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.