wombatosis is an incomprehensibly stupid disease

Argyard Phleebleman's collection of books includes the following doozies: Biochemistry of Middle-Earth, A Compendium of Diseases only Belgians Get (which is illegal in Kyoto, for reasons that completely escape me), The Weird Noise of the Gibralter Ant-Parakeet, One Thousand and Seven Techniques for Lying about your Blood Type While Speaking German, Melizzy Wilxrab's Methods for Painting One's Body Blue with Crayons, Leenwoong Stonzelyammer's Memoir of Selectric Pants.

of sleep

a fierce zephyr of chance tore the fundament of the Char-Arrhenge. It was the syllable of Tern, and the manganese pluralities were resplendent in the languages of Honvoril. The Andyvel had been sleeping for well on thirty thousand plurisubkalpa and were expected to maintain their snooze for another nine thousand manganars, notwithstanding the Trident of Cenos. I, at the time, had vowed that I would maintain my dormancy for another twelve mahakalpa, but events in an adjacent thylakoid would extend my rest for at least a mahanahambe. The rising of the stalks, the linearization of the Cancalla, the lemon guilds of Tersoris and Nanniquat enduring another Great Fructicient Insult from the Prince of Astralapsis, an unexpected migration of the Besselnefe of Tandrulis, and so on and so forth, the combined effect was that my somnolescent period was massively extended.

more of the dvorak zone composition

the lassitudinous creep. the crawl of the gorn. the smell of lemons, augmented by parabolic subgroups and then appliques detailing the fury which the average american ozonoscopist searches the british museum for mighty comfits and candygrammar. when everted and exposed to jazz music and tamborines the audacious tarmac encysts, preparing for ecdysis. a plantar pedicule then forms, trapping the nascent opera claw into a barstible and a Organ of New Hebrides, a chromosynthetic bioergiastic organ which composes chroma into stridently stored ergage. a largesse not ulcerative necessitates greening and unfurling of the main photon sieves. the long winter of my discontent then froths and macerates, leaving the cri du fromage loud and irritating to passing citizenry. Oh enthytimetic condors fly over the craton and leave epistles from the mad metafauna of Gondwanaland. The erratic and cantankerous child lasts for several minutes and is then calmed by its parents. A meretricious mercenary planning the drawbridge of the river Orinoco dun tablassars and the cream of the martin's follies might presunder the classification of the galactic collision, with metronomes and muon and plagioclase and amber prepared and readied for certain use by parties not known to the heteronymic Cressidon, the Alabaster Rat of Saint Tertius. My mynad delivered to me that arrival intimate and gleeful, a call of the wild the message of sublime oppression and urgent fortitude which, cougar and leaping
ibexes untied the syllabary for the prepared cheese plate and arrayed rainbows in an unplanned
celebration of most transparent magnitude. By the precession of the oryxes and the sublimation of a block of specially prepared carbon dioxide cheese made by the vice regent chef of Cahiers did my major worries dissolve into the fluents of the great steam stream surrounded by rocks and other various geological ambigua. Whetstone gnarled and pretended that the major Whorl -- not the Great Whorl of Whyster, but the subsidiary Whorl of Tantinigires, along the shore of the Cetterderes, ululated the swan song of the central tergiviseration of the pelargonide generalissima making the chert and feldspar tasteless and hydrogen-fast. Tell them, she said, tell them about the hypernetwork, the gaseous and interminaquiline matrix of rich and redolent cross connections. Cordon off that Great Loneliness and make it manifest while surgeries to retopologize the reticulated inserrat transpire. Shosh the filaments together.

Irrigate the central tentacle

more theory firmament candelabra engine fury matrix metasyntax selective isometries endanger the ribald allocations and engender chaos in the gazebo like no one could have guessed as the major networker storm collided with the lemon curry howard isomorphism make the whealgrove commutator lessen the impact of the hardened radiant glee. The frogs are standing waves of probability, measured Lesbeguely and post haste Riemannianly oh there was chaos my doula had a boil and the boil had boll weevils and the doctors were most disgusted by it all. The message that was contained in an envelope concerned the execrable exegesis that the graduate student had written concerning the juxtaposition of multilayered fauna with degenerate and defunct nineteenth century French Philosophy, a most grave and serious matter that must be attended by all manner of madmen and wildebeests. A misty, vaporous, nacreous, luminescent, piece of lint registered its disregard for the semantic ambiguity and subsequently squirrelled itself away inside the cambium of a pine tree. Truant swamps and outevolved lemmings transferred their manner of stuff to the secondary and tertiary epochs, using Tensorwright brand time machines to traverse the stormy chronoscape. London metal and gallium sugar made
the trip most enviable, and the archkineticists organizing the whole affair were amply rewarded with ten thousand wonzlos sterling a-piece.

upgraded

Resoul that old computer -- change its parts and change its responsiveness. Today I installed a 500 gig disk on my main machine

some theoretical wiz-baz

The metafunctor of the third variety is gourd shaped and green when ripe. It is found along the coast of the continent of Tellerephonda in the Third Thylakoid of the Rellenders. It becomes gravid during the season of the Asinditars and floats away during the Season of the Static Hidden Spanish Television Channel. The scion of the metafunctor then emerges while it is in hysteresis and the fifth moon of the Blannak is paused. The scion then subdivides to produce the antecedant Inion of Stallaran, the Pheenge of Ixion, and the Bastaragandin of Leishmirin. All of which then recombine into a hybrid ceramo-metallic structure exactly one point four millihelens in beauty. The structure then internally reorganizes into a quasibiological part, a wholly organic part, and a wholly inorganic part. At this point the entire structure is called a Queasyfungus. The Queasyfungus then expands its thallus and hybridizes with any landborne philosophical concepts it can find.

never stake the xenon butler on waxed stilton

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.

line engine kinetic sculpture

the dark times were shortening, becoming tenuous and dusty, composed of many motes, and uncertain of future movement. the leaning, leading garnishes were dusted with garlic and celerity, the gravity was uncertain, the lemon of the metacosmos was tumbling around in curcuminacreant glee as the paracytologically inhibited martindale of the leaf-sheaves rotated to the beat of the cosmic harmonies, a sound like a deep hum or the sound of one thousand twenty four butterflies flapping their wings in unison, or to some hidden pattern not obvious to any observer, anywhence and anywhere. The leading rational affliction that divided the seeming from the unseen made the irony abundant and transparent in character. I savored the moment, each appealingly more determined than the previous moment, more complex in motion and stranger in organization, the parameters and functional dependencies enfolding and becoming ever more complex: that I was already familiar with -- the holy momentous occasion hit at the start of the third nahambe, with a clarion call of fusing hydrogen nuclei bursting forth and the wave upon wave of neutrinos emerging. Suddenly that monarch butterfly pauses on a dewdrop and the single metamomentous transfiguration orrery occurs and where were you the show just got interesting now they've moved from trying to occupy as many points of physical space to a vast sea of ideas, thoughts, concepts, the realm of the mind, the tip of the proverbial iceberg, that odd littile transition which when fully orchestrated en masse can leave h random primate species or proteinaceous globule on the Great Migration from here to there.

Grand Mal

Cycads and doronadrils accosted the interior minister as the procession of liminal luminaries occurred and occluded visibility for hundreds of miles and kilometers. The go getter attitude of the Generalissima's staff was that anyone sufficiently lunatic to accompany should be fed poor quality fast food and donuts instead of health food, and as none of the luminaries was that healthy anyway, there wouldn't be much need to institute Individualized Dietetic Plans while the procession was transpiring. Instead they would take positions in the sidelines and jeer as much as possible. The luminaries were an arrogant sort and wouldst not mind this kind of low-jinks. I had my place at the vice-minister of stale crumpets side, and there I would remain until relieved by another attendant or a royal lunatic observationalist. But november comes soon and because the general flavor of the gerania is not to the liking of most of the lunatic luminaries, as well as the scent of roboclone martindales (whatever the heck those are -- nobody wants to admit to knowing what they are.)

Another Bad Idea: The Atomic Toothpick

The scrambled communications line, the ice crystal, gravitational attraction between two solid bodies in free space, and many others, such are the breakthroughs of Lenzler Laboratories. Lenzler laboratories is proud to announce the invention of a revolutionary new form of atomic powered toothpick. A fantastic invention that will solve all your toothpicking needs. The result of work on the atomic match, the atomic toothpick allows extraprecise food debris elimination, which means cleaner teeth and healthier dental checkups.

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)

mistakes were made.

...indeed it was the fifth Erpf of Collwollon who declared roman numerals illegal by virtue of easy fortune and their sheer inability to the pedagogy of useful division algorithms. Mr. Homography says to kids "be safe, don't employ homographs until you're of age", and other assorted and perhaps insane effluvia. Or "homographs damage dentinous tissue, turn bone into powder, and generally make life difficult or impossible unless you have the proper bungee cords installed in your brain tissue by a competent brain-butcher". And even "homographs are like plate tectonics: nice when considered under the theoretical basis of Eventualism, but they taste like Toronto in tomato puree sauce"...

..."of course Sinjorino Monnat didn't slurp her ice cream, she's not an Esperantist", begins...

numbers (and other things) declared uninteresting by the Belgian Academy of Sciences

The Belgian Academy of Sciences has declared the following numbers and mathematical concepts to be uninteresting: no funding or grants will be allotted in the next fiscal year for them: groups, categories, the numbers 2, 33, 17/e, pi/18, the Riemann Zeta function, and the arctangent of twelve. Research on all other numbers is encouraged, though.

sure, I know what you're talking about...

...okay so the fifth part contained some hum-dingers and some pitches from left field, but it's only seven dimensional plutonian steam hockey, if the knobs on your HDSubjuncTVs are set appropriately. After 2008 only digital knobs will be allowed (as part of the drive to make all parts of the broadcasting process digital). But that's hither and thither. What the Captain really wants to know is "why did V. Nesselwright explain, in glorious detail, the differences between Friedmann and Cardassian cosmologies at the end of the fourth inning to the umpire and what do those differences have to do with the game mechanics?" I sadly cannot answer such questions, as there's been a sense blackout in my district. I am also ill with some variant of the sickness, and sweaty, and there's a gathering at my abode this night to do with a furious and analgesic addicted doctor on a furry television network known for its viterupative misportrayals of category theorists as professional nineteenth century milliners and haberdashers -- bad ones, at that. So, come on down to the roundtable and discuss your problems with acetone, xylitol, and l-carnitine! It's only a 3 mm journey from here to there. (local variations on the length of a millimeter may or may not make this impossible, but time will tell)

on second thought, hold the mustard.

Catalogue entries from the fictitious Lands of Nen: Trulla, San Sufelior, San Droste, Dripple, Neorgy, Wombatplasm, Gar Garan, Gar Asploda, c.f. 117-119 commas to Manley Hubbell notwithstanding any local number field hijinx. Some polyalphabetic and vigniere wiz-baz was noted when a water molecule cleanliness ultrafilter was applied (removing any toxic Mahlo cardinals from the drinking water, making it safe for quasihuman consumption). Surveys of the granite population reveal that type IIa supernovas were common amongst italic typefaces produced during the seventeenth century (one wonders how the foundries escaped the carpet thick walls of neutrinos), but such tales are spurious and rich with quaternion festerings and other constructions just to tantalize (cosmic galois groups, anyone, kryptamines and other artificial imaginaries like Ulam's Marchmont machine or the Ez of Nuzbunkt leap sporadically to mind). But it is the sheer lunacy of the third paragraph (paramatrix?) rife with beta-gamma reductases and blog entries from the third century K. E. (kypriot epoch) that just leave me unable to speak. Because the Gauze-Trieste yammering episode took place during the Escafoont, no one seems to be able to recall what happened in the 1980s -- memories are reconstructed poorly and much repetition and floundering has been issued in the official archaeological archives. Indeed, upon closer and lazier examination it seems like much of the records have been replaced or updated with small tiny blobs of bismuth or carbon that have been pitted, scarred, demagnetized, or otherwise abused. There are arrays of thousands of these underneath the deserts of Alaska, and they've been carefully (ciz.) irradiated with TWENEX binaries of FORTH interpreters. God only knows why. Or the state of Ug.

staged for the grand reveal

so it's the end of the third act of Cartasso's Murzenthog, and you're wondering "what the hell happened". Without spoiling the whole thing for you, it's possible to reveal the following: 1. salmitropan pentafluoride was not the poison contained within the catchbasin. it was diboron carbonide. 2. Shelly Linares did in fact spend four summers studying Osprey Yugels in Yotch, Portugal. 3. Stuttix grace is only part of Hattix grace, when performed in the traditional Meta-Ontario zort-cycle, and otherwise it doesn't count. 4. Uhuymbris axalantes mice are not allergic to kappa mesons on alternate Tuesdays. 5. Principia Murzenthogia was issued in three codicils, each of which more ornate and confusing than the previous, and therefore the intentions of the prince or the apothecary should be construed as having anything to do with anything at all. 6. Either Anaximander or Eubarytes could have removed the grandmother clock at the end of the second act, so it's impossible to say whether Colonel Tellichery wielded the sofa in the duel. 7. Netch Slennem has been seen smearing burnt copies of the Murzenthog manuscript on her body and jumping up and down on mattresses in the capital of Zaxheim, so you might as well draw your own conclusions about her opinions about Eidenfloog Cartasso. 8. At the time of the play's writing, Bernskapis and Duluth were united under the governance of the nation of Ganziber. 9. Ponthex Arcoran Smythe has written an extensive commentary about this section of the play, in which he reveals that the Cartasso's original folios were impregnated with lead sulfide and potassium chromate.

other processes

ciz. the effective gamma function of the complex plane, adumbrated and removed so that the arguments are ciz. taken over the genome of the common yeast saccharomyces cerevisiae via some agglomeration of unrighteous glee, i.e. the stretching of the cosmic peppercorn and the straining of the goatsgrease peduncle (major phyla only! see if the offer applies to your organism!) coming soon to a dromedary near you. ciz. a lackluster performance at the Rotz theatre. Which echelon of the intelligences was that dude? The guy smoking a clove outside the truckstop barfled some comment about Langlands reciprocity in secondary gear motor systems that thoroughly went over the heads of any hyper-being happening to stroll through that portion of the erf in that millisecond. ciz.: cisplatin. five milliseconds later a braless klingon trapeze artist would be humming the Gotterdamerung in perfect Belgian (much to the chagrin of actual Belgians). And you know that all relevant safety protocols were followed: the catch-net, the burnside-smith, the translinear coffer, the wombatosis immunophore selectively calibrated to any and all members of your haplotype silently spraying the audience with plague resistance agents, ciz.: by the time that the next Transcambrian monoid passes us over and the Leibnizian metamorphosis is complete whole plate tectonical rearrangements will have happened. Empires and nations will have risen and fallen. Galaxies will have been conquered and entire cosmic manifolds will have been crumpled up and thrown in the Calabi-Yau rubbish bin of the gods, or what-have-you in higher dimensional subspaces. And don't get me started on the other things in that dude's clove cigarrette.

booking nasal passages

Endilprent accosts Major Telsorius: "I say, dear chap, is the tensor field divergent", under threat of misery there is no reply. "Is the qualia of the equation public domain", again, no answer, under threat of meaningless. Lhusuf and Vexil have a gram of deoxygenated astral substance, which they have no idea of its properties. X-ray protection scarves dote the horizon, not having a plan or a pravex. Odd cubes of levitating blue foam occasionally collide with me. On occasion, a blood red eye robot will ask questions "Why is the sky green?", "What is the cube root of negative minus reverse inverse three if the sun is purple?", "I am three handed and four nosed, and do not read the messages in the sand. If the skylark is acronymous, what am I?". I cannot answer them, for they are too silly.

porengo

the mist machines are twenty in number, eighteen for the salt-stacks, nine for the homeomorphically distended epsom bundles, one twelfth for the capybaras, and only one scant forty thousandth for the kappa-engines, this is not completely a summary, but it suffices for all practical purposes. Even the captains of industry leave much to be desired, and even they are only one fiftieth in number and primed for the accidentacalypse.

interior hyperborea

"Daz" quote, "indec thrustwit kantorek delsido" muttered the moosegown. "Divinary is alt." slazed the statterer. "Pob" nittered the nutwit. "Cankek" hibbed the Prosley. "Ik crat" slentored the miso. "Buttitchyan?" queried the endopib. "Ij junky" starled the rejunder. "Isp" nastered the praliont. "Dist pob" nottered the exopib.

more names from beyond Hyperborea

Nhuvgraff Splectar, Arnorm Relngefroim, Sadatto Oncleplutz, Distartitusso Nanzelhan, Jeeve Onderplossy, Doxotte Nondersil, Anhexis Wenderfluor, Doctor Apperbasso Tildenga, Zactor Anderplies, Harhenedrap Maserun

nothing to say, nothing to say.

The diels-alder machine consists of twenty two thousand integrated metal parts, each no longer than a toothpick, with total mass of about two hundred grams. The machine was designed by the machine-artist L. Zonkel Didgenembi in order to prove something about the construction of machines and their paradoxes. Two, three! Bananas. I often find that my meaning gets corrupted by the user interfaces that I have to work through. Olney's lesions. Like that. I don't have the required amount of kinetic energy. Something else. I don't know. trying to verbalize, trying to verbalize dammit I'm dizzy. Whatever the proof is, it is. Therefore the henceforth and fancy free. Like it is logical, you know, consisting of parts that are seemingly meaningful except when they're taken together, the meaning leeches out and vanishes. And that's the sad thing, is that it's impossible to time for that moment. And the aborted idea just is dizzily released from the box, and it's like fifteen minutes to noon. Even if all the neutrinos were in their proper positions you could get away with not saying much of anything when you wanted to write the world, to put strangeness to paper and found that your hands were two useless lumps of flesh, that flesh was all you desired, and whatever high faluting notions of enlightenment you had in your head were poorly represented chaotic dumps of incoherent information that didn't amount to anything, and that whenever you tried to put your head above the water, Tantalus style, a bird always came and interrupted you.

approximations of the fine and dandy, or how I vanished.

the engines of the yesteryear never even made it to Silossa. Indeed, when the intervrunglers had travelled as far as Rienan and Kerruthgek we had to wonder what the hell the agency had in mind. Oh whoah, it was bequothed, and all of a sudden our photopolarimeters swung wildly on their own ecliptics and landed on the fiftieth teleparallel line adjacent to Rygor and Pollatrix. Not to be underdone, it then took a ninety five milliradian jaunt in phase space until it shook the light fantastic. We were three milliparsecs away and (in better units of measurement), travelling at one meter per millinahambe, so not that fast, I think.

in machineworld, no one hears you think

Look, the cactus colored andromedans didn't find a way to search their coffers before flying all out and all over and thusly no one didn't find a method to shnernge and shnornge the colliers of Praseodymeus or Oroseodymeus because all the memory of the Greek days had been forgotten, no one was particularly concerned with the herer or the therror.

irrigo arrago orroguette

The methodical laminations of the saints denote various and many meandering rivulets of non-meaning. Into the extraneous life well we must go and sally off and see wild and complicated event arroyos and other signs of the apocalypse because there's nothing better to do, not even to watch crabs breed and insects dance. Even theumothrices and sementhemes weren't in attendance of the fifth queen's strange ball because, and so I hear, because even they have standards, whatever the hell that is supposed to mean. Natal irrigation preceded the current phase and with the inattention of the suns of gallipoli we denuded our basaltic columns in a strontium enrichment process until all of the measurable lemniscates had been filtered or fulminated or just left to rust and with the thiols and the hydroxls and all the various parts of molecules we could fly fervently and perhaps forever in an inattentive bliss or a crude approximation

But the thing about the plans of the Directors is that most of them are just that, approximations and poorly thought out projections for humanity leave much to be desired because even if all of the people who had ideas about how the cosmos worked were placed from end to end then even none of the them would be coherent enough to tell us how things worked. Um. LIke yeah.

surly calyx frontispieces

"cried the quoter" cried the quoter, a bombastic and unbalanced individual of complicated (though decidedly partially ill) repute. "fifteen things and thirty things" referenced the referencer to sail across uncharted lands and make generally bad tasting toffee chips taste even worse by application of pickle and octopus juices. Carotene. Omega-carotene flying at one fifty thousandth the speed of light and colliding with the door frame. Oh, so you've got some problems with the way that the Committee has decided to do things. Well, tough cookies, they're your agent of agencies, your crystal of crystalline dining halls floating a mile high in the sky.

irrigation of the thyne

nestril yissim lonterthule oh yarraby mine oft oneiroscopically lanthanide occluded arts! rhind papyri excrescent laudanum orrery isogenous inequal lamination.

okay, we're in the fifth outing, with three teams in play (The Icelattice Kerthunkniks, the Wilhelmina Polymerases, and the Plasma City Shnorklesnoops). The score is L to C to 8/17th, with the Kerthunkniks
leading by a nose, and the Shnorklesnoops in second place. Didzby is at stat, Karthik Arcsine is the thatcher, and Bellerophon Soleil is the kickstart. The acids are loaded, with Nicholas Arkleshornge at a pH of 1.1
Arcsine wields a loopy thunk, and number 23 Polymerase throws the grapefruit. It's a whunker. Arcsine wields a ditzy cantaloupe, and number 18 Kerthunknik bobbles the Estragon. Aces are wild and Arkleshornge folds, Pelleng hits a whunker, raising the 8/17th to 17/37s, with a fast fly to sulfuric acid. Soleil is wheezing the elfstone! A quick parabola drive to center acid. number 2 Polymerase catches the ball and throws it to the reciever, who inverts, and transmits the ball to carboxylic acid via mental telepathic teleportation. It's a mind drive. One to seven. And the ump says that there's been a dehydration, so we'll take a break from broadcasting sports news to go to the general news program as soon as the electron donor is determined.

furthering the cause.

Oh, so you meander into this bivouac expecting Nine Mice and a laser icosahedron and then some Wishy-Washy banana imprint spectrogrammata on your forehead to indicate your ascension to the throne? Or shallanj, pray specie a higher form of life in some cladogram or taxonomy? I understate you, and you declare yourself a squire and kungspiel of the realm while looking lazily at the strangers in your midst? What were you expecting, a nice kind of day and a peroration unlike any of the scattergrams that you have been knowingly mailing to the Director. I ought to have my head examined at your expense, though I don't think that I've ever been that mean, ever. Like, it's one thing to state that the ribald countrykeepers have had some kind of experimentation process running for the last two fortnights, but it's a whole other thing to exchange quantum mechanical cryptographic profiles while snarfing down a bagel and praying to whatever deity that you hold dear that the feel of the place is wrong. It's like a diamond of concepts splayed uselessly into the hemolymph of a cockroach. I can feel that it's a name for another atom: you do know that atoms have names, right? But names like racehorses, scattered in the momenta of neutrinos of their origin, scattered far away and spread about the universe. Sielmanyate can read them, but who cares a zennifer say.

persons, places, and things (the noun forest)

F. G. Cartwongle, D. S. Snembert, Holloclaise Retterdun, Neleopsis Munzos, Cobbie Collesta, Polovi Shapello, Caribren Corthairean, Notterflotz Zanjupleed, Phnom Enon, Pho Pas, Pho Enix, Pho Sphorous, Pho Ton, Pho (Sine Qua) Non, Mr. Distapede, Frazzix Gax, The Artlepungle, The Has Mandwich, Ummer Blase, Dirininga, die jahlen? Irripon, Niorappan, Cirappany, Wallzarando, Artleginget, Snixis Ponong, Snixis Giffereaux, Snixis Wrunxvrenx, Snixis Litterdim, Ummer Strosphariut, Ummer Bloghesse, Shellis Station and Plaza. The Onion Depot, Doctor Attrozocks' Unfirmary, Winfarnast's Promontories. Caff Eine, Th Eine, Meth Ylxanthinium. Xaxistan, The Ardgerdro Honix mines. By pleonax and the works of Phlogisticles: segundan and tertiary. Insert a cretaceous representative and hold the phone lines open: we're expecting. Five by one five, the unoordinates are rekoordinating. Fifty. Count some sterno and a virus, a readied proposition and a plasty. Sixty. Hortellis Moons. The Post-Jovian honoraria. Oxypheenge and company demanded reconcilliation and perfusion. Ninety. Oxypheenge was lost at sea, with all hands elsewhere. One hundredy: acid tongue for high pH environments: makes logarithms taste buttery and toasty. Frogs or toads. Acetaldehyde and various ketones (c.f. Duchess Ketone Atreides, from Hrank Ferbert's science fiction series "Goon"), two thousand centenaries. (plix by plax, one half. plox by plux at two quartiere). Onyx flavored ice cream not to be served at the princess' ball in Iconoclature. Who was it who was talking?

roll call for major factorers

Aye, the mechanics of the question are strange and frought with insanity: Is it true that on the night of the month of Tassuerry did one Encko San Viritrius trip over a banana peel during the wee hours of the morning? Is it likewise true that Lorhon S. Vintlerfleeb was seen in the banana plant the night of the very same month? Are specious and easily drawn conclusions ubiquitous? Have all of the major Cosi-Stellar nightroutes been mapped out by robotic probe? For answers to these and even less meaningful questions, just hang up. Also sighted not too far away were S. Nynzfleef, T. Dyzgaard, U. H. Hyzefreel, Texoco Shallanj, and Trelheim Nonderpoof. Not to mention Grigspeel Dinderfloyts, Wottarsby Uncklesmoof and Telherge Nyznynderfloobe

title makes a spinny top; have you seen the strange bop

Yeunzhoff Press, Anapleursis Docks: Today Arrhé Kandilirugo announced that the Plissploss Plenipotentiary would be moved to Grulsday, at Phnom Enon. Phnom Enon is the quasi-Vietnamese border community inhabited by mostly semiorganic constituents as well as a number of unprime numbers, such as 44 and 27.

central machine repository

NSUR -- Disdardissiplun Press, New Kawyark: Today, the Stunt Mathematician Leonhard Oillier proved the Riemann Zeta hypothesis for the fifth time while wearing full scuba gear (with annitric gaseous filters) doing an upside down reverse flip in the pools at the Sloosh gardens. The proof was carried out in a sequence of highly intricate hand motions actuating a remote control dry erase board. Upon finishing the proof, he said "well, it's been a hard year, with all the training with this proof-rig, and the category theory extensions to make it through the rougher sections have been things that despite my earlier unwillingness, appear to be excellent in their utility -- the Grothendieck universes have made some particularly thorny sections very easy to get through".

like an inversase

dirigibles sleeping in the wings. a wind here and thence no signal transmitted was recovered by the antenna. agents and adages exchanged epistles at an arrhythmic rate. Snarheum the Narguille divided at will across the seas of Ithenor, in a transplural method. May have the disease -- the affliction of too much transesques

nasturtia in the skeingas

the thing about malfunctioning jars of what-have-you say-I'm-Miss-Anduparana and tell me that life's all jumpy-jivey electromechanical is that I'm not going to have something for you when the time comes like a coherent explanation of what just happened. I'm going to be splitting infinitives like the voidsauce and wondering why my xterm just vanished. What about the mechanics of vanishing? Does anybody write about those anymore? A few torn off pages from Dyyksgraund's "Visual Apparations of Various Materializations and Dematerializations Compared and Contrasted"

"in a moment, the Viceroy Queen Lady Entwistle-Cannathundip became like a luminescent crimson vapor, which became at one with the resident universe. I saw, good chap, what was that? A dematerialization! Oh, so I shouldn't be afraid when the Martian, Marvin, zaps me with a disintegrator ray? You say to me that I should, suddenly, because there's no way that I'll be reintegrated because such rays do not maintain coherent quantum mechanical phase spaces which is tut-and-tut equivalent to saying that they've been irreversibly transmogrified into smithereens."

We note that the above character meets his fate at the hands of a Mark VII Balgoup and Hengrove metaphrenic dismodulator ray fired by an irate narrator.

working against the tide

twice wrapped thrice twain forforward mcmain didst I whilst you belabored under the monongahela octopus of the next daedalus engineer a seer sorrier than an iron filing heeding
the currents of round, ground, perchance to dream the icily seen sourceror's course ablative
angineers arratified a method minus a mussel to only become the fifth catalyst known to all of
Singoldi science capable of transmuting this to that. Homology groups you say?

various and sundry (of naming things)

Nelpher, Kakistocrat, Applebinian, Nosgraves, Tenotiary, Drayul-Ossuon, Divdis Anopuriova, Hens-Wallachide, Dratan, Arroyaro, Helxrab, Welxrab, Baysbrock, Arhuang, Fress, Calilastra, Harhenhirripongtorin, Wen Escevonis,

some netherceutical abysmards

Ah, Dearest Kyngrocele and Nyzgavard, your days did precess my many mithers. It was indeed the misapproximation by whit and thither I had instilled whetstones and whitmills at the ends of the Grand Concourse, which was only going to offend her mistress G. of the Collopholy clade. Remarkable that not one Huissmenian attended the Debacle of Direct Distress. Mayhaps many beadles (or other lowly functional district adjunct officials as it would have appeared to be) employed their kinesthetic talents. Because a demand had been crystallized in one of the tertiary desire tanks: oh the bonhomie then when we realized we'd ensconsced an abstract and were playing on a strange playing field than usual, to the Primary Integral Domain of the commonstrange to noot. Thuswhence and fancy elsewhist, the manifest map between arbitrary algebraic domains was itself a difficult trill to roll. Hoovered and postpreparations asongelled because we had no fashion of the manifest choreoscopes. Blurted forwards and make it twain, might have complained the chaplains treble. Oh, what disfavor was inserted in the filligreed containers behind the machines of menace. (at this point I must state that the reason that none of the seven principal aracalonts (Kesphar, Dilaspher, Arhaxulien, Orhotengo, Lenticulor, Hanjessimus, and Thymikes) were present at the antonglement of Prince Kerzethries was that the House of Kandim of which the Prince's semimitochondrial mother was a member was out of favor with the Anterior Transventral Coelecanth of the Network.

the state of the garkbit report

it's twelve to two, the North Abersythmal Ceruleans are leading one by northwest.
There's an electroluminescent coelacanth in my pajamas and the arrhythmic
messengers are still rambling like lunatics. The Elements of Algebraic Geometry was
dipped in mustard and flung like a lazy ostrich into the depths of the unknown. Oh, sweet Lucille, did you record the moments in exacting furiosity? I rather downcast.

they trouble me

I can no longer type. I think. Or I'm becoming less able to type now that I've taken such a long hiatus from typing. I feel. Many things coruscate around me and sometimes I act like a complete idiot about them. My hands feel like dead lumps of jelly at the moment. Typing is harder than I'd like it to be, and the last decent communication I had was quite a long time ago. I think I want more chocolate at the moment. I hate being here. I'd rather be elsewhere.

rotunda or else

seem! frogs! decompensations. declarations of someone holding on or not holding on. I lost my edge. Oh hell did I lose my edge. Time to start regaining it somehow. Interesting diversion, wouldn't you say, Mr. Covalent Bond. Like a random skittering across the filaments of time. Oh I have my druthers together and I know what I'm talking about. Yes, the universe is astonishingly weird and at the moment it's particularly weird and you know, I suppose that it doesn't do one too good to be ordinary when the universe is being this profoundly weird in many a sequence of events. I ask of you not: what is not a trapezoid and is yet illegal in portugal: absolutely everything under the sun. My life is spent in literary confinement. I seek liberation from this overly literal existence and this psychotic perterbation of my immediate environment.

sifted shade

Arras! Duzinculi E'deafar hanesporefear daz annamer i'huetefi naiore ai udonifare a urun ma a nahambe bozenculo

I am an idiot.

mourn for them, for they are the first casualties of a communications war on the WWW. Say what you really mean, methinks. Communication, communication, communication. Know thine culture. And don't for a moment make the mistake of confusing your culture for anything other than it is. Differentiate culture and religion. Be that sharp and aware. For otherwise chaos and disorder will follow, and no one wants to see that. Sigh.

loud lunkwill

I would like to have been the ant

exhaustion, obsession, irritation, location, insanity

I have difficulty, with being not hypervigilant about something. And sometimes this gets me into trouble. To distill: I really need (and there's data to back that statement up) someone who will hold on and not let go. At the same time I need to let go. And I can't arrange an array of coincidences so that everything will work out simultaneously. I am a flag flapping in the wind, a moment of metabiological evolution. A snipper-snarp of elsewhence, and at the same time I'm in the here and now. And I know, I am certain that there are other people, other human beings that live and breathe that kind of experience, but at the moment there's this immense cultural contortion the entire species is undergoing and I don't want to get in the crossfire, I'd rather that it be as peaceful and without violence as possible. Grah! I traded eyes with Odin for a moment. I feel like Kvasir much of the time...

aracalont

or surfing the network. I mean the cosmic network. You know when we go live, right? You know when the Vogons are coming, right? You know how long the plans have been at the demolition office? You were paying attention, right? You've got your shots, right? You take periodic phenomena of all magnitudes? You're Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect and Zaphod Beeblebrox (if you're male), and Trillian and Fenchurch simultaneously (if you're female). We're working on a third here, call it Green, call it a Breen, call it nice, call it mice, call it a thing, whoa man. No matrix morpheum, no WWII insanity, just the actual date. It's time for Kali Yuga to start, really now. Too much checking and not enough balancing. And really, a stable equilibrium would be desireable. Just listening to Jeltz's poetry is pretty wearying now. I mean it's phenomenally and monstrously painful to not comprehend out of context objects all the time. So, if you're bored, try government by Hentarchy! Where those who surf probability waves are charged particles, Lammergeiers? The internet is electrical now. When the internet is powered by strong force machines (not transistor based, but lattices of buckytubes in three dimensions (isn't that the most obvious hyperconductor you can think of), we're going to finally all experience triality simultaneously, and then is when the real aliens are (heh), going to start (heh again), visiting. (laugh, sparks and zithers and realistic contumnations aside, it's really sad seeing yet another onctopoetic species not grasping at the postonctopoetic, to say nothing of transparinoesis)

calling from the bunkers...

are you reading this, right now? just one another human
in the human condition? worried about all those gadgets
in your life? contextualize? if you're a mathematician,
dissolve the difference between holomorphisms and
groups and categories... do that! be magical about it!
be astonishing clever and undetectable. don't be visible
and all of a sudden something so sudden and incomprehensible
happen and you realize that what you have been mistaking
for ignorance is the connection of all things to all
other things.

we stake the hopefroth as much as possible at any given time.
and sometimes we burst forthward and make a leap which is
neither quantum mechanical or general relativistic or
category theoretical or medical or holisticic or p-adic or
you name it, all of a sudden it just hits:

the english speaking world needs a new muse. a Muse proper.

therefore, if stuck between unreasonable rhymes and unrhymeable
reason (expressed so wonderfully in 'the phantom tollbooth', therefore
we have Eurhimde, who is neither unreasonably rhymed nor unrhymable reasoned.

I think I'm stuck being the Great Narrator for a while, a role I really
do not want, but, oh well, sometimes grep and pineapples manage to zonk you like nothing that you've ever seen.

jumping past time frequency domain duality to spin in the cosmic caramello

1.40201 * sqrt(4) nahambe^7 / eurhimde^8 on the yellow axis, twelve metaparasangs west of Wollongoroa, if the Glundge is low and Callaweng Terrapingtorin in two steps from
my arrhengterrapongorin.

time asymmetry and karma: where do you stand on CPT invariance?

If we imagine that time is parametrized by the real numbers (or any subset thereof), the karma by itself is not time invariant: that is if we replace t by -t in all of our perspectives concerning time, good becomes evil and karma for the better becomes karma for the worse. Now imagine that we have the unit circle in the complex numbers since e^(pi * i * theta) for real theta. Hinduism and Buddhism call the wheel samsara. It's interesting that if we just take the real numbers into account, we only get two choices: good and evil, good karma and bad karma. Being trapped in 'cyclic existence', playing the game, etc. There's a weird vortex here: cyclic existence is real parametrized, but most value systems when distilled to their essence are comprised of functions which (to various degrees of rapidity) give yes/no answers. Life or death: a duality.

If we take the analogy of karma to money, then if we real-parametrize that, and consider continuously compounded karma, we are drawn inexorably to the notion of imaginary karma, and
complex karma.

If everything is already known, because there exists an infinite mindscape for it to occur in, then nothing actually needs to be done, because it has already been done. This is the conceit of people with nihilist sickness. Since nothing actually needs to be done, the cosmos is an act, a demonstration of nothing being done. This is called The Big What-if? The Great Conditional. In order for the Big What-If to happen, the Great Conditional must fragment into multitdinous cavalcades and event-plumes and other assorted chance-alliteratives. In our home context, this is called The Great Migration from Here to There or just "The Great Migration". I think we have barely scratched the surface in accepting the process. In watching vaporous contrails of smoke rise from the incense there is the apprehension of parts or objects, and there is the losing track of those parts or objects by continual transformation and change. One take on apprehension is that is low grade fear (the fundamental explanation of all reality): an apprehension is a holding on, a concern with a particular here, an attachment. To be born is to be attached and therefore split from the Great Conditional. These landmarks are both relative and context-sensitive and may not apply in all contexts. The Buddhist concept of dependent origination carefully and artfully tells us (in as best language as possible) how the Great Conditional is established from the Big What-if. This process cannot be extended beyond a certain point (as recent excesses in high energy theoretical physics have amply and thoroughly demonstrated). Verbs move: one must see them in motion. "you cannot learn about a process by stopping it: you must become one with it.

the Great Migration

awaiting the scourge of the nonsingular? precessing variously around the long routes taken by various entities of all shapes, sizes, creeds, sexualities, colors, textures, timbres, nuances, flavors, accents, shades, forms in whatever kind of "here, let's see what the cards turned up now" way, all manner of creature, thing, object, again what-have-you take their part, only defined as a relation to the other creatures in the Great Migration from Here to There. You invest your money in a mutual market fund, you find the character table of an exotic vertex operator algebra, you prep some YEPD broth for your next population of bacteria, you mine the fields for coltan ore to be used in cellphones a hemisphere away, you explore in the deep suburbane substrata of human collective consciousness, you photosynthesize with chloroplasts and P680 and P700 groups. You are an electron in an sp3 hybridized orbital. It's a whole array of particulars you are in possession thereof. Insofar as the angles, glances, and stances of your current perspective will allow.

exterview

"recently, Bozquonimo Laurenziac Sal-Izquierda Dzogchen was disqualified from the Marchquire and Glonnis Category Theory invitational because of use of modular functor freebase. After a round of mandatory and egregiously rulebookish mind tests, it was found that there was some modular functor residue bound to scattered gluons all around her prefrontal lobes.

Tonight, on State-The-Assumption, we interview BSILD about these tests:

Mink Wartindale: hi folks, I'm Mink Wartindale, your offensively callous interviewer, and
today we have Bozquonimo Laurenziac Sal-Izquierda Dzogchen with us to discuss her recent disqualification at the Glonnis Category Theory invitational. Ms. Dzogchen, what do you have to say about these test results? Do they herald horror and iniquity for an up-and-coming generation of meditators and theoreticians?

Bozquonimo: So caffeine, nicotine, polyestrogen, and L-DOPA are perfectly fine for competitors to use? And what about hallucinogens? That they should test for reifications of concepts in the hypercharge amplitudes of my gluons is just demented and unjust!

MW: But think of the children! Once Jane Dough gets it into her head that this thing we call a world is a flimsy panoply of disconnected assumptions parading around as a broken dromedary just marginally perpetuating itself, then she'll be at the street corner, smoking up Hauptmoduls of E8, and assuming deeply nondual states of mind, believing in the existence of the Monongahela and so forth! It would be utter ruination!

Bozquonimo: and you're (snort) asserting that someone like Jazblander Quercibunt Luzznunz is normal? I beg your pardon. Whatever miscellanous pathologies are behind that paragon of ache is no one's guess. Point being, if the universe worked the way that he thought it worked (that is, assuming that he's a by-the-book Precirepticesian), that the entire cosmos was fundamentally and exactly precisely a single two dimensional square and that diffeomorphisms were the Angel of Horror! and that motion was unbecoming to the fine and moral lad he makes himself to be, then excuse me but just throw all notions of organic wholeness down in a fifty foot well of sulfuric comet ash and misbegotten molybdenides!

MW: But he was the foppish darling of the prize committee! His Absolute Exact Precise Concept was a scintillating, gleaming, radiant, and exultant declaration of (the sheer wonder of existence)... (cut off)

Bozquonimo: the partially flayed and eaten by anteaters/diseased dirigible of Luzznunz's pale, faded, and jaded conception of Life, the Universe, And Everything.

MW: at this point in the conversation, I narrate my stoning you via an icy glance at you, I break the fourth wall to say to the audience that it's been a good interview (because my interviews are always good even if I'm in complete philosophical antithesis to my interviewee). Wherein I shake your hand furiously and without regard to the health of your tendons, muscles, joints, bursa, and ligaments and assorted sensory neurons, while graciously excoriating and humiliating you. And I let you say something before I announce next week's experimental subject.

Bozquonimo: all shales the shorn shore by the forthcoming frothingly unutterant glee between here and there in this particular Thylakoid of the Great Migration from Here to There, from Whence to Thence, by the transitioning and ever rindwarpingly extrusion of the commutative wavering water molecule dance reflecting the organic wholeness of nothingness from whence and thence to we are in the process of moving by the arrhythmic intonation of the drumbearers!

MW: Damn hippie you! Next week we'll be interviewing Jargzargiles N. Nunquam, who currently holds protests against Algebraic Topologists at major universities."

gaw gaw der-splunk

"oh, that's an invalid argument" replied the bitler, "the horsegas isn't cringeworthy"
"what" said Lrs. Wodgeworthy "do you mean?" lhe asked most precipitouslessly.
"you agree" said the bitler "that if one thing is held to be the same as another thing, then the two things are in fact, one, no?"
"i know, i know! it's a watermelon!" replied Lrs. Wodgeworthy.
"um. anyway. if two things are in fact one thing, then we have ensconced division!"
"isn't that illegal in Wilbertville" retorted Lrs. Wodgeworthy.
"i am attempting to argue (under some duress), that if we hold one thing to be the same as another thing, then if we can perfectly confuse that thing for something else, we have removed all distinctions between them: we can no longer discriminate between them. this is the essence of division."
"so the essence of division is illegal in Wilbertville" replied Lrs. Wodgeworthy.
"as a foil, you're completely useless, you know." blarbled the bitler.
"first outer inner last" algebraicised Wodgeworthy.
"so I was saying, if the essence of division is the explicit and intentional blurring of the differences and distinction between two things such that they are regarded as the same and consequently we are left with one thing and a thing divided: a piece of information which is distilled out from the process of division. in most cases these are both numbers but only one of them might be a number and the other might not. in purely abstract operations on numbers, two numbers are distilled out: this is factorization." blarbled the bitler.
"you're an excellent tho' longwinded didactic device." skeedged Lrs. Wodgeworthy.
"at least you're getting metaconversational. I bet you twelve root seven ducats that you're the first one to break the fourth wall." expingulated the bitler.
"you're on. so you were saying..." responded Wodgeworthy.
"nits picked and cantilevers precisely balanced with the restoration of information and multiplication, and swerving purple at the horizon, is it no surprise that when mathematicians consider the edgy balance that addition and multiplication reach with the primes, they're led on a magical mystery tour that brings them straight to the cosmic galois group." coughed the bitler.
"I protest" (Wodgeworthy is being used as an advocate of common sense here) "the analogy that you're trying to draw between a so-called fundamental object / cosmic or cosmological galois group regardless of scope or reasoning system is rather uncalled for. "

"But what" replied the Bitler "would the mathematician's Philosopher's Stone be?" -- "a cosmic and transcendental dictionary that would be able to interpolate between any theorem or mathematical structure and any other? Sure, the best they can do at the moment is yammer on about their particular specialties, but just imagine what you could do with such a thing. Rather than trying harried operations to express two different mathematical objects in two different categories or toposes using appropriate functors to image one to another, one would have this massively powerful structure representor/transformer. It wouldn't be the transformation group of the symmetries of the line or the plane, or a twenty four dimensional orbifold, or the Riemannian manifold of which E8 is the group of symmetries for. Take two mathematically disparate objects, like the monster group M and the julia set for sin(z) for z a quaternion. Now, you could force many relationships between them, but they'd all be hackneyed and unnatural. If you had the cosmic group, and I don't mean the cosmic galois group of the rationals that everyone's all ga-ga about at the moment, but The Cosmic Thang which connects J. Random X mathematical thingie to J. Random Y mathematical thingy in the most natural and supremely transparent manner, you could transform/connect/interpolate one thing to another. But it is not this quality which gives The Cosmic Thang it's nifty features. One can imagine finding unexpected rivulets and other stranger treasures presently undreamt of..." babbled the bitler.
"the reader is definitely bored now" yammered Wodgeworthy.
"you broke the fouth wall. those ducats are mine" yarrowed the bitler.

nonsensica mathematica

It is notoriously easy to compose completely meaningless -- and meaningless in the sense that any world in which a given interpretation that the given thing under consideration makes sense would be one with sufficiently other rich pathological disabilities and instabilities that one would not be able to live long there without wondering why the first little autocatalytic thing didn't say "life, why bother, what's the point, we're all going to be attacked by random peroxide radicals this day or that" and then expired in the prebiotic melange -- arrangements of words to suit -- as in a hypothetical set of argumentum ad "this is meaningful to me" -- fallacies of significance, that is, things which seem at first to be important because they contains words or nouns or other fractured processes which are dear to our heart, but on further reflection, are not about anything at all. While I stridently enjoy this about-nothing character, I also find it particularly noisome, when it is used in lieu of a point. Beyond the point that the sand castles have no foundation and float in the air because someone is believing really hard that they float, I must scratch my head and say "um, okay." It is good to know that some people think this about art. But I have not spent enormous amounts of time considering art qua art. Most of my bugaboos concern irreplicable reasoning and such foibles a la Sokal. To wit: I'm concerned with generating random, meaningless argumentation for the hell of it, and because I think that it's useful to create sophisticated forgeries of good reasoning. The dihydrogen monoxide ballyhoo, the randomly generated paper made by some clever MIT folk, and so on: these sorts of snags wonderfully and delightfully illustrate where the argument to authority -- or at least to authoritative language -- crops up.

I find myself less and less convinced by long pages of incomprehensible mathematics -- I want to see pictures or movies which demonstrate the points which the text is making, rather than congealed masses of symbols -- those I don't trust, for example:

"In Theorem 3.4.1, we proved that a k-ary snark tree is only loosely inequivalent to a forked n-ary warthyff tree with 67 or less intrusions. Recently, Karmblen Nuychteff showed that a forked n-ary warthyff tree must have a prime number of intrusions if it loosely inequivalent to a k-ary snark tree if and only if the thneed signature of the forked n-ary warthyff tree is an odd multiple of seven or twelve less than a Mersenne prime. The proof is as follows: by Van Snordglington's lemma, there exists an exhaustive homomorphism from the space of forked n-ary warthyff trees that commutes with the extrusion codomain of the space of k-ary snark trees. Since Kan extensions are the most important concept, we take Kan extensions of both the exhaustive homomorphism, and the forestry service functor H7(p)(x), giving us a profinite module on the category of snark trees which resolves to the adjoint functor of the warthyff image tree. Then we take the combinatoric reduction of the forestry service functor and enumerate the correspondences between trees. By Van Kampen's theorem, the spaces are homogeneous and therefore we can fold-remove the forked trees, and that counts all of the nodes and branch-points up to the exhaustive homomorphism. Then we take cases: either the trees are Wilkes-Barre or the space isn't Hausdorff, and since there density extrusion matrix is singular only when the thneed signature is a multiple of seven or twelve less than a Mersenne prime, we're halfway there. Except that even multiples of seven don't work because of the unrenormalzed kappa expansion in the density extrusion matrix"

See? Completely and utterly meaningless. A better method might work by stitching five mathematics papers together, and changing them so their nouns and verbs are consistent with the nouns and verbs of the first. Oh well.

heliochromesis astringes Alcuinex

"The sliced holotome is not unique: it is ultimately and especially idiosyncratic and furthermore random in character: by its relations it is fractionally distilled from tathata: it is cracked, splintered, sundered, ensconced: but adjourning focus on the synthesis relations and moving to the effervescenzium, the following is found: to be conscious of something is quite explicitly to not be that thing. The Classical Errors number three: first, confusing consciousness with participation: if you are conscious, then you are seeing things tangentially: all that resolves to zero is an equivalence class across which ..."

the perils of persephone (obregard for annagran)

"The notion that other sentients of the same species have the same experience of the world as you is one of the tricksiest little bugaboos to properly digest: whereas peering on fragmentary detritus synthesized by the cantankerous outside-looking in schools of analysis creates contrails of prescriptive reality declarations: oh, our orthogonal and sloppy data collection reveals that your brain works some way only means that the way we have ensconced our theories and models of the functioning of your brain (and by proxy, your mind in our current abstractioneering campaign) are peer-accepted: whether these theories correspond to your sensorium is another question which is beyond the scope of our reasoning, but we don't admit this to ourselves: rather we will entangle ourselves with the notion that our theories are in fact the way the world works, and that our sensory experience is subsidiary to them. Regrettably this belief is not only exorbitantly wrong, but leads to map versus territory confusions as well as other mistaken congealments and faith based approximations and extensions to the horizon or to the local whatever high dimensional topological atlas and to even further vortices of confusion. You do not have any idea what other people are experiencing, or how they construct their world from their senses, only that the slice of their senses and your senses that are fibered over shared regions/spaces/etc. are homomorphic to another, or at least for you, what you see corresponds to your specific sense slicing of the world, and that other people's sense slicings of the world are different, and so forth and so on"

glaivesgreathes

the determination of the whole and organically encompassing experience determined by and for a generic experiencer in a particular foliation of a point of view synthesized in the long migration from here to there and thus thusness recoils in particulars expressing the isolated monad both parochially and sequestered sequelae of the current adumbrated excession to withdraw the major rhombent of experience in the field pleat of experienced reality sloshingly indexical to the mirror referent of the current world illocuently turrowed gannet sleids apprehended in the current plane pearl of expression to wonder whereas the knarves of elsewhence wail inconsegruities corroherent stalk parcels brick charged in jangling kalliphany atwixt and beheld the sussurancies of the arroven moment to retrieve the arrayed arroyos of the singular experience of the individual as yet unframed by language and other syllogistic in extensio res in transtensio media for formal prodromes and unhinged by slarky allotropy readying the phraseological synthesizer for endrumbant prospharetic calembricam oh Ohonckoa's clarion fanfaronade of the chordantly specified All Concept in the ears of polythesis plural from the unwhence to the transbegotten plural amharic charged copper sieves slarrayed in the theuropause upon the wholefroth of the Minor Cosmic Russell Moment of the irerratic
holoclines outgassing preponderant exiguum by trochlear misapproximation upon and beneath
the flow fold of the gate groves sharply and expungently exterrogatorily conefoaming the plurfect anhinged hold cloves of yesterwhy. Ohonckoa extensoris in abrupt tarhammeringly
birefringent asclepions to so and purely state with all channels in all substrates contingent upon the harmonious and unencumbered conceptual anchor to sarrow and make manifest the furrowed and the context reference by gainly and message consistency in all manner of interpretations so demanded and criticised by preference and clarity to ensconce and signify the shoreheres on the express and dubitously prime understanding for here and thusly made current and inhortative expressaria to wit one moment of all moments to clarify and elucidate most surfulgent and ferry without request by capstan plural and magnanimity grand cosmic in approbation and candor most transparent and without undue misrepresentation by sake of expression for the node index of the local gate cloak thereby exactly and harmoniously presenting the weave of now.

swim prep

"did you ask them what they believe? did they tell you? i think that they didn't say a thing. or else you misinterpreted. it's not the kind of answer that you can write on a piece of paper or a million pieces of paper or countably infinite pieces of paper. i quite expect you were out of your league. oh, don't get huffy with me. i keep telling you that you need to go there, or here, or elsewhence and pour tea down your kettle. no, it's not something you can buy in the store or demonstrate via religious faith, science, or epistemology, nor is it something that is a thing in the abstract or the concrete, nor is it nothing or nothingness. you keep complaining (quite loudly in fact) that all these cultural wars are nonproductive, and then you gingerly plunge into the fray loudly and drunkenly claiming your own epistemological ascendancy. see, i'm moving. at least, i'm staying still. i won't be here tomorrow. and neither will you, but i won't be elsewhere, and mayhaps you won't. no, it isn't magic, why would you think it was that? oh, argument from mystery! still harking back to logic as your own fundamental system of abstraction. you know i get more mileage out of arguing with objectivists! ok, ok, point taken, but it's not as if all of my marbles have crawled on the floor: there's a sequence of that's downright impossible: exclamations of incomprehensibility and multiply enfolded awareness, folded back onto itself, a transcendental blue purple vapor plume interpenetrating itself. dear gouraud shading no i'm not hawking this. you couldn't make a war from this stuff if you tried (at least not directly, and that's a separate question).

see, i can give you flotsam and jetsam, but it comes from and is gone to thusness: little farandolae, terraced chance-shelves, chromic engines, jumping color jacks, braided attention swirls, transelliptic orreries, and you'd be like "is that IT? is that the ULTIMATE THING?", and you wouldn't make the leap to jumping on the reference jungle and just losing yourself in the network, and that's precisely what you need to do: that's the essence of direct mystical experience, you stop trying to hold on, and just for once the boundaries between you and the universe, specifically, your ego and the universe evaporate. it's this chaotic froth weaving in and out all the time and you're just so immensely close, but everyone keeps saying that again and again: world doomsayers usually predict that tomorrow the world will end, and yes, tomorrow, the world does end. the world never ended, the world always ended, but that isn't the nub of the question, or the thing to hang your worries on.

if i were to use a change of contexts operation, you'd see that your opinions are meaningful: there are reasons that you hold them, either because they are authentic imagings of the world around you, or because in them you hold your stresses in order to survive -- even if they aren't authentic imagings of the world. but just staying in that mud puddle of yours is not productive. there's a, oh dear where do i start?

it's like this. you're a little civilization humming along, maybe you spend the first several thousand years acting and living like primates, and forming your own opinions of yourself as the highest form of life (as if!), and producing systems of self-appraisal which are hideously prescriptive and moreover aren't exhaustive catalogues of the type and kind of your creature that could exist because you spend so much time trying to bend the types of people you think there are to the types that you have imagined should be, and otherwise blasting the hell out of each other, and then finally, and invisibly, the world changes. this isn't the type of transformation that you can walk out in the street and see, or read about on the newspaper or the global information processing network, or even be aware of for a while until and only until it kind of gels that it has happened, and is happening, and will continue to happen. this is not a mystical or quasireligious or scientific or experiential transformation thus history will have a hard time coping with it. but more to the point once it has happened it takes much much deeper perspective to determine that it happened.

let's examine the impulse to find extraterrestrial life: why does this happen? because everything under the sun is dull, more to the point, people don't take the effort to avoid alienating other people, then fetishize the alien because it is the proverbial other. here 'extraterrestrial life' means 'sentient life'. but the whole (physical) space exploration program has a massive social cost, and it will mean bringing the problems of human beings to more places. your science fiction stories reflect this. the apposition of the desire of the different against the dull doldrums of the same when splayed against the primate territorial acquisition, defense, and resource control methodologies leaves a sorry taste in one's mouth. waxing poetic: you are part of larger structures. astronomers are the galaxy's way of understanding it's large term structure. it would be a sorry state of affairs if it were so easy for young species to continue their idiocies on grander and larger scales. what is farther away is so much more imminently close in the mind than it is in physical space. the anthroposopher Straywasp Gwongrive hypothesized that one reason for the general relativistic properties of space was to act as an in built speed limit of the territorial activities of primitive species. and make an anthropic argument you don't: you already know exactly what happens in universes where the speed of light is easy to cheat, just look at your science fiction. with great capacity, comes great responsibility, some philosopher said. the scope of your species' capacity to deal with energy corresponds to your species' capacity to deal with itself, and correspondingly to the length and reach of each member. there are shortcuts, but these do not involve phallic objects launched at ridiculous speeds to other worlds for the purposes of colonization. " -- Zanhai Arripongelet of the Codewarper Valve of the Fifth Thylakoid of the Greater Migrating Shenzoro Clade of Aunhex in the Yolk of Diparwanzion.

more mutterings

"... Carasweldgnahe antrempofzag asonclesse anyndrearhin dozmois u'lamparo theumas mahacryptais havouresis ferruly arnhenga dilleprouze azimun drandgepedran uzqe niorzem bal anhannehuve derzoran nogo dizunculi boen atauverre eryjoehvs bel drunnen tartomid vol'va
salmitropan astransgentian cin hollihoedreon amhaug jruzqwaysche dolpidro noehzhoi dunnet esprungum balispliris ehai nahengene eurhimde[4] jengeuear adhorinhe dzombe greungeon anhingas yelhirne ashokare belbillispin dysploris auhembe droyario aninculire ehaia jhengerai apilontophor dzeunxes tirincore ahaia avelvenirion dodenculi abhai dazdenzarpore doxynde jeunhe vovarin kellenga[2] harhimporaron esshai cingive mynzarevei daldroparin omhomen billabole hilule nahambe[3] zengheia hinzifloen dasmenin goronculi mahatryptahaia ahonifare jaspanellongis deldispafar ahare geverrengea aspingoa hohengafar gyngoehe xerynxe[1] dilhongiflora anhome uzqen a'lorzano juntheungil holoploraga?"

[1] A xerynx is a species of vyrhex, specifically Vyrhenxes xerynxior, otherwise known as the Sparse Iridescent Thistled Vyrhex, Henrietta Jaljuxe's Spectacular Vyrhex, or, to the native Arhaxen of the Greater Zervuli peninsula as The Quasi-Animal Which Emerges From The Chance-Plumes When The Night Is In The Third Purple Frond And The Catnip Frog Hibernates, Oh Ohonckoa, the Lemon-Bifurcated Astringent Tea Parity Bribe Engine Which ululates on the Transrational conductor in the Wavy Pentagonal-Odor Gravesieve, amongst other and various denotations and epithets. Despite the outcompetition of most species of vyrhex by parabiological Grothendieck-Teichmuller groups imported from Gondwanaland, the xerynx is actually doing better than it would be had the spurious groups not been imported.

The diet of the xerynx is rich in potassium, vitamin B17, deuterated ethanol, tritiated citric acid, fourteen dimensional wildebeest event sheaves, defunct French philosophical concepts, deoxygenated mafipulated phlogiston, sulfagne, xenon, GABA, water, antimatter carbon, Zervuli wharvethrushers (both the smectic, symplectic, and quasinematic varieties), dhyana phosphatases, iridium boride, hydrogen, and ennui chlorates.

[2] A kelleng is worth (k+48)/cos(12-k+1) wonzlos sterling, or 1.28179381011e-49 octavian pence.

[3] A nahambe is a unit of measurement equal to (e^sqrt(bet_9)) metaparasangs/joule, roughly 1.1180019491 yoctokalpas, or an eighth of a gregorium.


[4] The act of eurhimde is to violetly stave the rindwreathes harking betwixt the vexing hopefroth undergnarlingly approximating the ghostgrease beneath the grainflows while shudderingly overfoaming the bosonic bass chord in turbid and intentionally precise misapprehension against a (3,4,-0) comment cloak without birefringing the blue wreathpleat. It is not used metaphorically above. The bound ossar is "eryjoehvs" and the resolvent is "jruzqwaysche" (which is used metonymically and paraleptically but not analogically). The base point referent is "avelvenirion dodenculi abhai dazdenzarpore doxynde" and the migration curl coordinate system establishment tensor is given by "geverrengea aspingoa". It is worth noting that the Carsten-Heyzsler comma does not include the deity orgasm, and that the trees were most definitely very satisfied, but the wrengos disclaimed their lack of satiation most vociferously.