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shadows of later make the meninges furl and the brows burst forward with furrows, furiously defending the bladderwort from perihelion and making the many tongued red tensor flows cough and sputter like the late bloomers that they were. Oh, the green silent ridges between the machines and the monstrosities made my eyes ache and my head whirl: when was the greatest fascination with the eyewheels of the Tsauraung people of the Valley of the Umbral Coffee, oh, the waiting was fastidious and misengineered, the bitter filament of vapor tasted like licorice and the iron plated eyes of the mad robot Morzepan made life and rusticant somewhat rhumb-scarred in comparison. This was the start, the invocation and seventy two rounds of prayer, of fourty seven syllables all in disarray -- the arrangement of syllables did not matter, but their rhythmic repetition by the monks of moo made the tea ceremony tolerable. Chance and Vortex suddenly and shockingly, and perhaps if one might make too fine a point of it, rudely intervened with a thunder and lightening show the likes of which the deity Lord Govvorongoa hadn't seen for at least several millikalpas now, a long stench and a gravid gray green gyroscope dancing and pirouetting lazily against the sunlit and moonlit half-night, the major marker of the nistral episodes and the caretaker's personal collection of apropos wiz-baz was certainly permitted but it was only vacuously denied and by the frothingly obvious statements of the Candec and their Sirvinculi was the resolvent sugar splutter approbriously determined and extangency mated.