the starking of the water.

The arrhengterrapongorin is not specified by the first arch-gulfing or the second or even the nth -- it isn's specified by a unique one either. It is instead implicit in the conditions and the wistful hopes of the impossible dream, the motion on the dreamtime that the freeling of ether-monads makes patently visible through their common comminution, the continuous ravine between two plateaux of consciousness and the summa theologica that occurs with the transcendant feeling that one is evolving, not at the particular states of individual organism or genome but of the interpolated continuity of motion of form and formlessness that marks the gray areas between genotype and phenotype. The amazing ellision that transpires in the meiotic cauldron, never answerable nor answering to an authority, an accidental taciturn pause in the machinery of life. My arrhengterrapongorin may be entirely different than yours.

autumnal vertiginy

The leaflet "how to protect your dog from trapezoids and other parasites" was released by a high altitude plane over Toronto during one of the most abysmal times: an all out, no sense but the best nonsense, culture war. Okay, if you want to call it a way, you can. I'd rather call it a kind of prolonged accident, the one with wings and a stellar burning vapor associated with it, you know, that kind of vapor you smell just as fall is beginning and people are starting to burn wood to keep warm. And it's been maybe not the best weather and you're considering moving to Florida or San Frangalis just to keep a nice winter home far away from the chill. The weather leaves a dry, almost alcoholic tang in your mouth, and all kinds of ridiculous sports games are on the television. The air smells dry and its been a while since the last precipitation that you can remember. A thin veil of winter air descends and the fireside alien is roasting marshmallows happily while you struggle to keep up with the ever increasing, ever incessant demands of your time made by shadows and substrates, made by ghosts and wraiths, all representing the gone world. Maple cider and whatnot, the chance of the changing of the seasons. The withering of leaves, the dessication and dust conversion of little scraps of formerly and recently photosynthetic tissue, an ore of carbon made from air, water, and light. It's a few billion years after the first filamentous masses of cyanobacteria began emitting toxic oxygen. And the thin sunset peaks of the moon and the thin fibers of the sun intersect in their rabidly obscurescent dance of the seasons, with that magic in the air and that feeling of degenerating leaves and maybe some itinerant hope hiding under the sea charred air, the coming of one of many transitional magics, only a few of which are known well, and fewer still that are practiced appropriately. The set sun says the sky is dark and frosty, and the air says nothing save the whooshing noises it makes as it sways and waves.

dvorak, wrong and odd.

Malthusian paper ant you say. Mages a plenty and enough room to spare in the noggin! My thinketer malfunctions and they're these wordlings are exudated or mend and wend through space like a thick tricky twister. Only an approval could make it worse, only the approval of the vice minister and company. Nice to meet you, Mr. Tertevian, I hope that you find your accommadations acceptable. What's that? A soup has landed in green pastures up in the Northern Abyss? I should jolly well hope so. For if it doesn't live up to expectations for the party of three I suppose we'll quit and carry the item off and be done with the electric laser weasels. It worries me, Mr. Tertevian, this feeling, this zeitgeist makes me all uncertain in feeling and all troubadoresque in manner and neither of these things I enjoy being. I have made my grand issues one of foundational concern, not for the sublime neither for the daft or the transparent. Rubbit out! The methodical application of various techniques of reasoning is of greater concern to me than the results of applying them. I am a confused person and revel in the candor or the condor of the seeds of misapprehension and blurriness that I plant.

a titled post is not this one

Varnish the metabolic itinerary and waste the methodical application of the transmagnetic donut. The lemon of Saxony is frighteningly wacky and chances are that the menhirs that were strangely associated with the well were seen to be cougars and wildebeest as well as an assortment of a wide variety of other critters, all of which were viewed as vexing and paradoxical in character, The somnolescent lavado of the brednans and the tensorgiastic rhamny of the chicanery of the chirugeon means that the message which this bureau processed in four in time made the gas pedal distort its readings and led to massive internecine miscommunication. The blarblers and the wrenxvrunculini have different and diffemorphic agendas, none
of which they are willing to talk to us directly about. Instead their language is one of spares hops, of blinking alliterative phraseologies, of chaotic tendrils and deep crimson indigo patina on solid red metal.

By happy at henhecn ati hde hditd hdah man nai, ronfuse the methodical madness and warble the juxtaposed interrelevant teleology begin the tensor nostral rostrum meticulous method and master
the ream of instruction manual like the good doctor recommends. The message is the chaos is the translation is the function of the byways and the lethargy is the component that exudes the notion
that emotion is the cancer that catalyzes the anger that is the method. The interrogation is
complete and exclusive, with parts being written in a language that there is no present translation
for. Because of this asymmetry, I must make do mustering my lamination and my stalks and my chances
like the delirious and many splintered accidental cheese monster and the excitement manages
to creep in unseen and falls over unceremoniously during the first quarter and at this point the
metamatrique of the telafin at the border crossing make their reasoning widely known and
common knowledge we can say that the scary robotic feel that the wards feel is not due
to some disease or other pathological condition that has its roots in the utter chaos of the
situated Quark bar and that the xerological feeling that one might feel at the stem altar might be
justified for a change,

Lethargy liberal limerick gasher jackal lamination samadhi astral lancer coordinated damnation
as the astral lamina macerates under the influence of the beanstalk and the drapes have their
shadows approximated and proportioned by the juxtaposed interreferenda make the feeling I'm
having now livid and yellow in nature while not pausing in mainly free gandalf from the monsters
and maybe the message that meant to emerge from the cosmic egg might not be ignored this time.
How things have chased and wandered in momenta and position, how the cosmic lunacy has
traipsed and transmogrified in so short a time, how it is that all is dissolved in a thin layer of jam,
and that's not counting the mile high metallic sculpture which was recently installed at the residence
of one Jenglefroth Lapparonian, an inveterate maze twister and puzzle solver extraordinaire, a jarring
experience to say the least, but the experience that one has in the vortex fold often leaves on feeling like that they should encounter the mysterious vapor column again, with all its varied topological smoke and distorted fields.

archgulfing the polymeric sun-moon

Vurch thy vonfriegan in the divisor table of Wallus! Monochemona and Walsis, Kelor and Dinidirang. A fourth of scotch and a fifth dram of the chaotic in tertiary waltz! Oh the parsippany, the parsimony, the parsley, and the unparsed gray green gray's goose wayzsgoose statement table to metabulate. Oh Ohonckoa by the notice of guitar grault and selminiferous corge! The maxillary andropause for the sine and cosine of covoniers! The expression of the metamud metamuter. The lalr generator, the cons cell extrusionistas gathering by the beta-gamma reductase comet impact site in Tunguska-Loosa, readying for a Krakatoaesque blaserblosion! Oh, fudgesicles and fin-de-siecles, the readying disaster-trophy of the malmisinclined, the proprietary nose-baz interfaces sold at the bazaar by less than reputable salesman, of many a clone of Arthur Miller proferred by the quarter man (full power, the biggest fish in the sea). I stood for something in that age, that era, that aeon. The fifty fourth segment of Heraklitus says that the Aeon is a child playing with colored balls. Are they juggling self-transforming transbiological machine elves or are they just strange salesman married to infinitesimal noncommutative polyhedra. I can't answer that, having never lived at Foofaraw junction or Corrohence. My answers to the questions about the propellers were rejected on by
the erratic reasoning of a dimble-straw, an arch-rhombohedral kineticist of Yourghk, a plan without a woman, or man, or straw-feline to lead it into the next time index. The Ollohimbean
stark-carsting that made the whole endeavour worthwhile, the thin gray metallic stalk made from pure Planck gas connecting the quantum mechanical indra's net one to another. Surgery on the local ones is in order I hear. Someone with specially muted senses with active genes in both the post Kardashev 33 region and copied from a time-displaced Wiwaxia and Hallucinogenia are required. This wiz-baz makes me wheeze. All these strange topological machinations requires to cleave one world from another just leave me at the seat of my nasal phalanges. Of course, it could all go wrong leaving us stranded here for another 10^33rd of an aeon, and if that comes to pass we might choose long term hibernation. But such is the dreamstuff of araglyphs and dusty desert menhirs, the tales of wood machines and headache gods, the pulsating peramplification and perambulation of the discontinuum, the buried geese of Yonkers, the time ridden wait of the burred silver convectionary which is our joy to imbibe after tea. Or maybe so!

chronotomes.

it doesn't take a mechanical reductase and two dimes bit a milliparsec to grok that things are crazy-odd, the color of the sun is green, the sky is red and the grass is blue and the street-mart seller has plastic wrapped permutation groups for sale. there's a trapezoidal vapor slowly drifting over the horizon and you haven't seen an Eddie Murphy movie in a metanahambe, and the plutonian steam hockey scores are twelve to two in the fourth quarter. the violinists are protesting the string tax and the cellists have ascended in the governmental fugu-fugue states. the arch-fluorinologist of Maryland has descended into the arms of the bourgeoise. Well, let me not tell you: the sand grain numbered 10,204,201,102 in the Sahara just spontaneously achieved Nirvana, sending ripples of energy across the desert, with thousandfold of athousandfold gigajoules of energy spontaneously released and echoing furiously throughout the desert and in local weather systems. a violent cavalcade of muons, neutrinos, languages, celery stalks, belief systems impacted in more ways than I can count. Oh god. Oh dear. Oh beards! Watching the pulse deepen and broaden as more sand grains achieve nirvana and vanish? croatoanize? go elsewhence? the gone world! definitely relativistic in character and not willing to let their secrets go simply. a little mote of silicon dioxide no longer subject to perception or sensate luxury. Oh, the pallid chronotome(*), the metallic glint of the orreries



*(a note on transcendental units of time: in elsewhence proper (that's exterior hyperborea for you lot in Foofaraw junction and New Jersey) time is measured is generally measured in nahambes, with a millinahambe being 1/1024 of a nahambe (they work in powers of two). the transcendental extensions of a nahambe are the metanahambe and the mahanahambe. -- these compare favorably to kalpas, a frequently inaccurate though unfortunate transcendental unit of time that is frequently used in the post-Gondwanaland epoch tables. Regrettably karma isotope decay times are highly inaccurate because they were written by political artists rather than analysts. a mahakalpa roughly corresponds to the duration of one planck time. a metakalpa is the best unit for times which are shorter than one planck time -- that is to say that times shorter than one planck time can only be measured reasonably with the conventional unit of a metakalpa. the nahambe is more accurate than the metakalpa, but it is less applicable to sub-planck times because of its transcendental character. a metanahambe is sufficient for an exhaustively large subset of the orthoquine event spaces, and a mahanahambe is a sufficiently corrugated and gnarled nahambe that within one, all that is recurrent can be said to recur)

nectar of the odds

the acrid oxytangent of the exhilarated endive birefringes during the intensity of Gangerinar. in the first phase the sylleptic transformation begins to emit various microparticles, many of which defy description, but most of which defy Queen Taxonomia's attempts to classify them. The Queen Taxonomia, one Thortensia Andulanar, is deniably quite mad. She flits from microparticle to microparticle, attempting to name them."This one is Kelson-4,4-metamerase-Philganaus" she says. "This one is 2-alpha-Thyrontifar-1,5,N,N-chromase", she keeps this up twenty two hours a day. It doesn't help that she's two trillionths of a meter in length at her maximum diameter or her brain is exactly 2 gigaparsecs in radius. (an explanation of how this paradoxical situation can occur was ellided from the latest edition of "Mad Monarchs and Their Ways Magazine", which usually focuses on Geo-Oblong monarchs and their dynarchies. in the transrheotropic secondary phase, the internal geometry usually undergoes a complete reorganization, where most of the internal motions are recompensated for by macroscope butterflies undergoing migration from the Great Here to the Great Here. Most of them are named for monoids. exegrata is the third phase, and during it the most amazing transformation never occurrs.

questions of chromokinetics

the chromokinetic school (SE 102,401-130,401) believed that all was light in motion, and that matter was frozen light. they had developed quite intricate methods for transfiguring light between its nonmotile (matter) and motile (flowing) forms. these methods were impounded when the Duchess of Vraktom ascended to power in SE 130,400, and all traces of their existence were destroyed by the Beadle of Vronsek in SE 130,401. Since this time, many have attempted to reengineer the methods of the chromokinetic school with little success: the Beadle of Vronsek's lieutenants were exorbitant and meticulous in their destruction of all extant copies of the fundamental equations of the chromokinetic school, and the perpetual imprisonment of those remaining chromokineticists. not bad for something that lasted twenty eight thousand years.

nothing to say, not yet, not ever, never, nowhere, now here.

the interior core means that the traversal of the metanode will be made by the next higher order kertetheron process: the choice is in the node asymmetry and in the nuance and the timbre of the upstream processes that can be selected by invoking a preferences pane in the nethermenu: the bombast of the selection makes for entertaining etiological activity; not the vacuous wishes of princes nor neither the broadcast scones of the cosmic illusion, maya, when primates say that they want eons of time to pass in an instant, they redress their memories and recapitulate their phylogeny in a peculiar oar scented fashion wintergreen nicitating membranes and pause for the question that those...

the argument of the dithyrians

Nogothyras of the Keldran Dithyrian colony suggests that the ghostly lemurs at midnight are the reason that the Belzheim corridor has been poorly populated in recent months. I suggested that this assertion was specious though I didn't provide much in the way of evidence of my belief. Now I think I have a better counterargument but the ghostly lemurs have chosen the token labeled "correlation doesn't equate to causation"

perforated transformative gunderschleisse

The kinetic artist was uncertain that the spirit of the age would be terribly fair to the approximations that she wished to employ: it was the year 201,321 of the Gelen Epoch, approximately one thousand two hundred metanahambes before the ascension of Stult Junzis the Misbegotten, and Van Starling still lived in the prefecture of Jeongle, in Cirappan. I was a fifth vice-wombat of the anti-Belgian squad of the district and we'd just led some exercises in detaining rogue Belgian academics as they were used in academic treatise writing sweatshops in the prefectures of Hxun and Jzallilary and I was most miffed that the one half dram of caffeine I had that day had coffee in it. It was not my funereal waltz into the ethereal but a rather rust ridden arroyo of misprocessed cheese. Consequentially I wanted to take a break and spray the paper with the seeds of disaster but I was going to wait and worry as my teammates practiced in a particularly dangerous cow-eversion exercise that involved the use of military-grade topological tweezers and ten meter long liquid lunches (several of these exercises had been so deranged that they had produced immortal cows)

thecaea and or the end of the fnoontificus

Those Hurried Penguins have a millionfold chance of being attacked and attached to by binary things affectionately not well known by theoretical characters and the theory of fire might preclude the offering of the quasijuxtaposed drumlin and because of the thus and such theoretical construction no evil would originate from the biological lamination and that's because no one in the vicinty was going to directly translate the mention affectation of the prior remembrance additive commutations of karma might have been understood as a corroborating rather than an interfering thing and because of these assorted metamental phenomena we have a kind of neurological foliation that hides the importance of the iterative and places the focus instead on the power of the
metaparanecromantic and because affection underlies the messages that the Quonthirids are attempting to relay to us we feel that it is rather empirically justified that our reasoning is free of the assumption of parity: we are not cowards and will not back down from our position. We feel that the allure of our position makes it startlingly clear what pretenses we are willing to entertain and also what illusions we intentionally contaminate our thinking processes. In the short run we only have our own beliefs to edit and those uncertainties within them are of sufficiently minute magnitude that we much prefer to rely on the certainties of those parties we can verifiable determine to be completely out of their gourds. It toasts ocular respect gone and tepid: the chances that we have taken to achieve this position are unenviable but we firmly and decisively believe that the countercurrents of cured nostril gas that presently percolate through the network of gaseous canals and buttress the steam tubes might have better application thrusting and bursting with conduits of information flow.
It is the uvular and the unimaginable that provides our vigil with much of its inertia. For if it weren't for the continuous and mendacious effort of our researchers you would be seeking an alternate source for your daily helping of sulfurous mash and bread. Against the tide of reason have our researchers toiled, buttressing paradoxical and incomprehensible project reports against the deadlines of all our yesterdays.

CHanging the apposition to opposition reveals that one or two of the people involved in the whole enterprise are continually uncertain about the specific application of the binary protocols and we wish that the methods that were discovered were ones that could be applied by all involved in the project. If a scroll or network energy machine had been deposited at the other end of time we would have had to scrimpt and scrawt and determine once anew what our intent and purpose was: these could not be determined in retrospect, they must have been declared at the beginning and come whatever may those declarations would serve as exact descriptions of the activity performed and perforated.

I believe that the weird is abundant and that the questions affecting many will be answered in the appropriate way at the appropriate time by the correct and confirming parties whose desire for parity might obscure the dimmer stars. Caring not for the ire of the diseased neither with intent to inflect the cosmic pronoun or echo spuriously on the cosmic parcheesi table I would have to offer that the questions and abilities which were noted and the disasters which were prevented by the scope of the bird's radiant odors could have been stopped if the sun had set just a few minutes slower but such was not to be. We would have to wait for the et cetera clause in the cosmic message to be fulfilled and then perhaps wait another seventy thousand years before a glowing green portal was to open in the center of the city that will be known at the time of the opening of the portal as "Krultenga-y-Nosphairengene".

Vertices for Cleomatra (or waiting for the Oedipaclypse)

Zozz zuzzens in priority porengo like the coffers of the metamards and the patagards of Rhilla had nothing to say when the twellers were twain. The Zillidgy-Zen isomerases were all in a tussle, a tumble, a rheological mess of ungarnered proportions and even strangers prepartum glee, or ghee, depending on how much clarified butter, a clarified better butter, was used, oh the agar, oh the broth, oh the chicken, oh the masala and the Masada and the walls of the vaporous mist ribbons that encircled the castle. The many-splendored impossibly colored experience at which everything neither ends or begins and discussion of emptiness itself is slightly backtracked and underdone. Where is the grep command, I ask, expecting no answer, but not needing to ask the question -- is this a PDP64 series computer -- does that even exist in your world -- I don't know the answer to that question and am not exactly likely to ask it most of the time. I am a tulip, a library link editor, a debugger, an iridium wrench, a rotaxane, a boron hydride, ask me later when the rains have come and the storm of millions of phone calls has made yet another one of those deep funk cosmic party lines that are relatively impossible for J. Random Hominid species to get on (would you really want someone saying "sex sex sex" when the concentration of gallium atoms in the next cubic parsec of space is something of serious concern, and when someone takes themselves less than seriously it's always with some type of intellectual rigor, or rigorless, or it's just a box of socks)

leech lattice go

It's the strangest thing: it is said that the Hezgrids of Nost are without peer in their playing of the game of Leech lattice Go. Their players: Sanhaun, Tertoris, and Nistral have shown remarkable lucidity in play, something which is not seen amongst other players of LLG. Sanhaun's win over the Qonzil Derryadar in last millinahambe's tournament at Riens, Dizunculi was spectacular (the fact that half the audience believed that they were attending a cream pie throwing contest, and most of the other half thought they were in attendance of a game of calvinball is irrelevant.

The game between Hyrolean Yunctis and Tartier Tertoris was intercessed by Hongin Molliare in move 50412, changing black and white to red, green, and blue. While officially the game was supposed to have ended at that point, the amazing moves of Tertoris lead to official recognition of three person Leech lattice Go. Hongin Molliare was not known for being a good player, and his blundered captures of Yunctis territory were the foundation for whole new schools of LLG.

But the real gem was the game that Sanhaun, Tertoris, and Nistral played at Terhadap. Tertoris play straddled the sublime and the infuriatingly elegant. Sanhaun maintained an impossible balance between resigned indignation and exactingly accurate precision, while Nistral's play lazily meandered 'twixt luxuriatingly obvious mystery and 'tween stumblingly opaque moves and amazingly ingenious combinations. But the winner was unquestionably Tertoris. His ability to visualize the territories and the composed n-dimensional geometries remains unsurpassed. In the fifth eon of the game (at move 2,102,401,201), he effectively had won, but neither of his opponents had realized it, because they were playing in restricted subspace fashion. The analyst Whodgeqleev says: "not since the days of Junket and Walcoxon have I seen play this bafflingly adept. Tertoris is in a class occupied by no other."

nothing to say, nothing to do.

"listring" -- the semi-octal semi-binary language of frogs will be taught in classes at the fifth rock from the embankment tonight. In further news, an encyclopedia was gnawed to death by microprocessors at the edge of Survectis Ridge yesterday. The Park Ranger is quoted as saying "classic case of i860s munching on their classic prey, nothing to see here, relaxen und watchen das blinkenlights" said as she dicotyledonized the incoming batch of garden-hose plant seeds. Lemons are trading at one half the going price of seven dimensional sugar glazed bagels. Also, Belgium has recently legalized the wombat, bringing to a close half a century of black market wombat trading.

la epoque belgique

la epoque belgique est populusque con numeroso idioceties, insanites, und oeberlund messchendorfs. Vits: la belgique endodrome numerosa metamalinkiwicz: el Cedro, el Hadro, et el Thunkro. Vits: la belgique es muy nutters. Concludarorum phleengeplob en la casa manastra.

(the contents of this post may be biologically dangerous for Belgians to consume)