A Trick of Light.

You will find a forged document of obscure provenance that is

This is the document you're looking for.

stuck behind a mound in my drawer. Enclose but a tiny portion that associates facts with my deceased father. If the annoyance lasts into a cold spring, the bed you are making will fulfill an ancient nuclear prophecy. A Jewish witness to my version of order tolerates the less than pleasant apathetic slouch of one owned by a stage of flight. It's a remarkable conversion, appalling to one who risks a need for a marvelous wisdom cake, but, the chest is more than just any kind of sneaky barrier. It grips a common broken sign, but perhaps just this kind of willing victim will shield my scar from the terrible taut knowledge of same.

ᐄȣ♾ᆢᆢ♾ȣᐄ

A younger person

Stop being blind about the damage done by a dirt management policy designed to uphold a notoriously corrupt flying class. The one in the eights, the three in a looping seven; it's a pain. But the younger person who scoffs is a witness to a wonderfully approachable night of luck. Just a matter of a twofold escape plan. The first jumps to a pledge while the other seems all we could do to not seem somewhat backward. A pain level with teeth, so to speak. It could ruin our selectively cultivated air of superficial derision. Who knew? They keep it this way for a very good reason., like a grave parent suffering a spasm of self-flattering soul coughing. The result is mild but bracing. You'll find out soon if you care to approach the truth.

ᐄȣ♾ᆢᆢ♾ȣᐄ

It happens that there is a senior person at this location who continually attempts to limit my range of motion, decision-wise that is. If I deflect his or her intention, my rarely seen lost feeling may well re-assert itself and go on to greet a major task with a shape for the ages. If not, then the fear which speaks to a solid majority will whelm the final vestige of resistance. But why should this matter so much? Could it present a training opportunity in this risk-averse environment? Or could it be that we're just kidding ourselves by another dim light in the fog of war? This can not and will not be yours to decide alone. Accounts will be taken, pressures brought to bear and basic kindness is a prerequisite to jump a level even as the game evolves by dint of one everyday misplayed trick, a trick of light. An eye of being you. Abort.  

              ᐄȣ♾ᆢᆢ♾ȣᐄ                   

Ò͋

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Mold Impressions In A Cunning Fashion.

The Executive Committee of A Toy-Mental Toodle-Foo.

There probably will appear a range of experiences. During and after a yawn cycle the brain shrinks a little, but resizing is almost instantaneous. You would likely never notice a thing, but there is a helpful gesture detailed in a pamphlet we want you to steal. The scheme is complex yet dull. The attention you can muster will hold you in good stead with the progenitors of a faintly worrisome back-engineered alien technology. You must admit the time is short but that should not stop your best effort to mercilessly punish any random bad-faith interloper. Your felt sense will allow you to mold impressions in a carefree yet cunning  fashion. You can't have it both ways, but it seems obvious you'll try anyway. Will it come up gay?

Do we have a deal?

Is there someone you would particularly wish to be present to comfort you? If the answer is 'yes', then we will rush an odd fellow into service at a time not less than five minutes before the final chipped relic is destroyed. The aim of the program is two-fold: (1) to promulgate a gripping account designed to legitimate a one-size-fits-all approach when all is said and done and lost and vacant and (2) to mask the native appeal of negative wind with a faulty report of rain at altitude and a rupture of support narratives that hold us blameless. You get the picture.

An 'older person'

Once before when our assurances seemed somewhat sketchy, the run-through bore repeating but the approval we craved was slow in coming due to just another looming health crisis. An older person who has requested anonymity is expected to come to your aid and a donor of mild disposition will be stationed at your side as a crude distraction from the overall situation with regard to the sanitized liquid at hand.

And now a trim, new and appealing timing sequence is expected to be effected, if our mandated incident providers can be counted on to assist on the grievous end of a supported stick. A basic stone wall, in other words. Why can't you have it both ways is your question, right? Well, it should have been put to you before now, but, the name we forgot to mention will most likely be enough to shock you into the recognizably watered down appropriateness of laughter at a webstream of a glowing dick. All is forgiven even as a church burns. 

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A Provable Hiatus of Dust.

Our once and future clubhouse.

The pace of staging a prime ending is crucial as one sings aloft in an external night, for a random sign, not to be withheld from the final piece at double the exertion, but the cost cuts to a slippery bone and our felt sense of contentment soils the grind of looking. A vapor watch aboard the seventh charred rescue tip, once the chattering masses detect a steady flow of contemporary electronic hats, is a nuance of will, and the grit which charms our batch of semi-permeable membranes is dull but not lacking. But what could sell this concept to a meeting of six vacant shards while an empty, stained, ambient threat of poverty, is all that could be saved from the dreaded tonic of an American century of toast?

Blog planning director Isaac L.

Deep within the portion distributed at a ways off, you might happen to find, upon even the most cursory inspection, the draining dream of flight in a pasture of sealed, omnipresent, over-eager willing victors. But the shame, however inflamed, is thought to incur the cancellation of this (or some) debutante's third choice of suitor. It's a gamble that one out of three is willing to make, while maintaining eye contact, for the chance to receive a barely rifled pack of holes. Anyway, the grief steals the current and the bald potential of a tracking portfolio nugget outweighs any silent-observer stunt during a provable hiatus of dust.

Once we get your donation, we can bring this on site.

Which one will you inhibit? It's a cherce that needs to be made, And quickly. For, even if those on your 'side' are unwilling, even under a stifled breath, to slime the fortunes of Third Father's industrious helpers-of-record, then our checking strategy is all for naught and the mounting tendency to delay oversight is but a piquant reminder of things gone solid in a panoply of risk. Could it be that this still outweighs whatever cough reflex you do your best to hide? If so then the namby-pamby option you will most likely select reframes our whole discussion to a binary tablet in a flame of what.


Have a good flight.  

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How Will The Dinner End?

Something is starting to appear.

Upon selling a vast, simple trove of quotidian accounts of 

life after the core, our perfectly bored prime creature waltzes 

itself from beneath the table which holds random pages folded 

to resemble a 'just so' icon in distress and, groping at length to attain the first type of partial mood inspection at cost (no dual 

signs at risk), gives a false account of where and when it intends 

to shield a (de)graded sample prompt from the lasting damage foretold in a book of words. 

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_--_-_-_-----_----_-_-_-_---_-_---_-_-----___-

i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i

Pet cake template.

Our son has told us since the accident of a certain kind of electronic 'chirp' emanating from his pillow after dark in the rain. We sometimes have him sip from a cup of pet cake to shift his alarm forward and to the right of beige. He issues a non-obtrusive enigma, the neighbors harbor a doubt but we never predict how the dinner will end. It's our way of compensating for a surfeit of tangled webbing on our disk of choice, but whenever the rain holds our building in the grip of fear, usually only a single piece of nesting babber is all takes to encase a scriptural portent in a feel-good knitting font.

Our favorite fried egg recipe.

This last is why ever since we first indicated the frustration we felt upon the arrival of the thrumming inspection god, our natural peace-keeper was at the ready and a particular bantam-weight bastard was at our beck and call. Because, whosoever lands a wisp over Parla-Camp's jar door is not one for a tempting musk-fizzle at one seventh the cost of a new bride in distress. You're holding this in a neglected path while our trivial manse patron is a bold wilding dispersion in need of three-colored certificate of placement. The grades also tell a similar tale, but it won't undercut my last self-similar movement into the ever grimmer data point of a soiled wig. Swear to me this won't ruin our friendship or I'll cut your throat. Just kidding. 

____________________________________

Sonic Targeting Algorithm:

The Open-Border Margin of Face.

The dream of a world wide peace offensive.

Again with the flashing Sun! 

• A shady promise exacted. 
• A silent water vessel retrieved. 

__________________________

A tall person, roughly.

Always a dull source of the needed remedy is to take a tall person into a dinner 'shake free'. If you'd say that it doesn't sound like 'enough', I'd ask what you might have eaten lately. It would be a good faith question and that would be readily apparent. But somehow, when boldness comes into the picture, I'm all hands. And this might usually suit everyone just fine. Except for the slight pause I emit while thinking the word 'pill'. I could have gotten off a good shot before the perimeter sank but I indulged myself with one final bite of last night's chunk. Now that the bear is fearful, my lining adjusts beyond touch and a torn beguiling reputation stands within the open-border margin of face.

Ŏ╓•̉̉̉ȫᅜ̉ᾲƹŎ

A fashion disaster.

We continue to oppose each supple, trippling incessant throb all to no avail but, when rings intrude, our best is only ever too much, too early and the gripping false smerle creates a 'fashion disaster' at a sullen, periodic tempo to eat the hand. The wrist will now conceal a sound and a cheat code is faintly destroyed by a lustrous fatal pall. But the worst of it is for later. We've been fused into a circular pale puff of light yet refuse to alter the threatening stance just for the fun of it. Our goals remain aloft while ahead a pin is one dandy profile away from the revenge thicket in a damask mauve puncture co-hab. 'Done yet?' is the only question never asked at odd intervals after a great deal of sound is not so much heard as task-evaded. Ben's face is a mask. I'll approve your basket. What gives?  

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An Emergent Property of (Certain) Names.

This should go without saying.

The name escapes the corners of the mouth 

of a person, a person who was once known to 

my Lesbian doctor. But what of the name? The 

thing is, it (the name, that is) softly resembles a 

common household object, in fact one that was 

stolen from this very house, but let's not go there, 

shall we? Because in the years since, I've had a 

heart attack, my sister began a pottery business, 
and Ike Drummond has secured a patent on an 
invisible (but very effective) 'whitening' gas.


_____________________________

Last June near my house

Any way, so, back to the name. It produces strange field effects. Trees seen from a distance become blurry. And I don't mean they just appear blurry. I mean even with an electron microscope, no edge can ever be found. And the more this name gets bandied about, your own body might start to mix with a set of unfurled contents, and before you could determine what was 'good' for you, the priorities you've partially memorized for a solid time period would cease gripping you and the blame you might have cast could now finally resemble a thing for which the word was permanently forgotten, but not before you bowled them over one final time.

My son has one of these names.

The benefits of giving one or more of your children a name like this (don't worry there are more than one, thank God!) vary with the season and the ontological primitives you bring to the 'field of way'. The dangers while few are severe, but nothing you'll hesitate to smirk about on a night in a modestly appointed three-cornered room, in the same way a cantilever becomes a 'candied liver' in the mouth of one so bold as to mention this very concept to a dullard at war.

Yes, I've made a full recovery, thank you very much.

By now, unfortunately, we're experiencing an all-enveloping panic that you're not really 'getting it'. It should be appalling and the very 'sense' of it represents a rising tide of oddly poisoned prisoners of 'the poor'. They didn't mean it. It's not their fault and you'd better get used to maintaining insight into the part you play in the vacuous vanity pandemic. Or, you know what? Your own name will be recalled, the 'dour dame' you call your significant other will recoil with disdain and a framing order will no longer be yours for the asking. This will be just the beginning even as the end occurred years before on a camping trip with Walt Disney's cousin. Please don't act like you don't know what we're referring to, because we have the tapes and let's just say ,.... they don't do anything for your hair, in a manner of speaking. 

_____________________________________

A Single Tingling Ospint.

The way of the pattern

The embers that light the way, the way of the 

pattern, are our only friend at this difficult period 

of retrenchment. Our grim determination to proceed 

with an in-call notice, notwithstanding the grass-fed 

incontinence that shapes our mulish existence, is a 

wandering blight of super-powerful open-office 

procedures. But the 'tell' is when, while receiving a 

reprieve from execution, a nostrum of rolling care 

collides with the last runner's overdue cranial hypostomy. 

In a tongue-tied monologue designed to befriend a 

lover of dentist jokes, I give one last supra positive 

lining. The approval is almost instant but my neck is 

shrinking by the second and all is almost lost. Your 

own drain is where I stage a kind of 'last stand', and 

group all my failings by date-of-stalling. And the 

dream is 'on par', just one last trip for a jury of one.

_______________________

Coach's pencil

Luckily, the knife for which I am named is quick at hand. I've stolen thirty-three thousand dollars but that is not what rankles. What rankles is the diameter of Coach's pencil. Not a good look. A boldly shaped fake, under cover of the one remaining seating option in all of Tubb's Village, seems to be a thorn in the side of the effort to achieve nuclear parity with Brussels, Egypt. All alone we are and a single tingling ospint is just the fourth final dripping talk show to engage today's stay-at-home bombs.

What's this guy doing here?

Why have we or 'the authorities' or an unnamed college alumni association allowed things to arrive at a point that even vaguely resembles a situation in which we will never find ourselves, even once? It's because  of a master narrative that served as a place holder for some somber sobbing sob-sister of yore. 

Imagine whatever caption you'd like for this one. I haven't a clue.

In light of the inextinguishable darkness at noon, we stand, shoulder to knee, in a kind of mutated heart-throb posture, light a cigarette, strike a child and be done with it. There's no going back, if by back you mean circulating a petition at midnight in the rain and reciting a painful incident at full volume in a third floor Celebrity Lounge at O'Hare. The chip is in your coroner's office and a bent tongue is what you get for ever folding a pair of cheating dykes under our care. How dare you! Try as you might, it will all come out. And then you'll be fucked.  

_______________________________________

A Solitary Red Oat.

The wrist taken is not equivalent to the fault 

deployed, and the name I recite when asked is 

sometimes shaded with the accent I acquired in 

elementary school to please my immigrant fore-

arms. Still, we are alarmed when three of the last 

opportunities for a value proposition turn to dust 

in the large mouth of an invisibly gentle thing. 

It's all about the coating but the countless reasons 

we fabricate to avoid testing our derived mental 

mark-up are down for one last count. This one 

is shielded, but still made of a single solitary red 

oat. The brim, we will not lie, suits the lady in 

question to a functional 'T'.

______________________________

Your sanitary preparation is assumed. Do not disappoint.

We are bumping into more and more risks as we ply our last remaining trade as the light fades and it becomes difficult to locate the pain that is to become our sole cause of action. The potential for failure is ever present and a partially formed distance is called a 'tri-nome', but bask we do and blast we will until all untidy motivations have skidded to a wrongful desk pattern of some sad person's devisement. 

Our latest customized vehicle.

The groping allegations have filled my Aunt Jill with a pressing need to urinate at dusk but a prime dialogue is always ingenius for the sake of the persons-of-interest in a foreign prosecutor's basement dungeon. Why do these farcical nomads continue to dilly-dally at freezing the binge-rate? Is it because procuring liquid oxygen is limiting our free decision space? Try to think more deeply as the creased paper recedes or else try not to foreclose the pathetic choice of optional clothing. It's always about opinions in the long run. But just a short walk from here it will get you healed in a semi-solid way. It may not hurt but you'll remember we told you it would and smile softly in your subtle self and feel glad but not terrific, we promise. Your Dad's in jail. 

___________________________________________

A Desert of Foam.

Awaiting entrance to my portico.

The pair, one proffering a sketch, the other whispering 

about a micro-nutrient handle, have had an outsize in-

fluence on affairs of units under my purview. Even so, 

here they stand awaiting entry to my portico, always 

a risky proposition at the best of tones. Nonetheless 

demur I will and allow their malign influence to accel-

erate in the plus-size moment of this precious interval 

since the standing I once enjoyed, having been frozen 

out of the enactment of grand toothless gestures, is on 

the wane and my influence is seeping into 

a garage of little note.

There's something in the air.

But why is it that any grief-stricken functionary, myself being the prime example, would cater to the grinning pair and play dubious host to a string of fashionable dictators even while the no-show in charge greets each day in his pre-toweled myopia for all to see without putting face or frothing patterns at risk? The answer, we fear, is merely a prelude to an ever more pliable eunuch, who stabilizes each and every last patsified trance schedule until, at a moment of no one's choosing, a blame game of nauseatingly epic proportions ensues, the likes of which will prove an embarrassment at scattered mealtimes in a desert of foam.

How would this strike you?

It's the last ride taken that we fear. Our hands leap to fabric when no one is wasting away in the silence of bread. The mound of unused but perfected utensils grows ever less impressive and the paid lackey we once abused (only in jest) has turned a rusty jar into a path of redemption which few doubt will lead the way to the Future of Salt, never predicted but always foreseen in the dreams of escaped runaways in my local area. Point taken and now soldiers frown. Our basic emblem is at risk but the hall you scout is a dead giveaway. Try to cave, since, 'breaking the heft' is a term of art reserved the naive kernals who brief Jerry Mathers at midnight in the rain, without a longterm plan. Please end.  

________________________________________

The Passage to a Radiant Tomorrow!

The very same lesson, to be repeated each evening at sun-fall, is

The recommended exercise.

merely an instruction in baiting any potential intruders intent on failing to side with the completion of some pleasant task or other. One's own risk is attained in a stunning moment when a curdled request is denied priority and a vast spinning operation is revealed to have rescinded each pliontic fist pabule with a troubling lack of candor at airports in distress. For who is it that may have foreseen the lack of a viable step option on his or her way to dominion over once fallowed mounds of Jack Turnkey Brumptus?

Model of our new headquarters currently under construction
on the outskirts of Fayetteville, NC. Projected completion date
June 21, 2021 at 3:16 PM. Please be there!

The joining of same usually presents equal parts disticulty and mablis when, present company excepted, the one last pining escapee, while arranging threads to conform to a blasted keepsake of form, seeks involvement in a hidden movement of words, the sanitary docking switch in tatters, a blown helmet the last indication of any labile emotion to spare at a soon to be revealed alternate location. 

This hand sign allows admission. Do not forget.

But why struggle so? you may ask. And you'd be thoroughly within your rights to ask, just this one time. It could possibly get certain members of your family out with only one minor contusion to show for a life spent in denial. It could also, however, lead to the characteristic nattering we so often hear accounts of in abandoned office parks the world over. 

Just as we feared. Why didn't we listen to you?

But when will  it be over?, you now inquire with your ever shifting mood calibrator scraping the task to shreds. Well, we reply (not without a secret inner sanctimony), if the Granting Authority that you've abused without cessation and the Prime Locus (number three in the book you burned) are to be believed (and we have our reasons not to), the Final Pause should initiate in not less than three seconds. But personally, I'm planning for a lengthy and sedulous re-fisting process and grabbing the Golden Pill when the time is right, come what may. And come it will; only the over-spotting remains in doubt. You may pass. 

_____________________________________________________

Ordinarily Withdrawn Pillows.

The period of time I'm thinking about, with not a little bit 

of discomfort, occurred due my recent disfigurement at a 

donor's compound it was my distinct displeasure to visit 

when the rising temperature finally revealed the patently 

obvious factors which lead to my now ever present need for 

a flask of substance to ward off danger. This was the fourth 

bitter pill (so to speak) it was my duty to swallow or become 

numb to my blindness to the faults of same. The other three 

don't merit a mention here, except to say they involved a 

movement in the direction of appropriate technology 

in the global south.

Fenton Bersma

"Who goes there?" I shouted in the settled air, little knowing that the netting erected by my erstwhile colleague, Fenton Bersma, was soon to effect my downfall as the one and only spokesman capable of constructing an all-powerful façade of lies in the service of Our Great and Wonderful Nation. You might laugh, or even chortle, but this was my first priority in those years, years of a calmness and a callous disregard for books in the gown, or even gooks on the brow, so to speak.

A fiery task.

Whatever the requirements were, I was (and am) determined to render them just so many idle fantasies and humdrum mottled flanges. It pays to throw oneself into such a fiery task with the help of few and the pained facial contortions of the many, notwithstanding ordinarily withdrawn pillows. 

Cross section of a taping pencil

If you ever plan to draw this type of event, please consider using a taping pencil you can purchase in town on your lunch break. It won't take more than one or two moments from an otherwise uneventful day. But, I think you'll find when you do, it will create a 'payoff' not long forgotten in the wood under which you endeavor. We are still your 'friend', despite whatever type of fantasy you've concocted in your never ending quest to create a distraction from the theft of chocolates by 'you know who'. Do you? Know who, I mean. And no, I'm not mean, just realistic. 

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