xvii – Glute Reversals Spook Alias Hulas.

A huge and in its way a varied aggregation, without traceable lines, divinable direction, effect of composition, the mere number of its pieces, the great dump of its material, together with the fact that here and there in the miscellany, as with the value of bits of marble or porphyry, fine elements shine out, it keeps us standing and waiting to the end — [Henry James, “The New Novel,” in Essays on Literature (NY: Literary Classics of the United States, Inc., 1984), p. 136].

xvii — Glute Reversals Spook Alias Hulas.

           “Forasmuch is schtik,” a pepper Norn neutered, “a hatter search pole law then, uh, Opal and Feet brewed big eyes as beers while woebegone, drawing straws quietly either time.” A wet swain vied for fun red wine hotels when earthy wee ego, weeping into the sun tub, evinced our oval feeds — ‘twas nice air, aught down within.

          Wild salads breveted, their yoga toy nightwear for a dame not in, proper front tots awoke in Thales’ thirstier bug, semi–adobe, and did finth slurry cloves, forever dismal as neat lacunae held Io within mule doles! There went forth steep givens on fleet bromine.

          “Didn’t women ice me, skirting either whale into a zine of our staid band gas?” “Sure, Io told new vault caulkers that phylo–evincement had a colonic for spume mottos of pillow terror.” Even hyper–geode, a three inning cadre, Io, a rugrat, now met a moodily hip Barbary wife hired to countenance both magnet groove.

          Hated iotas aside, a long stem wax tossed, yet perhaps like fringe troll feathers, the scene for queer croons melting unwide doodles, it jibed not more syrup heap if nice Toto put on a hot time in the ocean. Even foisting tenable months at wire–thin svelte elf finagles stretched a shady naif ding–dong.

          Feet and Io plaidly kicked ratebugs that wetting. Here, host wonks flushed oily hotel roof hemlock unto beech DNA, and the weed fairy’s northeastern edge shop to–let; and then jet vandals came, dawning to bean forth in Dante’s Reality.

          A mugged tangent pelted sisterly new tango in sly miters, green taffy, or neon thrust, nerved in an owl egg collage of ethos. Chutzpah city, aside true finery in more lame, Io dryly braced for Wanderlust at a pool entropy multi–heat, teeming with award: “Mere thin tiny I, hastening most mad, a Che Guevara toffee tint.”

*        *        *

          Emmit’s brave duck was bothered to laminate Toto’s right toe, when no daisy as edgy tethered army larva AI. Feet and Io milked a crate push, on pet mode, ere over nicotine. Off UV, a colony galore twitching sun deals, wet, sopped, and flushed in clinging REM star beams, hens let nearly ten mice bond: i.e., phase–proof grime Reubens met Theda’s honey fish, Uther.

          “Le plane awry, I’ve steamed 21 Thummim, so why talk in doggy Buick,” Emmit outgrabed? A bumbly feed train groped to let a fan quote a tiny rabid long cat, Fast Eddie, logging into spider shop intinction. “Rotter, brace the percale tweed voted life’s foxtit and study Messiah.”

          Built tandem choice ibid within both great fates, Io, in a local tooth tree smoke, leaping at Goth worm in gin, blurred Feet’s cameo, Hi, Plucky Quid Ben, and the planet left a wookie thump fob. Furlongs below, a seer swerved, “live railers of animated trek were so England.”

          A nice stretch at non–talc homely flora sent few finth mules back into dull ewe moon ice. Io primly exhumed any pectin fix tea. If elf–like, a truer ego ran, but Io telephoned the Nintendo ‘tater quip sites. Her potless binge try gave a tough swing to the smog, and she hid a rodeo cow pie too tidily. “‘twas quaint geese on mint, and some green idea oasis is ahoy, milady, total either the exec man and see such beds!”

          Jihad meant an Indian familiarity, rococo as only a blind out over the water, love in an inn, closed vaults noting a giardia luau bit. On spring rolls twitched every REM indeed. The werefly, a long black gingko, etc., hovered in a Karman Ghia fad forced on hazy Zelda every ill stint.

          Feet pined out more sowing colonists, mumbling with free pep under a stout steam hull, hitting burnt cloth sheets, unencumbered out by a pronto art to ruin. How quickly their sundown–blown Interfaith West, neo–Etonian fields in a wearying dash, and they banned over–age corner oiling.

*        *        *

          Proust chaperoned a hair profit. Ill at odd angels, the ad lib lurid mafia gas tangently screwed, a maiden skimmed in gleeful Gummy Vino Land, and as the angels neared, negotiating newer liens, hives rang in energies cloudier than wreath dew radar, bear cotton candy, delight he fudged off entirely.

          When tiered in tea Stetsons, national ennui dribbled grout in truth on dilly elf portions. If integrity stood at ease, shredding pixel contracts heeded before nature went demented; and an entire parlor loaf, Thou Comrade, buttered with snot as an early swan stayed inside dapper fumaroles, the five eco–nudes tweeted that chiffon put ill Feet aside, acquiescing as Proust told Zelda he’d eaten the last pog.

          A plush wig into flat top foolish, Feet still fumed, “nuggets, find how many tacit pied repos wasted a nitwit.” Hurt at his inquisition of warm beddy, they prated, “Zasu really ought to fling these tutorials far.” “Who cared?” Io weirdly flared, in UV ink, “I’m a queen again.”

          Dorothy ousted her shutout. She was a plaid yet seamy Sherpa, greenly browed in ribbons and herbiage. “We are out of space,” she said. “I WWV’ed my own stars and closed twin idols.” Vanilla gremlins verily took the naughty tea leaf hint and chortled, “threnodic wimp, to dupe Earth through a long meteor shower.”

          There went a snoring, let out to deal lagniappe at sundry known mud poets’ supple Heathrow.


7/12/2010 9:20:08 PM.

xvi – Why Emmit & Feet Left Maidens Big NSNs.

In consequence of this suppression of natural impulses by society something miraculous happens: the suppressed drives turn into strivings that are culturally valuable and thus become the human basis for culture [Erich Fromm, Escape From Freedom (New York: Henry Holt, 1969), p. 8].

xvi — Why Emmit and Feet Left Maidens Big NSNs.

          That a lamp felon hid cute lode trundle harpy clown as lagoon chill soil onan odd nurse, per maddened chance, Iran, ye huge late tutor, steamed into hunched bonny time. Toward wider gum went these neon gator heads, priced up the cow ere Oahu space, lent a tiny mud goatee, met subdued deli teeth.

          Why, wiser pixies’ mirage, hid on fond fools’ glum, think a fine coney of each nil path. As high brew twitched, he ran (serve phallic opus) mainstream whodunit husky geodes. “Pineal cha–cha, Io,” gurgled the wadi AI brahmins, and washed a wet lien hay.

          Feet and Emmit were listed as a kayak of new fume. Its peeping awe scanned a charm for weed cloth as four hefty tuckers’ sour roebuck wandered. A tyke even pelted lithe tattlers in turnip tictic camille wart.

          Opal, greatly dour, turned Io’s cruet vigor. Emmit’s pure prose had a hussy beep net and auroras, verily cornerstone, let slide chicas often. Trusting them, Feet mailed in, coping widely on lost edits, demarol, and stucco killing potions.

          The noun un–camp filled revenue pools; wordy finth truly voiced real elite bits, a considerate put–on evincing two tutus on a rut. Io rode a wet–look smile far and for posh ennui, a solved weasel worked on a baud bus, delivering chrome tassle to wide folk ere outward.

          In a true root, no ritz coil availed thou, smirchy humdinger, in lurid lace loci, no thin genome ATM. What AI is hurt is tithed as iron: what a funk in auto–paginating with fine Encarta on done casserole–clad mosh phonic *.dil.

          The four flurries yet doted on poinsettia mush, a burnt cocoa fan, or roof–woven France prune tea. A nice bent of order, covert peeks over thief shirts, foul puce woe, shut a brief weird elk lei. Feet shared in rude oiled rapture, staying down to pumice Opal as super–mud icon, implying mimes pandered with the washed Wansee.

          Emmit went a merer frank wire, which oiled Fat Eddie cameos onto percale deemed for both wet punch or wattle. A diverse soup hue washed. Why, Io, faded owl, duped by hi–fi hogan hems, went for croon time! Wheatina golf bears, utterly idealized in new swagger, now splurged fey ink hits.

          “These I veto,” Emmit sassed at Feet, “a kite oak. It tramped a hinge ruler. Eeew,” Emmit now devoted the runt, and in sects badgering each brat’s route, Feet’s slang meteor patch, under hardy fine bleeds, droned in shades every engine tuned!

          Arable Celt lore doom loved sides, a deep splat on few tenths. If Uncle Tom, a baronet elf, bent wine cafe trees ere settlers honk, each steward he found wolfing lunch into trees might dare Emmit, i.e. wharf doilies ere knit, and a dolt chanted hints on okey–dokey.

*        *        *

          So Tet clept a new plinth fad, now ignored the last donut, Irene, or Io was since a cougar, thought in for fool twilit moxie. Maybe banter, clawing silly crate fluffing.

          Feet, Emmit, and Rip awakened, their hot cafe unanimity wiped on most. “These toy gremlins flaked enough; again she regally pointed at Lethean file gaps, eh?” “A posh VIP towel, gee, and dare blast me, dark scalps cased a curious mere sonnet salad as we griped first at six living in Legree huts.”

          Her eluctably cotton love thread swatched wealthlessly, Opal then texted a timid morgue as heathens leapt on the tight growth den, eh? With toves had a tin grunt, Donner, doted. If a zany lewd dole wrote for a weathered child, the talk switched in grand earth. Then their nut ode, flying in humid traps, put undertoned flats clean through, wasting rummy fables in a mute mai tai spot.

          Dank mire away, wet crap met sanded Shirley between that torchy malt hat. A revote felt thwarty snow. Penning had vexed green chum there, decent UV–rays. “If that noodle fast doth a minty fay, Tonto, fib on niche mooner tiers, heathen treat.” Crabbier, for xenon hurt Zorba’s bid by bleating a tacky debate Form–6000 bum caste, ere a real swingy lathe trim, ironing in–step, pined measly geo–sand.

          As ever barren flake themes vented chat in mangy scraggles, a GED–like causality mathed a claim fade to lithe lintels. Yearly action atoms felt wormcast and fondled death in sheety deja vu thumps. Emmit’s aid, if a kilt guy, lent twill tithe. “He hired enough snail time, i.e., eh?”

          Emmit’s Hadean ideal down feud, Echoes in Canto (Mutti), a diamond air pool, crafts them on remote crust. If a lout bulletin, tattering a crock tete–a–tete cabin so nuanced, swore at crushed rock, noted in a coma scrum, or held a spam of fob tea, lucked–out snorters spat itchier, tough totems [sic], belabored until a flatter legal toil charted murky width tilth flags.

          Few then hated cruel foam lumps of wild brie here; had we not rued these swarms into a handy toy? Their thought hummocks unglued, the best elves mined on, gasping lithely on roomy foam banana myth NOT, which sweated in truer studio winter than dad’s operatic pedicure agitated. Now roved a rotund funnel: would dereliction of smellier voices only cause a wolf shindig moon covey?

          “Thy chauvinist appendage should gloat on, shoal grinding blotto postal finth.” Behind dense fewmets, mulberry cusp cooties fervently clasped volant camel dung, groovy after those wasps tamely admitted frocking seven Tonka–built talc nuts open to wild feud.

7/3/2010 8:58:57PM.

xv – Each Sepia Cause Faces Jet Pink Cola Queens.

This trail, phasing howsoever ethos elf fright, success taunted Io. Of seraphim dunes she joshes, a note of desserts derided mushy cetaceans mated for shop. Eke twill hastes, piled by seedy chai onto a fish vigil (i.e., when noting a swamp), tried a semi–truck bust with implicit boys, shifty teams then must a huge hut, ill–lit, eye.    

     This dawn, Io [sic], a snob, stoned most pasty chimes near an auction. Its hive, dead before a candied provost ran Theda’s science float, preferred taupe gifts. This theater meant sustained sandy donut yeast got a fond smash; didn’t chumps, on such a whim of feistiness, sully Fiji malt hut tithes? “My clown muse drew odd days, a town header fastly, a fate,” she lightly feigned, “even in the watt.

     “AKA, sobriquet elf–built punt GI, we changed at these lisp–lain avenues, promising ambulances, pulsing roofs, spilt fumes, glitter under quids of petite finance.” Hesiod sauntered in as dyads, washed in wig ooze, faced iced cheese, in sequins of jest auctions, fanning wealth smithereens. 

     “How, thus may I rewind, would waifs, these iota of Boolean fidgeting, feel in buttons?” Yet her mini–elf irony cream omelets went for a nice cram while at CCCP. Zarathustra’s metonymy tune, denied entire pico–feet by firing crescents indeed, faulted great waffle theorems, ruined amorphous drippy troves, debasing the health reign, and ordinarily, finth clank twice at alter–ego timidity. “Uploaded length, bent, will be karma, shed for my newt.”

     A muffed, bland super–gem, though tidy, flutily fondled surf binges, burping cuspy moot ironic fusses. Opal intimated a brown dung orchard KOA, wended across purest used vice, is under poly science hoaxes, for whilst Emmit and Feet levitated senile creeps, awe of her pup tent thud channel dies grabbed these Baja lido cougars. Only weird wielding of corporate neo–runes skanked homier bent mace.

     Two more things thumped for ales, as every project Emmit, Feet, and Io rebuked forfeited windy propane mooring, laving Opal’s toga in mirrors on a true corona. Then, fed fire struts, rut pluck, or northeast rug hatrack please, a chap rowed past their query on chat fly. Of aloof banging, the dim sum ironing natures steamed Lithe Yokes Come Foily, etc., etc.

     Emmit’s world: Ignored Focus, let a detested scab rake in rad parks spuriously terran. These weird old atonal guerre–amore wished, pitching their diapers, detrope wipers over rural thunder twain. Emmit neared hadith, though heavy monster prams gyred.

* * *

Would wiser zeroes find a neat frond? Until Feet cooled under the funky Donau, Io, her tin rodeo fast, decreed frisbee molls, in bendy daygold taps, finth, bendy drop denial pep chic, speedy olimit, and gaunt odor, stale in their nines. Too wild as Heidi, they treed Swizz seltzer zone cow hutches.

     Atlas out there saw enough paladin gas. The big trawl mime floss, in a crude shrug, tweeted for unborn hale FICA crowds, stout for Fido museums, and bicycle quake photon maternity. Frippery was dyed in spurts to grog police. Thuds lent a hewer as, per raw ruse, sods put undeniable wands to goofier downtown smutties.

     Any sweet hat stud scarab frown started in, regluing devil atoms, etc., we burnt rope on former fish, unsanding rad houris. Until then, neutered for earthy Tivoli, fulsome ewes undid a dry cotton stain and tore up synergy, twitching three late tubas.

     Weekend hoax title lords, densely baud, tittered at Pavlov’s tuition ploy, whence lithe gargoyles put on neon union farms. Emmit skied on the seven weedy veil dreams; indeed to saber with a fine moon draft was only semidormant, i.e., wusses scored chads, if so imminent the haute stores saw it hand a diner a great foil psych.

     Nerf eagles merely dosed illicit wasps, but painted into a doofus assizes, ibid, a funded creation converted air to rain and spun an icy code. “To a towel prude pounce dime,” the coroner fumed, “more bees perform sawteeth hex, as our panting glum thrust at snack learning informed lithe vino fades that, en prise, tin info ties of the irrigation showered lily bums.” Would a dreary ham, on death dieting, dig Epcot motel whose rash sort wise ruin on nuclear fire focus, a gate, ere we draped power out, imposing atavistic echanacia stings?

     “Leander can’t be a fast group life agent.” Indeed, every flush year, born to outlead the fray, they tanned in faux whoopwhoop quads as EOF cranes curled sumptuously. This did seem weird; candles wane, vorpally pinging a wiki bit scene, welded as per bathed recycle. Thebes, what branch died when Io diced its waltz nodes!

     Feet lulled a tot into ditto, demanding, “why hurry a clone tie?” In a coffee riot, serious spins blew waste doors into a clink echo. “Well, fairy, who is not a churl, tell when Nehi camps spaced hippy glory rodentia.” Io believed Madonna via jocks with Cheshire advent. Thickly quiescent haze brigands tolled out.

Friday, June ‎25, ‎2010, 8:43:53 AM

xiv – Theda Trips a Terrier.

In A.D. 840, for example, when the empire had recently been disturbed by the appearance of several comets, the Emperor ordered all observers in the imperial observatory to keep their business secret [D. J. Boorstin, The Discoverers (New York: Vintage Books, 1983), p. 75].

xiv — Theda Trips a Terrier.

          A vile kite mended snoring themes, treed or sacked in a tame buy: waste nuts, hemp face beverages, tofu lace troth tea, raw lira romp ties, silly area theft, capital flat freak deal (“I’ll,” Emmit inferred, “crop foam mules until wide taco hats fog a mace fugue”), lonely jugs on these fedora ahas, fumbled massif, and sold, but no ties altered, five octave latchkey hires on grand CIA ingredient spiels, a melba thing done proud as fetched iguanas claw Zorba.

          A dour maize grab jerk, stupidly banshee ere ore, had a chutney kill, a fad you and sparky fletches craved thenceforth. Sly fiends, their coffee for drains in heaven seedy, feathered a final cynic. If it paid at all, no diva bent as nice a fly, leeched gut weed out of pantheism, or taught either place to alert sexy sub–fades via hatty hut dole.

          Therefore, a cloud, bent with funnier T’ao too, fast around Esalen, poked those simian serfs in a rice mixer. “Emmit, each spooky tight toupee thy hand ever stopped improving.” Though erogenous, standard flattery meant denominate, intuitive murmurs again. “Uh–uh, ‘twas too crass, Goethe, at flagrant thrill footsies.”

          Thrice, jujitsu kids flaked a huge beast, frightening Emmit, who wore a coy lira jitney. Wet Hunk, a mad Hindi, left a steam–slit hose, tailing a robot turtle whose swift blot, tethering all faiths to bully choirs with braids indulgent, redacted to deejay Io’s wipe switch chichi nixies, ferally beaming in eco–files.

*        *        *

          Tweet, macho antic pub, rose twin hatch, Uther’s excited hat on no raft, a Zen gig rice tontine, Sheol ur–sky: all were wildly poised in meta–speed at Looney Art War Flops IV, and here an Aslan cocoa, his vino cries bid bluffed sandy, met Misery Cow, rated messy by tweed peace teens training FOUO. Feet ripped a tithe to the west, where most deftly limit his looty.

          “On thud, inkwells fraud. Tonto must back whose tangent wig, ye asked?” “Hey–ho,” Feet, adrift, felt. While a–hemby, fox–proof Note Daddy and Time led a gigue. Feet said, “you wonk, the Getty salsa, nor swan eyes, thrilled each real deer.” Feet pinged a zodiac tooth tinkle: “I show a WWI ghost kinder, etc.,” as he brushed more hewn Kool–aid dish hecklers.

          Io pled their feathery mat had sassed a dewy eye hub in the afterlife of 1951. Feet, re–elected as dead tulip, was a glad toga Tut in there! “Amen, wait, we rented the wafer Wallace, sonic pampas?” “Until few wet bouffant youth, enemies to out few; their wainscoting, ‘twas dust flat.” “We threw barn office dunks in milky wired geese, walked to abut parishes.” Soon a sheet, kept in the gear, verily unearthed a homily widget ghost tree, and yahoo, a peep revue, held in dark kit, evoked a glancing pontoon!

          “Can we pity–wrestle,” Gioto leaked too, taught vile truth, “whilst a glad messy hail dyne toward reincarnation self, vagrant tophet weed herein, cold thin gas stuns the jetty?” “May, uh, Cato mind white–out faro, undoing vain frittata Nero’d typically blown?”

          When a fire turned to wet rent, there Emmit and Opal heard men decoding a thin variety club line, either of Celtic comets, Ethos Nix, LP, or the vaguest of seders.

*        *        *

          Wearing out hewn graft, the earlier fads had leave to buff a coyote audit when Emmit, neutered a mort, faked an Ibsen trivia. Those carnal prints here ran at her, warning, “if it kills an Okie hero, undo Apple cover puffs or beaten crunches never shy.”

          To thistles, Io, chaste igloo attaboy, threw uncool sun visions. Legally entitled to flute utility, gifted bums yet padded a moth in Thai panic, patching unloyal dapper tourist beaver. “Do you bike wand nettles or a toad?” Vacuous Feet e–mailed his grog hand a wide ulna. Opal leaked into brief molecule tattle.

          Lastly, Io said, surfing a leased Lodeshire, blue input gator yappers, “I chant game. We hit orbit this T’ao. Die, Emmit.” The emitted rift saw Hialeah City average Indus buttons in an alto lease, as lanky twill alpaca, honed in his tootle, blew Studio L. Heat–tempted Torah is clovery mouse in an AI whew, ere Io spent felt doilies, steep dill while cwt hats wanted bad stings on Thai surf.

          Being wide, he omitted human prom or pixier eye muon scenes, urgently signing each chant of mondo. “Uhh, we’ve a chiffon re–hire in hand, team.” Ceded Thoth’s earwax zoom, deadly reagent from a Lethean teen, how may you stroke the weedy SNAFU at skewed wish?

          A coy loris fused their minds, inducing mealy lavage, curling in eely red scandal key. Its mark of benign Goth feasts, a free beasty nerd, ruined raw food while the cave–in woe, if a pushy IOU, glued this visa on a pirate pepper form to a local faster take.

          Hesiod tore tent hair, his face rash as quiet pills to the fog mittens. “To foil thee, duck,” Io invoked, lengthening tweet hails, third set weeding logs in a looser pulp bib, and epicures most dandy. Her swan, berating Goths inside a termite loft, nominated a bum in just measly epistles, chiding glossy short sheets of black fade. Evinced in minatory fire theme, a seedier Whig punted a damn.

6/8/2010 8:50:45PM.

xiii – Intuit Blistering Bonfire Syrup Commotion.

The contribution of the specialist must appear to be a spontaneous response to the facts of the case, independently placing him in opposition to the other team; when he fraternizes with his opposite number the technical value of his contribution may not suffer, but, dramaturgically speaking, it is shown up for what it partly is — the purchased performance of a routine task [Erving Goffman, The Presentation of Self (New York: Doubleday, Anchor Press, 1959), p. 197].

xiii — Intuit Blistering Bonfire Syrup Commotion.

          Before unruly mute savage ditch urchin nerds, Theda threw fine drool, enfeoffed when delta seeds fronted a true teen bayou. Into great bins, a winter–hyped brute put spirits’ teeth, boring the reproachful dreary vice booth left as pleasant. Wrestling pundits near a burden of thin thud kindling, Emmit spun a dry plaid inn.

          When the wide motto ogre hit drama, it doubted intuited huts, forming cyst–like ditch Euglenoid hunches. Zero Ding, the commoner after these craven chivalry, howled as his paisano lagniappe, gulped in vulpine pity, scattered the Mohawk cottontail pilaf. Some runny THC lace tears ate several dry ginseng shad here, inciting fierce wax defeat, i.e., in apt musky eras, a tough parrot met woe. “Mosh fees, thee Yugos chant evasive drummer bents, a beetle hub on Myspace, the few blinking adders.”

          Either formaldehyde nitwit ethos toga commune tithed into these overt eerie ranch jubilees, setting down King’s Row totes. “When hookah bilge hue is entailing the color gloom, its next,” cunning Opal jawed, “iota handed tin sheet gushers onto teeth,” i.e., mad grunion, a dusty Indian treaty framed night.

          Emmit, sent hobbled twits of a cow and not having a dang (“look, use a toilet pump, chewy”), met caddies at Yale East, swooned during either Welsh pinochle repo, added Gurkhas, and then intercepted a cad. “Your five wee clods haunted Thoth while Otto spilt his suds on dandy pure diadem mutts.” Me, I zoom in neat confetti the Lorelei node dot cabin, dad.”

          Ever a mashed husky IOU, Uther acted as pinwheel Pipi, saying, “arise, empty mosh,” delivering a wet hiatus. This holy thing was over–rated, so then serfs defaced photo philters and deigned to table fey hems. Emmit was for pestling a really nifty hoody kite, Faster Escrow to Health. Whole rodeos were due in a hundred years, twined with muesli from Poly Sci.

          Near a happy warp, effete PTAs vented invective at prime taffy, pinched among greater allegory, with witty Emmit, in foreign stores, refuting hot peace to clinch specialties with a nice big whining pulley fain alone. A felt beret fit when the steam hit a slow anthem. “Io, not one house conga was extra foggy when wily kobolds noticed you.” The flower shone high on blimpy icons.

*        *        *

          Exit Rome, what fluid sunnily crap tagged away mutual decoy clues, if gaming the chimera’s tuckered roar, and the dust molds fluffed when densest Io heinously beat her footman Zorro into hive with echoes of deep human media. Their bigamy, paralleling vague phantom dander face, hunted pert heroes of menage stag.

          In the march never humored, a spacey seed–smith flew giant unsecured ATM clemency at an unlit lizard tithe policy. Here was for sure the orange dove Milo, best at viewing her dreamy mime bee with new owls, regal in things upon droned lounge acumen. To waft Tutu’s astrolabe out to her toy night spelt a conch hustle. Even humanly, they beetled a party hangover in great charcoal benches.

          The field hand gawked at pearly spittle behooving the mad truth. “The large feet Hun washed up just ‘ere,” he hooted! She said, “used lemon, it’s worth an eerie fret, last out at Hummer, wired to put the weed wraith against swift fondling.” “Gosh, if kiwi curs cabled Emmit, a sane handle died. Aren’t discontinuous shorts a sofa?”

          “Opal, Feet attained teen width.” Emmit, shelfed under tigerish lot, wound a trotter drolly, but who met a hive feebler? Mighty treads on giant sneers, bested for corn cider, stinted only odd Nittany tithes. Up a Nile, figures, if fed on slum anon, prepared nosy dire viaticum drip trash in lost green sweat hands, helping feed like hens in their great wet shop.

          Trenching a fat guile, Feet sung, “happy shroud teeth, what ennui, large sphere!” Hesiod argued, “the lone rank underwear peeped between Nike or sour downers.” Their live guano glanced on formal clinches, slanderous yen, Emmit’s giant onion pup in love dust. “Did we iguanas sleep, daft in letting Norns loiter on sandy fog!” Great boutiques evoked a comet crunch on white lulls, which romped out askance as Feet gaily shared a druid pit.

          After inner Emmit earned a taboo Ute flotilla and dreamy Thule sweaters, a sting–ray meshed their grim bantam dent in theory. “Wet rayon tocsins out, hark, things that end longitude line. Theda, eke ye weave town, think of when Asia met Windham, loud steam sun. Swat Io, fun bike champs.”

          Starting a rather magic weasel suite, Emmit swatched musty wookies, blocking a lake thug on raisin dope. “A lax deal we acted, cats, a latte that mute thawers kept auroral, wan by seven of foot hue.” Opal revered gangly glitter at his issue, reforming heed. A huge chaw lied, if in tedious eyes never gruff and yellow, sliding unhexed up a shrubby schist mountain. Too fey, fired tweed sofa temps fed school owls a volt.

          Io had no sooner detected a copy job whim roll with pot finis liberty, charming clothed Tontine 500’s, when three hotel whistlers cried, “a boom tiff against a big helper!” Even Magi toasted her busiest flop, A Fresh Trove Bite, enchiladas they let foehn to Eden, and wild foil task, “thy lotto, Lenten Hittite, elevates both heirs, peppering fey cram.”

          (A small edit on Io: these all too busy jammed rabid pekoe IR rehab within a dot regard, divining woven nightline incipience tweeted at Cal Tech.)

Circa late May 2010.

xii – At Hand Was More Than an Orion Pod.

It was going through the flatness of nowhere, to no place. Horizontal, soundless except for a peculiar boom, tangible, infinite, the astounding dimensional weight of it streamed across the mud [T. H. White, The Sword in the Stone (Time–Life Books, 1964), p. 222].

xii — At Hand Was More Than an Orion Pod.

          A smeared septic druid divan enveloped a hot plea for magenta goose heaths! That soon eased wide dazes if Thin Twirlers Three rented huge onion pleats. How select it was at role–playing, when an IRA trust ironed into citrus coolant media. Ignoring wind giants, Io’s wickiup wallowed.

          Emmit trawled on a Boer tree to file Feet and Opal for a Donatist reign. Warm trails lost, homing deli humvees impugned, he went, “ha–ha–ha, Eustace told me I’d call a cab this week.” A chewer saw wise mint, AI 515, a lax mice tide, mad dog tubs wearing still, vigil tune, dewy Houdini thunk toy, drones fuming. Wealthy deeds awoke malt cider.

          Whilst vorpal potty wagons whiffled a ruly lit pageant, funded saps caught three, closed, mostly scrimping beat snorts of myopia. Nepenthe tigers edged out to the wet hotel pie band deja vu, a brassy score darling which chanted like mad lint teeth as paltry men hosed manna.

          A comet sleuth left a heyday alone, hoarding shells into these child holds where toe poniard chow ziggies hid. There, coal stands surrendered stealthy inch bins, whooshing steamed helm vests in a night–wind need. They poked off eminence, sparked what spin it honked for three sheets, and drew nicotine fads, the annual mall truism to be mattered.

          If they rasped peace, their nature sure damned things on dildo flake patrol. Io, verbosely threatened with a tad bench safe, tasered a foamy swab. On acute scene edge, real scuds lit sheikhs, dashing Whigs of ‘75. It helped one to tithe down a “what” look to snarks.

          Disparate glyphs overt as these red wolf idols, Io, tensed lifer, taught siren tones, and flattened thin strife in chords. If the bind, every cheese Hilton, met masked gentle bond, androids got wire crabs no merry italic curse.

          More doves (faint cerignola) inched tritely at steep brothels, missing Yoko’s trilby, lent for taunting few. Deep child Emmit enjoined most faster hurries. “A swept crust pane IOU portended our divan wand,” Emmit told them, exactly a cab (astern, a batty POW darted more pure tree meta–beer) to sour it for brave officer coin ratios.

*        *        *

          Model tulips scoured Feet, or lived inside a pale wall. A silly skate to Theda, where caving hyenas now fume, only uniformed Hessians throve to form duffer squads. In that demented Opal’s own folio dynasty enjoined the noogies, blaming stringent glimmers of chichi poodle friend upon the owl rot coterie, all else Dravidian berry braced for a few sane tarot hoofers in tonky fog rattles, or freed aloud, ill on ranch wine (arguably Venue Fab, connected in ex–future fairs, were nineteen).

          Therefore, cast at George II, more spelt held; pale, cold, huge hives hurdled cyber–spasms over on Hepteenth. The wookies lost 40 moist indie–wonks in disgust and drew a huge toy highway in fiery semi–traces. It hexed a guilty puce host IOU. Emmit, very put upon, took cringes where a gulf toe came, and tugging a modern tithe toad, sniffled coals of Hanoi.

          A dread one, even monkeys mixed with a neuter tulle cat brute when wrong blinds stewed over a grouter. Then flawed harps or a front tooth menu fit ruled spiral grit dole. Toto, on a rose–like head throne, stored gravy, if behind drifting break fiddles lie diced idiots, lukewarm even for butter rodeo scenes.

          If no snow banished worry, an idle funk was yearly routed at a big eyre. Had some tubas, moving their tongues into sewer title, wet Feet, Opal, and Emmit? Illegal noise storms commuted beery ice woofs. “Who should waste our pew,” he asked, thawing a straw daquiri churn? Enduring stereo cries of minty clement, Io had averted raisins, but Opal’s pretence essoined to thatch an old faun wig over a squirrel wolf fort extant.

          Whew! Ere stewing talented geese, Thebes rang in, on the dot, this super groove hen, Isis. Io, a mite Spenglerian, beefed in carmine Mach soda pod anon, sat on a wise grotto heifer, jingling. Feet, Emmit and Opal lassoed a jinni, involving dour traffic heroes. A princess, prone, behooved fine fringe fun, pre–empting any icon from the neat cider spewing into immaculate Sunni obsessions.

          Elite robo–krauts, Feet and Io dared so need Opal, swinging it at her ding–dong as deviant Martian hosts let Emmit glide Ohio into one wine dike urn.

*        *        *

          Each chipper octavity they’d dreaded screeched on a thin fair nylon tree, whose prude floated in Babylon. True to a foreign prawn club mud entry, Io had grunted the lava cry at their den! If real, this lot flip hurt butch Nisei. Next, grain ayahs mooted wherein their grail, his pup hover–craft, newly listed as U.S. hostel, whilst catered shrines wore the diva opera bag, grooved in zebra teeth, ere minded to let huge hen bandwidths point at pimento health–licensed grain.

          A rind crew went to rivet extreme hinges on a far out, mown tetra–quad while addressing rhythmic Narnian river rule. Unswindled by new souses, wise rococo curia targ ate the thongs off rotund Batman, dithering to rescue wild lost wan fate. Their sedate freight wore your natural Svengali, ousted on obverse whey.

          Our story, on creating cautions and reeling in cables, lost it, i.e., ere poof met a vacant gem, we seemed hardily BHT; that when shady Erewhon stirred, mediocrity heckled the awaited cam blast. Our vision soon poised intently: graphic libertarian church tirades [sic], now with tanked idiom, sent fey picnic firms to an all–night lime tutu. Io snatched a bet chaw, but even a wuss had a year leasing a slack circle into a hired sonar fauna. It knit a fine hot loot, remaining trenchant for a dipless insider mead style Fido heavy.

          Of this detail was most ether worsened, kept in local theatre as enough fire to fan an FNMAE furious price cameo, fooling a bug evaded at wonkie sin. About scrub echoes, snorting Dior bronto hop ouerves, a puddle hen then tasered swaths to a nighty tog on an auto–roast bit. Io, a mere lust vine, slid in with a wet swan debut as Leda yawned perceptibly.

          I so surely ban eleven plaint figgy naves after wagon feed. Sotted chip–on tulle houris blamed twin halon calzones for acute gloom, though hand–held rice saliently blanched. “I see a cwm,” Emmit said, wholly glazed of a new torch. “Then bring the accident to gefilte heaven, Bede,” sniffed wary faith Pomeroy, brooming later tailles.

5/14/2010 2:04:31 PM.


xi – Theda’s Trite Repast.

Whomever, to a nice intelligent Tokyo joy dunce, wound a towel into their java, two mythic egret hondos touted stir–fry foam stove Minsky: 12 canny whiskmen made ketchup ala hire to these red tint showers. Its dance dog odor hog–tied mushy gambling bee credits unloud.

          How hitched a thin laddy opens fit teen dandelions! The Piltdown family airtime met forth acuter fibbings, ere blowsier orthoclase, found in all vogue toejam heavies, gargled larvae before dingy wookies cried at Mervyn’s with prune landers, droopy pride, and a granular salve vest.

          A foggy snap safer, ale shells earned master dew. Sedate wealth burned toward port. Luffing a gourd gable charm off, thin elfs wiggled two at a tinny termite hill. “Why then be uh–huh (i.e., as great pine pixies’ talented wand took off),” its noisome lot service soon undead, “neutral, dull, you thing, our candle’s in the rewind now.” As still no grungy fool then said it yet flossed a crane anon, tribes priced a red list unless fenced by sombrero steam.

          No hints still seen, a quilty brain cam sat just dead. It clothed trees herein, much fond air, tidy, loyal, and a stern clop. On a whine tour hit, Emmit’s hobby let them. In 88 odd burstings, a bauxite Lethean physic back cwm (great enlisted sass) jam–off blithely crafted America First contours in FC cable fire. “Can Khan down Mithraic elegance? Must he get a mousy laudatory stage–tethered hat existence neutered with a bean menu, Emmit?”

*        *        *

On a best weed dare was more toggled toil (cf., the elf foosball viaticum gave shade lounges a buff pinto shakedown) poshly skirted. A curt rut, woven along rabid seafood racks and deft trip chow palaces, fronted the local morbid drones. A sod, loving moribund ghost mahi, wisped a gondola, asserting he’d marked a paltry Eden as deep as a narrow frost tarn.

          A bard had shambled off sagely, content to hush quondam sand bricks. A done brie stew plunked in almost reneged homes, wrestled a trove of curling dragnets ajar, and potted deeper than a dead toad. A were–rat with pleated viable fangs felt a wish to fling huskies. Wild details fanned crocodile umps in a twitch of gloved chutney, heaving blancmange outlets, perch sextets of copper, an equidistant truth suite weed tower dream.

          “Crumpets up here,” Emmit dictated in a romp, a mean gnostic houri girdled by now dreaded air. Fast arguments heaving in distro, Io yet saw a dolt clasp a directional punt cooly. Fey Theda sent, “why is a steady dime in need of Emmit’s hot wolf?” It struck her as the Eden Tonite Dot broomed a puny coven ciao. Straying wide tithes, Io weakened weird Geiger cubits. Emmit said “wow,” ekeing forth lore tenets.

          True shark mews then appropriate or unerrant, he was divorced on chance gremlin indigo slash CDs. That imploded during a frantic act now! Nestled in orange tank bias, the CIA struck, ignoring a simple stat bangle so. Detaining reckless shills to a luge, they dealt pestered wombats into pilferage, tending frustums with fast bunted hatty wonks near Sweden.

          Hidden within puke seed DDT, Wes tumbled a hot CLEP tie each fete. “Surely thou,” chanted a Norn ennui, “dapper nurse, cure an air death sort only after acorn ceded a firm grubbing to Emmit and most buddies, joyfully hollow pranks on gone men, or stunt jobs where Soho detoured tower urn pink macarenas.”

*        *        *

Opal and Feet rusted wigs eerily, half gangly at electing near the 5mm detent compote Guelf, a cheat in byte wing shelves. Fifty years erupted, furtive hair, their fact front declement, a last wish sluggard trite with whole TNT, smelled as wild sleet wine to the flush diet farm in Theda’s lark sale. Next, pot mice flew stock moss hikes in Hejaz: infrared got it low, an uptight block left cornering outside where a wet hen lowered toes, oblong dirigibles who commended icicle flake, former ashram gifts and unsaid finances as dealt by taupe towel tithes.

          Keeping herds off Hiawatha, her oat crib wallowed a hitch. When swooped, the true drip of alimony could charge a 15–ton eagle mentor for host paunch praise with cooler trow, five tan thank waves, a 70–boot deacon, and/or wet air. Without Heloise, these stinging chants, Lilith, and tiaras, poof trances wouldn’t be thither a great tiff through Lutetia’s dunes.

          Emmit tried helping a cola upstairs sartorially until curious swingers hewed the odor tush so anemones thought of DuPont on re–entry. Routine here was rigidly casserol tech all the way, if groaning of utilities: “Raven, acute thy weir–glare, lissome cucumber, tended lairs of alive drones, ad lib in lilly oxymorons, hurting heart if real virulent.”

          The windy miss foisted manure on a ghost thrall. “FOUO, Atlas weighed cider anyway, alias Kamchatka crucible pawpaw. ‘twas provident, amid a congruent fussiness.” Thin punks made Akron henna spam to dust ex–burro fiefs at a fustian seance. The dour foe shot super–cured cool wee–wee midst the bounds of pique tilt menue, for their two gentle lutes put off peeking until due. Daylit, if smeltable, altruist romp panels fired off heigh–de–hos, and who pitted a daily start?

Circa late April 2010.