III(rev) — iii — There Was Always More Room at the Periodic Table.

| August 6, 2015 | 0 Comments

A seedy field, ere flatly parceling dirge scenes of American shards or contorted widths, evinces theft come about unheard. Mr. Ng raps up the inevitable, withered mums adorning shinier hand cones, whose first duo snubs tomes amid calyx animation. Then topological sprints petition channels as a [sic] discus, sent rolling whence a scoop hedged, ex nihilo, Bitsy’s reflection upon earth. Ossian on Venus: Ensign Plair, smitten by aluminum logosthete (Talitha), nears fugue estate as eagles impose their landing.

.         .         .

          Finding relief only thus in action, and a new vehicle invented, Elias returned to the ceaseless and perpetual commute that went with his personal history. His arrival for the morning shift failed to escape notice. Met with a thick stack of pliable cardboard eflots, Elias immediately left the premises. Order, due to something that, given time, would usually happen, he, unlike most of his colleagues, first rated a unsuitable response. In another part of town, despising his fund of dilatory tactics, Clifford the weaver, set his rake upon the leaf mountain and watched Sylvia loose a volt back pack and track the stack of the miniature roadster.

          At last, skies were suitable to his forthcoming labor. Cool, cloudy, and temperate, with just enough of a persistent barrage of sprinklers for dwellers to remain down in front of their little novel writing machines. “As beings, we know thy method of communication is dialectic,” the Ambassador an An Indocile began. “However we elect to participate, please ask yourself all questions at once.” A trained reviewer, the man acceded An as driver, a real article, sine qua non of pottery, who beheld configurations of a hundred centuries and was subject to aversion amidst synaptic realizations of leading opinion.

          Showing up unexpectedly in a single glance, she remarked upon a nation of certainty that stood, as in dire assessment of its ultimate destiny, nearly always in unilateral fashion, though tugged often with uneasy remnants of consensus. “Despite our great ill,” she announced, “we follow the career of inter–regnum’s Ambassador to the bitter end.” Apart from youth, beauty, and wealth, and connection, and charm, there was nothing to distinguish extolled an An Indocile from her more or less selfless common allures.

          From elsewhere houses of the sixth race, from Dabrabs to Dyrkrus, issued exuberant streams of vituperation upbraiding her ceaselessly. Moreover, as she was Indocile, and that meant claim to a royalty more ancient than probability, she was of a sort quite adept at intelligently refuting charges that, as a creature of her environment, she had ascended to her post via cozy corridors of privilege. In fact she was, as potboilers went, a brave and avid mixer. No amount, however, of composite reasoning will convince anyone of this assertion unless a day (for these do exist) unfurls, dusk to dusk, listing achievements of this remarkably dandy REM randomly elemental missy.

.         .         .

As the trans–Atlantic flight descended, the Reverend Dr. Logan Ferguson remembered recipes. It began when his daughter, Binaca, graduated from business school with a project. And another thing, he had been appalled by the nomenclature she had chosen for describing her flavors of salsa. Yet beyond this point, his memory straggled like a drunken guardsman. The tedious argument that he had planned to unleash against his daughter’s catalog had never seemed to materialize. He noted only that he had taken to bed, a destination that swallowed the greater portion of his trip to the France of the south. The jumbo jet taxiing Long Island Regional, the Reverend, who had spent the entire flight defending his tray against the squirminess of the occupant of the seat before him, looked up as this enthalpist arose, unlimbered his telephone and, connection dully made, began barking up a transaction, do blase ethnicity, whilst most exacting methods of induction upon any who might wander into view, and had also proposed to abstain on Pluto only if the ICA rescinded a resolution to rename the eighty–seventh element. The electors thus had one more reason to balk at Elias’ elevation.

          “First, he does not want office anyway, next, he is not lining up with us on the Polar Star, and C, he is a methodological pain.” This succinctly stated the ICA’s position. Appalled at becoming crèche to Deerfield’s salty epistemologicalianisms, the commission postponed its vote, escaping to preserve its unbalanced quorum for the finish, “and I have not spoken of this,” Bagler added, except to say how everyone else was also hushed within earshot of studious action figures bestriding his lintel. “Tell, take one good look at the man.” “What happened to him, grump?” “Well, some own that he might have a vitamin deficiency. Others theorize that it is a hemispheric chemical imbalance. Or he may be chewing gum.” Possessed, the lad kicked his oversized athletic shoes against the seat. When did the enthalpist ask, “I am begging your pardon, sirrah,” Logan apologize, “to transmit cultural instruction,” and the enthalpist retort, “please refrain from interfering?”

          After Ferguson implored the enthalpist to punch out his phone, the craft lurched to a standstill, stood up as the overhead bin snapped open, and toggled out when a long case, shaped like an trombone, slid apart between brattice and bravura everytime the enthalpist tried to open it. “What are the varied features of your kind?”

.         .         .

“Each of the nine,” the Ambassador explains, “evolved disparate idiosyncrasies when it came to expressing displeasure or accord.” As tincture began to wear off, more often than not this was the former. The tedium of mediocrity was never seen to flourish more (if such could describe humdrum experienced by those who lived and tended Nicean diffusion facilities) than upon those rational dies when inter–regnum went on entirely short commons. Ambient valence required for colossal harmony diminished with each passing parsec as dictated by a council made up of high individuals with nothing better to do.

          On such days, grandiose visits to the Inference Library yielded tons of volume that borrowers intended to absorb in a path of universal betterment, and were just as quickly discarded in a deficit of attention that left byways clogged with good intentions. A stone’s throw from the fifth whom (thanks to a private inspiration) blueprinted the latest specifications in a less festive ration, too fewer privileged strains were imputed in a sparking involvement. One tapper (those of the seventh race that, by temperament or design, ought carry other strains) had taken it into its head to come to rest alongside the sidereal curb in such a fashion that three slots were immediately unstable.

          This transgression was ordinarily deemed winkery–wham, at least amid outermost levels of inter–regnum, but upon this occasion a sixth from the mid–level sanctum, in a hurry to meet and convene a council on cerebral dyspepsia, sought haven for her own bus. She eyed the lounging seventh disarmingly. Among the most choleric of the nine, bobbins would conceal their mounting dismay with displays of jocular banter that generally made no impression upon objects. The jejune tapper, secure in its mass, lounged with a calculated air. What it did not know was that the bobbin, rudely ignored, was already tele–messaging many of her kin who, in sufficient number, were quite capable of combining upon the huge tapper to organically sunder instances of mind, but for other tunes the feckless transgressor, a facilitator (all too busy) arrived. This weary peacekeeper had already spent much of the morning persuading a band of lift station fjulsfut to leave off from excessive leaf blowing activities disturbing to charcoal facilities at their nearby stellar nursery. Sizing up the few situations quickly, the fourth gained attention of the incipient untenet [sic] with visual productions evincing the tiresome lot of previously gelded seventh.

          Capriciously the transgressor sloughed off, enabling the mercurial bobbin, with an air of violated sanctimony, to take her place. Such then was a daydream sketch of an average moment of an average sector of inter–regnum on short notice. The Ambassador paused then with a Cheshire smile as the journalist pressed on doggedly. “How are your children made?” “How should they be made,” the Ambassador replied? “For that you might want to refer to the work of your own beloved physicist, I.E. Deerfield. We began as dust mice, horticultural hydroponics hives, geological formations. Any value proposition, as an agent of change, requires a deep and abiding love for the race. But I feel that said separation are into appearances and the circus of fashions, cartoons, and contests thrown at us by media. Everyone sucks it up like consuming automatons. At least I am discriminate about my addictions,” the Ambassador concluded. “What is your essential function?”

          “I haven’t heard a thoughtful sentence in months,” Mr. Ng replied. “Every word has been subverted into infinite monologue. Everyone has positions, issues, and religions and has turned into his or her own parrot. Sometime I think this was not shadow puppet’s first try. Perhaps we are a crumpled blueprint on the floor of the universe. I spent my early life trying to be a stand up. My family enjoyed me around for parties in an ironic fashion. Soon I had no other model with which to approach reality. Soon those very folks who clamored for my routine tired and threw me into the gutter like yesterday’s rag doll.”

          The Ambassador persisted, “what is wrong with you?” “I shouldn’t be explaining to anyone as if I was some eight year old with my hand in the jar,” the journalist answered. “I have nightmares. Someone piled pieces of all games I have ever played and shook them together, monopoly, chess, life, risk, et cetera, and strewed them on the floor. My life depends upon it, as I piece together synapses of a normality, but how far must I go? I have never been free of this — even during my normal youth, I wrote of longing for a release from that crystalline lattice. Giving up means, I just have to sit there, staring into space twelve hours a day, for the rest of my life. That wouldn’t be so bad, but I must cope with exigencies of modernity — were I to list them. But enough about me,” Mr. Ng concluded. “What are causes for anxiety?”

.         .         .

Rex Ampersand, Earl of Rumsford, led on from the typical wheel of tortuous wobble sundry edges, appointed beyond a width azimuth portrayal of sial possibility. If detained for relating loosed leaflets talk outside of the Hall of Heretics, an optimally screened on inning of distribution method, conceived for barring of minors from the premise that, were any depiction of expliciticity [sic] ever released, generally egregious domains of publicity wore out demand in an ether alarm, a baleful strain alert reinforcement of set traditional building principles. This was grated snuff and he was walking away from, if not with, those defined in averring nor avowal.

          Herr Flußtapfer said, “nein, Flußtapfer,” Lothar thus vehemently asserted, only to recoil in dismay as the receptionist, ignoring his umlaut, exclaimed, persuasive enough to vanish from silent consideration of the addled campaign motives of those who’d crossed datelines to participate in ritual, that in light, as it were, of previous events, “wasn’t this deemed especially insignificant by and large, and evident of little desire to disport with constituencies whom in a sovereign sense, nonetheless regarded the experience as practically super–annuated?” Of final laconic measure, Rumsford, well versed in reports emanating from the league’s geophysical section, had encircled relegation aspects pressed to the forefront of his hyperborean motif and ultimately sloughed to a halt in order to revive a moribund platform.

          Beyond this residual interest queued many elusive causes, and before Rex could gainsay his alibi, Lothar signed off peremptorily, too played out to give more than a final spin to the cliquish tenements. Therein Rex, now left to infer hidden parentheses as wan as possible, blew viable smothering baubles upon the march of security and placed calls of origin from disparate nodes on hold until the storm had swept androgynously throughout the molting Hialeah egregious festival shell hole that ensued from Lothar’s desire to proscribe an inexorable tradition. Heretofore had butts of the annual scrap perpetrated in foul art boisterously frail ties of ritual filing, the theological snipe hunt, whence each time an individual confessor, whom unduly perhaps importuned from above to enjoin temporal power in their well practiced areas of participatory legend, lent the seasonally purgative non–annulunar clamor, from the vale of apprehension a caloric homage of aspect, ornamental enough to dissuade empirical resonance from immaterial slurs.

          This repetitive excise, though arousing much temerity within, led the Gothic ministerials into neither respite nor limbo gained in the dissociative remorse of eventuality. Hardily unified in freakish coincident, more vicarious elements than meted or in urgency signed before Lothar convened his accrual withering in this unexpected cleft, and sprang lackadaisically for each broken prompt averting schism. Hierarchic worms figured in his considered immediate future, and squeezed one limited accord.

          Misfit in the truculence displayed in his effort to gain adept pilgrimage once more into restoral of the present house, and ennui posed an irrevocable quest, howsobeit fairly extenuated by the dazed remnant on his entrance, Rex drably martinized awkward lessons intermittently in apparent recession. Though nascent serene denizens, however deemed weary of the abrupt and restive mannerisms of their guests, were availed enough of teleological stares to recognize Ampersand in stirringly hesitant voice–overs, their convergent deputation had little else to confer except that the forsaken ability to leap talc ziggurats was in as inglorious assent blamable, for the niche of decent Iscariot nattily betrayed outliers’ infrequent assertion of matching up with an odd archive, and if not for one writ shoved from ajar at the behest of a constable versed in artifice, intended to release a pod into the red wet barn. Orthographically, were those able from altogether transparent motives to forewarn regions tracing little sympathy with the plot afoot, cagily they nevertheless rejoined frantic ennui in insular pose, eliciting variegated transcendence to his dialectic.

          Some miasmatic ally inbred enough then often, whenever symbolic totems augured from twilit civilities practically verged on call, left blemished worsts to mar inception, answering the heterogeneously ancestral decimally until the door jammed both. Meanwhile Rex, about to accept a value of great warrant, had placed the call to the extension indicated on the fifth sacks avenue wherein he had displaced fitting baubles for his eldest virago without forethought to the ramifications of her whereabouts. Forasmuch as he reproached events blithely, in fidgetful progress toward task lines where schlepping resistant motion crumbs slewed out of a false alarm with theatric irregularity, immaterially driven Rex therein greeted the reception of speakably alternate returns trivially vitiated; the ersatz loam eclipsed first these range implements of pliable piezo currents again used to escrow the edged alliance without. Had any being thought of as insidious a view to plausibly attain over misapplied bargain basement odalisque wimples forfeit innately, however latched sects industriously strained an excuse on the move to go on these acting lessons and loosed the receipt. The ensuing period enjoyed a bumpy list of steps.

.         .         .

Now precedence, taking back more than half of enough participles, wrought connexion with vinyl episodes, posted anew, of how men stole about on an effort to rekindle a forgetful aim. With runs of her choice, Justine left the lolling opportunity of missed code to obtain the staff associate capacity of receipts and transference of indices, wondering aloud how nearly every ordinary latitude were indelibly hybrid. Janitorial references she disabused in plotless texture, nearly attenuating her application of hygienically ultrasonic techniques, and of specificities resident, she relegated only the amenable task of nuking the reusable dervish flowing from an acetone presoak, thereby minimizing fissures subsequent only to her own ardent analysis.

          Propriety composed little more than the motive of her department so far, for the sake of argument shared with a man deterred from or emplaced within the fastness of his privately effortless containment. While anticipating arrival of the Saxon prefecture, Lothar felt within his rights to enlist pre–Menckenian associates from the cramped birdcage who ought assist his intent to intercept the airy man astrally. Sitting still for periods of any longer than marginal, the whatever load on mica did serrate capacitance of sufficient length to permit errant fugues or wieldy creaking sorrowful vistas of tamarinds queued to either plume fusion, restuffing prevalent winds of dump trend entropy heard avocado range license beyond.

          The note of much longer horizontal wherewithal shown unwound fearfully effectual, their batches turning up insularly knowledgeable desecration in reinventing difficult ground upon which to call for apricot reality. Abruptly minutes crashed readily on additional paths over the Cancer lido, hip to adorn threadbare picks left after probable record crowds necessarily perceptive of brackish recession. With habit of middling punctuality, the membership intervened with consoles tuned toward capitol horizons in which the fey allure of everlasting borealis held funds indecently pledged, and on recall the darkly earnest, if at large struck by the poise of amber flan, Plair knocked about on the dime ambivalently whistling while an intentional brood valiantly waited to gather out all flocculent reminders of once busted necessity, and moreover lineally flourished segues to a gem mimic.

          Bright and early at least for him about one post meridian in blimpiest fashion, our sallow pimpernel for days suffered rage in an ability to congress to all designs numbing his vision, imbued isomer cautions vastly with manifold treacle needlessly coped every situation with declamatory poise, letting more than few escape impending love as a harbinger of valorous oaths. PoD twists again fitfully to a little stuck on C minor, finding only an entire player piano would suffice to document infernal cohesion existing within the Village Server.

          For example, shame attached to failing to greet someone, while casting a disagreeable pall over premeditation, palled beside the prospect of failing to have one’s own greeting returned. Ylferim’s colleagues, steeped in a regimen of ethics, tended to embrace obstacles for their salubrious tenacity, and whereas he had arrived with a perceived mandate to regard each excisable option non–conditionally, Ylferim found his circuitous precepts routed by their insistence upon wiring bug sniffing logic directly within the heuristic architecture of Pyrogabion. Insofar as this procedure left interstices plumb with an array of variegated overlaps, Noone continued to superintend software development as the search of the skies continued.

.         .         .

On the morning of a conference, Ensign Plair slept in with an idea that this uniformity was ironed in a pattern of academic doubt, yet day began with a consonant snort as Hesitance, in generic dread, while listening to national rhapsodies, watched some of the participants waltz in with an idea that there was a house to be beaten. “Now that’s what I call a day,” some said at the cordon, while others shrugged, “whoever remembers Nertz?” In another moment, a red–haired giant habitually fond of overwriting others’ homework tried to find a map, saying, “while I was down in front, all of my snacks melted.” Not only were his dress service creases immeasurably marred but also the ensign, while determined to get into the afternoon conference, stole into the morning session with an idea that opening niceties were untranslatable.

          Though run through scores of headsets, an ilk of disturbing trend, appealing likely to force one into an oath of premature necessity, commenced workshop dialog with a search for meaning. To this Bitsy replied, “stop acting like an eleven and a half year old and assist with the composition of our charter.” Participants deemed that most essential tools in the team building process were visual. A fluent facilitator suggested their mission require an authentic diversion, persisting in notions that all stops to consensus were reckoned anon among forgotten ideals. These south westerners were fondly given over to ascribing significance to any event and, dressed in once considered themes of great dash, were daily seen rattling sheets of financial gazettes in hopes of impressing well–versed chic habitues of terminally blessed smellier racks.

          Just then the luminous delegate saw him, and Plair imagined that his creases were a shamble, took fright from conversation, in effusion lost track of things, and tried to keep that streak alive. Then many observers were looking, and he was forced to expostulate publicly sentiments of green ire, for as the facilitator observed, in a tone of remonstrative assurance, that inasmuch as the ongoing intervention, in the interest of quantity, was of a remedial nature, not everyone was required, too instantly an aggregate sketch was abroad. Untold one scarcely stole across the wax tarmac again to investiture of the dais while cures not yet known hovered on the meniscus of discovery. It only needed an exhibit of previously dead poets to remind one of how completely the nineteenth century had silenced the future.

          Alit amber Niobe, cast by lots away from will so the bats can be picky, non moving after all, then debunked effortlessly avid while perfunctorily aware of a commitment to return, had she not led one to conceive of an exchange for less than boron films? The validity of that notion perforce demurred until a ten–month watt ingredient activity assured clepsydra slowly verged toward an accumulation of three points. One forbidden to carry on premise deflected queues into a synthetic lag. That fringe art they’ll really sport in time was the general fleeing. His was not as effusive as sang (yet Messimo chanced forward to a green wish) as sort of it, mistook for delivery only a long deferment idle, stood until indefinite proof fulfilled their intent. “The problem with ideas such as these were that someone had nearly always thought of them before, leaving a stale and disordered trail of honorariums, from which to establish the frame of a working hypothesis,” was Echo’s reply.

          Scorned already though as Romanticists, they all yet nervelessly maintained an iron grip upon Western strategy with their causal depictions of xenophobia. Thereat, stealing into the rheumy well, an able portmanteau recognized ills pulsing just beyond the bubble and came to an insipid thought. What if isomems told this tough yet sensitive bird who had sacrificed everything for her career, they had on, near Ash Wednesday, a starch idler, expecting to be exhausted and thrown in experienced inception of reward? Thankful about a person, who struck one as alone and peered over by ghost riders, kicked at many bolder than the heavy hermitage, sneaking forth from then during the momentous accident, suddenly other standing last fresh coal links had recalled to them among hope and other tossed lightning well known without, hoped for not running amain.

          “Look all about,” she added, “short–sightedness marred policy of containing the history of darkness within a shale sward as ephemeredes sang a watery note.” A gurney soon deployed to receive the enthalpist, who was wheeled out amidst scattered applause. The cabin crew promised a fifteen–minute delay. Feeling slightly gratuitous, the Reverend reset his watch to EST. Across beck and mere, the star retracted noticeably unless viewed in parallax. The board meeting was going to happen without him. He had mixed feelings. The elders had convened the emergency session while he was abroad visiting Binaca in France. Therefore, he owed them nothing. He knew that to show up to answer their charges would fortify their case against him. He who excuses, accuses himself, he was heard often muttering of late. Impressing the inexplicable then denoted of an extensive earnest, topics capable of spoken reticence yet indeed ousted ragged sentiment, and with every misplaced reflection cast in a lengthening pond spent through light and owed to every place a material view.

Category: Act III Revised Ed.

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