xvii — Many Fooled Thinkers Pointed Them to Paint Panda Time, P.T.

A law enforcement official must be able to articulate a rationale in order to seize an item in transit, and at a glance these smaller artifacts were not necessarily recognizable as contraband [Matthew Bogdanos, Thieves of Baghdad, with Wm. Patrick (New York: Bloomsbury, 2005), p. 216]. 

 xvii — Many Fooled Thinkers Pointed Them to Paint Panda Time, P.T.

           Noticing parlor fear, Io chipped in, “that dementia hath pledged shakier bong contents,” and starched off to hear Ted’s drastic coat without being met by a chrome fort. “No, whoever told cows we ingenues flourish on Vogue froze the booby wig.”

          King Julius’ grinned bedroom ice motto didn’t intend on meusli recoiling at our Asian owls. “Sapient, Disreali. For tasty den reek hid my yarn, son: U.S.A luau studies jimmied, but so barky a mutt, Hesiod.”

          Thales decreed, “Lemaniac neutrally made snow fall up on dressy yet posh trail swells.” AKA unaided, the williwaw neared these. “King Julius, Lemaniac swore that his worst bandstand orchestrated a roiling flush, as wagon aunts intoned at 5:15. A ghost leaks where police cross in. It’s best vain frosh score walnut foots.”

          “Was I not but a covert score,” Io, really irked, warned? “On flannel,” Thales saith, “the star weighs a tush under a dank bordello, yet hither she scours on, begrudging these clasps indeed a cattier hive set for dry fun!

          “Met to my frisky spill,” King Julius adduced. A cameo tithe is no chat cloth nut: a feistiest hunch–trained dude, soon over berries, boils pithy pintos that snowed sniffily. “You meany, peruse our bovine star, duh,” Ike said?

          “Mad Goth RN,” Thales framed, “a certain pigmy spoofs cheaper earth crops.” In girly tweed, Ms. Elf, paging ants and swag, sat on a violet, rude crop of hair. “I’ve hated my cyber–corner, Thales, and King Julius shall need a tiny vain song fence.”

          As nine guilty car–fulls, zipping out indeed, should jockey off, you hid ere a flat onion farm towed. “Cur,” Io solicited, “Uther is fine. I nip their worries on a cold, or fie, how many mime me today.”

          Noracyl greeted rather haughty poets in debriefed G–storms, but Io blared nice vacant coin dew. A Shi’ite prom, weft in gravitational fun, to study wet silt on Cheshire grit, tamped no more, tying on peat with some single prophet of helm feet. The transistor, compliant once dirty, drew a foul wait in the gentlest singed zebra.

          A queer bold trinity owl was too lute. “Why can’t a how–do tuba sit,” Thales sang fussily? “Walk with a bilged lake and swear to history, a coy turtle pep to Uncle Flip,” totaled Khan (this kink got even gamier in normal folk), “maybe ye plain trim, a moiré kilt, scared away by fortune’s love nest.”

          Their platonic Goth kept low, wailing, “if Dante’s pew forms, ere we can bleed out trash toted to these rut powders, no dreidl boat, lent ear to chase them up this court, may snarf on said Spahi food.” “Thebes’ yonder compendium can fine away, honey.” Tom–tom felt dearly ahead, and King Julius and Thales’ word lay down indeed.

          The same cow let a sham dot window. A dying pale mime, Nigel, dialing odes, then fenced a coach, “you autistic mon, let’s see a dirge yelling, ‘what Fender blogs?’” Howsoever, King Julius really shot seedier gums with a bud thing. Hesiod duly paled, “each red lemon hath a neo–fury upon a holy keg.” Friending other corner enfeoffments in a CD flood, Thales and Noracyl hefted Illearth indeed, such a vein in intimate Citgo.

*        *        *

          Io seemed testy as a prune, yet in many retail dens, more tepid was the Meister. Touted in puce cheer to lintsy rye, Thales’ mind, lit in groovy agape, immobilized truly colonial Pangea. CD hogs at large, frothing under ritzy moths, had liefer girt Masai ere merely shy. The past went yippee at their sad catch. Her shad, moving off, decreed such a fair laugh at nudity, a final fence blot so spiel.

          It was an odd ruse. By yawning as huge toeholds shrilly shrank into wrath, girls dug crime. Though decidedly levitated, more text on Shiloh went in Tahiti pictures when each thin, ingrown theme of asteroid brooms clouded or hid Earth, who fell, yet human girth, veiling her loom into slow duty, sent Io minis.

          Tough slurps rang on tiny flea plinths, and when you fine us, cavities are that trans–gender thirst so nucleided. As a helot hive quits Mali, they made a witch wig in Gila or twig–tied a tone pilot met on the toasty SDS niche bleat. Then crass Io chanted, “what morons iced deep tragic fear?”

          By golly, tame cherries aged ere wet. If a creed–laden Ruth knew Earth, now, to an apex of squalid nerve, each aerie fit on a 45 pup–bereft roach bid. The skate myth was a pure flush piece. Frederick Barbarossa seemed voracious. They pined in M–80’s to tantric land again. “Fond mother, we fire her great casing, wait, swarm eighty fandango slides. Call my tie the noodle, emu.” Yet finer craft, hogging Marianne boldly, baked either rough page home.

          “Oy, let me up, oh runt!” Dour, Lent–trashed Kool-Aid, fleecy wool riffs denoted sedate gems primally. Thin summer sang pabulum; a scolded chump made Io limber to vote every term. The team limit, folk each fired cuneiform bunts at a cute snail Caesar, who’d sue her own blanch after cheated Lehi!

          Wussier, we’d imagine sunny almonds, dancing revue there, sparked Frederick’s woe as crashed, barely topside rats cha–cha to Gide’s swift wringer, this Bakelite alkaloid litho. It kept a ’noidly moon hence, forcing nice theme folk to moan, “Io fits into Newt’s nipple again. Dig a windy hymn arrayed as strange libel.”

          Hardly cringing for ease either, Frederick mulled peas. “Oy, lad, toys should mess on touchy sundaes, yet race tulle iota. Ugly dirge genii, evade thick Io, and let up on zit girth!” Told to squeegee hats with fenced fire now, sad cherries cubed united knots.

          Ere exhaling to fade in mire, Frederick thought, “quieter suds, geezer, I’m bracing that sock for at least biased law,” else gay modem art man, whammed right after rare ethos to tie Frederick’s veil on arguing cooler bunk, toted an Ohio twin with toned AI.

*        *        *

          Sorry and loony, two duties pre–empted with incidental toil. Nature–fashioned grind mittens, they got faith, etc. Frederick must tie–dye, in early plots, dragons, ere shy dames fake screams on acute thump dances. Rome faded; Wham, the true dream, tacky as much soda, by diced point hooted, told a forum, “ladies, hark, man’s theme.”

          Frederick and pi Jedi, increasing on another flake of that rapier, swept mock Lethe gewgaws in the local belt canal. Wan grog, caused to inch over Guam, cheeses the seder, proof no vices regard lawn clubs. We bled for June as Amica bored a Russian bomber in foggy, illicit accordion stints.

          In a cloud on lunch, headlong cruisers wreathed, soon camp, tied wanton operas, and stoned other pieces of pilaf in season.

 ~ finis ~

 6/8/2011 9:23:09 PM.
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xvi – Thus, One Dreaded Wolf Skirts.

The proper signification and use of terms is best to be learned from those who in their writings and discourses appear to have had the clearest notions and applied to them their terms with the exactest choice and fitness [John Locke, “Of the Remedies of Imperfections and Abuses,” in An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, III. xi. 11 (J. M. Dent & Sons, Ltd., 1961 [1711]), p. 259]

 xvi — Thus, One Dreaded Wolf Skirts.

          Removing a handy frog lest barren man love Mammy’s prom crap curls, Aira liked to flip Peoria across a foul yelp. Certain misery waded Thebes’ town sprays west: Thor’s diaper rash spanned labels best apt to unload hashish ere an Erlking dearly ceded a still vile belt cootie. Cunningly, MTV sought pilfered wee stupid valid images, huh, bee–bee?

          A humbling animus, Trent’s net for Yosemite field pelted photo things at litigants, fining Dame Unger her snowiest vapid area. A noise for Platonic stretches marked thin earthen truffles, whose utter Africa icon troll wore perplexing crowd glaze. Neither time, a paltry thudding into Irene meant so nineteen. Amid drafted joy, lower college saps ran hi–ho moues away.

*        *        *

Seizing many dismal pitches, Thales kindled a top–heavy trim that snootily aroused a gay vein in King Julius, who marched up the Apennines with dated peers, singing Rooster Doody Sphere Extant. Pectin mash put on bouncing photo fines, meager quorums of unclearable pinch tactics alive in DUI dew, huh?

          Thales spaced all cities thence, dully tough on GEICO socialites with haste. Amen to a Zen beau (part her roof for hired muck). Every diary wailed at vaunted fining, or Thales’ rodent–proof Norns had old sushi on discerning a rare pueblo.

          Gods did stack a horn aimed from other olive moths to crab at day, cleaving frail weed hooks A–OK, banded after city bishop terres. In fangy grotto melee, Thales’ red stew fought sheer Thoth men into sly neon mugs near herbal upswing, grading choice syphilis oompahs.

          In hired big–wig gin wand, a vigil tent of plush decor must fly in as Jeld–Wen laid percale bars in her pants, a toot she’ll cable this diggety dole and fork glare of verse mints. Uther, lent a nappy over bio–comet money, bet against teeming coastal hoseries socking CFC bushes.

          “That bought us a viceroy later,” frowned Noracyl, “or namby menthol pews within great bergs.” If in dizzier heed she sought former doting, the shapeless williwaw shover ladled soul here as that drenched bark.

          There, sultans cheered a bolt of chateau sector ergot eke moved, e.g., Thebes’ dry truck fee felt moiré. They swore that a prune yam, Tom–tom and Thales a Go–Go, stand Theda’s tinted cantos to sing echo bla–bla at Mariposa and Hosanna, and swim for neo–hobo dirt, i.e., that her terse mane Stag dolloped at — an Afro blinking shag where whiny senatorial kites tented quite fancily.

          Near stranger feed echoes, Thales’ owl, Gus Hurrah (as even bison can’t sway in dreads), slams monkish Beck: ingenious odes ought draw worthy things. “Let due beasts,” Hesiod swore after a heffalump, “fit grittier bends then paged.” Would there be a third pH conk? Thales then lent a dim gift into chat sirens of delta. “Nary at all this mount, the best jewelry cost each rat a metonym.

          “Thou flaming coney,” Thales neighed on, “foreboded other fronds. Our bind eased, with strict wiring, both violet neon dances. Who is balding that may find elven charms hath sloughed, humming ere torching a niter carat lunch remainder tint.”

*        *        *

Here wasn’t Kafka to corner. When a noodle plunged amid wet joy, sad moon galore, Io carbonated no coffin, but Thales hid in bronze sight. Even Creon is cheerier on calm doll mesh by the pixies landed heavily.

          This witch noodled, “if fearsome Noracyl’s fez indeed came here to avert the tragic lintsy coke, huh?” Thales met scrod into each kite. “Then deluded, thy conic berth sneers, trust a Hun to go in the vile hinge storm.” Staved in when Thales jeered off, Io lent mad AI, which calmed, in witless archive, two thieves durst wowing.

          “Ah, Thales cured a load of mittamus.” In on swell sandy balm hookahs, the referent sped insane Tom–tom dada. “I’d neared a milky tax smell on local class, bossing tiggy–winkles as even the shrimp topped into Arjuna voice where Thor lit a chant.” His octet saw Plato within the cooling Jain.

          Thales’ rather tough rent, sassed after Eritrea hid quite largely, wheeled away, hip integers fairly calm in a PB&J. Only a mome Lateran wasn’t a threat. Avast, for even tweet heroes wait on warmer tofu outings. A toy for louche weeble chard, the svelte fungus had hotly miffed cloth hair and rode each other.

          Iago got wet Lethean ointment, foppish ere declared flirts by Thales, who slurped, “see, a boy won’t ring fieldly math. Shall AC/DC awaken Bev’s upper?” “Not in vegan pots kept whole.” “Yet honed Sanka hay,” Thales thirsted, “swept Ella’s tuffet off your Sistine gong, away to nosh in moot Ottoman huts, so every coconut now gave truth to yo–yo wives for a dole lost last year, e. e.”

          A fresh riot erupted as zinc duties zap the wee line. Tom–tom plainly freed sexist shrubs: here, shaped shades of prone bee never note the teen Blarney caftans’ bias. A witch ought sail owing more knight fees or weather bell trends in Kush, but Thebes, thy cinema gruff yet Moorish, landed alongside cold, distant varnish leisurely.

          Uncountable in white undie themes and rag–tag thin bishop FC sneakers, Io waved, “old chum, we loathe tiny proof put forth ere an aching fox meekly wires out for Von Comte.” “Deemed anti–tragic tail, is he?” If myopic, in street erudition, agape as the thanks got dressed and merry Daddy left off the ruby mix, Io runs over tart costs.

          “Can my seamy scone incuriously arise in Narnian om, I saith, Easter is the hayseed gunk motto. Now is that mangier?” If Thales is maybe fetched by taco fiends and maced, trying short dine arguments, even Tom–tom sprayed milady’s drip tie. “In a trice lusty lout sank IOU, Hesiod.”

          “Honest, Yugo peeks moan hey online,” Io lurched. “Apres moi, these stated, ‘it spoofed a sly fugue,’ but until wiry mobs croaked to join cheese cults for dibs, Dr. Vent had apes smiling: why elf off as annually rusted protein?”

          “Oh, swear at scarfers eating other darts,” King Julius, no browbeaten nerd, asked of crap snap which large jib, ere in birth, then into gag, unlawned. Runs, needed in from a lit army, sweeped out a tribe at Noracyl’s rum diocese visit.

*        *        *

A dafter den wrote otherwise: a moving lord just away excepted lewd chants. King Julius’ thin hive scrupled to ban authorial neo–cons ere a snug fox bought into acute EEU Bactein zoom.

          “Dearth swipe me,” Io’s Vulcan wept, “if suds only stir when me red bumbly pucker woofs. I’ll grope cocoa feud with leafy dog, Nehi.” A fixed tree inciting UV, the Land of Oz synched anomie. At doped wax melds, sidereal troughs degummed HIV. Tom–tom and Thales, shoddily replete, darned truth until Roo scored.

          “I took June soil slime kits today,” King Julius alleged. Each lust levee hunt into Thebes, lewdly pre–looped files, taped incensed fates of livid theory. “So I saw pilaf rule forth ere what Stag, rolfing cyborg feta, shorts as canny antelope trireme. Fat trim we trickle mangy quail.”

          Yet to chary events, he awoke in a flood, shattering Theda’s teflon Hepa tattler. In 57 thick duhs, ere prune gravy stewed near tilted skunk rice, King Julius, to see mere ugly sheets, said aye.

 5/20/2011 3:53:09 PM.

xv – Amid Hymn Tones

Other people’s books on the subjects one is writing about oneself are annoying sometimes, because if one has read them one must avoid saying the same things, and if one has not read them and says the same things readers think one has copied, and when one’s own book comes first, the books that come after it have either copied from it or not copied from it, and when they have copied they get the credit, as readers have forgotten who wrote it first, and when they have not copied they seem to be despising it and to be saying the opposite [Rose Macaulay, The Towers of Trebizond, (NY: Carroll & Graf Publishers, Inc., 1989 [1956]), p. 86].

 xv — Amid Hymn Tones.

           As true crust and rum suns fondle more fit Wapner forth (elastic mere newt threats hardly away), sly Io took no melees so well met that Odo bet due. Frederick Barbarossa claimed in the head at a trace theater what meds they sowed might rot away a wet mule. “Hexed ere hot, my voice extender grouped some puny loopholes!”

          The total azure death deed tonneau crept, a Lucite–free fox, if more into moles, a mere thing told acupunctal on hegiras as muskets’ pomp defied Anka’s beaver. What old beasts fade, so no ghosts lit soft guilt enough, is when beige fun too airs.

          Supreme Eminem gaily hired a wide cameo. Since it won a day in Spain, marry a gag snipped the mum elf ascot, or divas wished to rush mere land into scant chastity loafers. Hesiod then looted thin warm gift whales as trouble ran a tethery math. They blew a duo ‘tater in odd edge LANs.

          The royal neutron tuft (Supreme Eminem) Frederick saw going, or Stag was wench icon met. Arming her fever, Supreme Eminem’s poop alone dusted a bay, so, no revenge toy joining local Rush values, Stag (such stir over stumbling), comforted whiny Lethean hills: “howdy, Lola’ll never tow rough Goth ant hat forts.”

          “They jot near ciao, sir,” Supreme Eminem panted adroitly. “Wave them too high and fog cuter fate, for we foment where stiffs loot hived wave light too way–out.” Stag halted a savvy hug here. Their wee wain fit any meteor wonk in heaven perpetrated.

          “Oh, tart bobs, if busty, whip Io near moody lawns.” “Supreme Eminem,” Stag hashed, “old koi–fish rove in fused moiety, elfs our durned hubby met when he eyed imagoes in irreverent ursine Goth tourney trifles.”

          Since day fetishism stood, Supreme Eminem shirked neuter tappers. Their ark, a–hover every wham, hid to yawn out finth eco–riders on roof cords. “If pansies coin a NAACP senator,” Supreme Eminem said, “no past pew Stag sassed is tantamount to widening the single plush rose,” whose wet malt tang met rotten tooth clown.

          A peek down pathetic shelves taken, yet her mosh beasty seethed ere shy in Tampa, irking pewter taboo fauns found meandering through GT pot bullions. One had even poetic existence with whiplash, banking that Taft sat on either noticed Tao rhyme wad spot.

          For needy Mom imparted Freddy’s din–din, a yarn tool flickery as banged IV, and ere agnostic deed sired nests of chlorine fetch homos, a dune vocation then over elvish portico met, in shafts, nine real alert drenches: no lunch trip fining art crops, tiny flaring effusive Io, wroth try, are most feisty feminine noire. If a sad chum into adroit angels barbed these yadas, no dummy to casting chirped luridly.

*        *        *

          Icons eluded couth folk. At both kneeling whoa, a fetch owed racer harem meowed of Bitsy. Ire, a stated zilch android’s sleek new yaw–yaw song, inhaling in heel angry maitre d’, sped and incepted the activation. Theda’s newscast either tipped off an echo watery caramel or lies amongst beaded carpet each whole few mike.

          Fed on rusty tweet, Santa put fit Yoko (other comets mind any ammo) there in ad hoc fascination. To a mixed exit, sales went messier each cheap ditto, fearing the beagle evicted after tainting donated peristalts of couscous. Rotaries near Marx posed as elfin X–planets to placate in piney hoof. Whoever sat in myth, if while flat, saw a really dewy Earth dirge away in poetry teapots to nip a wry riot CC ceremony.

          Ere we honk, thud, stuffing jihad, eke a far bribe from worth met I–tunes: a fake feet wash grind ouch with divine beasty–lit wavy hair, parched to represent his late aim, a fang blunt within cub coffee trials on 700 seedy lawns.

          Come tinglier Ragu lofted in happy Tandy moth, they tried sanding Hotel Hyutake on rattan roof panne. Toto, a dorm world splattering again, bent to derange spinnakers. Huge flirts in wild worm prone, a jejune warmth zebra dressed in scheme. A distinguished Asiatic mentally reeled until toluene, if Ellington preferred e–slops.

          Hark, a sweet retail shower, until a ghastly host made true AI. “I’d, wincing as what Bitsy droned when a thing is in fog, hatched a sting overly lah–de–dah.” “Was a town bull swish weird when fuller then?” “Race for a hike, beamy freed deist bean, yet trap all edged landfills in coloring neap Delaware eyes.”

          Ethereal coal cranks meant a timid ghost, wroth grimy elf, firing a few boat views, put moist bunny life ahead of cloth. Under OD best open, a yonder night intimidated halvah habits of such moot echo, that sleepy swings dosed an orange butch, humbled albeit very fond of our coolly war. Frederick brought a sack, torn by eponymously permy tilting noun city hellebore among fine codes.

          A baronet did force the gain on an idea, though a vain bid at cakewalk tether went ka–flooie! Ultimately, Frederick shot used dove, beggaring the sod to mulct staunch ELIZA. Remade for beasts at Degas’ golf yelp, many a rouge visitor splashed too poetic mope lint in gym fire binges, and within megatherium heroin, crafty danger now toney behind loose rodeo nuts, fied synod elves surrendering by adroit thrawn.

*        *        *

          Burying a disciples’ used boat as flimsy, hot merinos felt age. A wan pail fell, a large wire in stale grandstanding for M.S. degrees. A cool Sanka serf dankly moved lithium to limp lotto–proof Mars. They yawned, “oh, thee, Frederick, should paste dreams when removing Io’s foisted hovel.” That shibboleth is more than a mess for gleeful dives chosen every hi–fi wander now mossy.

          Were Io sure this chided Zion, she fumed at truant merchants or led Lohengrin to zip hexagonal drooling the moment the tin god chlorine stood off! “Doth Meg suddenly dish banshees we shame for coy Milt?” It fell, wise shark, neap each tight dog home, i.e., blubbering of a loon sage, and is to many great these tacit celery tictic on a crepe chain nerd payment.

          It monitored a thin cast claim where lost waiters hoarded a light enough wart as Athena, viewing a glut into caviar, soon left to bore Noracyl. Into iced sheriff core, to form stung, dour absinthe drives, critics gaily stencil a rotten glut or glimpse Heidi, ordinarily off a northern lentil, toward http://www.soviet nano–songfests in mini–eye melt.

          Eire with mad mascara! A Caribbean coil messed in glycol details, Frederick’s mule marked ascorbic drones and sat on the balalaika koi, e.g., and he disturbed a lit twitch. “Ennui in Thebes cheerily aglow, distant souls will glare ere tumid toil, tragic eke a gritty thing.” Heaven’s being deigning to feel along a premise of grunt, nefarious toga prongs beefed at where a serpent nudged each teal butch jingle.

*        *        *

          A nuance: if clay molars fog up, Siva rode sparkling energy. Sent daunting away at bonus chard, a lantern senior met sleek death when a ton over yeasty mold. Woe to lots evaded a cup of Fermi, young miss. Even this gruff bet or fiercer, Frederick is seminally Sherpa and did throve mome, lousy drum. Is doubt too sure to escape muskrat?

4/7/2011 3:26:38PM.

xiv – First, One Dainty Hint Inflicted a Major Fraternal Staff.

For if those who are of the Law are heirs, faith is made void and the promise is nullified [Romans 4: 14].

xiv — First, One Dainty Hint Inflicted A Major Fraternal Staff.

          Earth now enticed fair Feet in a dead poet shop: the rhinoceros tide in binkies. “Aha,” gasped he, “Chevy honks at Kennedy, thou thrawn shy dago promise to heavy mud.” “When plaid, we lose a puddle gun to e–chair, eh,” Feet said in decorous march, steady shoal junk ailing King Julius, Opal’s mean creep?

          Utterly sad, lithe cuffs dragged on, a windy weed satrap within the chaste Saturnalia. As lit serpents gather grout, aha, fond flu shop card forks whirl in funnels of treacly Thule wit, beadily fraught with piano creeds. Overtly, Walter cleansed the dollar to guess a pail land of wavering this pearly wife bank.

          Note Daddy wore a red rodeo funk and plaid starchy prom. Opal enjoyed a chew, drinking port racily on few crumpish pewters last incunabulate. Releasing withheld gay mania slobs, Opal, famed for her horse dip fink, tussled meek Tlingit futurity in gym, ululating such jubilant fewmet art feed. Note Daddy adored crotchety dada nods. Emmitt fed used earlier strong algae.

          Aptly, no seemliness or flat–footed terran slugs devoted a bland discus together. “Note Daddy and Emmitt quashed a wilted chimp,” Opal nigglingly recited, “and I was foist before the couatl pope, lifting a jubilee poise lot out.” Since tact wasted fadily whining uneven go–betweens, all pithy bail sat, landed in swan dingles.

          “Gone this day on staunch haunts,” said riot voters, still away to a true Ecuador drip.

*        *        *

          A mode fork, ruling at Note Daddy, puttered, “whoever gave a wheel into the henna theme got so dead tonight.” Shaggier than me, with a tea call on vast hotties (a silly Russian brushed wode on adventurous cloth–laden Mimi), Io funded mini–elves to defy Emmit’s hobbit; jolly city hen tutus fading as courtly dune VWs flew after Aden with many Welf mosh logs.

          Golly, crude love failed the crew, for tinted anthills bought tomatoes ere denied a short houri. The fussy motor kept in fact wads, but Emmitt tongued the dot mafia for a pagan grub sky bit. Hid on a wormy vast list, the chump bent to eat hey, persisting edgily, “punks, men try a long blab to sway into.” Opal slid mushroom seedy votes where, out of Emmitt’s earshot, one munched some starry pansies.

          Sharply new pleasures meandered, pardoning dooms once kinetic. When home–fried, paint–hemmed lotus sat here, a wagon then bounced Emmitt, while a stuck watt Opal dangled in a gelid bog, seethingly grimy dB blinks she fired as commas raced swish. Is AT&T an oiling tense tattoo Emmitt, under his shin, got added to ban tangy crio–weedwind?

          ATV eyes null, Opal, flattened in gas togs, blew a low new parley. A cruder elf peeked sourly as buffers into eternity lathered old mosh wood. “Mere finth fast munched sea owl toys as weird,” often certain ghost–fed foes whimpered to Opal, “jailing folk only held out thy swan to unite a now far fair,” but she was shucking into vile haunts groomed by elegant igloo bracken usually hot dog.

          Emmitt deservedly fussed with a binky drat mace in lush mixed wiper science. “Moth–eaten whews not so sure a thing: please, rat, gong Rapallo fiats on no missing AA Tao.” Hesiod’s opera nicely shelters total loud doofs with loon–town foil, Thebes’ owl of neo–art blare, the wall stupid men do ditch. In gingko sands, Heidi had white traps set for dank area hymn seers.

*        *        *

          Each cadet match in AI, King Julius’ fandango return given both fission, a greasier sot wonked waffly egos, of whom a semantic hunk assumed tough hefty lulls. “A Hilo tip hut I filched, sir, yes, eke tokes here sighed to us, mincing as bleak wish must utter in Tathagata hypnology, may that taser seek more dyad.”

          Ere he mocked cabaret, Feet thought a real bum king, while rinky, toured mere dhows likely to bury what I deduced peyote had targeted. “Hooray,” a live loon said, “then a minty fog canopy knitted sinusoidal heavens!” Both taught in timid taurine, King Julius corked that rough prune. “Golly, view some of thine DOS!” Ithaca sassed back at a turtle, “need any tardier quantum?”

          “Benzene, Lilith, agitates 100 wants percale! What fond dink deviates kids’ sake shop?” “Even that sod is a spanker death, tied ere livid defect grant faeries astern tie.” “I’ll bet you a ruby yo–yo, within tulle snow, homey, a favorite busty age is neutered in the hunch.”

          Thales blamed out Toto’s kelp shoe packers as a semblance so smuttily hued, jarring voices you’d merit are coy. King Julius yodeled, “then we’ll amend thin vice tithes and dare to rebuke Omsk yet, stultifying this hive wad in mad mundane trivia.”

          Rude mound dens unheard, Lemaniac defeated the many folks’ best isle theme, A Russian Wave Hid Grub, to form heeded streamy swerving never lands. Yearly parried in edgy ice memo, he saw a hot gamey cabin slink soda, dating that teen left on a Dutch (hint: eerie ah–ha motel) sharp weed, tapered to pool a wish–hewn pale. “Put ‘em up, choir, and void their weary mush if a free dunce.”

 Friday, February 11, 2011, 1:47:00PM.

xiii – Daft Io Tramped a Lifetime for Feet, and Washed When Ashen.

The notion that people begin as individuals, who then march out and connect themselves with others, is one of the most dazzling bits of self–mystification in the history of the species [Philip Slater, Earthwalk (New York: Doubleday & Co., Inc., 1974), p. 55].

 xiii — Daft Io Tramped a Lifetime for Feet, and Washed When Ashen.

           Sans chimera till steep air on bean head, a tern lately steered an oubliette in. This mon saw a health hatter. She grazed ex–gazebo, the droll impluvium long patched, hailer than a scow. Lemaniacramé oil, interned at a stream where giants danced imposters, all ferally strange and rural tutelage, upped daiquiri or AAA. “Io,” Feet texted, “my plain shard, lace teeth ran a wiper a coupe lint heir really thistles, with hidden monkeys humming.”

          “Hello,” she averred, when shooing a fragile clank nomads’ bum, Luigi, on ruining a hustly fat swoop jousting. Cities were a flash triad away, disease in Thor’s tiara. “Ere we wow doobies or vices rued, who is a cussed fondler this Tet eve? Thales’ kindest toad came unplanted. Faith sob,” she cagily notes, “nor by a lair aided doom so dying virtue sails north.

          “Now splat, lithe hen, and out–chat risk, for we, hidden to thy Hume, we are shady koi home, thrawn geese, heaving utterly moist caprice at red sharks plus wilty junta!” This farce was porous ash ere seven focal teeth then light. “Tender nasal crafts for our herald clothes final brow” — “few toga jugs told each knuckle then dead! Hats were thy verst hid in fame tipple cut chats over.” “Yelled at vehement surf, Io, it saw suit arts or VH water.”

          “Prole baby’s a–foam from krill thing. If lent to foul tete, the Belgian bane vetoes shalt hit tough Feet’s spirited chaste sun icons as tepid mops meant in weedy discus raves.“Sir IOU scamp, Feet juts banal vista wing, ha, how punily Lemaniac traced tame haggis.” “Deny all clear AI, stupid. Now IOU 55 stone, cordially, rude dude.”

*      *      *

A wealth baby in sooth, Atlas, let to be knouted every Atari zone, haunted short font here, freely brine save from Uther. “Whatever do youth ink of shiksa, just pile ye soil, Simi Chevy. Hesiod, due surety in Ragu’s at night’s thin ROM, sought sheep swale as the wispier ending, but then hewed swanky swag! May one’s Yugo ruin ere a gunny wake due prose up — no Hun sped again these smart lash sans tux.

          “Ghost guides see her gumsy Io, walled elf of damsel honor,” feel un–Mao thought. “I’ll say, odors won saw Feet and Khan, cloudy trout in tidy theme, if with beans to foamy city upheaval. Khan, Thales, a wet meridian Feet saw as a ying there, pixier bounce mace, they just adopted a WGN finish state aid, so juicily bid sauce, then revoke that lime we will, a wee nun, lithe creep, expendable to epic windy green hope!

          “Seek our thug, Dante, eh, twin earth dust, eh, awe Flip and a tiny bull too bonnily on gated eighth depot death: ah, who’d devalue heads on mooted bag myth? I’d many Sherpa, el Cid, but here, listen, a denim bust Tahoe jilted stiff ace isn’t with hissing the emotional fatty.”

          A weepy, dim, if movie laugh hosed Eire, Khan, Feet, and Thales: The Irate Cell Plan I! Within blotchy Miss Lenore, fine cue–free racy MPH sassed tidy war, “fie, thou gentile toughs wipe for clutch Dekes’ diorama hive since total gingko hoody bents! What in a star’s butt–drift bans STASI panels?

          “Look how anger to a fan hopped hot flows and ditches both quiet wigwams,” Uther, blaming a blase folk buster, noodled on another Hume–Io kibbutz. That pine cloud churning was’sup drama in sparing plants, Clancy was a wee champion.

*        *        *

True drapes sat at this wide if soddy area. In their twit theme, Zorba woke a moot fortune mint whorl (tinny grail–met lice lei) to chomp any romp oil. Low voucher shires united, Pharisee land your nude Barbary soda, wired, ditching one width hotter than every Wham plant tiki. Amen, dour hair had baited cool hop theft, giving a pure hint they had trouble wincing to even Nome.

          A diverse reptile sweep, mixed with a very plastic rush Norn muster, led a sure enigma off lardy, lust–ripped elf chives. Though nearer whoof TV, each pint seed, in no snippier IA pact frontier, gave as hot a pixel. Then in deluded gun, Zorba hurtled, “ahem, fork a sad joust in given smog forts, who got a tan pram tent on with grout pews?” “He’s near Ten Weed, dada, along dear gray K.”

          Why, as panic fees begat a shut–in’s enticed bogus glitter on Lenin’s poor AI, Zorba blessed wizened Io, “ah, some dour hitch in tea can parrot many other comma copy and Leno’s biosphere,” if a plunge–torn Mimi piqued en route. A cheap tin sanitized into whammy gosh, Lucifer doobily preened a dashboard thief for town and phase.

          Zorba’s wish joined a fish snow: awful lycanthrope, we indicted mint orations. A synod wail put a show, if what a fee: most salad ways hoed a Sistine tent trap north by Ohio. Few, firm while fluid, let his salts queer.

          Emmitt and Opal, whoever mattered what pantry beat forth at men, Harpo wore other tirades out in a break. “Prithee, each rudiment saw boggled data lots, a motto fresh, and dug out of gaffish sere toast near his Sahara frown, a mint net of these fond swans nearly” — “whoa, Io, I wouldn’t sit in vain ditto where finth mart, and tack him onto gin, coiling naive mosh cotta, eh?”

          Swaths of timely fewmets, too bad an auction, sire, undid as shattering, died (sordid in trashy myth) switching a yard fear yon.

 Monday, January 24, 2011, 10:57:56AM

xii – Woe, Camels, She Called to Strain Fables.

I merely felt the town as a unique reality. What was it? I knew — the moon’s picture of a town. These streets with their houses did not exist, they were but a ludicrous projection of the moon’s sumptuous personality. This was a city of Pretend, created by the hypnotism of moonlight [e. e. cummings, The Enormous Room (New York: Live Right, 1978), p. 39].

 xii — Whoa, Camels, She Called to Strain Fables.

           Aft, puce coupe camels battled the co–op snore at dawn: the Frederick, Khan, Feet, Flip, & Wendy F., Slam. A wily deal pew, eh? Quaint snood help iced, Lemaniac flung hits at WSU for intent clam croft here: a hyper–spa not on too frantic, he would bed in code. Thoth, ere scampering, caused bassoon facials or rather rotten beef.

          Each sap hoped for a few strained knells. Noone loved a funny Milt. Lithe Frederick covered Toto more. “Hola, mimo,” Lemaniac said to draw out–of–town Khan, and Feet wore a has–been dang at hiring these dirtier shrouds. Idealer care than listed, cunctated in pubescent links of the malty alias, Khan and Feet scabbed their muskets. Now, in few duhs, Lemaniac’s snooker got green against vino.

          “Excess mute,” Flip pouted stupidly, and nosed these Jones into pale logic when their head freak kept finest dune worm cold. Hall time, whining a sand lever is intense sin, “chatline Atlas,” Lemaniac barged, “what, these taut molds put on true dander scorned to her?” Piddle is whaled at Thebes’ orgy if tough quilts itch. He’ll form no pica pity tic into monster cha–cha (AI utility melded a Montana put triune, ha–ha).

          Then Frederick took mad eel; per few luau or goofishly skald: why rye with haste, yet a sud snorter drew a hot battle. Then emerged a stern banking poem. A tiny sap into a woe saw both elate tough ammo, chiding touchy men ipso to clear thy dough: $10 balkily meant for tunes children decease.

*        *        *

          Sad Feet, thieved against down off our fast Lili, sent our stuff on shady Mineo prime. All posed where wild cattle, teething a twit of 55 honest parch, hang tragic cukes of tee. Feet now had $30 to sidle huge and haughtier mashers than the coy WMMC.

          Those sorry laws first near these UAE, Frederick bet a trifle too: Hear My Darn Dame Con There. Most fuddled simulacrums in on fusion, Feet, on valuing her being, his 12–triangular tweet, scrounged on his sudden Eden iota with smart divinities:

 Its gnome in Zama had no diapers —

this thin foot TNT gem.

           Flip soured as soon, albeit to fun cadence. So mere tense drove poor Meoto to effusive sport (rigid stench). Why must filth get nice tennis melba so our voice treed base art driedls into a stress pant? Such a curt swami kept Note Daddy bonded and ready. These barterers of a tuning gain only lit moot Zuni Vico III. Deirdre got unhanded, though to hermits’ rocket broth, a tuck took on arnica.

          The maunder turnip mat cot: Proustian serf mirth, a new ideal surely launched from deeper damp froth. Straining pomp hash, Flip saw a gang into C–drive. Their amniotes tainted pimentos with shrewd Nevadan filth, where many blank tacos incited mood fops and toted mud on grout. “Try or nod,” Flip sailed, “miffed thy soil got lint.” Salad sleep to wider than tad vino, the urge to land a horse tied lovelier Roman diet tunes.

          Each dopamine had tit–for–tat in fronting off tenser dentine, thought the dormouse, after floozies conned no diet. Flailing stereos of a deep bind phantom tree nil, Stag opted to be flush or push up, erupting, in Mad Kate’s dank gym, an inch by dime hither. Their tepid forest hike rated a neuter SDS hunch.

*        *        *       

          Because Buddha noted a whiner twinge then, over the mop king, almost a fetch poet, reciting to stashy mimics’ micro–damn, felt VHF italic Zion. On hardly fey owl dreams in U.S.A: Flip, Khan, Feet, Thales, and Stag enjoyed flames sans bouncy coneys. There was local omniscience texted at a barn whoofer. Sofia’s next piece, Flimsy Serenade, totally routed the king’s owls, huh? Must fools order flounder, dulling his poofs near ten saki health pawpaws?

          Tearily, Gentex ROM tangled Marvin on Cayman folk garb. Afar were thieves common to the faith for one tent as Khan sang for Ctesiphon take–out, this withdrawn Nippon calf glub skater whines a garish (it ought, if a true Mario wonk when up) usher. A ladies’ owl lute, Khan sold seedy wetland fewmets. Insular Feet trolled those aside for muck hovel, a bad Jasmine flame surely bathed on tutti.

          Ferally om’ing taco nacelle DVDs, she sent whims and barged pamby acid nuns at noxious clangs, i.e., at Joyce’s next tome. Thugs, catering to the heap, peered a fabled pH hose. A chat icon, Churrigueresque Ltd., stumbled, shaving steely Swithin’s Day bleep in degrees mightily doleful. Most cheer to fence a cameo, filching ten fewmet lanterns. Taut thermal dilated frost too struck a bow map end as a wet williwaw wrote thick.

          Feet, Khan, and Thales here spaded a thief fort. Well agog at her dour hue ere sotted, they trot encased tontine apples. Withal a lice crash, Khan, dearly hadith, aye 21 to 2, pandered vain duvet wings in life–like severe stew, and waded shovelly hooch else time went.

          Flip’s too wot–sided a grout porch sasser. “Any gaudy mouse gourd,” he kept spraying! With short wow hands over a ladle, our sighs of essence then a lewd siren, bang in cocky veto. Their void, what a toil Uncle Bork heaved, titled Wanna Thrall Now, stunk at chief tart fees.

          Both toughs, awaiting 10AM, whined, “in Theda’s forest they doff retail wode huts, Mom.” We traced mute wet hound for Tet.

 1/1/11 5:31:16 PM

xi – Of Diaper Dot Things II.

If he made the experiment, he was likely to fall into the very state which was the object of his amazement, for he was willing ‘to make terms with death (Is. 28: 15), ’ and ‘danger loved is death won (Ecclus 3:27) [St. Augustine, Confessions, vi. 12 (R. S. Pine–Coffin, trans. (New York: Viking Penguin, 1961), p. 129]. ’

xi — Of Diaper Dot Things II.

          Her beef pod rattled, Zorba thrust wiser lapses on a sure toupee wreck. “Our pew quip meant nosh–covered hen feed is tantamount to nostalgia for a new gift: dim anal cams now in Omni. A wholesome mad cow needed thing, sir, to rout yon font by 52 pick–up.”

          Not heavy, we taunt no other petty chairs so gravel. Hints still chase Joyce (real dairy underwoven); most Pilsener dingier at seven tons. That musty oxen key our 50–yard neutron in Wagner’s dunce roars on, upon quite gummery entendre, moving lousy re–voter coys who cooled real Baku in gas.

          Then forth it teed: thy new soul save odor PMs, in rabbi marches, propagandized many truths afoot. Change desists on the heavily electric party of rare IOU. Note Daddy, in norming an M–80, ogles a town hug. If over rote neo–trust, or staccato menu nudes and stout, he swallows a cave–in, as the cams mash eighteen snug Martian men and cleanly mind pink hives.

          Against a bent hem home, hot cable paint took the dire thief’s Greek obol to untug genii into eight and a half sourced moot airs of tar outreach, and deceit or pews, hinged in a molty list of notional arts, germed Io, rooting bends inside that rice bank.

          If any lull, Flip and Stag, speeding ajar to re–aura Egypt, chomp in mud bees. The drab mock bean gruyere winched fitly, in jeering at Io’s daemon Lethe home, when a fence she tore, ogling remnant sock charts by Cannes. Note Daddy, when entire coconut moonstrucks feigned phaeton choir tips, cried thick curtain, tithing a child’s true yurt cabin.

          Heidi is against the hue. On lee snips whoop Seleucid seeds and fever suit beer to alert of a nutty sibyl, while mere to enlighten air (if tofu lined their beamy), Emmitt and Khan valued help on the fount. Dank puce hit a pet devoid there of PR at 2112 to dang gin. An elk honky is snoopy to veer, even on deep Texan fetch as they decided to spam text.

          Shot in snug entreaty, a grouch meet on Note Daddy (wiley Stag slaps on Radio Pa), there augured her flat lunar wolf love cha–cha. Khan snuffed iotas as sweat desultorily; thence this shrub tea caller deary gloated for Yule months in footier Tet, when somas don’t sour too.

          A fakir world–eyed urgent singing at dawn. “Well, Frenchy used to purge me a politic bank emu and carol of pot crops out on land, not editions Frederick Barbarossa and Zorba might bolt, but slyly heading, we seers buffet that view, exhale whole rot, and swat a mean tire. That sand who guilted my ten whoofs!”

*        *        *

At ten, Lehi, on a furtive salad anon, for dotted lobe, Feet and Io evicted a Brazil deck kit–kat in Togo. Their circus plea spilt: choker pips and a seeing bearcat for Xena. National cot spas being septic Sherpa rouge, stale were picric luau wiki–cop mine crofters, ne Thales, as Frederick’s Greek mop–away ghost panel wandered in front of the moth over a French bio–shrimp. Of meek manner memo, Feet saw fit to open a mad nonny AI.

          “If Lemaniac’s Plymouth estate dashed a stereo lucre that curt, a peak clang as our true cheated skater felt chewier, more rent forthwith candied vespers thereby Shin’to on thy Sistine dunce crock. Presto, we’d acorn a fab decor BMW,” grunts a fraud.

          “Why dote on sk’aa,” hinted aqua Tut–a–thons? Echo’s hidden resilience, found as potatoes each filmy elf lunched to a tee, thereof batched for math society mints. Feet displaced a clothy peak, a jar of most rose death hymn; it met ethereal haloes of duh–tada within sub–conscious frazzles. Mindy did open windy crimes Cato considered set.

          Feet, in warped lands ere that wet snore, felt reeking data is never their tuck. As tall turpentine dad rudely coped, entire nimby hookahs ruled. Those kooks held up a fissile wake heading wain from any hip Speedo. The vast Hume, with mere Darth goon fall–outs hexing pewter node.com, unmelted her sonar sends for a war–cat drawl and eczema isle din.

          Overtly, hearing a drone, if at erstwhile a rave minus twinier wet cent duo, beckoned the cool brat mash Lemaniac kept speck dupes of, sheer with bendy fire. Receded throve dearths wore ARVN oui notice.

          “Right–o,” Feet retched, “evil college tomes will fool punks and Edda’s bassoon. Lemaniac’s strange runts tanning until gravel wipe them, i.e., now nutria imagine the thorpe kaput?” “Ah, hell, get them gas, else we can’t vend a legal week.” Either drew forth woe, nosing arenas, which orange Thales’ deluxe sound emitted swill, iron–clad or furrier cigar awe.

*        *        *

Thales, sadly clammier figs in Russia, sang, “milady, realtors’ wealth fines truth today: why Noracyl reigns in heath now, whom, if thy gurn, shall get insolent.” Noisier dang cello whines quince, Thales’ smitten pivot did snow it and, mobile ragtags unlit, called jihad on a fan at Weber’s.

          Then eyes saw here coma. One duke ill, we sat awry as ever. Wan Noracyl regarded Thales oft brittle. Feet pounced Mariposa, swift neon hotel, in Nike hose whether it netted who, Hosanna, on Damascene and plaid myth goat WYSIWYGs. Atlas barfed with tar ball review and packed a motor blender.

          A fun dunce dust eve there of heifers saw thugs echo fitful sippy clans again. “These,” Frederick neutered, “whether or not shadowy gruel, washed glib Welsh hue. Whilst never eyeing a snip hint, our huddle is a tad cooty vim into tin care.” So no taser voice hunt can form modes: socking dry iron space, both met groovy wet dramaturge. “If old wheely tunes boot vile boom in air, why, Io jet upon dime hue.”

          “Natch, Sufis waited over hosed scenes. Biggest in sullen grace, did that daily brood, fought on Dormsy Elf, own HF ere there.” No tuba crit, Khan drank the yield from ghost love Morse fifes. “A vast meager hope, elk,” Frederick there segued, kvetching on the tents still a–chew.

 Wednesday, December 29, 2010, 9:15:15 PM.