breaking and bending the etym.

Erekvim and Borostaub had been vacationing. Seeing the sights of the universe. The Vonksella nebula, the supernova of Blereubst +49 204(c), the collision of the gas giants Arapahim and Vlerestory, the barred spiral galaxy Yaradaff. They had seen the ice caves of Jylfrond, the carbon tetramers of Zar Ghoom and the understumblings of the Butler of Whauve Yeeks. They were getting bored. They found a travel agent in a space pod somewhere near the binary pulsars of Ghun and Mnasthar, a Tvy, one Wqa Anm Uqq, who had databases of stars and other biological phenomena, hideous and clean. "There's a yttrium casino three light weeks in the disgusting direction. Currency is yttrium atoms. They've got games of chance and games of skill. A full neuroprosthetic tennis court and a gambling hall. Not your thing? What about the Obscenarium of the Vanfooklement people of Scillio? A museum full of the most obscene concepts and artifices from eighty thousand cultures spanning the Greater Necklace galactic supercluster? You look unenthused. Hrm. What about the Zorgleqaun Voorwerp?"

"What, is a Voorwerp?"

Wqa vollued. "A Voorwerp is some random astrophysical object that we just call a Voorwerp because we don't know what it is. The word 'Voorwerp' means 'object' in some extinct anthopoesical language or other, or so the ravenous etymologists who hang outside the methane refinery tell me."

purifique untrue

imagine a pure cube of completely homogenous single isotope material, diamond, silicon, elements higher than iron being preferable since they are generally only synthesized in supernovae. Now, imagine that we could visualize the source star for each individual atom in said cube, making a complicated pattern of atoms.

astrologica Dunsillica

The Dunsil civilization of Fronthair, fifth orb from the star Lahary in the Cyrellis gigacluster, in the Undergulf of Dhriveorrhe awoke one morning and decided to sleep for a while. Alas, poor threadwright, did you read the planarian's tale, the standard archetypes being written clearly and distinctly, the Utter Woman, the Queen of Celery, The Fool, The Molecule of Benzene, the Usurer. What is your tarot reading? What is the tarot reading of the Dunsil civilization. Let us do an appropriate tarot reading and examine the astrological chart of the entire Dunsil civilization. The One of Strange Quarks, the Mad Monkeyologist, the Drake Equation Card (inverted), the Five of Neutron Stars, the Two of Sex Pheremones. Oh, what is this telling us? That the Dunsil civilization will undergo a three thousand year industrial period followed by a two hundred and fifty year period of technology before it reaches hypercivilization stage and ascends several rungs on the Kardashev ladder. That fifteen minutes before the civilization reaches the third singularity some rather damaging news will be released on the information network about a pop star. Okay, let's look at the star chart of Dunsil -- a couple of nearby blue giants, a mercury manganese star here and there. An uncomfortably close pulsar. Some unremarkable multiple star systems nearby. Nothing special. A few fun comets. An unremarkable gas giant or two. Again, nothing special. Oh, now that's interesting. There's a pulsar that's going to hit it head on in around 2 million years. A hole in one.

dialogos persulptas

Mr. Nephrium: Alack, foul Trongtep!
Ms. Pulmonones: It is a maraschino carrot! It cannot defend itself!
Mrs. Adrenarion: Caste not the Ur-Celery down, like the crasmarius, it is a bee-progeny.

Ms. Pulmonones: I could always bake a pie. Then where would all the Tomatillos be?

Mrs. Adrenarion: But you would not be a mad syllepsiologist! What would become of the disflunksions? Would they not be scattered in the wind like random Arch-Mustards?
Dr. Cerebrontosaur: Oh come now! We've had an antelope for months! We can't afford another misclassification.
Mrs. Adrenarion: But! But! But! But, the eggnunt!
Dr. Cerebrontosaur: If the carrot is celery, then the apple is a bee. Such things are plaintively true.

understudy of a bee...

Bzeud-Morry Arkyle stared blankly at the pericardium, the oozingly disobvious canter-lemper that beguiled and betrothed the Quar-Queen of all Norarstrias to the Kloongfleps of Stuk. Did such things epistle the maniac candelabras of Nozbirrt Candethec? Was such a ritornello not disambiguated by the Lortch of Glop? What did the Custard Mite of Glut have to do with the Lhovanx of Grauling? I can't answer these questions and I'm assured that neither can you. For the ribald antennules and the various tinctures of bombykol provided me by the mad apothecary didn't have a chalice or a chastrodiagostro? What Frenzulmes bide the crathuary of Dorzestro? Oh, if Sarpulmno was buried up to his lopsided cheese trapezoids in gungulf creme, did the Arabitol-Noisoxes litter up the blerebethy of the Gloipfrauds?

dialogues of the understumbled.

Arnestine Munkwine, third in line of the Lower Duchy of North Toronto, is accosted one sleepless night in the midsummer by the eigenghost of Pafnuty Tschebycheff:

ARNESTINE: I am a frond of salt! Befriend not my pants, for they are various, and possibly abscene!

PAFNUTY: Why not enjoy one of my polynomials? They are crunchy and go well with dairy products. cos(n*acos(x))?

ARNESTINE: You bleary wraith! I engender no such arch-fleuronffle! My odgeblearns are not for you understomping!

PAFNUTY: Oh, the wind on the steppe is a plural gas, and the astronomers of doom do not protect thee from with paramecium of doom.

ARNESTINE: Off with your obstreperous opprobria, foul ghost. I meander hither and thither and undergo a puncture wound on my foot from one of your unhousebroken polynomials.

defend us from the phromaglynn

Zogmunckey didn't return from the Catableps? What was the 'orizontal spoon? Can I be a sheep? Can I trade a sheep for a moose? And what of the Monmouth Mongeeses? Are they even allowed in Drydgebellow-on-Strunn? Were the cantilevers like a bridge to the remember factories or did the grain of sand cereal not include a free toy? Such questions like this do not haunt me at night. Telling the tale of the madman and the ant? The Heegner number and the CW complex.

skene arbuthnot

ANQUILA: But think of the wonderfloonts!

ASPERALDI: The wonderfloonts have no mustard!

ANQUILA: And I suppose so does Oggpongkoa?

ASPERALDI: Oggpongkoa is silent, speechless, reigning in unprofundity

ANQUILA: Do the birds twitter, do the bees google?

ASPERALDI: These things are not as a gargarice, a mouthwash, a priory, a backstabbing elemental. Ask not of them, they do not curry favor with the elementals.

ANQUILA: Then who does the sea froth for?

ASPERALDI: The sea froths for no one, nor do the stars foam for us; Such things are the warp and wooft of the world. 

ANQUILA: Will the heavens defend us?

ASPERALDI: Not from ourselves.

ANQUILA: All hope is lost! We are become our mothers!


ASPERALDI: Only if we have become our hamsters.

ANQUILA: But the ribald sconces do not betroth us to such monoliths!

staring at the sky, madness in my eye.

The Icthyyud contemplates, withdraws its energies into a small fibril of a Antaglan Goat, flies around on a neutrino whose wavefunction is oscillating, and generally not making much of a nuisance of itself, diffracts off a virtual muon in some low probability feynman diagram somewhere not twelve kiloparsecs from Foofaraw junction, splits infinitives once thought impossible, and generally doesn't know what the whelk it's doing. The Icthyyud lies dormant in an unresearched gerbe aeon by damned aeon, content in some high whittled knowledge and not on speaking terms with alef-12. Some virtumaceous claugns iffer frothingly, but the Icthyyud crosses its arms (or what it has that passes for arms) like the grand Akimbo Bimbo of Blothyugn, Naratquad Parsimmina. The Ichthyyud is massless, imaginary, effervescent, and perhaps not the best witness to long term high planning cosmic affairs, for it regards them as folly: only mere motes demand much attention by the Icthyyud: for it certain Planck intervals are desirably favorable to experience, but others are shunned for their loathsome disregard for the Icthyyud's nigh inexpressible aesthetic moieties.

questions, questions

The experimentation is a dense machinery. What is the story you wish to tell in neutrinos? Shall the riboflavin god be appeased?

radio silence for the post-prandial effusion

Nomonsafhge bellowed at the bunion, belied by the Transfurling of Yelmon's Point, at the characters did meander most mellifluously like a wild runion court stellarating the division of the punquossimas into uther yarvhels. Arsenic clepsydra in a mechanidor let me stinking cigar juice effloresce most effervescently on the pages of Prapsandraman, the philosophical guttersnondge scar pressed to the page like fire-ink in a cauldron.

arkwhunkets of floom!

Leurd Dorncil of the Plerehasty Council has this to say about Arpungo Lonsire: "What a fetid numpuam, a ferntiligous blosmothere. I spent one year amongst the Augthn people of the Polsbasi peninsula and upon my return I discover that Lonsire has banned catawhompets for 'public larceny and other flombits unbecoming to a munkweary', and I have to make a passionate public speech about not kowtowing to the degree of idiocy that Lonsire believes will make us better fish. What nerve! What varve! Anyway, we've elected to have Lonsire dephlogisticated publically for its idiotheres"

le phaque francezzie

Ortoupoud de la runcisse en la pontisse c'eci ne'pas une flontique! C'est la plunqique de la anciens est la norpique! Sur toujours plufique en la aujor'dhi est la ploncippe de la valeurs rumdumbants!

undersoul for the oversorority

Jerypt Fruunmoglia nespthered vaciduously at the Orlung of Plopft, neither scherking nor trampfously goodgeflonzeying the othtars of Nopt. For the Berenthfasts of Dloss and the Rielings of the Octept runzied not the Tothchars of the Lopter Gleuss. Such notoriously inept (some might say inapt) advocacy amongst the pransipfeullio might be mistaken for unabrogated suspicion or unaboriginal delactation. Orzphrey and Bibdellious didn't have much in the way of charms, I thought, leaning against the castle walls, staring at the trails of comets and other astronomical obscenities: Gerg B'Phreon and his wallumpset Veroxjre arpled the diphycthemes, the needy mammals amongst the braingrass. The hermit Vardgemyuung norbiferiously untled the remaining strembhjurs while the Lonnok of Totling undershnergled the Lipfenniums of Brozmoar Green: folly and inconsiderate transmicrophonations littered the echoscape of the valley, knoptling and voondling most yercipitously, while the lazy knokkets of Lady Breadwurst Undermuffin did peal against the morning wastrels. Gavvey Thropfaire and Mulndzey Harraur-Neuffbatain didst their cry of derision at the Stratvunsels of Gween, while the Shulley-Trumpfedors of the Wunceponzil uttered demented sighs of deep and inviolate dissatisfaction. Aradzo Trilicon and the Londers of Yulk did their best to ignore the palpable symphony of confusion. Neither did a wheezing bee nor did a galactic mockery didst dissolve their cacophanation!

awaiting the underavatar of north dakota

Arrha! Tertungtissima and Blalange were standing at the precipice, cares in hand, ageless angels masquerading over the void of the world. Collecting sulfur trophies and notating various odd enumerata of streetcar transfer functions, like a dodging dithyramb at the edgeless poet's latter bereavement, yoth!, did such men declare profound purposes in mad manifests and nail such denouncements of reason on the nailboards of burches and cosynagogues (keeping in mind that if you add the square of a synagogue and a cosynagogue you always get unity), such doldrums of patience did not reward nor did they require the constant attentions of Marga and Prisdroop and the crellenations of the underforbegotton. Gudge and McMhorty didn't stand a chance when the shallows-blossoms emerged from Sansalsifar, and I didn't have a boldkeep. We might have wandered for hours in the grassy knolls of Suud, searching for our own dram of the finest gargartive mustard. Tertungtissima said "Playlast the dearmuffin! I was a cardmobile", but the hour had already passed and Blalange was osculating the idyll. Zohogaia Brentherfleunk and the shottoths of Misturea had difficulty acclimatizing to the thin scents and reedy mixtures that composited with the peer pressure mushrooms of Brottondale. Heh. Like a clean cut ass-minstrel perorating around the downtown climes of Berrutagth, or a claimaint reading the will of the Lhere of Bvuungmatar to her kin after the wake, the crescent odor contrails above the swamp leave very little to the miscreant imagination, and for which insalubrious petticoats might wander aimlessly against the sky, one mote in the cosmic network, once lost, now found, now declared as the King of all Arquipa, might be the only defense we have against this symphony of sense.

Tertungtissima started for the night. Did you too?

bismuth rink shenanigans

The thin neutrino trails skeetered out by the time you'd reach Dvuung or Plerebsty, and Yarweng Apphoabsto didn't have time for counting her blessings: it was that kind of day, righteous, blundering, uncertain, sky-gray and dizzyingly imperceptible, like the sort of torque that might get you in trouble at the bismuth skating rink when your partner is doing a quadruple reverse bucky spin and you've accidentally forgotten to chalise down your galligaskins with goat grease. Yarweng's friend, Klystreung Vraspungtans cheered her on as she accidentally collided with a bispterafb on the trolley, skortling tons of tea-cozies and wunnupts everywhere, though it was obviously the bispterafb's fault for not looking where it was going. The bispterafb said in its mechanical voice: "this unit apologizes for not paying attention to the lagrangians of all particles in its vicinity, and offers compensation in the form of a broiled shank of maluurmsbeest, marinated for 18 hours in zugzwang oil and mrarange". Yarweng kicked the bispterafb's exhaust ports in frustration. What a depressingly non-turing complete mechanical contrivance. Or non-turing test-passing. The bispterafb then made its way to a recharging station at the exterior of the rink. Vraspungtans skated to Yarweng and helped her to her feet. "Stupid bispterafb. Why do they let those machines on the ice at all?" she complained. Admittedly the bismuth rink was forty times the area of a water ice skating rink, and the rink proprieters thought they could make an extra sheyng if they could sell people maluurmsbeest teriyaki and varontlebird kippers. Distantly, a radio steam trolley exploded. It was going to be a bad day...

share and enjoy!

By Nhomogheve, the Star-Foonts of Silla, east of Yelleugue, and thronteareally separated from the Ghossolongs of Myistra, did the shallanj of the Northern Way extend, and did Cyrus Congreve cry at the scryings of the Old Witch Nail Knafclaw, her reedy voice and gnarled hands and her staff made from the wood of the charknife tree, she made pronouncements and prognostications of surreal clarity, if certainly pointed incomprehensibility, to the country-folk and the commonweal. Gellzvwar and Propontes listened for many a nwullug to these strange words and odd messages and decipher them not they did! She etched glyphs and sigils in stone, petroglyphs and stylized symbologies with mystical or transcendental import, though Gellzvwar and Propontes could not decode her meaning. She redirected rivers and convinced snails to reproduce through binary fission. But Gellzvwar and Propontes were ultimately flummoxed.

entropica reductiana

Dreltoro Myan-Vasgathai of Brelfthegn does a lot of loafing around. He's a professional loafer. His loafing productivity comes from an inner talent: when he loafs around, entropy mysteriously dips nearby. Measureably. In nats. Myan-Vasgathai's loafing services are mouth-frothingly consumed by the information industry. He is usually employed around vast optical-quantum-biocomputers where his entropy lowering (they don't know how he does it and they don't care) increases the speed of the computations, or reduces the amount of waste heat they produce, or something vaguely along those lines. The Guild of Professional Loafers endorses his work.

He does have some detractors, though. Arvthugn Q-Porrosit Xerryabe Mulkins believes that the professional loafers are some kind of scam, and Mulkins has gone to great (some would say ludicrous) lengths to discredit him. Mulkins' efforts are somewhat inept: there exist whole battalions of physicists and scores of journals documenting Myan-Vasgathai's effectiveness at reducing local entropy. Mulkins has tried throwing cheese triangles out of a window, inventing a novel type of egg-spoon, defenestrating the Arpuldzy of Micthajn, prepuskulating Gynnup Frazboujgh, but none of these seemingly incoherent attempts make the slightest bit of difference: Myan-Vasgathai's entropy reduction is as inexplicable as it is measurable, and Mulkins's efforts are ultimately fruitless expressions of religious paranoia.

birch-swinnerton dyer

Arpanggestimo d'Lourdazzitor of the San Ulyhius Zogmaneering collective has made one last ditch attempt to disprove the Birch-Swinnerton Dyer conjecture. His attempt involves eight hours of bicycling, along with a variety of physical and mental activities, which, if interpreted appropriately by the Dzoigmuuh of Ploob will result in a concrete and verifiable disproof. Nobody, of course, believes a word of it.

one day in the life of a hyperdimensional pimple

Nerminandorah Fvuungyaraab CSq. (Centromere d'Squalladio, one of the five degrees that requires the electronic digestion of a pancreatic biopsy along with intense review by the Inquisse Fluvhurtoisse for eight months, along with the intense scowling of Lvetvuum Bartandale in order to be conferred by the Prooice Guignuifre of Cherzens, Sahanjelly Sparasticum in an inelegant ceremony involving the molluscan bifurcation of a garnet garlic clove as well as the recitation of the hideous anthem Yrogueflunby d'Fnuntum by the New Yasphrey Amalgamated Choir of Idiots and Other Persons of Less Than Nominal Capacity for three long, gruelling hours, accompanied by the eructation of Sallbrassico Tertungtip for thirty eight consecutive minutes.) stared disconsolately at her spoon, covered in beetles and mustard and gargarice brands that had been illegal for nigh-on forty cycles, and gristened herself to consume the bizarre poultice while Ermandio Vasclepftanh's hideous caterwauling emanated from the more byzantine heteromoronicides of Vor Clarzm. As the beetle legs and congealed mustard mixed fervently with a few remaining unoxidized molecules of cetylpyridinum chloride along her throat, the pustule that had been floating three inches in front of her nose the last five months, connected to the rest of her body by her hyperspacial anatomy, burst most disgustingly, releasing Hypercoccinia tesserensis (Van Mudgeweadge's Very Disagreeable hyperdimensional bacteria), Olroachithoabas brantwongifensis (Little Lady Artentoot's Vapidly Horrible Microorganism), as well as good old Staphy McInfectyou, which she cleaned up with Old Mister Fluorine's Astringent Cleaning Paste No. 22. Ah, the joys of the good life, when mustard gargarice and beetles pop old hyperdimensional pimples, and the symphony of Dvood Mransiber plays on the Sonic Walrus Quad Digital CD system.