Cone of Thrust.

To be afraid of a painful warning clack, not against anyone we know, too, but to be told, not aside but because of, that is what always comes undone, a bit at a time. A slip of which certainty is a constant, as my club never forgets to reply,"One Plus At Throwing Past Things".

It defeats our enemy. In fact, for a ring we've developed paler than the pattern it infects, the one see-through metric of note, a partial sighting delay or expectation of same, is par for the course. But untold as yet, in a fulfillment decoy, the flame and a harder banished service bends to the will of an anointed cone of thrust.

For all of this to withstand the moisture test, the group sigil pattern is one for any restful night-wiping associated whiff of pong. The foot may be a pattern of four, but our only regret, as pills to be referenced with a nod, baby's ceiling belies the freedom in tandem with the least solid drug of fight.

   

____________________________________

 

Sonic Lerquidity Postulate.

Daring Escapades and Bizarre Encounters in the Sexual Occult.

Now as always, I turn slowly, and with great aplomb, 
to the one person who is at all times there for me, 
steady as a rock but remarkably malleable....


This person stands at a grey mid-point, between the
channels as it were.


We will refer in a future entry to times spent fishing 
and playing ball, lounging about in our skivvies 
discussing the day's events and making weird noises,
fake kidnapping his Mom, leaving her in the trunk 
of an abandoned Studebaker, basking in the opprobrium
of a generation gone feeble in its static mentation. 
All this is for later. 


For now only one thing is important. In fact, it is second 
in importance to only one other thing. That 'other' thing 
is in reality in a state of identity with the first thing I 
mentioned, you know the one I mean, right? I mean, I don't 
want have keep repeating myself here, or 'over-instructing' 
as it were. You must try to follow me here. No, I don't mean 
that literally, as in, 'You must follow my every command'.
That would be just a trifle too 'in your face' for my taste 
as the kids say today. No, I prefer to work more subtly, 
like a soft humming of the third order. 


Now, then: is that it? Is what it?' would be my response. 
And would you have an answer?


As ever, the future remains bright.

The phone rang, as she had expected, at noon. Jimmy had found the secret hiding place his father had for these tapes
and this was the perfect night. She stared into her bathroom mirror and saw a reasonably attractive 39 year old
woman staring back. He had seen her naked a couple of times, and promptly jacked off after each time. Not to
say that they didn't have the usual childish arguments. But all in all they seemed to be your ordinary young
boys. This sister had just been divorced, and her dainty legs and wonderful ass inspired me with lust. I went
into the house to see what they were up to. "I saw it," Susie confessed.  First, she started to feel her breast.
Jimmy, however, had been watching, and later he had approached the little boy after his sister had gone,
threatening to beat him up and then tell his parents about what he had been doing with his sister.  She listened
for a few seconds, then carefully moved to the edge of the doorway to take a look. To look at her, one would
have thought she was dozing as her son rubbed the oil into her flesh, but Mandy was wide awake, her eyes open
behind the dark sunglasses. Her pussy was too hard too see because of the jeans, however her ass was perfectly complemented by the jeans. She hated the tall skinny nun who made her feel stupid every day in geometry.
Her "renovation" as she called it started immediately and within a year she was the same size she was when
they married (38-23-35), gorgeous with long red hair and beautiful green eyes.  The round swell showed a great
deal above her nipples. The other members of the family would gather in the den. Soon they came in and
told me they were bored and wanted me take them somewhere or play a game with them.  Mike is
unbuttoning his shirt as Cathy pulls her T-shirt over her head. Jeremy asked him to rub it up and down like he
was doing before.  She was sunbathing in her private back yard. From time to time I close my eyes, imagining
the girl (my daughter) is the one giving me this delicious pleasure. "I told you more than a thousand times:
call me bitch, and get THIS!"  I'm sure he has noticed it. 

_________________________________________________

The Ridership Crisis: Explained.

The state is a slow promise. 

A call, the wording disambiguates, 

home seems in reach. Over and above 

any sure-fire guest appearance, the list 

we've held to, palms ever at the ready. 

The feet, my face, a likable pronoun, 

all spin together within a furious, random 

shell. What surprise? Only seven nouns 

cause a stir. The fourth one you've heard. 

The rest will meet a common end. It or you 

will rapidly seize the seat of powder. 

Fallout holds a verge, a familiar name 

folds: wanton, scurrilous and dim 

(not dead in this reading).

________________________________________

If we had asked you to sell us your last segment, no blame would be cast. The pairs we've since forgotten, now a gift beneath a sinking, fallow smerle. But, what a ring! The tradecraft resumé has enabled the emergency plan at my feet a place in the everchanging forecast of wind in takes. 

Since we've mounted a solid nudity process, the only one to escape is likely a Baptist, if not toast. We can/cannot promise one pale fellow will meet your plane with/without a scandalizing mood disorder. But that's all a wafer in a flood. 

What counts now is riding, the timing of rides and the risks of time writ large. A whole season, in fact. The tale you will tell may negate an ever paler ridership crisis format. It will not be my place to defend your actions, but I may be forced, within the limits of my allergies, to depend on wind as my source of choice. Did you feel that? I think we bent. Not by dint of cherce, but, a fierce cleanness of will is mere dross to the droopy. A forgotten condition is what's left, nowhere near stolen.  

____________________________________________________________________

Loosening the Tides of Bonder.

___________________________________________________________________________

The Preferred Core.

This is not the part we visited, no matter what you may be thinking.

The solid part we visited, however the coiled 

member could  present a slight problem, 

even a setback, to be honest. The witness with 

whom we maintained contact could be trusted 

to incline .... just so, and then, in nary a blink, 

what sore points remained released within a fault, 

all depending on depth of feeding, as we prefer 

a core inside the spondee. It made rough times 

seem federal, a mourning tone, 

a sperm bank gone bust.

White is open. The color operation 

merely a graded melée. 'Paul types' 

usually dominated our singing pill. 

Aggravate appeasement and this wafer 

is dust. If I rest in sin, my own grainy 

foreground is apt to repeat, in a ball, 

just as Third Father has warned. 

Is this your own insipid pus? 

Born Bradley G Conlon. 

Died Esther Henrietta Fuchs. 

And so much for any attempt at amalgam. 

Rest as such. You've earned it. 

Big time. With ears. 

One of several favored attitudes.

________________________________________

The Risks of a Fully Engaged Dander.

It's been well remarked upon in the international press that my dander has been fully engaged. While I can't maintain that this is untrue in its fundamental aspects, still we must try to adhere to an imaginary standard. We've called for the formation of some kind of committee or something, only to be rebuffed at the very last minute, when I've already picked out my costume. This just won't fly, or the kids will flip. And by 'flip' I mean experimenting with drubs, among other things. Things that I can't talk about. Things that I don't like to think about, unless I have an erection,...and then of course, the sky's the limit. But let's not get bogged down, shall we? Good! Let's keep it that way. 

Tell me if this isn't isn't what you mean. Okay, so we stand there for about five minutes. Don't try this or you'll be sorry. I'm becoming more and more comfortable in a way that I can't (or won't) describe, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Don't let me do that or I'll kill you. Just kidding. It's this little thingie they refer to as a 'personality tic'. Personally I don't buy it. No sir, I'm just not having any. You can understand that, right? I mean, if someone was to put on your head what was put on mine, I seriously doubt that you wouldn't buckle under the pressure like the cheap camera I know you to be. It only goes to show you. That's what I always say. Unless I don't feel like saying it. In that case I say something else. Or maybe nothing at all. It just depends how I feel .....

This time I came in through the side door. It wasn't much, but it was something. Up until now, my brother-in-law had insisted that I wait in the trunk of my car till after dark, and then begin gently knocking on the inside of the right fender. But, as I say, that wasn't necessary this time. The side door would do just fine. So, once I'm in, I go straight to the kitchen. Two red lights on the wall unit are blinking. I've seen this before. Something smelled funny, but I wasn't laughing, I just struggled to suppress a dry cough. So over to the kitchen table I go, reach under where the portable TV is sitting and find a small scrap of paper taped there, remove it and take a deep breath. Look at the paper. It's a phone number. Figures! Okay, so use the cell. After two rings a woman answers. Before I have a chance to say anything, she's giving me instructions: Sit at the picnic table in the backyard and pretend to read a book for eight minutes. Then I'm to go inside and wait for the men to arrive. I don't know anything about any men, and tell her so, quite forcefully I might add. I'm really starting to not like this sequence. It would never have happened this way before things started to go downhill. Up until now, self-examination was the essence of the whole thing. Who knew if I could make it in the 'new regime'? 

Anyway, so once I'm out of there I hightail it back downtown to get my bearings. Have a cup of coffee at the corner. I'm sitting there ruminating and this guy 'accidentally' steps on my foot. Things get out of hand and before you know it, I'm sitting on this stupid fuck's chest while he bleeds from the nose and mouth. I'm feeling 'pretty', until I realize this guy's an off-duty cop, now I'm REALLY in the shit. Before I pass out, I cut myself with my pen knife to create a distraction, apparently to no avail whatsoever. Several hours later I wake up in a room I've never been in before. I recognize my wife in the corner, her back to me, fiddling with some small device while I come to in a red leather Lay-Z-Boy. I'm smoking a cigarette, not my usual brand. I hear whispering coming from behind the chair, but I'm still too woozy to get up, so I don't. I just sit there. 

It so happens that I was was escorted by phalanx of individuals (not one of whom had failed to misidentify him or herself to me over the preceding seven and a half weeks), to a location equidistant between here and a medium sized city in the southeastern part of northern Middle West (that's all I can say for now,...until I get clearance) . 

Much to my dismay, this was to be the third time in three years that my natural endowment of intuition profoundly failed me in a way that I expect will leave an indelible mark of metaphorical 'egg on my face' for the remainder, or until I get my shot. You know how it goes; one up, three over.

This goes back now. Because now I was in the back of the car. It was night. Bladder full to bursting. Sore throat. Rancid pustules. The feeling of some unknown thing not yet done. Or at least not done as one would prefer, if one had the choice, which, obviously I didn't. But even if I had, I never would have let on. No, not this time. 

In view of the fact that I was blushing while they bandied about names of close family members, time of death still unrecorded, an 'arrangement' seemed all but certain (Bastards in shiny boots, they were keepers of a fumey thing.) We were given details on the way in. My headache persisted. I was given a small piece of flint to hold between my teeth.

Now I'm finally permitted to urinate. It's in a large dim room. There's crackling PA announcements in the distance. Now I wade into the center, or at least what I take to be the center, since it's kind of darksy by now. 

They start fighting behind me, but I don't care. All I wanted to do was help, the slips were on the table, take my old coat, throw it in the fire, compete in various drills, focus on telling no one, creep about, donate old vinyl flange, bake one down and flay, not too fast though,...since, as we say in this thing, 'what's cuz?'

Even though my name was dust on some lips, the day was coming to cut my phrim. Tell someone to 'hold it' and you've had too much. Ensconce yourself in the periphery, but don't nod. Tape is through. Teach me Waga-Bahly® and be done with it.

___________________________________________________________________

Coptic Transitions

Boss Cadny and Lerma O'Ghule have 

revealed their own bosses' shortcomings 

in a letter dated Mernid Dinth. 

It was all anyone could do to continue 

speaking slowly when those two were 

around, and every person could, with help, 

give one reason and one reason alone. 

"Just the way those two are like", 

so the adage went around the office 

in those days of dis-interfering apparent film. 

For my own part, rubbing would once 

in a while do the trick. The rest of the time, 

motive was always a problem I could be 

paid to ignore. And did. For a pulse. 

Or a beam. Sure, what?

'Baking the books' is what we called it. 

But only when a calling could be made 

to float, in its own supported lerquid, again 

a film develops, night falls without a hitch. 

Repeat and follow with a foundering dumbth. 

You will breathe in while a cake lies in state. 

The outflow is guaranteed to engender a (sort of) 

crunchy park sameness. 

Always adhering to 'the basis' might 

get you implanted, but you've (sort of) 

elected to take that wrist (as in a dance move) 

and sidle through with your native aplomb. 

Twofer gets it ready; four bold Copts 

like to bust it grimy. You farted.  

__________________________________________

August Newsletter.

The Proprietor in a moment of calm repose

Dear Friends,

This August hiatus period finds us, as usual, ensconced in a cute little chalet, scurrying this way and that, attempting to focus on the things at hand, and leave the other stuff in the hands of 'the Big Guy Upstairs'. 

It apparently wasn't for nothing that I liquidated several of my severest critics and just in the nick of time. Who was to say when the problems brought on by the collapse of the Council of Four, their fractious in-fighting, the death threats, cattle mutilations etc. would finally have come to a head, go over the line, end up in court, displace eastern Oregon grazing rights and so on were it not for the sincere ministrations of someone very dark and ambiguously intentioned? 

You have my word that I shall know no rest, take no guff and brook no rejoinders from the sorry-assed bunch of malcontents who keep driving by and spitting on my mailbox. (You know who you are, or do you?)

A certain bastard of my acquaintance is, even as I write this, plotting to ensure my total and complete destruction at the hands of a winsome young lass named Jerome Buckwald. 

Mayoral Assistant Moxie Banterwath

I know my time is near, but, for a reason I'm not at liberty to discuss, I've thrown my cares to the winds and decided to seek solace in the arms of Mayoral Assistant Moxie Banterwath. She's a busty babe with loads of class, a cute smile and a ready quip. One day a couple of weeks ago, Moxie called me and asked what time it was. I thought this must be some kind of a joke, but I tried to play along. I said, "One o'clock?". She said, "No, stupid!" and hung up. I was beside myself with rage, uncertainty, despair, boredom, fear, infantilism, despondency and sexual excitation.

I soon learned that this was not to be, so now I will join the Communist Party and work for the violent overthrow of the US Gov't. Can you help?

Yours in Christ,

The Proprietor 

Everyone's Choice of Vegetable.

Homeless Discussion Thread.

The fondness we've observed after all 

that's been spun, in spite of one very 

specific instruction, has only recently 

come and gone, and, if our own 

tendency is any indication, as a plan 

is given, then a guideline is traduced and 

some portion of the Lower All grips frantically 

even while a service is enacted without 

a homeless discussion thread spurring 

controversy among the unwashed, as it happens. 

You haven't been there, but a scented wand it was not.

The sheen is thought to be a fraud, 

a pain to be willing, without fault, 

but featuring a threat to delay our 

natural coloring as usually occurs 

when a moment is split, a vagary is 

found to be wanting in what can only 

seem to be the worst fashion imaginable. 

 Third Father is known for intending 

to keep an antic of this sort within 

easy reach, as to the sold-out portion, 

you can have that too. But who would 

keep an individual with minimal 

intestinal fauna from greeting the 

resource-poor regions of the global south? 

Far from marking a withered square, 

offense is not taken, but a play is made 

and a null set feels just somehow 

'not right'. Sorry for your loss. 

____________________________

A Bold Astrological Forecast.

How about a little off-the-cuff astrology? 

Why not? Here goes:

• Capricorn -- Someone's got it in for your ass, keep club heat. 
• Gemini -- Call home. 
• Virgo -- A close relative hatches a scheme to forego a prospective leasing agreement. 
• Aries -- Disappearance pills should be the least of your worries. 
• Aquarius -- Activate postural relief formats. NOW!
• Leo -- Your goniff is showing, causing some to smirk with an evil gleam. Pay them no heed. 
• Taurus -- An uneventful walk is in your future. 
• Pisces -- Maintain hydration. 
• Sagittarius -- A person of short stature is (not unironically) a BIG admirer of someone you know well. 
• Libra -- Put a lid on it. 
• Cancer -- Smoking permitted. 

Okay, is that it? I mean, did I forget one of those 

so-called signs? If so, I apologize. I'll try to 

get to it tomorrow. Over and out.

____________________________________

Learning How to Ride.

When I tell you the trick of learning 

how to ride, with ease and peace and 

freedom, you might just decide to kick 

yourself for the lack of elbow grease you've 

shown heretofore. But that will not be the 

type of excuse which traps young people 

in failing careers and garners the sympathies 

of those not yet born. We will tell you 'what', 

okay? That sound like a deal? No? Then maybe, 

just maybe, it'll be your very own ghosting 

cycle that will put steel into the Man of Sound.

If, then, you, feeling like you owe 

a girl from 'down the way' a large 

hand in exchange for a sigh well 

flown, then perhaps you could take 

a page from our pamphlet with a 

not dissimilar moniker, tie it up 

parallel to our conception of a 

'feeling track' and once and for all 

compel your siting committee to 

throw out the rules, kick out the 

jambs and have at it with what 

passes for gusto in this age of the 

'cautiously mild'. It almost burns 

when I put it like that, doesn't it? 

If so then you may have fallen 

for the very same trick again, 

this time with flap in hand, 

crease in forehead and a slim-to-none 

chance of bearing witness to how 

the game is 'really' played. Of this 

you may be certain or it could 

be a virtual curtain which curtails 

your embarrassing faith in the efficacy 

of chemtrails to spread homosexuality 

to the masses. But still you keep trying, 

always with the same results. 

This is no joke, but, go ahead anyway, 

see if I care. 

__________________________________

Words of Common Wisdom, Rendered Holistically With Translation.

This isn't something which is easy to write, however, write it I must, and write it I will. It's been a

long time, and I'm still not sure I understand it. Some days it comes and goes, other days it may do neither. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think that I'm unlikely to no longer feel that it'll be impossible to fail to not do this anymore. You know how it is. Or maybe you don't. But you should. Now more than ever. Because, friends, as other more astute observers than myself have pointed out, it's a new world, in that various things are different than at some other time. I'm picturing kind of an 'up with people' type of idea. Lots of enthusiastic young people in khaki dockers and maroon sweaters behaving appropriately like all get out. You may think this would be the very last place you'd read something like this, but if you did you'd be wrong in a big way, not that anyone's keeping score, mind you. All of us here at Headquarters urge you to chew your food thoroughly before swallowing. Is that too much to ask? 

Safety must be maintained at all costs. Please boil all drinking water for at least two seconds. Steer clear of all uncertain situations. When we meet, put yourself in my position and pretend to smile. Allow all muscular tension to drain from your face in the same nonchalant way that you would flush a toilet. Throughout the day, turn the person next to you and say something nice about their hair. If they have no hair, say something else instead. However, you must always speak in a clipped, 'sing-songy' manner, or your true intentions might reveal themselves. Drink deep from the well of life, for today may be your last. 

______________________________________________________

        (Addendum: After this, the blanket won't seem so small. )

Chifferdale penda mon. Penda mon? A lapally smiglershot pin ampy kase. Nolen? Pus gnole wuffcot. Ablesore umb sezer's sha kadoe, kapoe nis kapolionioni. Sap sneeful sa goniff wib and fain de turimpo sed currump sha kofa tig nureeng. Ched clurmont sug tu og lanour del tahnofeece aglolem pud boenug. Galleforince prencher torun toos, toos---BA TOOS!

________________________________________________________________

A Common Misconception.

Distance of Wafers, Progress of Food: these were our mottoes, so to speak, or at very least a way of life for our time. It served even the most tranquil and the most easily mislead of our number. And 'our' number, or any number at all, was growing. Who could doubt that without blinking for a reason of baking heat? The lights are not our friend. Because, you know what happens? A famous dance move is exposed as just so many apparently spastic movements, designed to make the young feel more 'at home' in their now-squalid skin. It speaks volumes as to the forced 'zest for living' which masquerades as a toothsome frolic for all to see, if only they could, which, those of us already on the inside have no trouble doubting, a sleep-deprived mother, no less. But, we're out of lids, the smallest first, the ones that fail to nick may have to wait to sit behind a wall and bleed.

A common misconception is all it now takes to achieve a virtual domain caper while results will be on view later in the evening. The pull of it is so very lively, but all at once the dust lacks a name and a word we tried thinking of is blank. The bluntness is what no longer thrills, if highlights are what you now devour even with a not-so-minor attitude problem. This is revealed either singly or in twos. A tone, a deft musk, soberly smelt and exogenously anointed with vim and panache (or could it, in fact, be 'panic'?). You dig? Grill me!

________________________________

Numbers Ranked (Source: Number Evaluation Group [NEG LLC ])

1. Nine hundred and sixty-two thousand, three hundred and forty-two. 
2. Sixty-seven. 
3. Nineteen. 
4. Eleven minus the square root of twenty-seven. 
5. Point zero zero one eight nine seven. 
6. Four to the twelfth power. 
7. Only the subset of prime integers which delete themseles upon completion. 
8. Four four one six nine five zero six zero seven one five nine two two eight three zero four zero eight two five. 
9. Thirty-three over negative six ninety-three point twelve zero three. 
10. Two plus the high-range power of five complected.
11. Thirty-three million, eight hundred and seventy-seven thousand, two hundred and forty-five. 
12. Eighty-two. 
13. Go down two and start again.
14. Negative Pi times the square root of Planck's Constant.  
15.  One one two one zero three two one one four four eight two seven six zero three nine seven one six one one one zero three three four two six. 
16. Nine zero five?  
17. One! Nine! Nine! 
18. Thirty one comma four two six point six two three one seven. 
19. Nine-oh? 
20. Five-oh? 
21. Fuck-oh!                                                                                         

Attention: The above list is for 
recreational purposes only.
Please no wagering!

Red Illumination.

Some floor (can't remember which one specifically) 

is scheduled for saving, even with myriad rumours 

indicating otherwise. It's a call that a person with 

whom I'm familiar is unprepared to make, at least 

not without a slight adjustment of impulse control 

on 'his' part. We may use native advantages in our 

style of thinking, or else it comes out with a ring 

or a bowl-type structure just barely escaping our 

National Atmosphere. Natural living, you say? 

That'll be the day or we're ruined with a rim 

instead of a tunnel. Looks like cramps all around. 

An actual flavour we can't place. Dull throbbing 

is now a thing of the past. The Fertner kids gave it 

their all, but, was it enough? The Day Farm Redeemer, 

except with a red illumination this time.

Payment is received on the fourth Wednesday 

of every third decade. You will decide if there's 

a handling as to thrush in an intolerance of stage 

seven Pain Bust. The person of your former 

chauffeur will be seen to enact a withered 

proxy-by-dental-protein banishment incision. 

But it always moves this way, or so we've been 

told, but not before our style of pile-sleeping 

has garnered the attention of an authority 

beyond telling. And the creep we thought you 

were varies by income, hair colour and postural 

alignment. Why does it have to be this way, 

of all ways? Always, that's why.  

__________________________________________