim to his own nerve, stared sadly while the case crashed glass from the pedestal felling the tablet horizontal amidst a rain of shards. Sergei retrieved a call from his tablet. It was Professor Leakey, now curator at Pergamum, responding to sell what was left to the earlier offer if it were in well enough condition. “Very well,” replied one who thought fewer scratches had ever mattered.

.   .   .

Possessed of direction and energy provided by Mr. Horace Tolstoy, as Formosan began to style himself, the most fervent advocates of Orphics’ Trombone Society were at last able to realize their next fond dream, purchase of defunct observatories at Mount Period, from which to thoroughly launch, in greeting to their stellar master, hailing joyful communion. Selected as caretaker, a post that he was assured did not detract from his multifarious other duties and responsibilities, Formosan’s planned immersion into culture far superior to conceivable images described as predicament of any other of his more than successful predecessors, inclining author of poor haiku into the finial steeps. A display of audacity on his part, thought at this time necessary, a priori prefect, found plot in an unprecedented attempt to defrock traditional corridors of dirigisme.

Hence, Formosan’s planned stage–heist of their most venerated artifacts, emblematized from an obsessed refractory of wan looks and pomposity, Middleford, as having defaulted long ago, author of poor haiku, impelled upon existence of unusual openness, felt that great triumph would be his, if he himself could cause the material cue, the item direct, to be mailed instead to offices of the guildmaster, thus raising unquenchable doubts as to Mr. Middleford’s integrity, and thought it best done at once. In fulfillment of this prospect, author of poor haiku signaled execution of the trek bash [sic] theft, attended himself with allies both old and older, booked passage to the Pyrenees, and preceded to the circle of pre–destinated afterclap.

.   .   .