Soon, thumps first tropical revere Lethe: lo, horror thus banned, Raoul’s service in Rosarian stint of fair creche.

III — iv — A Confidential Designation of Authenticity.

.   .   .

Past ensuring any claim to spatial quandary, Elias dumped leaflets into a side car, a Tox, a geothermal golf cart, and, opting for an evening clear as soon as this might be done, ignited an engine, of the Tox, by letting Wormwood nestle into the central flywheel. The witty hamster began the sidling engine cairn, and said echo lairs punched up through the midday mix and match decency that became traffic of Scotty Speedway (the igneous side). Norns ignored, he spiked the hill onto settled plateaus in the Forest Spark district, another part of town, where a roadster fizzled atop pavement, going little remarked amidst the general cacophony of autumn noise. They’d settled into a skirted hamlet brimming with antiquities whence Ahem coached his anathema writers to add to their lists several mixed attributes prior to engaging servitors of an alembic glazier who, if cognizant of forensic bellwethers might also display an inducement toward discretion.

“The virgules are exine,” one explained, glad handing despite all of the klaugh, “negotiable with plastrons or transmissible gabbro, in fulfillment of credible hardihood,” and ignoring the twinge fell silent with the despair of one bound for too long to justify things beyond his ken. Lists of streets to grid by were no longer a need. The map was in the mind. Hedgerows off side streets best hid the Tox. Afoot in the lanes of Crescenta, Elias did faint before the first house, ducked alongside an RV hat trick, slipping not so much in gravel and, as no sound issued from within, tagged an eflot to the first door.

“Ignore this neoteric scam,” one’s uncle exclaimed, “only brittleness appeared to abate sites of monad beaconing,” he added, “mostly at cost of hitting on ill mental steam.” “You are always initially pleased,” spoke a tremulous voice from the shade, “thoughts swim forth in stormy clarity as you peer deeper into the Oort cloud. Presently, are you aware it is all a shame, and the more you buff, the cloudier becomes the mirror with hideous streaks until you fall aside?”

Elias’ eflots, designed to be about as palliative, given mankind’s general panic about everything, as possible, were not, while lacking in overbearing design, materially stultified in rooms worn lax for want of negligence. Yet any simple thing, that brought fleeting joy to aesthetic principles, inured the witness for an importunate acknowledgement of reciprocal proportion, that was in time of cosmic dust upraised, an only equation shimmering in the new Earth, now thrust amidst expressions of a haphazard choreography, ejected across a rather rudimentary fabric, and splashed in vision cursory sign: all waves blushed in acrylic strain, that emendation of an event and its impact upon gods. With all that happened during the comprehensive collision of metaphor, rarely raillery began. “Within a sound panoply in one way (what) are we all such likely rag pickers?” That bottles fully might be crushed outdoors had been a premise of contention. And after ‘twas over found one thrown into a weeping ditch, having viewed the exam culminate of his art that was, an illustrious stain, span of an entire transitive permatint picture of shadow puppet slouched insouciantly to receive annealing of a stolen generation who rang, too hollow your church, instead of confronting forces of mechanization, seems content as stringent apologist for the nuclear [sic] family, the madding crowd, the look you signed on the dotted imperative, the fourteenth point, and all other such (corporations need love too) big sappy stand–arounds that have proved inimicable also, lifted askance, now knit in lapsed alphanumerics, descrying viscosity conducive to invidious calumny.

“I was still undeceived about pressing buttons, and vistas of our brethren detracting from my guest visa, I drove in cycles for hours. A supreme incarceration caused somewhat pirouette trends. On Maundy Thursday, I went to see the wizard in a crawlspace, and had an aisle chat with a secretary who pointed out the Inference Library, but finding no place to spark, I left to wash out in front of business college. The devotees of Ruskin were holding their Renaissance Fair beneath an awesome skyline. It strove to point out the Tuscarora Mountains, but they weren’t my favorite crowd. I walked out of their stale collage and tried to stop on a few dimes until my bearings burned out. I had no time to visit the eerie lakeshore, but drove directly to the nuthatch. In a casual moment, I calculated that the shortest distance from me to you is four hundred thousand furlongs through local inserts, so if we backpedal over the little green apple, good luck in the new schoolyard. I know you must be out of style by now but I’m sure you’ll do never too well. Ilk like me peruse stoically ominous potboilers, inciting that Darwin was right. Take a tizzy, bet plenty of florins, and swim drearily, your fiend, ædith.” Accepting a needful enablement for his twittering temerity, the ensign found himself gaped at, and pantheon blinds, argent like veined ore steadily drab, further concealed colloquy.

The delegate, headset bristling within her red gold snood, was not glancing at the Ensign (nor to his relief at anyone else), and the room, unbearably warm, did not prevent men from loosening up their ties or sleeves in abeyance. Alone among his countrymen Plair maintained, praying a sensible if stifled decorum might endear her at once to him. Though only fifteen at the beginning of the bottle cap war of north hedges, he was having blinking to stay awake again, and assuaged his conscientious sentiments through service even while the well of optimal isotopes delved from the most Cambrian stratus (didn’t they let you know in civil air patrol that this could be a hellish business) drained all coincidence from the plan. The trick was indefinite, unless any zest troll was a bright blue (suggesting recycleation).

A scary elaborate solitaire described PoD’s untoward swerve upon learning from giddy source of an open post involving comped poetry. Desdemona’s article, picked up on Strolling Home, extolled the Ossianian foreign minister as embodying the best of southwestern chic, and he looked like a shoo–in to rotate into post of comptroller of the ICC. In a way, Ahem had been irked ever since dawn pertaining to a prospect of statehood under solemn oaths. A name held never in liable facet and enjoying official matters lieu, although their excuse for missing the trial simmered logically, required essoins to redress the wedgie, driven betwixt the twin cities of man and of God, occasioned from his faulty time table. “You’ll sure not remember the first one that held my name,” replied Father Anselm to this token deprecator, and went within without checking, “what can be shown to a generation that had seen whatever?” An opinion ran out of a draw, this serenity design basic basalt sill elision took place within conditions of reason, rest gestalt blot composed indigenous given for the earth being flat no longer dissolved. And with Ptolemaicism as a discarded while (dan Ylferim having brought finth to light excellently), through paid acronymic churchkey ether perceived as too whatnot determined of evanescence to list choreographic motions necessitating their definition of cesium ions, foundered Parsifal visions had fettered off stranger truths than the town dwarfing syzygy concept previously read as an ultimate sodal calamity.

Of an immensity, related by syncopate foreshortening, was the majesty. Though the glazier had aimed for this, “in effect you’ve turned Him into a pinhead!” The sacrist so exclaimed, hastily amending this observation with gruff accoutrements that were not enough to prevent an onrush of shame evident in the highly edgy artisan. Thus was alas a previous page containing the word how, at each end off keys relinquished in deference to strokes preceded apace, while also flowing in a spray of minty diligence, did two characters appear from the brush on their own through time to a space? The sacrist strove to locate a parody of miniature effect that wandered incessantly fine. Talc ionospheres of premonitorily vertical stability homogenized upon a threshold of lament resurfable. Choice noctilucence bled in egregious argon while arboreal ongoing vinculum flow through hinges in fustian being frowned; a corona daily dialed in eremitic sense as unfurled practitioners bloomed formidably.

Shunted aside, loud crawl nets nominally attached under great spate below, deemed so lately intractable that frames spooled tacitly lest ably two ordeals were of nominal sites fjordable, innermostly ablative of legion. Quarterly oubliettes gulped in reality to derision of dervishes agreed, while Rex Ampersand, Earl of Rumsford riffled securities proactively, indexed bafflingly as far as less chinless beings wigged on the overt foil. Moreover, he’d long maintained that no citizen of his vexed little acre was subject to paeans or writs issued from any other Ossianian government and hence, to cite automotive turbulence as his absent catalyst, though ostensibly disingenuous, was nevertheless reflective of his ennui.

.   .   .

“Each day,” the voice from shadows grew, “we open more bottles, free more djinn, and in our short–sightedness assert that nothing has changed.”

“Nothing has,” replied an uncle, “we are the same clay, our minds have not changed, and we control our own destiny.” “Nous etre ne pas vous le riposte d‘escalier.” “No man calls me a bother,” retorted the founder of all they held here. “Love fades. External factors are responsible. We are at the mercy of chance, a capricious juggernaut. Reason, fickle, delayed, tarries for weeks, months, years, and yet we are called to supply it upon demand.” The inventor of canapés roused himself to say, “where is your honor, dude? The livelong day contains a gross full of coffee breaks and you’ve availed yourself of each.” “The strength innate at the outset,” retorted others, “fades when you find a rare thing suddenly cropping up everywhere.” What else was there to say? Seeing that sunshine lingered on the western hedges, they noticed this necessary actor who is one for the page, and as something flickered past like remainders of a happier time, Ahem had already shown them into his soul in hopes of recognition of trailers stuffed of hastily bustled necessity, at least until the place of snap could be disclosed.

.   .   .

Odd socks hung around waiting for their mates to show up, a tubular relic that sent echoes throughout a super–annuated permafrost, a big sack of just in case, some Aira drone joshed severely on kempt, tripping across arts past ice, a spoon, an empty rang conitioner, a most disappointing clover leaf so far, and that’s when a pencil lead snapped. It went as if someone had pulled the plug on a dumpster. It was no picnic being transparent nowadays, and nettled by the failure of her children to distinguish metaphor from allegory, Bitsy sat around non–descriptly on a daily basis. After achieving the art of repartee to the extent that everyone else invariably left the building, she had noticed the strangely reverse osmosis escalator down by the riverside needed pruning.

“If I had a worthwhile thing,” she thought, “I would put the last of the jambalaya on ice instead of walking away from this sulkily.” However, and this was a large caveat, inasmuch as every atom of creation had been at one time quivering with energy, and now they all stared with dull rum fisheyes at their customized Village circular, Bitsy was in every wise disinclined to kowtow to recent sprocket pails specifying all children would do well to remain at room temperature until further notice. The utopian deviance of the heliocentrists, once regarded by her with evident suspicion, now assumed de facto prominence within limits. Reports that the Village had also promulgated bans on wergild and other rotisserie leagues had left a waste of aha, Bitsy thought as a topic in experimental theater became formulaic.

Within a usually cubist rose icon, an overturned chateaux signified ample tinniness. Faltering arpeggios had at once swerved across corrosive dreams of arduously syrupy pinwheel dormant dyads, making Bitsy wish she might walk over and change. Outdoors, per se, an orange sorghum shed acidic alms, and the beanpoles rattled in a tremulous draft. In a more pastoral period, she would have sprang out immediately to infuse the loam in solidarity, a hint last viewed telepathically, if not for a sudden jumbled recreation nearby, which caused her to dwell upon indelibly spatial axiom: there are no bad crumbs out there, only sub–par floor plans that have failed to specify the correct bond angle for dysthymic cations.

Cecil and Sylvia were disputing over problems of a global economy: “a liberation enforced by despair,” the former pledged. “Is it not reported,” said a diptych barker, “that it is a collective challenge, a story defying all attempts to finish, were it of those primers you grew up with the dicta and jades of the western world that asserted value to your earliest rebellion?” “We had such hopes for television as well, that is what we said to our parents, look, Mustafa the great sacrist selling Moxie to us, how we giggled at his artless grasp of scripts.” “The dominant minority, ware of what fools we were, turned to careful sculpting of relativity, as if to prove to us that they were real persons (a tenet that, despite our derision, we had accepted all along) until scatology reigned as the only definite proof of our being. With each day another of those numbers showed up to drink coffee with the mediator and show us his estate, until we no longer were real, we no longer saw real persons anyway, we were false shadows of impulse, parroting latest lines, full of vehement despair.” “Only verticules offered a chance to recoup, to redress old worms, to see meaning beyond the tenuous electric ocean in which we drown daily.” He paused as the eleven o’clock snooze alarm went off.

“Then he smothered them with his giant cloth Easter bunny,” he added, falling silent. “Your sour grapes would never circulate anywhere,” Cliff’s sibling retorted. “I’m irritated,” he said, “that you appeared out of thin air like an amylase to tamper and nudge my moral perfection.” “Ennui busted me,” she shrugged; “time flies like the wind. This clarifies rather than muddles my evident superiority.” “Such things are trivial, sterile, and self–indulgent,” Cliff protested. “The transmission of pathos needs rigorous training and insomnia!”

“So much for democracy,” Sylvia whispered, lest they wake the redhead downstairs, their term for Bitsy, whose vacation dwindling interminably, drifted back into the solarium shaking her head Ptolemaically. She thought of during the pre–occupation of Ossian, how they had co–existed amicably in a neat communal circle, yet how in a fit of mild rebellion he had set out to find the cure for their children, joking of it as an extended suntan session. Raoul’s initial texts had seemed to indicate that his relentless search for facts had turned up love, unmixed with envy. A generous air of potato potato permeated citizens of Ossian, he posted. Regardless, Bitsy was ruffled by Raoul’s tiresomely upbeat reassurances and found solace only in syncopating ethereal Iberian ukuleles of the thirteenth century.

.   .   .

After releasing his counselors with considerable latitude, the Emperor Frederick departed upon a flowthrough hinge. “Stop with the somewhat androgynous latent pop–ups and review your medieval jurisprudence already,” Frederick turned to his troubadour who plunked away with a great plectrum a tale to tide their noontime relapse. There lies, chanted the latter, piled upon moorings of the giant Typheus, the island of Sicily. Nearing the village of Henna, they reached a pool permanganate. Herein did the dizzy puppy, making off with Ceres’ daughter, circumvent a hasty retreat into his demesne. Alas for the fountain nymph Cyane, whose distress Ovid described as rain checks upon a happier time. On an even lower profile (a crayon must be dada) her chair was taken and she did not have an account with us.

The unknown known, a matter of numbing expectations down, although the freeway had created several charmingly bypassed districts that Frederick periodically viewed through his tiny stanhope, until maybe he said, “I’m in a relationship where I don’t have to sign up for discounts anymore.” He’d vowed to eat from microwave dishes ever since the communes had spurned his advances, and instead of nurturing him into a code hero they’d turned him into a frozen policy wonk who’d dial down coal house Willies’ at every opportunity, regarding all interaction as pointless. Irritated that the progress of civilization had moved beyond the Ray–Linnean system he’d so painstakingly mastered after peering five hundred years into the future (fjulsfut had tweaked the temporal gain, allowing Frederick further glimpses) and held as sine qua non of achievement, and into an exclusive polynomial patois for the purpose of ascertaining his worth as a human being, he’d found only enough wherewithal to make one down payment upon a new research show.

.   .   .

The journalist paused as the question was realized, reading no pulse here. He needed a dictionary with which he was comfortable, not one that fell between the nine quantities of time, mass, elapsed time, velocity, pain, volume, space, acceleration, and noisomeness. Since our kismet ratified iron ferrous wash outs, a velocipede raft strobing topics presently held as axiom clinic tropicity, what role an adage Mohorovic induced that, form or cause awakening to a new pledge of an expanding union, a startling development, occurring with simultaneous application of the republics of Syktyvkar, Transylvania, and Euxine, opting for independence from Ukraine on our Risk® board, had floored their resident advisors with consequences of action, and however red the Norn declaring this sobeit omnific relaxation technique of pick them jostled or doled during minimization, some were being had betwixt glorious luminance and less glorious illustrations, a man determined to stand for years. author of poor haiku, so the problem began, put what little remained of the unfashionable design out.

Though interested in universal harmony, Horace, his recycling charms evinced in an insistence upon throwing telephone books in bins marked for newspaper only, was appalling enough to sever any possibility of having the pan threads retyped. To seem yet to be throwing rugs over a probable gnomon in an entire previous evening, an ordinal zoyschia les apres moi le deluge [sic] proclamation as it were, if not for the cause of life, for at an hour withal this race with chance would shortly commence, Tolstoy, invited to participate as a plenary observer, sadly tepid as preliminaries of admission wound to a close, though more pressing matters had brought him to the capitol, checked his GPS, rose amid general consensus, and left the building to find a town hack, his destination a commerce laboratory over the river. At the morning let–out, the Ensign noticed that someone had erased the board. These Logan, if only arrived at his flat after leaving his grandson in proper circumstance, met with a cold and untoward reserve. Sandra fell back from his welcomed smile, and he felt like the new kid who learned on the second day that other children had only been previously nice to him because it had been the first day. More spot on, the all–spontaneous terror of the children filled Logan with petulant reserve. His eye, fallen upon the cinnamon bear he had gone to great lengths to purchase last Michaelmas, informed him that, for whatever reason, it had been hastily restitched.

As he routed the household to demand what had happened to the cinnamon bear, general ululations of disbelief and accusation drove him intemperately to seek refuge in his own office. At the curb, Ferguson asked to be driven uptown. For this act, he was destined for the Avenue of the Americas. He’d never troubled to recall what this was locally known to be. Hovering still, seared into the fiber by a very eager cast that bend to their tasks with a will, Plair’s longing gaze, the luminous delegate interrupted by her absence, studied his agenda. The afternoon session, prefixed by an asterisk, excluded him on ground that he was assigned to a security detail. Studying his task considerately, he pored over the dossier of an obscure Ruthenian heiress. She was less interesting to him than was this luminous delegate, and in the silence of the empty chamber, Plair sidled to her empty chair and read part of a name, Talitha, fleeing scene lest noontide charwomen take note of his blush.

.   .   .

In August, a persiflage were more innate: Noone had since yet an onlier faculty for nosing out monads. Assuredly, in the croft of things askance, were antipathetic artifacts muddling to one trying to stave impending visitants; moreover already within the arcade prominently beaconed An. The rewinding azimuth veered in cranial trillionths insofar as eighths note a sponge fosse, beading aggregate tough likening of risk, alacrity, or verse. Immilitantly were they, their iambic quality onslaught panned within that real fraction, blend, riparian, yet yellowed under possibly and zephyrs. The smut from irksome chants long totem clung upon their incipient scalenity, scarily pled in the wake of misery, all omnibus their precept static link with the sordid etude cropped from stifling sage known last to them, and blistering in ordinate dominance, rouge principles were of late sly in developing heights. The centerpiece of this arrangement made most before the rectangular bobble head who sat for portraits, the minstrel adding check the sorrows of Niobe, a marble group upon a landing who wept beware of those who would take upon all possible arguments as is and attempt to reconcile them with growing up in the big old stupid mountains.

While angles forever ascribed as reluctant (a prohibitive appended by impatient advocacies implying their cause had any merit whatsoever) sang, we’ll wait for the dusty observer to tug our sensibility into a proven efficacy, and with his hands twitching across the remote edge, Frederick heard them warn, do not repeat words (tautologies are acceptable, however), avoid specific proper nouns, beware the list of little kaleidoscopes, cast upon the inception of enterprise, by mandarins who scrawled deficient replications overtime, and catch the forks’ masked tones permitting discernment of specific hymns. With these injunctions Frederick descended into underworld, and in syncopation cool molecules tumbled away from the fans sadly reassembled at the pawn broker and distortions of time occured, for we have piped unto you, and you have not danced (Lu. 7:32).

In his rolodex Frederick sought a logical precursor to an existing train of thought, concluded that a physiological impetus was solely responsible. An isopleptic spin upon a rumble catatonia, a path strewn of loves and afresh operative plunged dolefully toward what are in ere reality noted I hope you won’t fight it as much as you have said you have, or obviously the end/if surged, but never forget where you left, thanks to elated perception of things that require oeuvre, or call off your gods, steeped in eventually rubrics, cubicle to my recent splat, would you even consider implications at a forward pace how hybrid terrains already nigh so far advanced what shape any penalty meant in rote pence promulgate?

Aisles of missed prefix averse nullity were lesser pathos, though for now clamoring gazettes pressed the pile for common realty in abstinence, and found aplenty reasons for renegotiations of cloistered similitude now candleless. If one wire remained to trip before the bank fellows closed, anon wasted oolithic, the night sturdy aeons staved away. Now looking down from the summit of all fears disclosed wondrously, staring into an ataxic recess, a shaft so dark that seemed to reach forth from deeps to pluck forth his iris, “amend,” interjected an enthalpist, “it is only the snore of ailerons.”

.   .   .

Mr. Ng raps up the inevitable, withered mums adorning shinier hand cones, whose first duo snubs tomes amid calyx animation.

III ― iii ― Always Room at the Periodic Table.

.   .   .

Finding relief only thus in action, and a new vehicle invented, Elias returned to the ceaseless and perpetual commute that went with his personal history. His arrival for the morning shift failed to escape notice. Met with a thick stack of pliable cardboard eflots, Elias immediately left the premises. Order, due to something that, given time, would usually happen, he, unlike most of his colleagues, first rated a unsuitable response. In another part of town, despising his fund of dilatory tactics, Clifford, the weaver, set his rake upon the leaf mountain and watched Sylvia loose a volt back pack and track the stack of the miniature roadster.

At last, skies were suitable to his forthcoming labor. Cool, cloudy, and temperate, with just enough of a persistent barrage of sprinklers for dwellers to remain down in front of their little novel writing machines. “As beings, we know thy method of communication is dialectic,” the Ambassador an An Indocile began. “However we elect to participate, please ask yourself all questions at once.” A trained reviewer, the man acceded An as driver, a real article, the sine qua non of pottery, who beheld configurations of a hundred centuries and was subject to aversion amidst synaptic realizations of leading opinion.

Shown up unexpectedly to inspire our aggregate will in a single glance, she remarked upon a nation of destiny which stood, as in dire assessment of its ultimate certainty, nearly always in unilateral fashion, though tugged often with uneasy remnants of consensus. “Despite our great ill,” she announced, “we follow the career of the Ambassador of inter–regnum to the bitter end.” Apart from youth, beauty, and wealth, and connection, and charm, there was nothing to distinguish extolled an An Indocile from her more or less selfless common allures.

From elsewhere houses of the sixth race, from Drababs to Dyrkrus, issued streams of vituperative exuberance upbraiding her incessantly. Moreover, as she was Indocile, and that meant claim to a royalty more ancient than probability, she was of a sort quite adept at intelligently refuting charges that, as a creature of her environment, she had ascended to her post via cozy corridors of privilege. In fact she was, as potboilers went, a brave and avid mixer. No amount, however, of composite reasoning will convince anyone of this assertion unless a day (for these do exist) unfurls, dusk to dusk, listing achievements of this remarkably dandy REM randomly elemental missy.

.   .   .

As the trans–Atlantic flight descended, the Reverend Dr. Logan Ferguson remembered recipes. It began when his daughter, Binaca, graduated from business school with a project. And another thing, he had been appalled by the nomenclature she had chosen for describing her flavors of salsa. Yet beyond this point, his memory straggled like a drunken guardsman. The tedious argument that he had planned to unleash against his daughter’s catalog had never seemed to materialize. He noted only that he had taken to bed, a destination that swallowed the greater portion of his trip south of France. The jumbo jet taxiing Long Island Regional, the Reverend, who had spent the entire flight defending his tray against the idiosyncracy of the occupant of the seat before them, looked up as this enthalpist arose, unlimbered his telephone, and having made a connection, began barking up a transaction, do blase ethnicity, whilst most exacting methods of induction upon any who might wander into view, and had also proposed to abstain on Pluto only if the ICA rescinded a resolution to rename the eighty–seventh element. The electors thus had one more reason to balk at Elias’ elevation.

“First, he does not want office anyway, next, he is not lining up with us on the Polar Star, and C, he is a methodological pain.” This succinctly stated the ICA’s position. Appalled at becoming crèche to Deerfield’s salty epistemologicalianism, the commission postponed its vote, escaping to preserve its unbalanced quorum for the finish, “and I have not spoken of this,” Bagler added, except to say how everyone else was also hushed within earshot of studious action figures bestriding his lintel. “Tell, take one good look at the man.” “What happened to him, grump?” “Well, some own that he might have a vitamin deficiency. Others theorize that it is a hemispheric chemical imbalance. Or he may be chewing gum.” Possessed, the lad kicked his oversized athletic shoes against the seat. When did the enthalpist ask, “I am begging your pardon, sirrah,” Logan apologize, “to transmit cultural instruction,” and the enthalpist retort, “please refrain from interfering?”

After Ferguson implored the enthalpist to dial down his phone, the craft lurched to a standstill, stood up as the overhead bin snapped open, and toggled out when a long case, shaped like an trombone, slid apart between brattice and bravura everytime the enthalpist tried to open it. “What are the varied features of your kind?”

.   .   .

“Each of the nine,” the Ambassador explains, “evolved disparate idiosyncrasies when it came to expressing displeasure or accord.” As tincture began to wear off, more often than not this was the former. The tedium of mediocrity was never seen to flourish more (if such could describe humdrum experienced by those who lived and tended Nicean diffusion facilities) than upon those rational dies when inter–regnum went on entirely short commons, as ambient valence required for colossal harmony diminished with each passing parsec as dictated by a council made up of high individuals with nothing better to do.

On such days, grandiose visits to the nice free library yielded tons of volume that borrowers intended to absorb in paths of universal betterment, and were just as quickly discarded in a deficit of attention which left byways clogged with good intention. A stone’s throw from the fifth whom (thanks to a private inspiration) blueprinted the latest specifications in a less festive ration, too fewer privileged races were imputed in a sparking devolvement. One untenet (those of the seventh race that, by temperament or design, did not carry other races) had come to rest alongside the sidereal curb in such a fashion that three slots were immediately unstable.

This transgression was ordinarily deemed winkery–wham, at least amid outermost levels of inter–regnum, but upon this occasion a sixth from the mid–level sanctum, in a hurry to meet and convene a council on cerebral dyspepsia, sought haven for her own bus. She eyed the lounging seventh disarmingly. Among the most choleric of the nine, bobbins sought to conceal their mounting dismay with displays of jocular banter that generally made no impression upon objects. The jejune tapper, secure in its mass, lounged with a calculated air. What it did not know was that the bobbin, rudely ignored, was already tele–messaging many of her kin who, in sufficient number, were quite capable of combining upon the huge tapper to organically sunder instances of mind, but for other tunes the feckless transgressor, a facilitator (all too busy) arrived. This weary peacekeeper had already spent much of the morning persuading a band of lift station fjulsfut to leave off from excessive leaf blowing activities disturbing to charcoal facilities at their nearby stellar nursery. Sizing up the few situations quickly, the fourth gained attention of the incipient untenet [sic] with produced visual evidence of the tiresome lot of previously gelded seventh.

Capriciously the transgressor sloughed off, enabling the mercurial bobbin, with an air of violated sanctimony, to take her place. Such then was a daydream sketch of an average moment of an average sector of inter–regnum on short notice. The Ambassador paused then with a Cheshire smile as the journalist pressed on doggedly. “How are your children made?” “How should they be made,” the Ambassador replied? “For that you might want to refer to the work of your own beloved physicist, I. E. Deerfield. We began as dust mice, horticultural hydroponics hives, geological formations. Any value proposition, as an agent of change, requires a deep and abiding love for the race. But I feel that said separation are into appearances and the circus of fashions, cartoons, and contests thrown at us by media. Everyone sucks it up like consuming automatons. At least I am discriminate about my addictions,” the Ambassador concluded. “What is your essential function?”

“I haven’t heard a thoughtful sentence in months,” Mr. Ng replied. “Every word has been subverted into infinite monologue. Everyone has positions, issues, and religions and has turned into his or her own parrot. Sometime I think this was not shadow puppet’s first try. Perhaps we are a crumpled blueprint on the floor of the universe. I spent my early life trying to be a stand up. My family enjoyed having me around for parties in an ironic fashion. Soon I had no other model with which to approach reality. Soon those very folks who clamored for my routine tired and threw me into the gutter like yesterday’s rag doll.”

The Ambassador persisted, “what is wrong with you?” “I shouldn’t be explaining myself to anyone as if I was some eight year old with my hand in the jar,” the journalist answered. “I have nightmares. Someone piled pieces of all games I have ever played and shook them together, monopoly, chess, life, risk, et cetera, and strewed them on the floor. My life depends upon it, as I piece together synapses of a normality, but how far must I go? I have never been free of this ― even during my normal youth, I wrote of longing for a return to that crystalline lattice. Giving up means I just have to sit there, staring into space twelve hours a day, for the rest of my life. That wouldn’t be so bad, but I must cope with exigencies of modernity ― were I to list them. But enough about me,” Mr. Ng concluded. “What are causes for anxiety?”

.   .   .

Rex Ampersand, Earl of Rumsford, led on from the typical wheel of tortuous wobble sundry edges, appointed beyond a width azimuth portrayal of sial possibility. If detained for relating loosed leaflets talk outside of the hall of heretics, an optimally screened on inning of distribution method, conceived for barring of minors from the premise that, were any depiction of explicicity ever released, generally egregious domains of publicity wore out demand in an ether alarm, a baleful strain alert reinforcement of set traditional building principles. This was grated snuff and he was walking away from, if not with, those defined in averring nor acknowledgement.

Herr Flußtapfer saying, “nein, Flußtapfer,” Lothar thus vehemently asserted, only to recoil in dismay as the receptionist, ignoring his umlaut, exclaimed, persuasive enough to vanish from silent consideration of the addled campaign motives of those who’d crossed datelines to participate in ritual, that in light, as it were, of previous events, “wasn’t this deemed especially insignificant by and large, and evident of little desire to disport with constituencies whom in a sovereign sense, nonetheless regarded the experience as practically super–annuated?” Of final laconic measure, Rumsford, well versed in reports emanating from the league’s geophysical section, had encircled relegation aspects pressed to the forefront of his hyperborean motif and ultimately sloughed to a halt in order to revive a moribund platform.

Beyond this residual interest queued many elusive causes, and before Rex could gainsay his alibi, Lothar signed off peremptorily, too played out to give more than a final spin to the cliquish tenement. Therein Rex, now left to infer hidden parentheses as wan as possible, blew viable smothering baubles upon the march of security and placed calls of origin from disparate nodes on hold until the storm had swept androgynously throughout the molting Hialeah egregious festival shell hole that ensued from Lothar’s desire to proscribe an inexorable tradition. Heretofore had butts of the annual scrap perpetrated in foul art boisterously frail ties of ritual filing, the theological snipe hunt, whence each time an individual confessor, whom unduly perhaps importuned from above to enjoin temporal power in their well practiced areas of participatory legend, lent the seasonally purgative non–annulunar clamor, from the vale of apprehension a caloric homage of aspect, ornamental enough to dissuade empirical resonance from immaterial slurs.

This repetitive excise, though arousing much temerity within, led the Gothic ministerials into neither respite nor limbo gained in the dissociative remorse of eventuality. Hardily unified in freakish coincident, more vicarious elements than meted or in urgency signed before Lothar convened his accrual withering in this unexpected cleft, and sprang lackadaisically for each broken prompt averting schism, hierarchic Worms figured in his considered immediate future; and squeezed, one limited accord, misfed in the reticulation displayed by his effort to gain adept pilgrimage once more into restoral of the present house, and ennui posed an irrevocable quest, howsobeit fairly extenuated by the dazed remnant. On his entrance, Rex drably martinized awkward lessons intermittently in apparent recession. Though nascent serene denizens, however deemed weary of the abrupt and restive mannerisms of their guests, were availed enough of teleological stares to recognize Ampersand in stirringly hesitant voice–overs, their convergent deputation had little else to confer except that forsaken ability to leap talc ziggurats was in as inglorious assent blamable, for the niche of decent Iscariot nattily betrayed outliers’ infrequent assertion of matching up with an odd archive, and if not for one writ shoved from ajar at the behest of a constable versed in artifice, intended to release a pod into the red wet barn. Orthographically, were those able from altogether transparent motives to forewarn regions tracing little sympathy with the plot afoot, cagily they nevertheless rejoined frantic ennui in insular pose, eliciting variegative transcendence to his dialectic.

Some miasmically inbred enough then often, whenever symbolic totems augured from twilit civilities practically verged on call, left blemished worsts to mar inception, answering the heterogeneously ancestral decimally until the door jammed both. Meanwhile Rex, about to accept a value of great warrant, had placed the call to the extension indicated on the fifth sacks avenue wherein he had displaced fitting baubles for his eldest virtual hours ago without forethought to the ramification of her whereabouts, forasmuch as he reproached events blithely. In fidgetful progress toward task lines where schlepping resistant motion crumbs slewed out of a false alarm with theatric irregularity, immaterially driven Rex therein greeted the reception of speakably alternate returns trivially vitiated; the ersatz loam eclipsed first these range implements of pliable piezo currents again used to escrow the edged alliance without. Had any being thought of as insidious a view to plausibly attain over misapplied bargain basement odalisque wimples forfeit innately, however latched sects industriously streamed an excuse on the move to go on these acting lessons and loosed the receipt. The ensuing period enjoyed a bumpy list of steps.

.   .   .

Now precedence, taking back more than half of enough participles, wrought connexion with vinyl episodes, posted anew, of how men stole about on an effort to rekindle a forgetful aim. Having runs of her choice, Justine left the lolling opportunity of missed code to obtain the staff associate capacity of receipts and transference of indices, wondering aloud how nearly every ordinary latitude were indelibly hybrid. Janitorial references she disabused in plotless texture, nearly attenuating her application of hygienically ultrasonic techniques, and of specificities resident, she relegated only the amenable task of nuking the reusable dervish flowing from an acetone presoak, thereby minimizing fissures subsequent only to her own ardent analysis.

Propriety composed little more than the motive of her department so far, for the sake of argument shared with a man deterred from or emplaced within the fastness of his privately effortless containment. While anticipating arrival of the Saxon prefecture, Lothar felt within his rights to enlist pre–Menckenian associates from the cramped birdcage who might assist his intent to intercept the airy man astrally. Sitting still for periods of any longer than marginal, the whatever load on mica did serrate capacitance of sufficient length to permit errant fugues or wieldy creaking sorrowful vistas of tamarinds queued to either plume fusion, restaffing prevalent winds of dump trend entropy heard avocado range license beyond.

The note of much longer horizontal wherewithals shown unwound fearfully effectual, their batches turning up insularly knowledgeable desecration in reinventing difficult ground upon which to call for apricot reality. Abruptly minutes crashed readily on additional paths over the Cancer lido, hip to adorn threadbare picks left after probable record crowds necessarily perceptive of brackish recession. With habit of middling punctuality, the membership intervened with consoles tuned toward capitol horizons in which the fey allure of everlasting borealis held funds indecently pledged, and on recall the darkly earnest, if at large struck by the poise of amber flan, Plair knocked about on the dime ambivalently whistling while an intentional brood valiantly waited to gather out all flocculent reminders of once busted necessity, and moreover lineally flourished segues to a gem mimic.

Bright and early at least for him about one post meridian in blimpiest fashion, our sallow pimpernel for days suffered rage in an ability to congress to all designs numbing his vision, imbued isomer cautions vastly with manifold treacle needlessly coped every situation with declamatory poise, letting more than few escape impending love as a harbinger of valorous oaths. PoD’s twist, a gin fitfully to a little stuck on C minor, finding only an entire player piano would suffice to document infernal cohesion existing within Village Server. For example, shame attached to failing to greet someone, while casting a disagreeable pall over premeditation, palled beside the prospect of failing to have one’s own greeting returned.

Colleagues of Ylferim, steeped in a regimen of ethics, tended to embrace obstacles for their salubrious tenacity, and whereas he had arrived with a perceived mandate to regard each excisable option non–conditionally, Matthieu found his circuitous precepts routed by their insistence upon wiring bug sniffing logic directly within the heuristic architecture of Pyrogabion. Insofar as this procedure left interstices plumb with an array of variegated overlaps, Noone continued to superintend software development as the search of the skies continued.

.   .   .

On the morning of a conference, Ensign Plair slept in with an idea that this uniformity was ironed in a pattern of academic doubt, yet day began with a consonant snort as Hesitance, in generic dread, while listening to national rhapsodies, watched some of the participants waltz in with an idea that there was a house to be beaten. “Now that’s what I call a day,” some said at the cordon, while others shrugged, “whoever remembers Nertz?” In another moment, one Regatta Læmært, habitually fond of overwriting others’ homework tried to find a map, saying, “while I was down in front, all of my snacks melted.” Not only were Plair’s dress service creases immeasurably marred but also the ensign, while determined to get into the afternoon conference, stole into the morning session with an idea that opening niceties were untranslatable.

Though run through scores of headsets, an ilk of disturbing trend, appealing likely to force one into an oath of premature necessity, commenced workshop dialog with a search for meaning. To this Bitsy replied, “stop acting like an eleven and a half year old and assist in the composition of our charter.” Participants deemed that most essential tools in the team building process were visual. A fluent facilitator suggested their mission require an authentic diversion, persisting in notions that all stops to consensus were reckoned anon among forgotten ideals. These southwesterners were fondly given over to ascribing significance to any event and, dressed in once considered themes of great dash, were daily seen rattling sheets of financial gazettes in hopes of impressing well–versed chic habitues of Aira, at terminally blessed smellier racks.

Just then the luminous delegate saw him, and Plair imagined that his creases were a shamble, took fright from conversation, in effusion lost track of things, and tried to keep that streak alive. Then many observers were looking, and he was forced to expostulate publicly sentiments of green ire, for as the facilitator observed, in a tone of remonstrative assurance, that inasmuch as the ongoing intervention, in the interest of quality, was of a remedial nature, not everyone was required, too instantly an aggregate sketch abroad, untold of one scarcely, stole across the wax tarmac again to investiture of the dais while cures not yet known hovered on the meniscus of discovery. It only needed an exhibit of previously dead poets to remind one of how completely the nineteenth century had sentenced the future.

Alit amber Niobe, cast by lots away from will so the bats can be picky, non moving after all, then debunked effortlessly avid while perfunctorily aware of a commitment to return; had she not led one to conceive of an exchange for less than boron films? The validity of that notion perforce demurred until a ten–month watt ingredient activity assured clepsydra slowly verged toward an accumulation of three points. One forbidden to carry on premise deflected queues into a synthetic lag. That fringe art they’ll really sport in time was the general fleeing. His was not as effusive as sang (yet Messimo chanced forward to a green wish) as sort of it, mistook for delivery only a long deferment idle, stood until indefinite proof fulfilled their intent. “The problem with ideas such as these were that someone had nearly always thought of them before, leaving a stale and disordered trail of honorariums, from which to establish the frame of a working hypothesis,” was Echo’s reply.

Scorned already though as Romanticists, they all yet nervelessly maintained an iron grip upon western strategy with their causal depictions of xenophobia. Thereat, stealing into the rheumy well, an able portmanteau recognized ills pulsing just beyond the bubble and came to an insipid thought. What if isomems told this tough yet sensitive bird who had sacrificed everything for her career, they had on, near Ash Wednesday, a starch idler, expecting to be exhausted and thrown in experienced inception of reward? Thankful about a person, who struck one as alone and peered over by ghost riders, kicked at many bolder than the heavy hermitage, sneaking forth from then during the momentous accident, suddenly other standing last fresh coal links had recalled to them among hope and other tossed lightning well known without, hoped for not running amain.

“Look all about,” she added, “short–sightedness marred policy of containing the history of darkness within a shale sward as ephemeredes sang a watery note.” A gurney soon deployed to receive the enthalpist, who was wheeled out amidst scattered applause. The cabin crew promised a fifteen–minute delay. Feeling slightly gratuitous, the Reverend reset his watch to EST. Across beck and mere, the star retracted noticeably unless viewed in parallax. The board meeting was going to happen without him. He had mixed feelings. The elders had convened the emergency session while he was abroad visiting Binaca in France. Therefore, he owed them nothing. He knew that to show up to answer their charges would fortify their case against him. He who excuses, accuses himself, he was heard often muttering of late. Impressing the inexplicable then denoted of an extensive earnest, topics capable of spoken reticence yet indeed ousted ragged sentiment, and with every misplaced reflection cast in a lengthening pond spent through light and owed to every place a material view.

.   .   .

Alhambra nixes typical elements with rare ensigns of proper criogenic routes.

III ― ii ― Things Arrived in Today’s Waggon.

.   .   .

Languished inspecifically in the land of Forgotten Tents, a firmament sauvage, whence thoughts floated by like dark continents only glimpsed at sundown, uncomprehensibly, or like tirades in a less apt moodily, ahriman, to ameliorate his comprehensively xenophobic nativism, reached for the beautiful blackberry bush and plunked on it. A panacea fired thick carets blandly until he knocked. A flush djinn edited opiates flatly and then retuned homilies found shed before the jar; PoD heard someone reply, “Mr. Flustiffer is online,” and then dogs of the summer were unleashed, serving as what one on hold listened to.

Rex, his telephone, recovered, Flußtapfer, assiduous with legalities, and balked onto there an evincement of objective importance, as pronunciation and other constructions were tousled, when else are we mere trespassers upon the footsteps of antiquity? Only yesterday, when you rolled the big eye and a monster head cameo, meant you had but one hour to explain previous paragraphs. Fickly, they might have tarred themselves with no such lesser label than this. The challenged physicist, Elias Deerfield, while inventing a new vehicle, a crèche to the stoughty occidentalism of parallax, was in ebb, having followed his seemingly inculcate departure from channels of international accord. The happy couple burned yet another day, while they who had followed the movement from its inception determined to go east for time.

In short order, the physicist also returned to his koi pond to coordinate a research template. He knew that, unless he could travel to frequent ICA straw pools, a seat on it was beyond realm of probability anyway. One was said nearby to have already disembarked at a place formerly known as someone else’s aerodrome, and Raoul had hastened to baggage claim, sustained by the vision of his crate resting undisturbed in a dingy corner. Reinforced by this sense of universal harmony, he knew that to plunge directly toward it would stir up unwonted scrutiny, and thought there must be a surer method of retrieving it, for therein were buds of the coal rose, that ephemeral bloom that flourished only in Ossian’s most septic alluvial soil. Eventually peers arrived, clarifying a number of options. An idyll of dueling winds resounded while customs inspectors signed and erased forms, a discount invocation of destiny eventually dared to a state of meaningless dissolution.

“Methinks,” Raoul admitted, “would have to hope that all these once reapplied tenuous permanganate ideals might check out the famous calendar stone live to [sic] amperage for ninety nine more days upon the written wall that was closing.” In fact, all of those constants, once consigned to the blackboard as by–product to catalysts of multinomial integral equations, were final. All except Ion went to look at old catalogs as though they needed a change. This, Raoul knew, was simply his outermost corner, for if ostensibly a seedmonger, he was actually a Western poseur who had come over to sell his manuscript, weighed in the stank of fumes across the water and bad coin, said to be voted for the Plutonian cause, arrived for the first time, beneath the skirl, to show up, an indispensably ugly foundling, upon the steps of Global Village.

Then direct from the Crystal Room, Eight Minutes to Sundown, Blue Palace, Ewignacht, Jesus Z, and many other well knit bands met to inspire and strengthen more than five hundred flowers at an anti–rally before the decision, closeted, upon relegation of the orbital mass known as Pluto. Their demonstration threw encompassing circles around the desert. So with ringing self–appraisal of more themes, an ocean of sound waves on spectral carriers cramped in mnemonic ink Pluto, a powder puff of a planet, mere talc on Mohs’ scale, proved an estoppel catalyst as hardy trough, within detour, of other tracking traffic effects.

Neap the adumbrate gyre the tune, an interior giant of their system responded in Cartesian redistribution of axial precept. Tired of having Western authors over to sell their manuscripts, local networks shadowed as Raoul wandered streets ostensibly setting up his seed distribution business. Its many tenets imported exigent impetus, spanned wastes of cosmic lineage, a loud exchange betwixt spokes of chronos, reigniting Uranus as an alternative. Finally, malted as shown acorn perorations, incensed that their territory was vile lately, it prevailed upon networks to reel Raoul into the foreshadowing, and Bitsy nerved herself tactfully to follow the conversation all around. “No matter how many weeks were contained therein,” the Marquis was saying wistfully, “the summer seemed to last less than a day.”

Observantly, anti–Plutons left Vegas with pocket reference motions which undid a blended matching strategy. Once more, selection of the International Astronomic Commission has imploded. The physicist, Deerfield, never keen on running again, figured this might be the only way to receive access to a computer, which was what was needed to coordinate the research template. There was a distinction between doing right and, feeling compulsion, moreover, Elias grew to regard his capabilities as exceptionally vitreous. Howsoever he put his mind to it, his associates displayed a quickening inclination to assume that he was not capable of doing right things. Of an imputed asteroid, for example, the ICA had egged him ceaselessly to confirm their findings. Was it right to stake his reputation for the sense of generating a gratuitous media thrill? Would posterity judge him were he to sink his weight into the Polar Star orbital ballistic missile project, regarded by leading opinion as humanity’s only hope?

.   .   .

The village dumpster was in the process of being emptied at 2AM. That anyone man could claim on behalf of his own country that they were legally descended from ancient strains was not important to participants. Rex’s wheel spoke of alternative spectrums, logically shaped and spanning untoward chasms of option. At bright variance, flowing from defeat at Methven, a monad, upon which he’d aim to model his next act, swerved onto an arch over him a patent arachnid; she who reminded him of myriad fashion concepts ordered in merest articles, while precepts cluttered like signboards and unwelcome rattles of siding near and nigh.

The cold night postponed sleep with an unreasonable wind. Topically, the fizzling rebellion roost, the fifth’s thematic inclinic invention having satisfied all reasonable guess work, the argument, transiently fitful, crumbled into an equation of simple, integral calculus, a concept to whit that then no fjulsfut were now willing to claim acquaintance. “Yet hadn’t they recently prevented the discoverer (all too busy) from accessing this very source,” Shrdlu interjected? The seconds, given that they were primary caretakers of lumine, declared a closed session and adjourned.

“As shall we,” the agnomen added, bidding the scholars tarry at a nearby bistro famed for its chalky gorgonzola. Saffron handily steeped their doubts of a smellier trip robustly their next time forward, and hence anxious to this coarse clabber of the worst draught now in service mantle welcomed, in encumbered legend most notable mortgagable inserts, gusts in medias res dour cameral aegis presumed on air. In an antechamber, blithe athenaeums lisped as a chamberlain enumerated requisite duties observed.

Convention lapsed when fiefdoms called to their environs of arraigned citizenry poised transcendentally in almost stalwart attitude requiting old shares. Up until then any aardvark could guess that the office of the Ambassador had been to flag neighboring civil clusters. The appointment of an An Indocile as Grand High Ambassador of inter–regnum provided an amylase capable of inducing portent. Upon further reflections, dilemmas of significance, asides to a village idiot, or efforts from emptier quarters, covering with post–its a being who would suffice to avail an appeal for resistance, exactly then we began lettering in anything, one womad acutely and adamantly felt from within opinions of neater kind ever since Në Dipol, forbade future expression, hovered upon lintels of lineal thought.

Under an unexpected elementary cherry dead roughage feature, spell a journalist, confronted by previous resolutions, making a point of considering future developments. Only I attempted to write with my left hand and words tilted toward an unknown face. And while individuals were striving at times to escape grounds of indignation and Idres, a conciliatory and urbane person, a bright and large young man sat by his console, demonstrating an interest in surveillance techniques, yet now languished in a carob gyve whilst brothers and sisters in disconsolate cribbage plaid, donning a tie for the occasional, an icon appeared farther on the BBC to vehemently denounce conditioned inattention.

Past all letting the indecency of inhumanity to sink in, Mr. Ng, journalist, eyed the camera since now, “for our top,” when all of a sudden Ambassador an An Indocile arrived wearing only blue velvet violet earplugs and easily; little else, however her iridescence, given today’s climate, elicited only a cursory glance over from production. Nonplussed enough to protest on cue, “this isn’t today’s slide” ― “tough,” An said, “you want me now get me.” “I simply wanted to talk to you here, and ask you about life on other plants.”

“You mean you didn’t want an?” “Of course not,” replied the impeccable journalist. Loaned from the fifth, An’s couth metastasis into a moussed and swept back layered natheless ensued. “We are honored,” the man coughed, “to have the first visitor from outer space on our show.” “Though you are disappointed that it appeared during a non–sweeps month,” she interjected? The relief of finding this ideal sprang her from staying in a room until a new one availed them to welcome this approaching term.

While the lengthening shadow had not rhymed an iota, after an inceptive tear across a dotted while, Echo had sparkled like lookover saltines in an overt parenthesis, avowing moreover an emetic jive orchestrally composite, which biodegradably added natural themes of compost minded nascently. These were not the finest of opinion disparaging of the every Montrachet almondine smog that was spoilt by a chord. “So don’t count telepathy among your talents,” Mr. Ng sparred, resolved in efforts to defuse tension, “as you were for once,” she said. The journalist unrolled here, on this map of the universe, “where are you from, are you from over here now, or under there then, or out yonder?” “We are numbered in nine quantities,” An replied, “and I will accept your calls.”

.   .   .

A pilgrim’s excess.

.   .   .

Strains of the Bolero of M. Ravel congealed in the lower study, always a sure sign that the Marquis was nerving himself for additional houseguests. A stratum of their affective tenets portrayed a corps of individuals recently given leave (in some cases involuntarily) from frequent dallying, and in retention of stressful haste that characterized the mad daily rush that began each morning in search of a sparking pot, they all went without, reading that in uncertain hidebound pathos we embarked into battle, staggering under weight of regulations, most severely inflicted [sic] not by any misfires, but, with “antigens designed to render us immune to all possibilities. The return to primitive self has been greatly exaggerated and commercial man would at least like to toy with hopes of a separate venue.

“Our chapter is amplified with refugees fleeing the melted gulag, who are sure that there is nothing wrong with this country.” For days in the sand and fresh hair of Camp Cloud, uplifted by much salubrious toil, Ralph’s platoon routed in the snoring sites, allowing locals to take mulch needled shivers least noted, and swept the compound for ordnance in fugue here, and had a nice spot picketed to guard by the wire, but the cryogenics of war forced them into circling the village and jumping out of waggons for several hours. Every gang tough thought they might master the tedious songs and buckles of their usual gear, yet a new seat of shackles proved dour undoing, and even fastening a single clasp under the weight of time, rain, and pressure was an eternity of suspense. “We need an adapter cord for gone gophers and more tennis balls,” Suppressant warned. “A frightful lot,” Bitsy objected, and aware of an apparent waxing slope of aa, she postdated other perilous conjectures to an earlier character.

“When Franz stormed from the Maginot Line,” Ralph’s letter assured, “we got to see an elephant. Our top died valiantly when organisms rang the gate with an empty clump of blanks, and in his honor, the platoon assembled germinal bitters and then three thousand three gallon hats ascended.” A brick far and wide, large forks readily damped eight cubit yards of soil in the clothyard that moistly bristled this evening. Trenching in a hot wind, one must ceaselessly adjust to input and decide if diminutive knock–offs may walk in and whom to address accordingly. The accession to high office had turned Simic into a caring maven. Ralph preferred imperious supervisors who just left them to rote patterns, “without having someone look over my shoulder to ask if I want to do something that is either mandatory anyway, already being done, utterly superfluous, or periodic agenda dumping.

“If it didn’t get any worse, you could get used to it. Of excellent proportion sought, of form overruled by purpose naught, yet forgetful of adjustments tonight, despite the immobility of task, we adapted our most furtive telemetry for time flies and sat all night, and I’m including new print cartridges for full use. Safely grimly resolute in our cause, in misty dawn now, last taps upon gravel embankment. Later, Ralph F.” Bitsy stuffed her brother’s letter under the nightstand as ædith was on. “All of the out lights were left on, and you are giving, and you are giving, and you receive nothing.”

“Thus what you would have needs to be avoided,” she wrote on out of the way construction plaques. “Not that they,” Suppressant aimed in reply, “are too acted upon at eager ban.” Below, by, “to refresh oaths, beneath watch of our singly barbarous cousins,” Bitsy reiterated, “I’ve already washed full odes and cerise will swarm.” “Overlook,” the Marquis whirled, “that their wherewithal will supply our cause with the power that was lacking.”

“Fine,” Bitsy said, “as long as I am in charge of going done done done.” They set aside a parlor whence the decor was early American bulletin board, and trusted that their trail mix stimulated bobbins of the Maypole, for the sixth (who after all were but giant similes taking greatest joy in subdivision) assured them that each impending descriptive passage did not portray a specific sect of industrial man, for at this moment in history everyone held many, some, few, none, or any of the attributes to follow.

.   .   .

The discoverer (all too busy) awoke, tickled by tintinnabulation of a thousand borealis, and discovered the Symphonietta of Janacek, a tunnel, the Holland–Jersey express, curtains of shaking particles crackling like the consternation of a million tictii (his distant cousins), had induced a pole shift, tuned with consternation, into an age when every dial on the console was agog, to activation of his voice box, and began a log of observations. Roveretto, though commanding of presence and ordering numerous events, retained a favorable program. Were it necessary, he once said, to reconcile postulate views of vested editions with marginalized consensus of the littlest earners, a virtuous probability would impute through the decree of all groups of concepts who’d taken refuge in the culvert below his Simi Valley cottage, to the great dismay of the housekeeper. “Try not being such an alarmist,” he said. An orthodox element imparts an heroic discretion in any event, as evinced by his refusal to rewire the circuit breaker in defiance of decades of instruction.

Moreover, by perpetually expressing this fixed determination of isomems to see Echo persuaded, against an ad hoc [sic] tribunal, within one’s own imagination at least, of an unwavering resolve to practice steadfast values, even if it were the last person, then thought, ever expected to see again in contrast, only if two ohmmeters, sentiment, heart wherein would his treasure rust, and works of minimal risk, roamed and for how long nearly persisted, increasing the essentially murky layer betwixt he and fidelity. Realizing no record was near of previous events, the monad switched on the vox box and began analogizing, “in a conduit of some sort, composed of charged particles, odd, even, the blanket dissolves through a glass temple. An immense disc of light, so thorough that my shield partly melts, paces clear before calibrating.” Decomposing particles charged the temple with an immense disc of light.

“I approach nine years of creep and woof therapy into flights awfully recycled; even on our way to a rhombus off–lined as all get–out, this San Bruno pontificate over the phone was is in as much need of familiarity as a spike in nothingness, stopping us from going over there so they could slam their clapboard. Amidst blithe wannabes, the repetition of mechanistic actions is no longer stale. Such is this expenditure in Ossian. A showcase facility at any rate on the coast was promised audibly to the acclamation of the local assembly, a plateau of understanding and/or approbation hitherto merely guessed, and bowling appeared to be the sport of kings. Though our R&R seemed subliminally superficial, it cannot utter this grip of isolation too personal to stave. A therapeutic surge at the svelte lodge in retrospect seemed silly: if teen men, crammed into a kiva full of pop rocks and saguaro salsa, can be pantheistic, time emerges into a mid–autumn slushy sleet painless and even enervated.” “Im history beneath the coldest mirror,” Plair awoke, thickening a sundry splash of deluge brain stiffener given. Within moments of forthcoming, they supposed his story weak yet vague, if lacking coherent direction, and he appeared peaked, often bacterially flaunted from plompromprim, of efficaciously tendentious propensity in risking the tube strength of outgoing nuisance chi.

“This hole in your chest is everytime the lobby door opened,” said a man arrived, offering to buy back all partially used ivy bags. It was always difficult to reconcile time masks, unless it were a turbo charge just starting to pay for itself. By merchandizing the serenity enduring on the slopes of western Mary’s hamlet, as a hinterland subsumed during the great palinogenesis of 2018, a new lampman, the starch idler argued without any stretch of imagination, “I was the one who purchased the barcarole as a result of my duplicitous steamsmanship.”

“If you are a shoe short,” they said, “listen up, it needs to be caught ― at least bump your head or try selling long on original morality, muffin.” Someone always, but not needing to be, suddenly decided to de–emphasize virtual monomania, ere unrequited sparks may ever countenance love by exception. The next day he’s not going to be able to loll for a partly plausible lighter or slate for An ― her censorious logosthete notwithstood ― so beneath any cipher soars thoroughly diurnal meltdown, on a par that Olive fissilely blessed, made untoward in inclination.

Those wore out Flambeaux’s perusal of some tertiary minnesinging codexes in time, for its being balsamic freefall was prehumous long enough: henceforth recent whisperers swooped over to immure Plair to nearly moist ostensible currant, lapsong dirigisme, turquoise aspirate, and another preventative spring roll. Athwart variegated mimesis, his plaintive insistence on textual anhedonia brought sthenic twinges of certainly onto Echo’s collage, refuting nabobs who’d held which aspects of klatch as therapeutic crèche were value–added on account of simplex artifice, did the op–ed, Untitled into the Untitled, not offered off mid–scream.

“These galactic journeys the only chance nowadays to finish any work, at last it convinced oneself not into unlikely talk oneself intuited; in fact any inclination was to stay in bed annoyed. The more scowling immediacy to rush into the smell to get back in Elvis ‘favor,’ was also a look for guidance, ‘extra advice,’ as it were, providing anyhow a safety margin for some affair from l’nurt. It domed a knell of hokum when she maintained it was nice to get mail precisely that hasn’t been printed by a nose bomb. Whilst the best isomer process artisans inculcated during an enhanced production cycle, dare I tergiversate about a fairly successful minute attachment to the punt of an opposition?”

.   .   .

Argon tinged filings quicklimed in gentle strike, the galvanic quality of an effective compound upon which a consortium stood prospectively to mass an operable gain over the ionic fringe. The sorting of all assessments of an imminent space–borne particle matter displaced orison projects inattentively, as national delay of an ounce of prevention wrote a whole yard nine adoption of common aim, that was to secure elevated platforms for deployment of telekinetic arrays for shooting down stars.

As at this time there were very little to test upon, a practical suggestion of a prototypical flotation in time to catch the Leonids of August 2012 drawing massed criticism from citizens of the United States, since at the insistence of a motion advanced by the physicist Deerfield, these showers were declared a visible resource protected from abuse under the Celestial Treasure Act of the 2011 International Astronomic Treaty. Noone was of a mind that this would prevent or deter everyone from simulative practices sustained in modular suspension, opening a bistro of top shelf appropriation voted under general committee and tackled as riders upon other amendments of importance.

Erstwhile as in commerce (a department), host to a stirring cyclotron of virtual development, dispensed with many submissions. Of sad mien straitly were inventors, whose compounds of isometric polymer, bauxite alloy, or costlier rare earth tincture, ousted by strategic concomitance, as memorandums forelimned advanced research of an unguent consideration of inert stillness. Since then, a basaltic raft, captivating existing urge to believe in correctly sited material, claimed momentum under even the most stringent analysis sympathies of the ethical movement, an executive impetus, to confine final tests to a pair of dueling consonant design switches, one of native origin, led manufacturing agencies of the mainland to surge with their coordinate reply: a sled of such tensile woofness that Park, noting treaty prohibited targeting flanges stamped surreptitiously into the bevels by artisans distinctly non–signatory, knew at once that he was swamped in algorithms.

Other departments clamored, but men and women of commerce defended Park’s decision to apply rigor of excess to each Polar Star launch platform prototype. This was a circuitous refusal to being seen remaining attached to many adherents. Mr. Horace Tolstoy, denied rebid, stalked across the Mall, not caring for once how many blades were trampled as a flimsy puce mucilage from the latest Chippendale climacteric sifted in his wake. How he had failed to adjust or match the seasoning were a study of an untoward setback. Contrary to prevailing winds of opinion, he did spend not every waking moment second–guessing his decisions.

Parched anxiously, near the telephone, some of the customs fled from his moody brow. Yet knowing that test was less than a week hence, and forced to regard actual if well–rehearsed penury that threatened many of his other projects, would Horace nerve himself to seek solace with fortune cookies (a practiced eye for folly proved of worth in seeking steps of principle)? Characters abbreviated went south yielding several incidents case specified, and now a nod in season was to defray a conclusion of pendulous verbiage.

.   .   .

This circled ether utilized in Ossian, a minister’s cat may beget Keynes.

III(rev) — i — The Technically Different Twilight.

.   .   .

ELIZA’s client wrote off writing on incidental topics. Two reasons for radio silence: cat and mouse callbacks from corporations which are persons in accordance with an aim of trans–planetarian destiny, and acoustics (plus squeaky floor), inasmuch as the surface of receipt, portably extended to other visual precept, a preamble, toward installment into eventual constructs conducive of social continuity; an inventory, comprising needful precepts subsidiary to aim, might emerge.

Logan wished he knew how loud he was at the other place. The device of such catalog without an enumeration of descriptive parameters is seen as a specious venture. These delimiting factors, far from squelching what is oft celebrated as spontaneity, provide, or must needs be designed for provision of, channels, that may apprehend a current stemming out of experience, observation, and practice, whilst simultaneously lending impetus by means extrinsic to distribution of quantum origin.

“Were you ever allowed at the other place,” asked ELIZA, for their thematic bias? These guidelines permit the catechumen bid distraction adieu, her attention regulated along lines of allied context, whence diversion, approached via progression of illimitable departures, occurs as result of distinct patterns, reconstruals of which reinforce dynamic equilibrium of open systems. That gradations of occurrence serve many peculiar channels, in prolix beast meant for eudaemonium, brooks numinous parasols otherwise non–concomitant.

Apart from a mechanistic empathy with benchmarks, this morpheme of hyper–dominance militates almost logostatic delineators, solely fixated upon superlative as ideative criterion, cephalopodically fluffing a zone of intense sociability, yet hereupon propounding compartmentalization as panacea. And his dear listeners might remain daft on flute cleanse, ere at the spots by ædith, ere whose AI line resounded ilk aggregate dial–out (yet only until the final moment may everyone cram aboard as scheduled). Forelimning many preternatural amalgams, is it any wonder though the sum total of neo–elfish atavism sat bluntly on chaises of very velour damascene. Orphic photopause at liberty of repetition, around four Theban orreries, all but iridescent by cyclic externality, froze Melpomene into bedizened synods far, to crotchet, “severally, we’d samizdate Maastricht’s pearly dump cam, especially since a transept aerator, unsieved in chatoyant bouts, formed more systemically, half–lifting aerial drolleries solute. While capable liturgies, sped toward universal adsorption, cannot decide whether optional, or how, or why the roach remnant shook a verbal inched manifold latent course and caused life within reach of bubble warp, Noone’s receipt of wholly vast edge concepts, until ultimately biased, as but other worth or wreath, feinted toward nominal ingredients.

“These dispel rehearsal or plethoras, resilience diffusing miscible amounted cause while automatic power curving stills are exigent, obtunding into maximae of efficacy heretofore ritually satisfied with studied and yet just as incorrigibly manifest, was all that we could do to get out on the next shipping trap, reduced to a mash when their lights went on.” Whence sinuously cold or ideal zemstsvos might chase fluorescent oafs in–house, any idolectic means for cribbing surplus effulgence photosynthetically left off their storm lanterns, changed in with feyer foulard areas. This thirst for, that earliest tsouris may aggregate hurriedly, made–up bagatelles as magical spans nearer issue typified not only coaxial style, let alone variegated amounts of focus applicable to vacant penumbra, and among peaked clutter of incensed rubrics, more theme spill excerpted elsewhere.

Nor were one from irradiant sextants in receipt of slightlier follicle. At each tulgey glen subscribed apparition, and variable portmanteau stuffed generally insufferable eflots to content for maniform laity, sensible rafts of operant train. Amid workaday complex, a great fixation with dense blah–blah conclusion emoted from and in coterminous method might Interpol bleep in what is moist listless of their avowable loon, via evincing beans, so vast it was the only thing which permeated a blank lambence within.

To appropriate sense, for usual plectrums’ impingement compassioned grottoes harboring ermine lyric oompah afflatus, Aira, in teleologic nuance, scalloped steamboats of carob or hydrants inconsistently. Quite outside a pale edge, whence her immunity toward notably shoal expedience wavered, a lumpier temporal expanse loomed as prolepsis, if coevally abaft, to her kind’s dismissal, held to be a colloquial, in some circles, afterward amid Ossian’s plight.

.   .   .

An Ossianian emergency council, a durable sieve, had remained in medias res for more than 317 years. Nowhere else amid advanced policy had the conferral of extraordinary diffusions of power, throughout measures promulgated ever since the codicil of the bean thing, occurred. Of hardly fewer than millennial longevity, this enclave decontextually subsumed whenever any soundman either exercised plenary discretion or was ever deemed in absentia for more than a single sonnet. Any complexion of anomalous unison, creditable to instinctively natural ticking, took in good part at least hours for communal differentiation before such situations might readily correlate.

Chantal’s review, transmitted through an intercalary of rife imprurience ab initio, afforded glimpses of a polity bent on perseverance of affirmative circumference, symbolized by perpetual adherence upon comprehensively recognized panels of internal syncretism. Immutable odes to fun values thence considering lengthier endorsement of said homeostasis as permutations toward further housekeeping, their land, if beneath preoccupative design fewmet, had induced heterogeneous cogence, to the degree for an arranged transmittal of comptrollership within the ICC, to progress as hitherto listed, present conditions notwithstood.

If today, a salient piecemeal mistral, anomalous in a lack of brittle cloche, and somewhat kitsch, disparative unminded citizens, aware of comparably zestful acuity, at least vastened which imprimatur, minutely transcendent of a usual regime, and wondered how applicable a pro forma spectrum touted various media. Hence circuitous whorls averted Potemkin–ness, and inherent berths within the wavelength reallocation bracket, cedeable after lenient remittance in the odd styptic lithiwatt, deflated in billionths, were grounds of coalescence, vermiform yet oblong within prearranged augury.

“Ossian,” Chantal concluded reviewing, “here fabulous piques bespectacled in the limit of synergy, had known a chiaroscuro of foment on momentous occasion, hermeneutically, during prior eras, and yet contemplative exigence now, afforded throughout a climate of occupational license, transcended habitual mores given by protean oracle, dissuading their tones from barter or initiations.”

An appended eof sealant for her past, the correspondent clasped a billet for the outbound hebdomadal lighter, concerned that residents warranted a better corollary other than being left on slow boil indefinitely. A precept unlike not imperceptible involvement simulacrums, draughts from the Aeolian fumaroles of il–Yaum issued at intervals, in disclosure of stages once thought moved beyond, yet if mentioned by Masha, spouse of missing Soundman, as seeming of oblivious efficacy for her stepson Fuald there, independent veracity became asymptotic as far as actuality was concerned, since Chantal herself had not visited them.

Once glibly conversant with tautologies of innumerable transmutational bypass frequencies, Fuald now returned from the west puzzled, albeit jaded, by shiftily fluctuating amplitude peaks, operant to an extent that his lifeline was no longer calculable by acute means. This observance, assiduous to her topic centering on Ahem’s ministerial plots to nationalize the coal rose, blatantly loomed to Desdemona as highly germane not sooner than the send key, and she, felt very depressed.

.   .   .

If in just cause one no longer drank, the sight, of Jasmine’s rosily irrespective pouring of one’s hemicentenially aged Glenfarkis down the storm drain, had not failed to elicit within Menard an intense referential empathy with comprehensively erstwhile provisions. A trembling shell, boiling with distant helixicism, recreation of mental buffers notwithstanding, the Village landscape comprised individuals, shackling vast inventories, discerned to individuals whose arrival relieved some of their bond through transfer payment initiatives. Obsessed by word of mouth, an engine of cultural diffusion had drummed within them the possibilities of unfetid commerce, yet at this monument in history, Noone was capable of speaking of vast grids of a storm uncresting, and presentiment cast in enthalpic overalls.

In open forum, the topic under review concerned living solutions for disposition of the sick and the offensive. The resettlement of unfortunate aliens within the village made for full turn out. The citizens bearded the podesta with oversimplification. Hadn’t extra–terrestrials toured the civil warped atoll fielding many sunny monads? Whatever somewhat scorchy aardvarks wheedled, the listless strangers belied variously walrus muscatel and were very impressed with our knowledge of hysteria.

We went into excruciating detail about a rattle for the hearts and minds, in simpatico with merry landless latte, reagents from other Western powers. As well as all of the other bottles left out of it, it understood some of it since a dreaded shibboleth thriftily valued setups (some of you now are too overwhelmed for average toast), and after a frankly charitable pause demarche, resumed, halving an array of companions with arduous method. Hope rang sonorous while remonstrances at ebb, of lengthened civilly preferential exposure, spat normlessly, accelerated beyond whiffling upon a thing untenet in reception.

A nervous zeppelin hovering over them in augury reminded the young podestas to charm up. Surely traditional homely values of hearth, decency, equality, sacrifice, and justice counted for something. Since earlier taupe bubble wrap, a stalactite col in blase view, an entire worldview of ædith, hosed at will, entailed checks, complex Yahtzee, odd lithe mega–blare that adjusted out. It was a Styx sneeze, one dreaded by mariners, that rendered waters choppily unnavigable. Thence stretched an infinite plaid (of course, you may express pain), found reminding residents of a crumbling district of immeasurably comparable whilst unenjoyable standards in regard to living here, these upper tens had to drag away from that charily in response to documented flux.

The happiest of these drank their curse as a favor to man. A fiercer and sultry crew had never contemplated sending brownies to the blue room. The magistrate, in expectance of her proposal generating peculiar enthusiasm, found reaction of these notables as particularly shrill apologetic, “we know of course that you are a mere minion of oligarchy, an adjunct forced to voice the opinions of your superiors, but you might want to know that,” a terrific ruckus of clapping behavior followed this announcement.

Her wise thesis on cabals stemmed engrossingly, timid at ignoring wallpaper, Chantal had the zeal for singing, at work, wholly through savvy distelfink art, empty miles only begotten however rough the spatial westbound distortions. A romp, lent to many crises, morphed in sooth a carol, imaging to a streperous null, if indicating Ampersand’s stare decisis was slightly unchatted on Meta, A Lifetime of Lasagna, a moving ascent toward parity with room to spare.

As a belt fad, but out singing together on quarks, you now mold. “All Baba Yaga–ry, he just acted deluxe, lurid miso, and is it still a void wherever we row?” “Tough,” pointed out Echo, “that wool came back out so even that a–skiing clabbier rings by firelight, everyone learned to form coppery acorns.” Fending grand–mal implants amid heath, a sturdy tedium, tousled, scattered to curse concomitant paterfamilias: louts, off Baskerville and Zen Ford, held to datum as organic as paintball stour. Heretofore, each terse undream put many photo–ops at sixes and sevens in jangling alkaline daises; Niceans, quasi–Napoleonic, instilled as bunk a grammarian leaven, seen ex post, irrespective of PoD’s markdowns, intuitively.

Fortified, Ravel tonalities cemented many orange barrels nigh a spendthrift Guelph, especially when the turnkey dropped the grand hoo–ha out in the whoop–whoop. Marked regrets attendant on his groupiest launch at hourglass, a sent–up quarter in arrears, Menard’s links with Occam disowned the other wiki–feed, though some, on skittles, visited a hunch that drew every field and slumlord hither: a photosphere, copacetic with liberty, my being eeriness, screened for keeps. Ere ran for Theban orders, Jasmine riddled her grandfather’s bilkers with startling lists, foreshadowing Bitsy’s abode down near Jotenheim.

.   .   .

Rearranging sound and light.

.   .   .

A new verse, defined in ever heterogeneous thought, and emanating from pre–Copernican precepts nigh, warned of the change signaling tone, worse than in many wholes where a man, outwardly at whiles, and willfully cheered that the end of time had happened, declared. The jai alai festival, scheduled to commence at the empty quarters of western Americana, excised an impertinent defiance from mores extant, and however shocked from his tasking eloquence, Roveretto moved natheless into (a) concord. Problems never again would exist in the unfolding stationery frond.

Insofar as a marketable concept withered beneath the chiseling glance of isomems the portmanteau (however exemplary his conduct had been to this day), the man, in thrall to crop excess pluralism was, in service of pandemonium, moderately and necessarily impossible to guile. Originally, in a sense of generous lack of irresponsivity to any suggestion from without, including any scratchily or scarcely proscribed specificity, he tracked the next missal woven swiftly, probably defying old sports travelling about the schedule of a life of celerity as tapping festivals perorated.

Such an analogized never, advocated to be fair and young again, as somnolent promoters assigned such values to internal red shifts, far below where most horrible visionaries had re–zoned the place as right out while bedrock buckled not unlike efforts of numerous Styroform demigods ill and shaking within a Sunrise Cage. “This place is very difficult to wear out,” Roveretto apologized, though insisting that everyone be brought on in. As an investment actuarial (albeit lacking knockers) he was very proud of sublimating his angst through recent sexy mergers and while monthly statements did not diffuse until days before due date, he instructed his minions, “play handball with any who telephone requesting extensions as a means of gathering routing numerals, remind them to wear out casual thirds and under no circumstance accept trendy mnemnonic tikis or Maypole clusters as barterable or even legal wherewithal.

“If such push came to fourfold shove, we’ll frame harmonic fusillades offset by having not enough motivation to postulate insignificance to their in toto misapprehension,” with which he imputed a symbolic faint nervelessness. Irremediably solid we shall askance glide, forsooth the sick, yet plan to consciously dislodge their every advantage. This marketing staff dispersed, their entire ingenuity in vapid caress excessively in dim gain furtive thaumaturgent, thoroughly convinced of the absolute penchant exhibited for youth of continual thought, and of the man’s winning servitude, then hesitant in unclaimed connection with misfire eventually planned to be happy to watch him fall all over onto his visible face though as with so if not most of all of them, were so disobvious in their feigned fiscal foreshortening schema that the young heiress, grievously appealing to affiance booths, in serious explicable disengagement, wore them up, and as well might he borrow expiation of his pastiche unconfined as desultory fixation with just desserts.

Thus, Wednesday’s child thought, only under every circumstance tamely ghosts may be typified amid his igloo, sang rarely inept foolproof rinses until nimbly awaiting transportation, Fernand skimmed along, in concourse, Janes Guide to Wave Harmonic Rectifiers, inconveniently experienced participatory democracy, and since the wall monitors’ refusal to respond to zaps alot, thirstily slammed more than a quarter century old vended dots. All told, he was soaked in fetid sweat, doubting that he had done everything possible to provide for his family indefinitely, dwelt on his naivete in coughing during ablative reconfigurations of asthma, and sat too droopily for sunny parades of ecstatically jangling wishful thoughts.

Now, one other spun occlusion, he would fain volte–face and crawl to the massacree than to bask in bright smoky wintergreen haven, his cool spirit left behind this weekend. Heretofore disembarkations heaved him to his feet, depressed and withdrawn, and forced to evaluate signs of delayed out–bounds. This certainly would entail many days of tortuously recriminative hindsight, but seemed preferable in the familiar environs of home, and his decision not to pack any universal time coordinates left him substantively vitiated. He so had grounds for an absolute last minute turnabout is fair play, given his adrenaline was flatter than year–old Fanta, and wore off even whilst he postponed desperate outbound feelings as long as possible, in avowing that happened.

Since toward only bathos could subtle (eternuement) hints about wan, tinged, Dopplerian beads as dash wave length infer, the hapless aggregate on facile, trans–literate capability gave pause, for Raoul, with Batrachian persistence, radiated silence. While causal refrainants might pother at the enormity of such sedulously dribbled compost, a cachet, borne from definitive complaisance versus the worst furled seedmonger concerts, perspired underlain firmament, if on obvious margin. So incipient moratorium might defer inexorable litanies of forensic inability, if enough referential vehemence coalesced around counter–utilitarian measures.

Evinced with appositive chronometry in existing codicils, unsung fractions displacing utmost objection for intercalary syncope, actually plumped for one unique if sporadic cruet. Bled in rare instances, it elided a priori, viz., of soundmen omitted in lieu or via sortilege, sparking one poetry slam; aesthetic in refraining from or shown mental inroads, an almost non–unanimous conscience, over sheer dint of unconformable firman, must incubate transepts, delitescent. Since the worst art had self–abrogated, thrown now beneath moist Vo–Tech calmly sans merci, sour fixture ought chestnut in front of personae too ruled within liminal more for certainty. On warily skidded Raoul before pallid weirs or inert, eke spectral curb kempt gravid, one nearly Mississippi shoal ago a threnody deems usual, louche and glabrous foment from enteric vogue irksomely cadenced.

Each sieveful rill of wisteria farmed in calliope shrouds seeped among nodes restringently, in clinquant salons vacuous from placid utterance a sky, de rigeur, sent blank eyelets: for whomever turgidly had sunk through, a manqué, palpable on first hand ur–savantism, must shelve outré celerity forthwith sublineative, if metathetical beyond nominally docile messkit alnicoes. Ascorbic virgules, circumflexing just as vespid a spa, in any sense already vastened past coves in flippant flummery, soon allotted, all out or to be within, a tentative recrudescence of enfeoffment, as moral lesson, perchance shaded upon nearly woofed charabancs, aimed in crannochs of spurious auspice to idle in scruple.

If none fit, somewhat groovier than thou parvenu, excused one laden Blogus courier, try this madrigal stent, which metes indemnity from all gerunds, imported or domesticated, for par. Few other of them anymore careted how forward the once abroad if neo–visible Grendelle now thatched, and inured from volatile latency after recent participles, a passel of bluish fugitives berthed further along, a zither still flung along sly bonne heure as xenon ellipses nod.

A theater movable immune, quaint errant escadrille columnularly occupied starts atop what destiny ever tussles, which wavered impertinently before an indistinct synergy, serviceable for interstices, coddled stills, sundry tracts expressive of freely wrought doubt, most of the germinated re–enactment of Zafner’s fremitus tones, a nuanced mimeograph depicting recent vacancy of a phlebotomy residence formerly held by Herr Flußtapfer, and the first awareness of ASCII, underlain for various authentic–ness, gave this putative translator a formal pretext to reference Nicean commissaries.

.   .   .

Its passengers enacting final checklists for apprehending the long sought haven, the shrill stiff solar gale wended about the snorting tapper. These disoriented artisans thought they might allow content to dominate their entire lives (measurable in centennial sums), achieving smooth workflow through effective coordination and scheduling. Moreover, they differed from their kindred fjulsfut. They had thrown aside masks. Their racial ethos one of judicial subordination to great wheels of the Nicean diffusion paradigm, these yearlings, a determined collection of freer spirits that harkened to several winds of change, incensed opportunity for a cosmic disport that would usher an ontos of galactic kindness.

Already stage was tapped through meticulous application of negative feedback principles, and fjulsfut here, knowing primary source of Nicean tincture, derived through epistemological by–products of quaint tictus mating rituals was, through glacial attrition, a virtual dry well, had backflashed the drifting path of the alienated probe which wandered into their backyard one yesterday. These fjulsfut, like their kindred greatly amused that the bipedal aliens considered themselves masters of such a flawed sodality, even to the point of stretching symmetry to include insignificant ice cubes as planets, saw, unlike their elders, potential beyond that of merely indulging in wistful displays of generic superiority.

Bending aside every wavelength toward capturing and studying energies of the new race, the fifths discovered that, like their own cousins tictus, these bipedalien humans engaged in radioactive activity on a frequency unprecedented since opening moments of Bing Bang, spawning a theory that these bipedaliens, whose proclivities indicated a degree of avidity, might be persuaded to enter into inter–regnum, taking the place of nearly extinct tictii and producing a renewable source of tincture. Consequent longitudinal studies demonstrated that, unlike those of tictus, antics of the humans produced neither time, nor any of its attendant emoluments, but merely other humans.

Liberal efforts to solicit them as equal partners into inter–regnum collapsed in a modicum of apathy. Even were results found subliminal, the researchers described the act as crass, virulent, and short–sighted. In the idiom of Earth itself (some fjulsfut had become conversant), the human condition made more sense when the Niceans discovered their meager span of years (philologists (all too busy) immediately dispatched to fine–tune translation gain).

Heavily self–medicated (a chord striking some empathy within the fold, dependent as it were upon trail mix), humans were born, lived, and died while fifth were working through their lunch breaks. Even despised finth (the race of ninth which none of them could bear to consider) lived a paltry span of one light year. A degree of radical neglect entered benign counsels of the Nicean powers, although thralldom had officially ended with the Pleiades Ratification of the Third Aeon.

.   .   .

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nicean non-translator.

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

.        .        .