Elephantine data mist.
These charisma-fracturers had a single goal: to run rings around a lime without so much as drawing attention away from distanced pouches which, when appropriately tended and torn, called for themselves to resign. Agile frost had managed to wheedle its way into the bottom left-hand corner of the sliding section; its role would soon become clear. Undaunted by prey, she eloped wildly in the path of oncoming probation gaskets, carrying dunderheadedness to new extremes. A fruity flavor soon enveloped them.
Spackling rapidly, using only its palms, more than half of the team dispersed, and headed for greener pastimes. Originally, the scoping directors had planned to exclude livery stocks from their tenacity, but boy, did they ever change their minds quickly! As the horizon dimmed for the first time, there was a sudden hush, and a jolly New Zealander's head appeared, accompanied by piping and wheezing.
Andy had no doubt whatsoever about his ability to alternately inhale. He was, for lack of a better term, a "scalder of a lad," and thought of himself as a drooling clan of aquatic scarves. Simply by lunging at passers-by, he was able to exude an atmosphere of complete burliness. Little did he know that firemen had arranged for his eradication.
On the mountainside, creeping follies kept up the good work. There was time to waste, and droll days passed like flies. The few dry evenings did not go unnoticed, but were instead absorbed into a shadowy froth which gradually arched itself up and over the obvious faults. Land mines by the hundreds joined in the gaiety and pounced on Mitterand's athletic equipment as he danced by the embers, leaving no stone undermined. Our memories of this time will scathe the linings of matter itself.
"Losers weepers!" was not the only motto to be ignored by the faithful. On a good night, ten to twelve rascals would ply themselves on the scaffold and hoist a Laplander onto the fatherland's shoulders. Beginnings always held a certain fascination with oval-shaped members of the bunch.
We needed a reprise, a tattle-told, monkey-trundling savvy who could cross his or herself by friction alone. The challenge proved to be too subtle for clarifying robust throttlings, leaving only three choices: (1) to bark under plush mange without having the slightest notion of where ideology was hinged, or (2) to attempt to retrofit a jack-knifed dandy to skeletal sensations offered only on weekdays. We, of course, chose the latter option, scoffing at the very notion of having to appropriate said buff.
Corn held out 'til the very end, leering and imbibing a bunch of ugly brown fluid. Toward the end of the day, everyone left the premise under their own steam, forcing that gangly chortle flicker to hand over the rest. A sudden twist in phobias, and it was all over. Bopped on the head one too many times, fledglings with soap pursued an anarchic reign of puncture segues, the likes of which had not been seen or sensed in any way, and which has not been, oh, the same words, since.
Good vibes prevailed until we caught up with ourselves in the tunnel. A neckline readily forgotten cannot be equated with aspirations toward total ineptitude, nor can meaty troll nets cast spells on baldness. This harp was broken, that one was under water, and the fourth rose until it burst. His jaw was like that of a Sasquatch, metastasis being naught but a trunk line to fires of stained papyrus. Gadflies shown a photo of Pop are predicted to align and disassemble well-chewed cloth, seeing as how they have nothing better to do ... but this could not force cancellation by way of marching furrow-draggers.
Hands across the oceanic pilgrim afforded a view of the "cocked altitude mime," a bombastic cliche which acted like a frontal lobe gone awry. Gonzalez's snorting was the final straw; drive north, about twenty meters, jack the car up and get the hell out of there. Did lint have anything to offer? Castration without reprehensible leap-frogging is but a mere quirk in a businesswoman's eye.
Request an enhancement, allowing the heels to pivot through remnants of a brain muffin. Ah, but no; as one grows older, pooling lactose resources cause filaments to chasten the lumbar region. In extreme causes, elfin aspects inaugurate huge swirling droid tones which, under correctional faculty meals, bust 'em up and join the rest of the world. Only bogus clockwork could cheat us out of something so horrid.
Speaking of catastrophe, let me hasten to add a qualifying tautology to Number Six's provocative yearnings: should probes yield quality, a glancing blow to the glib Frazier joint up the hill will more than likely coordinate rites of spattering mousies. Behold the nasty circuits, and elate in the midst of spasmodic urge modifiers like quinine.
Had he known what each box contained, there may have come into being a parrying "lacrimosa" scandal, recalling the orbital chock which was lifted by its own blackout. I remembered nothing after 4:30.
Undertow and Ungulate opted instead for the grooved hardness of whizzing along the ceiling upside down. A tear in the fabric of chalky speech glands pushed sideways against diverse rye, activating a node of steaming proportions. Victorious at last, enunciators botched their property skyward in slow motion, only to be blocked by aggregates of lamp black. Life forms such as these did not communicate their needs via card tosses, or through the mere loss of weight at astounding speeds; rather, arbitrary overages caught the heat in the midst of flack-driven couch props, discarding only the crux.
Crackling birdy boys came along eventually, elbowing their way through the haze without so much as a snot-rag's worth of doubling over. Until earnest spies had thoroughly knifed the night in ungainly ways, one questioned the wisdom of employing spatulas in that direction. By morning, it was through.
Uppity harlot! Blotting out the evening sky with brittle agencies hired only for their lack of candor, earnest particles repeatedly hove tired bigots against nonelastic verticalities. Elapsed time equals zero when dots denote overages greater than can be expressed in numbers, yet spanners cracked by calculus reverted to found states. Pie weaving was no longer hip.
Would things have been different if more or less spittle had trod between the vast difference? Blue, and other noises as well, quietly asserted their options, and together acted as a portent of hopscotch played in the pool. Caution was quickly relinquished by plugs, and the wind carried the warning for all to see: "ALL ANTS PLOW SKYWARD, ALL DIMPLES CONNOTE BURNING RAPTURE."
Friendliness was certainly not a bad thing to offer, yet she tucked magnets into her bosom. The hole under our skimming disk widened as it became obvious to everyone that said etchings were mere truffle hogs in comparison. Under circumstances, that would have put the Polish contingent out of commission, yet ...
"Zink" went the little rod, and all was darkness. Eight hundred hours later, it was light again.
A plush, emasculated variety-nipple swam in an erratic way through and against the cowled mass of clumps. Battalions collapsed into swarms of mad stock car racing fans, each turning in a different direction at the same speed (7). Holding his head, the dough-drenched one laboriously pampered each and every owl that made it across, losing control only on the final canal. Elaborate tissue agendas were eradicated and drummed into nonexistence; having twiddled the knobs of attenuation and psychosis one too many times, it was their only hobo.
Beyond the horizon spouted Stew-boy, the friendly dunce look-alike. Copters beat their way eastward beneath golden ant farms, leaving grimacing mothers to shoulder hieroglyphs in relish's face. But it was not even, and we had elevations above sea level to keep us apart.
... And then it happened. For an instantiation, acid pattered on coked-up bins, preceding nothing but themselves, while coiled tubules erupted at pungent hours throughout the play. How sad it all was, yet how grand.
Newspapers choked the stream for the final time, and we left Rome feeling that the infernal bleeding was not so lenient as it first seemed (before the stores closed). He is a bastard like no other, even amidst ships and squad cars christened by skinny foolishness. Bulbs were useless at times like these, though pregnant hints acted out in front of their parents.
Ambrosia, engagement, and cake darted between the trees, prompting the others to regulate prickles without losing sight of pomposity. The bigger the sweater, the more lines to fake amidst our lady's crises! Clods of hay strode temptingly along the banks of weekend's lymphatic oath, breaking through barriers one at a time, while, still upsetting their rinds, slippery pope-works shot dazzlingly hilarious jimmies at quicksand believed to be hostile. What next?
(2) The Onion Fields
Sporting neatly manicured barbs, spotted plaster retardants dove boldly into parallel wounds (the ones which had assisted us in presenting cups to Chang). Out of this tiger sprang the Rhine, panting irregularly despite its integrated lava memoirs, and tuning on an unconscious level to local railroad stationery. A certain limp, like that of dagger-rot, castigated its own tendons to the point of sauce, rendering alkaline puddles harmful at full tilt. These last few years, however, were difficult; having left behind their parkas, bunnies drove both ways at the same time, and caused much delight amongst the deceased.
On a nearby hill lived the manager's dairy broker; he was a big guy. If one held it at armor's length during any given afternoon, Baptist crows would broach topics deemed indispensible to reflective jetsam, encouraging the others to vote noisily. The cha-cha was my favorite during those sessions; efflorescence could not compete, despite the protests of the wan cupola attendant.
"A portrait a day, numbskull doctors lead the way ..." chanted Rollie and the gang as they pounded the turf in search of carpal tunnels. Lords by the spoonfull turned up at our doorstep in the hope that flammable axles would launch a thousand faces (speaking of butchered bishops ...!). That's the way it is, and off we go to steal pumping stations in the drifting salt of chow-time cities.
Punched one too many times by architectural flambovance, she lazily collided with the adjacent posters, rupturing the housing on it circular wing, just below the night line. Half of them chose to drop out before the heavy stuff started, leaving those without pap test kits to guess at the outcome of their next batting ranger auction. It opened its little mouth and said "pee," leaving us gaping with a kind of jovial aftertouch, like that which is normally associated with children's shipyards.
Gulpy, frustrated by the inadequacy of its own stocks, bounced a spinner up the middle, and headed for the nearest outlet. Each pattern was matched by a display of flogging, of romping in the hair of aggression; normally, this would be seen as a transgression, but, under these lenient, nomadic speedballs, anything might be allowed to slip past the skinny elastics poised at the edge of purposefulness.
"Oh, and I suppose you are waiting?" asked the cock's cronie. It is no longer necessary to beat one's head against a branding iron; simply floor it, take a few seconds to spy on spelling errors, then adjust first the left, then the left. Again! Again!
Trumpeted to the floor winds by media well-wishes, their party's fate rested within a goat's back teeth, forced to the brink of massiveness by her anniversary doll. Each mammy sneezed periodically, nodding this way and that way, then extended a paw into that now-legendary jar which sits upon the lap of rejection. Trips up Quah River were all the rage, the view of Mount Crapola-girl being the extreme low point to all but a certain Nome-born muscle man.
You can get into a lot of trouble this way! We looked down and saw an elderly clod with piles, carrying a potato in each hand, strolling toward the array of bowl-like structures wrapped lovingly in burnt fabric. Rapidly scanning the optics manual's preface, she whinnied like a tubular spigot, and the gasp of helium-scented tombs met the cold spring air.
... Yet he continued to plague the organ, thrusting his ankles toward the hill where Scottish lamp-bearers exchange pleasantries. Only the handler of cloud spoke: "Would that this landed me a client in hell!" Others responded less vehemently, rolling their lunches into little wet balls of onyx, and gazing fondly toward the last known site of Clown's inky pond map. The way to paradise was marked by a delicious wound, coiled daintily on the skin of its battery-powered troll; naught but meandering wirespoofs were able to churn up ladybug storms that mighty.
Bright blockages of serfdom, swimming up from Ecuador with bilge puppies worn as scarves, served as indications of the potency of mail forwarded from "Mr. Neon Lung" himself, despite newlywed cougher-doublings. We were appreciative of vitamins, sighing blimpishly while matched sets of wheeled omens clasped plate-glass sewing strictures, having been alarmed by chanted plunger whackings. Of course, when the horizon broke, there was a real scuffle....
She was clearly dizzied by a buffeting wind emanating from the root canal work done ages ago by her uncle, the blind silversmith. Up in the sky trundled Oafie, a member of the Rickels citrus band; these whirling scoundrels chucked earlybirds into breach birth celebrations as if they were clay! Were it not for a single lapse of dental strength, the auction would have collapsed under its own arteriole pattering.
What else was in the offing? Having captured a pliable version of each volunteer's catapult bristle, they were led up the hill to watch his death by offensive bowel habits. Ordinarily, this would open up at least nine, however, rather than busting in, several chose to regulate their speech vents via aggressive otherness. The remaining stipulations are clear: with a sawing motion, one should relieve the troops of their dandy pleas, and mumble something about markers seen dimly through Sullivan himself. Oh, but for a single wish!
Rather than becoming nervous, the line judges formed an exoskeletal bomb bay, and allowed their stogies to flap freely. Yet they did not graze blindly upon truths, awful myths having provoked scurrying refuse into accepting bribes from ranchers with baked sternums. He stretched skyward and, with a powerful nasal chugging, brought fire to the west.
Hatchets were on sale that entire week. The leader had an Indo-European air about her, and was often seen in the proximity of negligent coxswain beaters, especially those with jaunty bags of bile hidden somewhere on their persons. Although mottos weren't exactly a rough diamond to come by, antelopes, free to take swigs of whitened tar, dove cheerily from unbelievable heights, leaving the botched drum crew to clean up spillages left over from previous tours. They weren't the only lepers, you know!
By bothering each one in succession, Elijah found a way to crack the co-ed, and became a hero, unlike his naughtily book-worm-eaten auntie. Creased bladder pulp stocks were on the rise, the nights were lengthy and crisp, a moist Brie wafted the odor of aging vegetarians across several communities during rites of achievements too gnarled to be mentioned. ... And in the midst of all this stood a statuette which no one could identify.
Someone had clearly tampered with the one in the middle. A deft leap to the side was followed by a spray of powdered adverbs ... but it wasn't too late. Saucy vengeance operating on an empty tank, that's what it boiled downward to! The asthma club (and its mode of petulance) allowed consecutive Bambi upholsterers to free themselves from the jargon of denial, while at the same time withdrawing interest pains from every other dodger. Logs and plumbing gone bad constituted category forty, and the rest were stuck randomly into streamlined elevators and shipped off to purgatory.
Untreated sewage was no longer a threat to this community. However, given the retinal nature of nitrogen, each connector was given a chance to prod its way through a dense, plasmatic playground built under the assumption that eagle heads weighed in at just over the minimum cancellation polyp. It was the last thing on his mind....
Both teams had enough to forge a semen agenda modelled after Lincoln's baptismal interface design. "Sense my carpet?" she aspirated. The goal was clearly unreasonable, seeing as how things were no longer parallel; but, for the sake of irony, drip clusters all over the state were closed down, two by two, until lean kids with poorly defined hairlines went bang.
Obnoxious? With shoes, he couldn't get very far, despite efforts currently underway in the south, yet ... She swore they were just a bunch of big ol' slobs, brimming with dainty poison.
Plateaus were certainly hard to come by the way; boobies amidst thickened ruby dilemmas strengthened their stance on post-war party torsos, while, at outposts scattered throughout the range, eviscerated gall horns sought unconditional prowess through mockery of chaste wah-wah petals. It is as if we had never seen a lion.... And the reflection continued to pause, Asiatic handle-mimes close at hand, nether regions dangling like whopping jabs to the shank.
Let's vacuum! Orbiting chakra 73 for the last time, our doubled-over buddy bid hello to radish summits and, with a subtle movement of the buttocks, caused fog to become elongated, stretching across a span of corporate brine exceeding all previous fly-boy aromas. They continued to emphasize the vagrancy of sopped-up adjustments to suspended light, allowing for minor fluctuations in the level of blood Sugar Pops. This, however, created repercussions within the tartar community, and even encouraged games of checkers to sprout harnesses within alpha-omega boundary conditions similar to those specified by "Snotty Egret Twist."
Telephonics was simply a metaphor for his rather stilted lifestyle, and he knew it. But ever since the divisive ova ad, their government had rejected portions heavier than stamped angel hair; it was just a bit too much to ask of onion laborers, given the current beehive navigator's mood. Again, "splotched" was not the best way to describe it, but it was all they could not afford. Ten out of eleven launches had failed, and morale was very high. Could this be the beginning?
(3) Her Emaciated Counterpart
"Surrogate wampum, tributary of our lord's greasy blubber" was not a slogan to be taken lightly. (Donkeys continue to summarize lists in a natural, easy-going way, as we speak. ...) To enter a commander, simply bite down hard on the game board and glance furtively toward rotund oblation circuses; squeaking sounds, although optional, may be useful in phases during which gleaming proton waxers delineate uselessness without the aid of enormous charts depicting unusually prolific heroin fans silhouetted against a double belt-sander lineup. Was it shiny enough to be ignored?
If it had been any more elegant. ...! Give 'em a chance to prop one up, and there ain't much left to say about flames. With an appetite as big as a cirrus clout, it moved on to the next outpost in an appealing, high-strung manner, and intentionally deposited several gloves near the foul line. Eager form lettuce constituted the bulk of Manny's psychological apparatus, despite over-wroughtness and olive-drab amoebic clench displays; in both instances, the common denominator was a stunned garter snake which emerged from bubbling wood pulp, just like in the old days.
Was gigantism merely a means of expanding plebeian interests in low-tech alternatives to crash-and-burn grain doping? She leered at the coals in a wallaby-like way, splashing the others with lentils. ... Instead, voltage itself offered a solution: basking in lightning with a can of tremoli.
His title was "Domed Magistrate Slugger of Desire"; what more could anyone want? As the party dispersed, bugs slid out of control on icy seafarers, creating synonymous approbations which casually ground their compasses to dust amidst brackish quandries. By leaving behind its irises, it professed to achievements beyond the ken of normative kitty chunks, and insisted on wielding a crowbar in the classroom. Adding a bit of salt might improve things.
Day broke in suddenly over the entire hemisphere and its associated wallops. A single sprig of "glow yarn" thrust its way down into heartier times, beef/bronze stew that tempts the thymus and lubricates chattering blasphemers at crucial intervals. And yet ...
They had truthfully blundered. Asphyxiated by aptitude, unable to toggle for mercy, the last sponge diversity signalled the camera, and, by replacing himself with a metal shim, phoned in his request for increased bravado. Eagerness was not enough to survive on, although it certainly did not help. Anyway, most of the remnants are housed in the basement of the Camp Woodhead field hospitality punt.
Having been told to pick away at the skin, she outfitted everyone with ploys and sandwiched wailings. (Ah, for the life of a carpenter ... ) If we reached the plateau by midnight, they would surely respond with a barrage of heretofore unrevealed gossip columnists, thus nullifying theoretical passion in its most deeply combined form. But a surprise was in store for all: the previous day's news, like sour milk become frigid, expressed its interest raid in canned territorial margin pluckings, causing the market's head to swim wildly, as if in a state of migratory steadiness.
But it wasn't as ambiguous as it had seemed at the startling; with each entitlement, twenty-six sharpened bones advanced one notch. Be that as it may, no manic archives were visible from this depth (except, on even-numbered dusks, the "Memphis Strut"). Collaborating on far and away the most superb notion, batched proboscis-hobbyist targeters nailed down the coffin's lip and stole away into the fiery bleat of midtown. It's only nagging....
He felt terrible, and decided to transmit. Again the terminus was calculated, again it broke down under pressure from its constituents; near-transcendent catatonia blanked out lines like a chicken's idea of a romp through the devil's playpen. Were it not for the snow, forked inheritances would see themselves on television, along with pills containing lobster gel.
Shields |n' condiments: really quite sufficient in that they belittle vibratory numbness in favor of badly defined attempts at scurrying phosphor salads. Could the act of foresaking, by and large, become a background process in the context of scalp? One of the featured suppliers was a middle-aged ball manipulator; unfortunately, by emptying out vial number eight, there were no more choices to be made. But this is not the "real world," where signals indicate style, and liquids beckon at castles' whim.
It gnashed and gnawed, with a sound like a pressure-cooker in midstream. Each button had a dual function: tethered foragers did not appear 'til two-thirds of the way throughout. Interestingly, the pattern differed from one raunchy java sequencer to the same.
Parlor gains were his primary source of nutrition, and there were always nicely honed windowing effects to be had for the drop of a Lenny. Often, sunrise and sunset coincided; or, to be more precise, blabber-mouthed cringers could be seen in the furnace's belly, lapping up geometry's finer moments as expounded by a "best of" video collection named Jacques. Why the sea cucumber, why "the lowly"? Boomerang exits wagged rather contrivially, perhaps even (dare it be said?) crumblingly.
After astronomy came largess, then encapsulation and dropsy. Having grown fond of her afterlife, he cruised at ever-so-slightly lower levels of chemical indulgence, hacking like a bruised robot in a frenzy of organizational triumph.
"I will have only red-heron babies." Apoplexy extinguishers, disquieted by roosting henchwomen, were slumping forward in their lakefront desire postures, as if that had ever stopped him before! This relationship had ended many millenia after the arrival of mountains, and, singularly bereft of clumsiness, had acted as an intermediary between the "haves" and the fleeing mackerel denouncements from the pulpit." Sort of, but not quite!
Truly organic violations of slavery-directed polo breeding were unacceptable (as of 10/4/29/73). The trouble with numerals is that they're too active, and tend to accumulate mass at hop-frog-like demonstrations against tranquility's playboy cognizance, let alone "slow-mo" Austrian porpoise domesticity. For the last time, synchronized swigging led everywhere, so long as grills, like orphans, remained at harborside.
The eighth of seven consecutive "glugs" was abbreviated in honor of inert mazes. We had been warned not to avoid not looking at that painting, but to proceed correctly to Domain Schism Venture Inc., where every transference was carefully examined by sniffling blood ounces, the damp troughs of which articulated ivory shelving wriggles. Capitalism's aggravation now seeks the right to publish toxicity; perhaps a lanyard offers less than we bargained against. Oops, it's all a joke!
No matter which way he looked away from it, an auto-dialer (via shoddy prayer) roused lamprey gas manifestation in the nick of an eye; had sweaty vagueness forked over a cheaper wattage sutra, fear of "advice modernity" would surely have won out over itself.
Wronged by keystroke's sonic circumstance wiglet, lineage portrayed needless porch high-life as having yanked forth a minty cranial blast of untold purchasing power. Obligatory tedium began with unregulated steward calcification of the most horrid sort; pleasantries aside, shimmying along amnesia's inner membrane wasn't so much like Yahweh's clattering as one might not have thought had one not been cleansed by the temptress of bladderwort confusion.
Boomer sacrifice (as a hobby genre) waxed weakly, much to the disdain of wretched reptilian shinings which clung on by means of directed frenzy i.e. maw's lossage. Abruptly charitable resignation fox-fetches spat while bellowing the "Chock Full o' Nannies" script, badly coordinated with the sort of modem-chortle sexism of which we grew so tired back in early April, damned by breast theater. There wasn't a subtext: with wobbly gumption, each tiny tendril retracted its modular gag placemark, and scuttled what was left of mirrored arrow.
By battling zephyr launchings, Avenue Mongrel's inhabitants tore up their prologue, and are still spouting half-lives. Her shock over the status of our safety roaster provoked even fatter limb scripts, and eventually led away from an Afghan nest judgment of proportions. Seized by erotic gaze-scrambling mandates, protozoans decided against wireless Lutheran stagger effects, and animated their corrugation chamber without so much as a single colt account. At last, kidney-fests of sumptuous talent!
Maybe, but ... When clapboard first illuminates alphabetic tilt bargains, spark malevolence is prohibited (hence the splendid gaff coinage); arbiters of a charged million afford cellular conjugation with low whiff averages, despite the "quality sensor" provided by bucking nuggets of ventilation. The river, its jostler-texture definitive by no one's standards, etched categorical lawmaker thumping in a moody, pustular manner, replete without alarm globules. Aurora's value folder should not be mentioned here.
Throughout, finely grained bovine snapshots were jogged and renamed "Catch of the Day Lily." By splitting his nudges, we remotely butlered an umbilical tea booger, and sought hinged reflexes while deigning to verticalize a seamstressed halo. (The furor: boom-box torsion posts with solar mammaries.) At case at last, they mimicked ticking chef tablature, and a pocket-sized boner trend garbled several grease inspections after having observed the heathen drain land of its public ceremony. Professional botulists all agree: EVERY BIRTHDAY'S A CHOPPING BLOCK, EVERY ARENA AN ALABASTER SATELLITE.
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|Title Annotation:||Complexity Forum; short story|
|Publication:||Perspectives of New Music|
|Date:||Jan 1, 1994|
|Previous Article:||Why complexity?|
|Next Article:||Composing a viable (if transitory) self: Brian Ferneyhough in conversation with James Boros.|