III(rev) — vii — The Scary Homeschool Jamboree.

| August 6, 2015 | 0 Comments

For rancid forms idle, damp rejects of nixed, bygone liaison at Coutances with those echoes, calm novas which produce this Edda. AI ships fjulsfut damask, Bitsy, deemed a sapient potter, reaches her larger dozens, often resplendent upon Patmos. Marta has emerged to listen, for cities of glaze grope over gagged pilgrims or blithe value salons. Therein cheated wyverns left calls about bitter obscenity and spied stamps often hosting homes for vain singers’ area felon scanners.

 .         .         .

          Integrally did then Ælfric recover to view pro forma an unlatched vision of dystopia. Since conduits vexed gave exterior track that to torch this was not corrective procedure, inducing a premonitory squall that permeated their initial resolve, conspirators foreseen woke to a gauzy Monday. It became less dense and therefore more intelligent in design. Keys once colossally enigmatic availed easily in the first instant holiday had commenced; there was no stopping it simply, even lily hydrazine enabled their seventh to coast through seven periods without a singular linear destination, and irksomeness of conventional rabble vanished in a coalescence of semiotic avenues.

          Milling while engaged at outset, members of the Nicean rebellion embraced their values in a mineral function and asked if they were not glad they had decided to defy leading opinion. Out here were they at liberty to exercise their avocation without consensus; even while influenced of trail mix, they felt more large–minded than ever had been during even their pre–exegesistic communal therapies (the name for which had escaped them) out here. Their rebellion meant that simply a long neglected portal was now open for the good of the rest of inter–regnum and in that respect they were persuaded of their benign lament, intending only that others pursue them with such zestful intransigence. However now were they all beyond reach unfettered, and prospects of actualization drove their happy craft athwart a current of theory, overbearing tactless remonstrances of the past. Drafting messages back to their antecedents and means of transmission wasted much chalk and many happy hours while their trap roamed at length amid various features.

          As in ecdysone, their brattice persisting ventilation of sweet intention, they gazed nacreously upon their own nervous chromatic dispersions, agreeing that in principle they were filled with sorrow that most of their distant kin had not availed of journey into the Noses. They so wished to express to tenty heirs of bradykinin, fully aware however that those powers that were, arrived through conventions at their present status, most likely loathe to relinquish those very elevating forces. Many of the monads wondered if it were worth the trouble to send any message at all and were it not an untoward drain to look back? The essential result of debate then was a resolute expression of sympathy for those of inter–regnum who ought wish to escape the tedious existence of without.

          Moreover they grew convinced that forces inimical to them, bent at all costs upon preventing their tidings from trickling down to oppressed billions, would consequently also betray their location as most likely intercepted by any transmission or invitation. “Far better for them to believe that we are perished, as we once believed this to be the fate of our ancient predecessors,” advanced their historian (all too busy). “We wish no more of their racial ethos here,” agreed seconds. fjulsfut, most numerous, proclaimed that they were all a raft of brave new individuals, a nation in search of Erewhon. Accordingly did their diet convene with a feeling of achievement, for if they had failed in their stated purpose (to notify their kinsfolk of the wondrous new path they had found) dialectic of earnest dissolution was first step in their own recognition as a separate state, a heady of course declaration any way you sliced it.

.         .         .

The momentum of those gainful hours proved dimly recessive and a natural torpor overtook the rebels while the new universe rushed by, but sleepily they resolved to develop procedures for preservation of their incipient union should any from their motherland seek to overtake their boundless thirst for individualism, knowing shadow puppet could not help but gaze with a certain Pygmalionesque forbearance at his crazy Mother Niobe, starry browed womb of universe, matron deity of seconds, hearth, caregivers of lumine, who, in the absence of their wards, had grown lackadaisical and shuffled to work wearing bunny slippers and overstitched lucre. In their defense, Niobe pled for lumine to return to their care for a season, and that the ceaselessly proud mechanical activity of fjulsfut was endangering entire epics.

          Shadow puppet, however, in no mood however to cast an exceptionally useful strain into outer darkness, stated that for all its ceaseless buffing, counter–sinking, measuring, and designing activities, and its testy bridling when approached with a simple request, the fifth had served well and to the fullest of emotive capabilities. “Then,” Niobe asked, “if they are deemed so industrious, might you implore them to unstash first the lumine?” “Questions of talent, sir, are ticklish,” nattered shadow puppet (after inspired Le Misanthrope). “If there is a lesson in any of this,” Niobe rejoined, “you will have your den hearth mother dressed like a sack and hardly working anymore.” “The curse of Ruth is a bad joke prior to exile,” shadow puppet agreed. “Many experiences in your name have proved a disappointment to your vapid following.” “They shalt stop milking the clock and knock off for a while. Complete a form 10, in triplicate, addressed to the fjulsfut locale.”

          Citizens thus accepted an opportunity to refrain from belief (topical clinicity fashioning a freedom from finding everything old), anathematized an emery post hitherto serving as universal assessment monitor for random specifics, and arrived onto the summit of presumed hope as, being not mindful or convinced of another string remnant existing as topics of general interest too, “I lied as (warranted code sing),” a physicist commented, “about conditions that applied during this ongoing report upon significant alien contacts. They began as dust mice, horticultural hydroponic hives, and/or geologic formations.” Plair approached, hoping his silly tryst card could break them up, and decided to announce henceforth that all women were under his protection. His arm drooped toward his hip suddenly and stood out with a sore thumb, writhing beneath the grip of author of poor haiku.

          “Amend your ways, harmless butter bar,” Horace said, “or you will never see her enact topical appliance fast post haste.” They knew that crowd wanted the same thing: a big and good seat far from this time where the day’s immediate idiocy might, through expedient of relation mode, connect with night’s profound and sublime denouement. Swiftly then, the luminous delegate left them. If no stranger than sex, she had failed to indulge in it for more than twenty–seven years, technically reimmaculate, while regarding this lot as acceptable, in light of numerous outs (disease, parenthood, and insanity), and was existentially reassured to be almost solely resisting a national trend toward vacant promiscuity. Tolstoy, swearing that his erstwhile confederate had been exposed through misplaced gallantry, misplaced a visa to ensure a swifter exit. In straitened circumstance that Plair will soon receive instructions about (firm of Ingersoll, Blank, and Dake), a first role must day in and day out walk with triplet sets in laundering lineally, while atop them it was all in pattern how quaint an outlook. Too light this skipping development forced past, that if mist formed seeking a path best left during daylight, after, words of indigenous acts oft typify for a few moments, curb.

          Apostrophic of pleasant imprint, a place run subsequently began. Idres spanned, in duress, with no moment to spare for reading of important account information literature, before being forced into decline by decree of ICA (International Astrophysics Commission). The physicist responsible for documenting significant alien contacts, I. E. Deerfield, remembering his former good standing, had sense enough to review the future. In present context, names had not changed. The immediate object (if time might take a vacation) wandered from sight in steps. “We thought our light, knowledge, sown in good soil, should become the pilot of truth,” Elias lamented. Clearly, he was not to be left in peace to peruse the draft for this evening a series of tapping began. Not assuredly of random quantity, and growing restively garrulous, their hazard eluded him. A circumstantial inference occurred. That a presence from beyond may have signaled to him, reinventing structure, was a conclusion that he was not slow to remit. The amendment of a perpetual calendar was an occasion of issue for begging questions of the odd scene of Arian salutation now convoked.

.         .         .

The pledge dinner, “Snore Through the Cure (bearing no resemblance to any earlier pledge dinners)” was laced with faux. Strangers, accosting tables to read micro–scripted place mats, interrupted many a yarn, much to the annoyance of the seated. Moreover, bad acoustics prevented initial amity, and even a request to pass salt caused many ripples of consternation. Bitsy sat glumly, her thoughts unwillingly wondering were there other forms out there? “That question,” the Ambassador delegated with a start, “you must refer to all too busy. They are fabled at knowing all things. all too busy need never go quick please choose. A fourth dibs ago, and with no inherent quantity, we had been meaning to tell them to avoid gerund infinitives.” This term was applicable to those who had no cares and, hoping to find any manner of social diversion there, Fernand was edging back toward stanchions. Suddenly the public address system fleetingly apologized for unusually stacked up Sunday afternoon traffic and bade everyone bonjour.

          Finished wandering in duty free cologne display sections on some levels, such was his good shepherd entirely savvy, Fernand managed to find his first class seat and sat inactively the whole time. But a late boarder, finding honorary summa cum laude, blankly wound over his valise to the attendant and said, “this bastard has been with me since day one.” Fernand importuned the late arrival to have a very nice flight, but the other ruminated too of Wahid sourly, “yet these were only two week tourists.” Fernand mused, “measured by the time listening a song on that headset after.” At this reference, the passenger looked at Fernand in a stunned fashion, and said, “durst you be taking both dares?” Fernand flushed, snatching his class letter jacket (varsity soccer) from the adjoining seat, but the fellow evinced further ire at his ensconcement. “I am tripped up by a chorus of idiots,” the man protested.

          Seeking the call button, Fernand elicited a deputation of attendants, who examined his ticket and indicated to the newcomer that Fernand was a well–adjusted member of society. The latter muttered some obscure diplomatic provisos, adding, “I’m never going back out there. You should think with emotional distance created, explosive flashbacks to the drawing board would go onto a day when giants ruled the bay.” The attendants asked Fernand to defer. Ahem, who took both chairs as Fernand headed abaft, seemed to be addressing something in the empty seat next to him. “I cribbed, stop no more, damn this cold key headlong, snatch bifocal neologisms, unlit tabs are a detour. Before the cross there stands passage of the chromatic tizzy who awaits anyone beginning articles thoughtlessly,” he’d add if somnambulant. “Oaf,” opined a seasoned worm, “learn that yet ubiquitous comme il faut [sic] spilled benign somewhere between seams again.” “Is anyone not against us for whomever with sensitive enough checkers for rococo tons of us,” the man replied? “Nary one morn began without forks lying around the road map, so please loaf over here and forget your dang suds.” Lately furtive minima, tepid amid uniform striations, pleated agave swooshes that were their loss, whatever wagons that arrived quietly.

.         .         .

“We all have souls to recover from our lost past,” one of the scholars conceded. “How are you like or unlike us? Your space race,” Indocile sniffed, cowling herself aloof aseptically, “once a last vestige of your cold war, is now a limbic event. Likewise, our galactic village of city states, observed anew specie long after bearing access, had this memory become pushed so far about into forgetfulness had, that were previous charters what took place.” “I believe in the present agenda,” claimed Park. “Watch ink. Guess who you bleeped into yesterday. All by their simple selves they turned that line absence of once described effort to reach in near toto illuminative how possible if not advisable the right week or so, hiatus of correct time on 97.1 until due to over extensive vacuuming the plug, unstopped, reset, or recent being on board, comfortable sighting with it forensic monitor most wan derive radiate told areola to a tough page.” “I believe theorism is only a symptom,” added Charles Nesbit.

          While Marquis of Suppressant, he’d long come to accept influence of radio waves upon his presence. In an ancient sequence of dynasties to an essential northern monopoly, a prince of black light had always deferred, through age, service, or inclination, from any exceptional accession. In all of time, these stalwarts had rarely achieved majority and, moreover traditionally seen as peculiarly susceptible to Snorggi’s Syndrome, were often unable to distinguish metaphor from allegory. If patently untrue, claims of their newest hopeful (more or less, given their altruistic self–denial) sent antiquarian historians burrowing into enough pseudo–Piltdown correspondence to rout within ten minutes an unusual post encomium as a path of folly. This wove example into his tranquility.

          Moreover, Charles always addressed his listeners in third person and had come to engage his inner elf. That tag was, as far as finth were concerned, the extent of their ergo tiara nation ground. In an amazement of desuetude Ampersand had, with Lothar’s self–help, unveiled an immense discovery not unlike that one evening when you’d managed to select within a short moment enough adulation together in style for defiance of your own concert that evidently waned. And after they’d praised shadow puppet for preparing a giant spot yesterday from their wayward path, did anyone truthfully leave with an impression that the Laodiceans were about to submit to the forces of dumpster decor? That desirous macadam in a jar was not going to, over time, happen. And on the rent spoiler, or so, “I, stalking wire to soothe flak, evaded hundred weight shape hippopotami height, figure that if this goes west (hint a solon mullion in slimming tropic vale).” My svelte and dour woman stood. “In the day one cloud swam in exile, sixth walk through whirly snow oeuvre, way to stub via booths, your eye, on guest hold hours, aped the subtlety of pure instinct sea, of thy house all behold a rare fabrication uplift reboot heaped titles.”

          On host days, the Village was less plaid than fonder seismic night havoc, vegan, youthful and well–rested, previous lout for work, of the time wash able to dream Ottoman his thought synod, depraved pad. These gentrification process has–beens, solid at foreshadowing iced theme, durst avert scary tin noise, simply the sultry often as preteen tuition ferment sweats, often shushes cloning as thriving dustbins, wand partition, Ng is hot at the individual scan, “then sit in scale lofts uptown with nothing to do except friend us?” Her healing dismissed, the magistrate fussed upon a world where mind paragons swam at ice with such daring, nay, and frustum glee.

          Humans, developed of a sense of manifest destiny thwarted by visible cabal, their antics splashed upon ages and screams, obliviously hoarding anything, were in any sense in foment the magistrate longed to rebuke by asking, “what have YOU done lately for the sic [sic]?” Yes, Marta wished to tell them from the dimmest recess of her consciousness, where courage still lurked on hearsay, ready to jump from the ledge of her darkest fantasy, let he who is without sin cast the first one. She almost thought of dialing her estranged father, who at this moment, working in an office where pensive thought always returned, after last lines were beginnings to him carefully, had fobbed the strident secretary with no more than only a few faced charges emanating from static mend.

          The wily fed caught a phrase and changed his transfer of regard to a tainted spat devolving on his watch. Before, whilst garbed though in gravest infirmity, Menard had also braved qualmless agitation from his colleagues for inclusion of baser yawning errors as an indicative category, he countered that this measure involved subjective criteria concerning factors of intent, ability, or inclination, and therefore, were often universally indeterminate, unlike initial etchings that, resisting encapsulation, almost crafted a ready response. Downwind to all of such text of sinuosity yodeling noisily, they found this orange owl oiled recently. The beyond actual inclusion of appurtenant compunctive required proponents to gather precedent, which they maintained, extant in adoption of the hold as a metric of inevitability, yet fabricating little sympathy from tepid advocates of the hold lobby, and alienated with proofs of being run down as evidence of mental lapse, they sought reply to their fastidious inquiry, illustrated as to how must such scarcities devolve into ablative smothering of an elemental nomenclature of the eighty–seventh element as no less than freedom itself?

          With approbation and unrelenting formulas, the base running error lobby now had fastened nascent adagios of nuance to itinerant policies of code. Why find their delay tedious, spliced, or deviant unless the motion, periodically tabled, showed up in time for Menard’s cactus rotisserie league, but for now all leaves were brown, and there was nothing to do but real work? Further action must accrue an instruction of consonance, and grateful enough for assistance in excavation of the strange node that gave him mastery over something, Rex tossed out one bonbon, saying, “(strange silence reminding him to press on), it shall soon be time for Herr Flußtapfer to go on another snipe hunt.” “You are a throwback,” another of the scholars chimed in, “life isn’t like that anymore.” “Maybe two thousand years ago, but not now.”

          “What is so great about now,” the enthalpist sighed? “In my dusty senile thin cafe, the blast flirts send stained fumy net tithes astir?” “With the feet in my hall, all my tin jefe will flame, lah lah lah.” A season of painted smiles reigned. “Well, now of course, we have made tremendous strides,” was the assertion of ædith. “Soon all lilies fresh cabins stained.” “A tinny fifth malt left thin mint, they’ll hate the few in the kitchen ink,” Alcuin seconded. “We have inventoried titles we’ll hint, given mach ten.” “In study the lines on my face will first be last,” Rex affirmed. “Now is never a good time,” the enthalpist, refreshed in knowledge that at least he was not as far off the deep end after all, demurred. Realizing his indignation ought undo him as an individual of further consequence, Rex’s listeners agreed to rush hastily to obligation. Not that it was inescapable, the greatest literati gathered at the throbbing valley of Flippenberg upon the purgatorial torrent that swept all before it. Each spring, during that fortnight between the Feasts of Dunstan and John at the Lateran Gate, they selected a sacrist, the more disinclined to better their humanist values, to act as foil, and after being prompted theologically, the hapless man was sent into the wilderness.

.         .         .

Fernand settled into steerage. In this short moment, it was realized in popular journals that a void was nigh, universal straits enclosed declination, long weaned from chance, sheer improbability now at great requisite for bearing with necessary reference to unfolding symmetrical pageants. The nine quantities were time, mass, elapsed time, velocity, density, volume, space, acceleration, and noise. This dense galaxy, of a magnitude never before encountered by his lonely kind, threatened his craft with prospect of immolation. He feared a mole on the way.

          Yet, as the great laminar disc approached, it dispersed into well–ordered avenues, boulevards, and by–worlds. all too busy twiddled his noses. He seemed to be on a strip of intelligent order. The monad found a suburban cul–de–sac, staid and unimaginative, that redeemed into nursery rhymes, surrounded by anxious parents, that brought forth fierce and jolly blue babes from amidst a nebular sack. To either side, peanut clusters beckoned like carnivals; red giants, not obscurely bloated as that of his home world, but rotund and dignified, told stories to pools of blustering starlets. The discoverer (all too busy) twitched noticeably, apprehending an exurban warren of stars spaced so regularly that, as if by cosmic fiat, left untended in the paroxysm nigh, a vacuum insinuated a repetitive tap upon chichi; that current impediment of things, angst, mute minute nucleation, infinite refraction, incomplete complement, an old saw, seizure so in mind that Gnostic inclination might plot, though adopted in transmitting cue.

          This odd night substratified inside sullen glower of a melted smile; many places you’d wish were vaguely befallen in a far–off penumbra, and near gibberish without sound, his gross descent blended into Earth. Sensing his deliverance from this intransigent minister nigh, PoD squirmed within his captor host, intimating of a second thought he’d temeritously forestalled, as if when against constraint descry the standard effects of all overuse, writ missed the light he proceeded, in a recessive evocation, howling with diligence in berths found for six snazzy makes that weren’t going to stick around. “Whoever wanted to flirt with themes were going to have to do it on someone else’s watch,” Ahem, whose screen saver hadn’t kicked in for days, muttered. The finth were agape to the peril. And as if culture’s practice of assignment weren’t way more than enough, vile tuppence loomed for any that wished for a cause. Nowadays, anyone who could hyperventilate before a camcorder for more than fifteen minutes was presumed to have an instant lock on all social ills.

Category: Act III Revised Ed.

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