of radiolemons

the confused charioteer had enough feldspar to coat an area three football fields in size, but that wasn't going to disambiguate the electrically charged lemon that he had stowed away in the small pouch: the lemon's oscillating ambiguity was increasing in intensity and volume and soon it would be fluctuating so rapidly and at such a magnitude there was a question in his mind about the survival of every species on the continent: should the lemon's fluctuating ambiguity exceed some critical parameter then everything would be volatilized into hydrocarbons, noble gases, and small scraps of paper containing bewilderingly foolish philosophical speculations in a variety of dead and more likely nonexistent languages. Most likely. Moreover the explosive (or is it implosive) delemonization would have consequences that could last millions of years: radiocitrotopes released into the water supply would have deleterious effects on many forms of life, even affecting their genetic material until the population of citrus-mutants reaches an all time gold-ribbon high of infinity.

the financial conditions of the rex-garg

The electromechanical Lord of Lissis-T'Nellepont, one singularly odd Gastrogrieg Rinelphron, has made it his life's purpose to invent a type of singing pastry, to wit, an Operatic Muffin, capable of belting out the high notes, a la alto, tenor, and a variety of other Italian classifications for singing pitch that were condemned in the Musical Inquisition of The Year of the Rotting Turnip. Because the financial stability of the entire land was at risk, it was eventually decided that all ten thousand of the precessionaries who demanded the putative singing pastry would be given compensatory damages in kind at the end of the fiscal year. I, of course, being one of the centennial collectors employed by the treasury to make sure that such plans are executed properly, had no say in the reprehensible, final, outcome: I had to make due with half a dram of Salgjarje extract every day, and living in a hut at the edge of the city with enough materials to make thin and reedy soups and teas: I had the other essential ingredients of life: a dry roof over my head, pens and ink, various peculiar and exotic texts concerning the religious significance of projective sheaf-moduli preserving abstract weight conserving complex functors in high meditative states: all in all a good life, but not wet enough: life was, and still is quite, quite dry. I suspect that life may get a whole less dessicated shortly.

alternate time measurement practices

I think the time here is measured in less than rational units -- the damn Ulstlings that run Marasoonga don't believe in either nahambes, nanoseconds, or kalpas. They think that Planck times were invented by Tarazanoff Eigenfrost as a way of believing in turnips. They are fond of the xoxongulus, the freemingkrept. the half-nossling, the ranfid-doornail, and the zoonch, and their clocks are marked as such. But what, pray tell, is a zoonch? They do not say, and when pressed for details of their timekeeping system, they wail something to the effect that "Bleemengasts do not accrue at the falling of the snowflake, neither the mass ministers nor the Lombard dinques make an arrestingly transparent declaration of freedom: do you demand that we measure ourselves so dully, in arcs and lines and other mismarinated insults to the Butterfly Queen! It is the deontic precipice that we must endure every time you deny us our heredity with your archaic and misguided (and, more to the point, wholly inaccurate measurements of time..." and so on until the listener's ears rot from the litanies and the castigations until they realize that there's no convincing a dude that believes that time is best measured by the seasonal fluctuation of the diffraction of neutrinos by the ears of mice!

oh, the magnificent toxin and the flying machines

Meditations on a french fry: the forbidden fruitbat makes the chiropracter an obscene offer,
and not to be underdone, then proves the Riemann hypothesis using only a ruler, a compass,
and some very peculiar projective modular ultrahyperbolic sheaf-moduli preserving
Grothendieck functors purchased from an incredibly strange person who lives at the edge of
the river: they were in a small pouch with accompanying directions: just add water. This the
mad mathematician did, and then with some fairly bizarre uses of a ruler and compass managed
to prove Riemann's hypothesis. This mad mathematician then went on to prove a number of
somewhat demented conjectures of Euler and Ramanujan, and then finally became distracted
by the color of the rainbow. Whilst being distracted, she then realized that the formal power
series for pants contained a voraciously confusing datatypes for coefficients. When she discovered
that she was impelled to become an average spelunker and to find an association of speleologists
to sate her caving fancy. This was unwise, though, because the local cave system had just been
contaminated with a strange and worrying toxin called "The tears of Arnold Palmer", which
changed one's mental capacity for the greater, by several millionfold, but had the peculiar and
worrying side effect that it also rendered one's mind incapable of comprehending the slightest
thing to do with any consonant, consequently anyone who was afflicted by this toxin became
unable to coherently and cogently relay any of their now-magnified mental capacity's startlingly
lucid insights about the state of the world in any form comprehensible to anyone else: they sound
like gibbering idiots, and the only known cure is a specially prepared italian-thai dish containing
over three hundred different varieties of cheese while singing a specially written basque ditty
at twice normal speed all while juggling seven eggs: the combined effect is to completely bewilder
the glial cells and consequently return the poison victim's intelligence to normal. You have to wonder,
though, why nobody believes that Spain is a trapezoid.

a bit of ephemera

Neelound Saint Fongealy-Hipparsisse's paper submitted to the International Conference of Incomprehensible Studies, viz.: "Le Neeebleauw Frothendieck de la Marchmanais Pleurissy et la Nyngloroook Vlindlebleeble" will be published in the Centennial Abroops de La Sneengleaux under the title "Improbable Techniques for the Deboraxification of Marchhares and other spatial constrictions not Porously Comprehended via the Nobliuski Transformation"

a dvorak moment in a neutrino sea, drumming the snowflake tine.

The minarets of He'Am are filled with innumerable and incomprehensible treasures, all of which defy the human capacity for rational evaporation and other more imprecise desires for explication: they are multicellular, musical doodads of somewhat murky character, all of which have scintillating, iridescent, coruscating, radiant, self-transforming components of a variety of material compositions and even more bizarre arrangements of chords, quavers, and semiquavers. The experiencer is left feeling as if they have seen beyond the surface of the universe, into the cosmic ocean of reason, maybe even into the mind of god. The sensation that one has just missed the scent of god is often experienced by those who witness the towering crevasses, the abundant silences, the strange people with their odd hats and even odder perfusion of beliefs who crowd around the minarets and offer the scantest of advice, the principal coffers of deliverance and perfusive wonder. But because their art is so beguiling, one often loses track of time. I have to say, though, I have to stay, it's just not worth missing. And after the whole thing is over, you just want to examine your fingernails.

abridged mensuration for the lemon monster: a retrospective

The mention of the Gregarious Kinetic Festival often leaves the tourists in a state of complete bewilderment: after all they've just travelled well over eighty megaparsecs to see a strange man in a billowing gaberdine with fluorescent galligaskins denounce the proton as blasphemous and heretical all while chewing on sleepy tea leaves and spiralling out of control in his chaotic and untranslatable monologue about other supposedly obscene elementary particles. For this man is the Pauper of Reason, a profession of which there are few practitioners: his job, which Prelveng State pays him handsomely for, is to spout the most nonsensical and incomprehensible garbage possible, for a number of what are very important but (or so I am told), enormously inscrutable reasons. The Festival also features a variety of other incomprehensible activities by what are otherwise seemingly normal entities, which keep the attention of easily entertained tourists handily

mathematics gone awry

Dr. Atelier-San-Gumbfrunt of the La Spirulina Institute of Numeroparanoia announced today that their advanced computoid machine had calculate the twenty seventh octillionth octillionth digit of 7 today. He reports that it's a two. Further experimentation by Dr. Atelier-San-Gumbfrunt will reveal the three hundred quadrillionth billionth millionth digit of 18, as well as the coefficients in the formal power series of the function y=x-3. Not to be underdone by scores of irrational numbers (like 2,4, 37, and sqrt(banana)), Dr. Atelier-San-Gumbfrunt intends to attack well-approximated rational numbers next, such as pi, sqrt(7), and e^67. He intends to use a clever calculator, a lighting wit, and some illegal algorithms which were absconded by him and his fellow professors at Institute.