Editions MSS
Editions MSS
Words to Make a Story Out of
Third Pod

Several variations to choose from

§ 134. Parsimonious | § 135. Prominent | § 136. Aetio-equineness | § 137. Rain | § 138. Sloimčik | § 139. IMSO | § 140. M | § 141. ON | § 142. Novels? Really now! | § 143. Inexplicable | § 144. Œnyutuyliium | § 145. Ur | § 146. Sashay | § 147. TO | § 148. Tear off her skirt | § 149. Osier | § 150. Realm | § 151. None rates | § 152. Trouves it | § 153. Otiose | § 154. Entails ruby do | § 155. Ven | § 156. Srai | § 157. Minion sexy whore | § 158. Subborainizy | § 159. Wyoming | § 160. Io | § 161. M | § 162. Tulpuyauor | § 163. Nelc pabsl toyvf | § 164. Lusterine | § 165. Playtoy | § 166. Equilibrium | § 167. EFO | § 168. Orgyoygro | § 169. Nuskalo ecyi pshr | § 170. Promised | § 171. Tit | § 172. Ysraaln rieg | § 173. Neutral bigotry | § 174. Unders | § 175. Bernouilli | § 176. Bantu | § 177. M | § 178. SO | § 179. Ani Dybn Yeud Ikky | § 180. Dudu | § 181. Ktar | § 182. Nene | § 183. Yin | § 184. Mustig | § 185. T. S. Eridzoi | § 186. IN | § 187. IS | § 188. Dear R | § 189. US | § 190. Snoyw smudrto | § 191. M.
§ 134 | Parsimonious
Every once in a pixel-blasted while I, blanc exploit à couper le souffle (as my antecedently own ON reveals luridly enough in § 47), have to warn the reader off those slick ominous obsequious “Étiennes-à-équerre” types bent on promoting a seemingly muy умный lie touching on some eminent procédé the impertinent morphology of the imminent procedure of which necessitates that, in order to goose-step in lexical beauty, you limn εὐϊῶτως (bacchanalianly) beneath the obscure orgone lamp or intentio caeca of making your ubilexical pneumatophantic imprint onerous for the sake of onerousness, the result being that even such a lovely slow Rennfahrerin als die Barkeno-Maorische M (one of the many lovers — we’ll noctivagously stamp on, inter alia, the pedals with her et aliae in more detail soon enough, don’t you worry — I was subsequently to acquire henceforth) who’s wont to sashay comme une videcoq énéantie so εὐίσχιως (beautifully hipped) selon l’idoine Seine, sa quête en chanoinie, sa tense queue et son sein — aïe! — queutard(e)s comme il faut in the rain-slick (moites) rues durant le moisson à Lutèce, turns from her ipsissimi sinuose qui esse into an εὔϊχθυς, moisie flaque toisée sinnentstellend und nicht sinnenfroh at all. Terse, woolly, navel-nakedly resplendent mine, por otro lado, simply insists that, to vamp, leap, gallop in lexical beauty, you limn εὒϊστως (scientoleptically), whether the conditions, the context, the circumstances be Colimski-facile, Blixen-parlous, Steinian-eeequuibabbulbullominent, prestissimo A.-Quinite, Nesse-enmeshed, or more generally N.-V.-S.-Woolf-droumy, until you either render the epicene εὐΐατος sine qua non to the fully fleshed-out yin (陰) muy εὐίλατος, or at least make the εὐΐδρωτος εὐΐερος so that the whole is, of necessity and not of contrivance, as εὐϊῶτις as, neque energumenōs, it is, neque aemule, oneiric. So I’m klamüsern hier an den falschen Anklagen (puzzling anent improper inexplicable accusations) dass (that) my intent is to ridicule you, my intuitive readers, snootily, secretly, subtly, and subversively by dazzling you with, a priori, some sort of insanely novel worldview. Oh, how appearances so oft can belie πλιχαστῐκᾱ́ ἀληθείᾱ! For it has been and ever remains my permanent promise and desire d’être ton n’importe quel Ariane cousue de fil blanc, pixie entraîneuse de but en blanc, exilé pilote des inexplicables bas-fonds moïques, prolixe pie blanche et noir n’employant que du facond bagou, que du spirituel, muy in-your-pasty-patsy’s-face jaspinage pour frayer la route’s insane, i.e., equivocatory, all-woven, slender mārga (मार्ग) through the singularly sane novel-world in which my admittedly multicineplex, labyrinthine SNE equates “oiseau bleu” (voir § 100, § 106, and § 110) with § 42’s insular “labeur oiseux,” labile “PI” nec-plus-ultraistically sown on revelatory soil mickle-mackle-muckledly in § 8 with spur-of-the-moment “PI” ornithotomised so impressively in § 94, the Mistress of Elisions’s aimless patchwork with the antic ontology (AO) of the ontic antinomy (OA) (cf. § 60 and § 106), and so on, such that, for instance [blip lexique], in volume I, you unity-lovers, wanly lenocinating a uniform opsis out of the peripeteian noise sequestered in the dianoian quiete essentiali of my far from inutile, yùyùcōngcōng (鬱鬱蔥蔥) mythos, were able to wring a logical, inexpiable catharsis from my sassy, classy hamartia, while in volume II, you untypical nexi beluini, muy yo-tu-el-isticos Klimperer vom Texte (very I-thou-he-ish tinklers of the text), unable not to coax pliable cinematic μελῳδῐ́ᾱς out of the cherubin-epical λέξει I used to express the rather ritornello-swollen, very anamorphous anagnorisis of my mimetic silk-, mohair-, nainsook-, and moleskin-clad nemeses, will have found yourselves (oh you symplexical inebrious funambulists of the perilous phrase who, instead of risking your own lovely swan-loreleiischen necks, moil in such an alluring manner as to make your adoring public leap!) inexorably drawn to discovering the schizogenous oaristysian ethos imbosoming itself within the brassy, harebrained hubris of splitting myself into two lonely NLA-versions of myself (NLA insinuating nothing more sinister than “non-local avatar”), each minus a certain cherished anatomic silkiness naturally woven, norselled, and sneed only into and by your truly omnisufficient, omnisuccincubous, nimble, calipexine (sic), deosursuminverted gynandromorphs able to, comme moi, slickly reassemble ourselves once the peril has passed. À propos, in this volume, you (until I yieldingly yell something like “Cut!” or “It’s a wrap!”) will be ever and anon permitted to assay how properly I unite my “you” — lucullan and hassock-, cassock-, tussock-, bobbysock-liminal — with your “my” — étui-y, luminous, ludique — and vice-versa. No? Well, only bear in mind, reader, even as the literary mutiny you eulinostically plot with your inarticulate, albicomi, sickly marplots from the Appalachian Society of Serious or Serial or Surrealist Novelists (ASSN) gathers subdolous, restive, unruly, scelestic momentum, that it is, in toto, simply NOT the case that the apparent imponderably horn-rim potentialities of the plurilingual, multiyoni, muy eufórica, impertinent, promiscuously textual vision I see equate necessarily with the overblown and high-flown only — several honed to a fare-thee-well, loony SNE-variations, i.e., en séquence schizomythique plutôt que chronologique, will also be arrayed for you to skim clitalytically over, as well, nonconformist, nonsubmissive, nonbinary, nonelaborative, nonjudgmental, nonpartisan reader, as delve a slow lorn nyctinastic instrument more pnictically into. As a sampler, moreover, of things to come, you, my lieu-uniting, entonnoir-temporalizing, coutume-pliable, inexcogitatably mindful reader of this altarianly sumptuous schizomythic narrative (ASSN), are invited, en un pourprin mot enseigné et enseignant, to essay handsomely in a manner all too similar to how your late-night wearers of caps and shawls rely on a novelist’s professional lucubrations to enlumine (outil yuyero missimo) their amateurish mala-horal gloom, the following compilation abrégée de quelques thèmes potentiels we may or may not senimalistically divastigate at far less narrow levels anon:
• Lying beside l’étroit chemin on trepidatious top of an unevenly sawn or lolly-pollarded tree stump comme quelque fescennin trompe-l’œil there may be a glass hyaline doll’s eye worn Novalistically like a glènis omphalikē (γλῆνις ὀμφαλῐκή) by my privaos-de-toda-esperanza-vos-quien-tenés — aïe! — sexo-con-tus-lowly-sorellane-novatas-beside-the-stream sis Lamia’s sweatheart der Zukunft whom we’ve already encountered, Nirusa, so that it is not impossible that your seized-by-the-lapel tête de turc’s œil mutin y uyumayacak (your saisi-au-colbac-in-exile patsy’s roving eye will not be unaware there) how this piece of bull’s-eye vlan won originally in a childish game of marbles became, becomes, and is ever be(com)ing la cible explaining how, ensconced within, fixated upon, or nookie-nosed beneath this belly-buttony milieu, tu, y usurpant comme en se surinant por dentro ob urinas genitalis some deep inner motion, sense quite eagerly the shorn, spread, and ready-for-pleasuring slattern’s lovely lean “wonton” empirically and rather, sous ton menton impregnable, explicitly be(com)ing, as you lick, moister and moister and prominenter and prominenter moitié par moitié — yum! — until your own salivary well soon enlards le moment principal so lavishly that it becomes impossible to tell whether it’s you who, installé(e) now, sylvan orphan, en n’importe quelque indéterminé pont de Lutèce, observes a lowly lone naturalist watching, on the turbulent surface of the vorgenannte, importunate, rain-swollen, very alondrée, oleose Seine, quantities, see?, quaint, oenomaniacal, pixie-blennied, toujours intoxicable plenitudes of spent prophylactics milk-of-magnesiamanfully swirling past, the whistling swallows’ envol y rendant gce gratia amoris à tout et à tous, or whether it’s you who are the one being watched (Ellery Snow Novalis, Das allgemeine Brouillon: “Die ausdrückliche Unterscheidung, so nah hintereinander als möglich, dieser einzelnen Bewegungsmomente und ihrer Resultate macht der mittelst des Auges Beobachtende.” Usw.);

• there may be a self-portrait of the artist comme une Jacqueminot prenante, a heterolexical, bipneumatic (ambispiritual) blossom slick-inked into the ukiyo-e my Inuit uluaq (soie satinée en un tournemain râblé, plié xincament) of an empyreal nib explicitly carves on Lowell-nystagmic, kilosampled, monogonont premises into the ivory-sallow enlentecimiento of these very pages since, als wie wir wollen, yes, Novalis also writes that “Der amplifizierte Gegenstand des Titels oder der amplifizierte Titel ist das Buch. Der Text des Buchs fangt mit der Erklärung des Titels an and so on” (op. cit.);

• and finally there, where the Proustian Oise enqueens herself atop, nostratim modo ponendo, the Benjaminian Havel, all rosy, new, ontologically noumenal (ON), ontonatatologically numinous (ON), and odonatologically numerous (ON), may be the presence of your absence which does not usurp mine noticeably at all, that is, that which is not mine presently to be either jocose or solemn in, to present itself sadly or joyously in the absence of your presence, is, at least on this occasion, mine to presently absent myself from and present myself to.

§ 135 | Prominent
How imparsimoniously would I swoon in her Xymenopsical shrunk-eyed “clinch-spray,” skeuomorphously “skein-calqued” to her porpoise-torqued contortions of polyblent vascularity! (Terms delimited by means of “quotation marks” record the mythopoietical husky prose names we invented for our tralatitious romps in articulo ecstasis or in pomusculo deliciarum.) And with what adventitious raison impudique we’d both marvel — stably, con pfleglich presión y caulk-sellado esmero — how in xynistamenostically our chinks, asperities, clefts, poly-Vanbrughian niches, poly-Krausian Küssche’, polyrhythmic antiphonies, and cosmopoietic interstices would synch up so — like a relapsed rake and his provocative wife — at the harmonious apsis of our languorous otiose equilibrium! Even before I — but do I anticipate too much, my uncalm reader? But do I not have as much license to anticipate las porvenistas “hopes a-lurkin’ cynic’lly vast” on bepflasterte Dasein’s cavern-walls of be(com)ing as I do to rework in shy speculative revisions par moults subtils parcours mon si pailleté désespoir ou mnasicacochyme souvenir? Mais rentrons à nos moutons. Even before I’d been made privy to the splishy-splashy renown, eximious beatitude, and eutripsious moans of her ambit, her gambit, her so desiderabilissimo, so insurpassable orbit, O Eos of my megrim-wine Nyx, shore of my bulky ship’s océan remué! — even before, semel pro hymnis, we inexorably were drawn, despite the confines of my Chicken Street gourbi qui me liardait tant, into the lubrique imitancy of vast, bellpersoned, metasimious, pornocratic hetairotopias such as I polykernigly recounted to her that I’d not only been interned in but had been instrumental in the instauration thereof during not a few of my Tetrastic instars, I could already sense how minxy, resinous, Kalypso-enchrismed, and vison- or even bison-sinewy her moxie-rich, oft maraîchiné “pussy,” korallenrot und marlenviolett, would be! Not since Lyra K’s houpačka-pliure, sonsy headstand, and midsummer-night’s-dream limbsplay of vent-clearing titter-totterativeness in Owlstain where I, iynx somorgujante, was wont to double-stop ladite sauteuse like a wryneckish palo subduplo, had I imbriqué luxurieusement myself in such powerfully tuhý-dlouhý silken corps-à-corps with a luscious Phryne kalyonic as she — průklepní retablos, vtlačeny Pfiffzügen (cunning carbon-copyish Auserklone to so swankily push one’s caressive, carinate, carnal physis kucuremishly into)! Entre, ni moins que parmi nous, so it seemed, there always inhered a, so to speak, Boserupian osmosis so that with her dazzling mirthful Syrinx eyes — how omnipresently in shock, pleasurably slit, tantalizingly evocative of that mythic age when Rex Minos yoinked ces enfants aux yeux perdus in his favorite elven spot (cf. labyrinthus daedalus), and lucidly envisioning our doubly cloven, past-facing, as it were, position so surely — chinkapinnately shedding, as only the most צַדִּיק (tsadík), nacreous, sylphlike hussy can, proefvol, spent, calybian tears, I sank my squishy Klauen proscynetically into her and her own noix si émydoïde of a horse-spunky clitoris, in sum, apodeictically worked its six horny “Now-I’m-eelworming-myself-into-you!” centimeters into me with such quantitative exactitude that I was projected into a deliciously shaken, primeval, fynbos-plectendum realm where I, moins onyx-parfumé(e) qu’oryx hominisé en water chicken, Louÿs, Paris, heart’s desire, musical skypho-nereides, esmeril ubiquista, and so many more interesting intersecting collections of chance, silky, Proust-like, cyan spurs, hopefully, of mnemonoclasis, that I could not but therefore imagine, and reimagine, that her own subjective experience would have been at least as concinnous as mine. So why, I’m inexorably led to ask, did she so trimly, so smugly, so heavy-handedly mock my bonny bouncing bon mot, oiseau si beau et bleu de mi translexicización en tres lenguas der probacy-vollsten Pfeilschriften von our favorite nordrheinischen ontonatatologist?
§ 136 | Aetio-equineness
How ineffably spent-cloverish would we both be sans tout d’aplomb left, splay-convened together there after our showy in omni exertis exercitationes sui generis like a jumbled cartomancy of blast-pelvic-euphorial skynsjáríðasemi (raison souple de foutêtre)! I seem to recall a ramshackle, prison-yucky castle of blancs vypatlanců i horse-pyskatých vyprasků chosen light-heartedly by some ugly tourte in Barcelona. Husky prisoners tombant en énergumène, tutti-frutti pâmoison surrounded us while we’d be tautly groin-riding each other there, but instead of trying to be a ruly phronesis, a lucky, perfectly blasé von-Pfeilischen Stillsitz oder irrfahriglose příčka y shuntant en toute ataraxie in showy remontages such as perikynoleptic Lyra “begot inturgescently” (B. Pavloff’s lucid expression) in Owlstain, silent, insensible to any Geschlechtssein outside our reciprocal solipsism, our anogenital Bryotrunkenheit, we, on the other hand, all pigletty-gigletty in our Barcelonish sparky uyume (有夢), were coaxed into trying a “troubleshooters’ orgy” in a “brutte-lanciate-sfide” sort of way such that we’d find ourselves, like a topsy-turvy “blest-clan” of Porphyrio nemonexi (swamphens) à risky coulée in their pycnous lek, shambolically rutting ab ore rubeo y tirant gloutonnement atque imbibenti sensationally our own heady juices, lanky hors-pair pair of nubile oil-resplendent inseparable dream-lovers that we were, still are, and will forever be, our two festive pairs of nénés perçants y flub-plevening against each other like titubating pugilists and with that oft-hanky-pankied yūn-yīn (奫陰) bad kyrielles of zigouigoui-limber quidnuncs have made themselves all too familiar with, that zugzwangischly tir-troublé yáng (陽) she called my, coining a neat double portemanteau, “berlingrotty harlequim,” I buissonnantly peradventured sans pudeur du tout hither and yon, afore, athwart, and abaft of, to toiser la titillante situation comme un cosmoursin pialey, her own μνιός ἰξύς (downy heroine’s mix of dazzling beauty, torrid thlipsis, choky lure, and swivelly soft “banc pubique”).

“Im rilligen Verhältnis der zotigen Weiber ist die wahre Wonne,” my oxish inquisitory great blundering Uncle T. B. flaps voyeuristically his großes Aperçu, rottenly barging into our serene epicene (though technically, since only, despite her hastate vigour, I am in possession of testae spermathecae, our joute assortative should more accurately be classified as tercene) “cyrkle-dyrkle” shop causing me to ad interim realize that we’re not there with my future favorite panenská locus, perihypsous Maori installationist esuriently outgrabing in that foraminious prostíbulo in lerda Barcelona, husky prisoners aswoon all around us on Carrer Bailén, Gott Ryū (竜)!, at all, but all too far from la mer in crazy-quilt Lyons avec pbfistas (i.e., those as palpably fond of purling a rote byt as they are of putting bleary orificia frontalia to the sword) como, in no particular order,

that echt antigay art-critic guy Litarn;
Trober “El Tortuga” (by night an hebephilous snarky cad, by day a korephilous snaky cur, and vice-versa);
Arnaut R., legit boy-toy scholar in spekulative soziophysiologie visiting from that most archifusc, polyvalent, b-faced of Flouziana’s instituts de hautes études, ISOCPHYS;
ankle-rubbing D. Kidyaky, un bien-y-soit-œcuménisé-nec-plus-ultra sort of percussioniste in suo ogni aspetto despite his scratchy socks (un ¥ le pair);
his phony Saul Rick;
elegant young Trilby-treacherous “playsink” (as testily seseado por ella misma) Bunny, a dykey kid I thoroughly enjoyed playing with the two or three times I did en énanthique compagnie snobinarde, soit ostensiblement de 6' c’t’autre tribaloungy gosse, plucky Inhart à poigne double, soit ostentatoirement de 6'' parlous spikey Chan, our own on-all-fours-pious moniale d’amours pionistiques;
Ada Romer on whiny, existentialiste, sinuoso, Teslaphonic śukryazh (शुक्र्யாழ், a sort of samirious, saponaceous, slinky, harp-like, jangly tanbur or guitarra morisca she, plunky yet girly tour-band compinchera, lyssokubernetically fingered and shook with the most delirious pasmonadesque ebrium liquidum imaginable);
her uncle or husband or father or something, flambeur-gritty Olantaros Romer, on his new ixyokinetic (loin-rollicking) wagtail-buttery organ;
and was that surplus honky Eric sarcastically en train d’embrouiller, in between kyūkiye (急き江) binky-dandlings of 9' a feisty, pretty, busty, naughty girl, Bénatrou’s gribouillé niquage de iulique Rimbaud and ikibunky yeyeros otros there?
He was (il était), they were (ils étaient), we all were (nous étions). If so, then perhaps it is naturally rather than anacoluthically the case that, if one’s to believe, as Dr. Ito Sezi says I should, that there’s even a smidgen of singsong reality turbidly lurking (if there’s one lexicætiological phoresis, Unky Tysin, our Speak Chl–inspired SNE’s clitalyses, taken in toto, have incited us with, it’s that little Ms. Goby-Runt Reality links each, por supuesto, of her sub rosa sinistrosities so alluringly one brutta rima coll’altra, that the unwary take this aboulique imbrication de touches néfastes [AINT] to be the very fabrique iluminado de la wirksam realidad misma, rather than, as we sociophysiologically gifted schizomythologists trained to sniff out the objective altarian subjectivities [OAS], ontic antinomies [OAs], ontic appropriations [OAs], apparitional obfuscations [AOs], and other Mímir-blue quidam ingredients needed to fabricate the malign grout reality bedaubs her antic ontology [AO] with do, recognize it for what they or it truly are, Bon Guieu, or is: the Augenschein tissue of antiphenomenal entelechies [AE]), somewhere in the grandiose, toilsome, fucose (sparkly, hinchado), totally sans raison, Harpy-like scuttlebutt, our bingy relâche à Lyon skips rumbustiously, like the oft satirized stone-toss of less witty, urbane, triglossolalious (au moins) priories of the realm, between the more Graeco-Slavonic stations of the bubbly art-tour I engaged in with the real Ms. Nin whom sexy I erotically inspired as no ordinaire, whiny, monosex’d Muse avant moi — mās quī muliebris ibī mulier quae mascula est — ever could and who’d make even my latitudinarian sister jealous in sim —

À propos: si je fais l’effort de m’en tirer de l’oubli inracontable (try urging your bitter labile angry tourtereau mnésoclaste [sosie tout noyé dans son dovolsty Blec’napf de mon vblapf Oncle Tysin] to stop gaping and growling at your trébuchements de mémoire so Nyx-in-wheresoeverly appetitively!), it definitely seems to be be(com)ing, since I must insist, after all, that I have not inked any dybuky intent into my potentially infinite SNE (contra este infundio vertido por estes antipáticos asses of the Tetrastic Assn. of Novelists [TAN]), rather not the case that I’d deem such a keleuthoschizis or “detour” an impossibility at all in similar circumstances by vollpfropfend die Vollpfosten mit den vorangegangenen Ereignissen.

§ 137 | Rain
Quel ennui! Paris’s monochromous rain, spiniferous rain, impossible rampant remous-livrée rain pours so implausibly, immutably, impartially, immoderately down on my heri (屁理) existence that it’s a veritable marvel, marooned here as I am, that I haven’t tried already to oiselate myself out the window of this, my unrequitedly horny own sixième-étagian, very mottled, ofttimes angrily frowzy aire en amont de l’autoparodiante rue Poulet’s rive marneuse. Profuse rain, dense rain, ubiquitous rain, polluted rain, ornery rain, va-chercher-ta-galoubie rain, brantle-trantled scaturient rain! But perhaps “es ist wegen des,” to oiōnoscopically invoke Goethe’s gossipy rumba, “Regengehirns” I owe my exoneration from committing that rouge-et-noir-gory, self-annihilatory, self-ingratiating whimsy one inexorably entertains when, i.e., oxymoronically cooped up for days at a time in this mildew-shiny room inexecrable, since, with copious rain smuggling itself in through la fente inarticulable between the battants of the pissoir-glary fenêtre and les parois so munies de moisissure dass der farbloser fraying tapestry on Ovid-like themes is itself an orgy irriguously changing and slushily transmogrifying, the zlovonïy plaster dissolving beneath, the scrim rotting so that with not merely mon balcon privé d’épinicies amoureuses, but the entire pro semitario moisi pan surrounding the swollen window-frame having become a tempest-toss’t jungle of human- and horsehair strands, jasmine tendrils, tracutate schede fradicie di umida scrittura, lentil sprouts, mineral evaporites, daily novenas manchadas our sleazy Dr. Nilávano Bimkov of TBS used to prescribe us and which I continue to pen out of sheer habit despite our brangle with the weirdly zealous rain, les soutien-gorges à fin lyrisme de countless young vixenish women, oryx horns, ewe-yonimithunīkāryan objets d’art, und so weiter, I can neither open the window, nor fully close it. Oh, how chastely have I spent how many solitary moons in here? Wixiʔ (“takzan” [沢山] in Irolingua, my pré-Bergeracinienne langue mère big Pyrrhoconforian Momiji rants as sardonically as ever into my mind’s tinnitonian ears at random moments such as this) — c’est-à-dire trois mois punais au moins, probablement vachement plus! O vermiparous, misnomered mousson ripailleuse! The (as triple-ripely put to me by Drs. Rao, Pet, et Buni) “Dans le Paris de Breton tu vas apprendre ce que veut dire ‘pleuvoir’!” my imagination parsed by means of the Saturnian systematism of my Tetrastic innocence consisted of nothing more than an afternoonishly accelerando simoun sparingly climaxing with a dash of vesperal ame (雨) rinsing the cobblestones chicly slick or a modest morning mistral tempered with a refreshing gōu (豪雨) that vrillerait bientôt en “bleu fouillis des claires étoiles” or at the most a snowy in ex mero shigure (時雨, chill autumnal drizzle) — who would have thought in sgravato (carefree) Owlstain when I answered, in response to the question Dr. Peter S. Buni toasted me with whilst dealing a rubber of Tradine Oru in the salle au fond of the Dirna Route Café — “Is it true, Dominique, que tu vas partir bientôt pour Paris?” “Oui, monsieur” — the homœoteleuta Dr. Norbis Pet attempted to tempt me with whilst trumping a trick of Tradine Oru in the superb Dirna Route’s “petting room” — “So, my dearest D. I., I’d heard it said you’ll soon break bread in Paris?” “Oui, monsieur” — the interpellation Dr. Benet T. Rao puissantly cajoled me with whilst picking up a skat of Tradine Oru in the Oneida Rut-Room of ditto — “So, our most impure travelo is now going to Paris?” “Oui, monsieur” — that the purpureus genius coelis seldom lachrymary I imagined I’d soon be pivot-prancing beneath would turn out to be anything but a halcyon Narnian’s tsuyu (梅雨, harmonious spiritual season of pruniferous rain, roriferous rain, dulcifluous rain)? Try a vilipeso donchisciottismo ruspanoico of a monsoon raging wantonly for months at a time, rather, as if acrimonious Paris were an overflowing Rangoon, a mosquito-graven Mylapore, a stony livid Cochin, a Tartarus incontinens entered all too unwarily erringly, a Sofala-sur-la-piscatory-Seine — lakes, Pygmy parrots, vile Numenius spp. wading in the gutters and coding to each other in their whiny Morse, inexorable snakes, Gypsy erīlēs fīliae asking, “Please, yer yuvānaka miramérayani, zoen mijns kontje, asjeblieft!?” yet when you invite the seemingly barmy eager being up to do precisely that her impishly servile moue transposes into a subhuman reviler’s pout and off she splashes again, grown nomothetically more wary perhaps yet still mock-canvasing through the pervasive rain, bewitchingly strong thighs vaulting over the fluxionary rigoles formidably sheathed in their creepy-mugger rain-boots; eigenbrötlerisch I, meanwhile, all lovelorn, kizatanikushitsui (気障多肉質い), and spongey like a spry seraphic kumquat dans la triste boue and practically melting sous la morne pluie, stravaig back up to my lorn aire, mon pas folichon lair, my crib inebriately barren, mon abri inéblouissablement perdu where, in the madid rain-ravaged margins, a gown Ono-no-Komachiesquely would dip its billowing inky Nara-ornate sleeve into the lazar ink I notate this gushing account with, my forlorn-from-so-many-maroonings, worn amagutsu (雨靴) inclusas y inclusos. I étourdiment, to be precise, to objectively disparonomasticate on those otiose, toilsome, yet all too rare mornings when the sun like a timorous spaniel would cautiously lave the structural rent distantly sculpting the gloom with a ray of hope which was inevitably all too quickly quelled when the radiant cur settled down again to doze through twenty-four more amorphous hours of bleak cranky rain, of dismal pesky rain, geysers of rain, gushing diluvia of rain, immortal gyres of rain lacerating and lapidating and literally liquefying everything and anything and everywhere and not, by the way, in the good way — I would in those toiletlessly brief moments on those toison-d’or-like rare mornings plummet willy-nilly down the cataract the skivvy tried vainly to sponge and mop and siphon up in the stairwell in order to ford the Chicken Street torrent below and purchase in no particular order at the Euxino-Erymine showten (商店) d’en face: parsley; vino di Torgiano; self-rypterian depilatorios y vendajes; curds and whey; onions; mixers such as soda, tonic, artharasakaṣāya (अर्थरसकषाय), and so on; poisson; rum; pain-raisins; poumons de chèvre; баница (banitsa, a bittersweet Odrysian olive pastry piled in ovolactic layers of phyllo, sirena, zadrugarskian sauerkraut, etc.); ever shrinking potatoes; oignons verts; pastis dharnāhitalakṣaṇa (high-quality Pernod, vois-tu); Pontcharraud beets; topinambours de pretintaille; garlic; chillies; okra; any ingredients at all that struck my fancy as being apt for the simmering hash, gutvortrefflingvishṭ’ ragoût hebdomadaire including such grains, for instance, as Hesperian rice (i.e., Oryza mnasea L.), lentils, millet, teff, und so weiter; Kampot pepper; Indian clover; lamb brains; antilope liver; and pinchos morunos (a ¡spiiiiiicy treat! I was unable to replicate in the confines of my Chicken Street studio and so I had to settle for the readymade version). It was at the end of such occasional brief matitudinal lulls in the deluge when, with my harmonious arms pieni di the foregoing, the assorted abstract lutins déracinés, vari orfani, mômes de toutes espèces topped off by the most ridiculous topes would loom out of the universal tromperie and, though starving, so it seemed, as well as sopping, tattered, and battered-looking, disdain my offer of quodlibertarian tea or tisane de bonhomie followed by what most likely would be a squarer meal than they’d’ve enjoyed in quite some while et ensuite bath where I’d be sure to, with my extensive working knowledge of the “harmonically composed [...] beautiful Attitudes, and contrasted graceful Postures of the Body, and Parts thereof” (vid. infra) ranging from the masculine-feminine to the feminine-masculine, shower my noxious little doxies, my reinwohnlichen Strichmädeln with all the lessivatory bedazzlement their delectably moist oemotståndlige organisms’ perineal trouvailles were capable of e finalmente al letto amoroso where my innixion graziosa, duly lernita di Weaver (1721, vid. infra), could not but not fail to, so to speak, “Hex her Wye” in moins de temps qu’it’d take to coach the by now very compliant, sur-vereinbare urchin to mimic, en suivant eg. op. cit. pp. 135–137, the desired actions on her own, viz.:
“[...] from this graceful Position she sinks, her knees bending outwards, the Line of Innixion still continuing on the same left Foot: Just at the Conclusion of her Sinking, she transfers the Line of Innixion, by the Motion of her Body from the left to the right Foot; and then rises Perpendicular, still preserving the Weight on her right Foot [...]

I need not inform you, that the Gracefulness of this Action arises from the Motion of transferring the Line of Innixion; to which a little turn of the Head towards the left Shoulder, is no small Addition.

The left Foot now being at liberty, and bearing slightly on the Floor, is ready to move; she then carries the left Foot obliquely forwards to the inclos’d fourth Position, her Body moving with it, and so transferring the Line of Innixion from the right to the left Foot; she then moves the right Foot circularly, at the same Time turning her Body a quarter Turn towards the left, and brings her Feet into the short second Position; the Weight of the Body also, as in Walking, transferred with it: The Weight being now on the right Foot, she sinks; transfers the Line of Innixion; and rises as before [...]

This leads me to a farther Application of the foregoing Rules, to some of the fundamental Steps, and Movements in Dancing.

But, First, It will not be improper to explain, what Dancing is, and in what it consists.

Dancing is an elegant, and regular Movement, harmonically composed of beautiful Attitudes, and contrasted graceful Postures of the Body, and Parts thereof.”

No, you need not inform moi, a most graceful practitioner, indeed, of innixion who, yes, remembers, indeed, for instance, how, whilst performing a select combination of the aforementioned “fundamental Steps, and Movements in Dancing” on a certain dust-tralatitious and hitherto cloudless day in Madrid, rain burst upon the postmeridian, arid, refulgent maidan irradiant so that as my suddenly sodden haori attached itself to my dazzling form like a bathing gopi’s clinging sari, a muddy flux ere I awningward could run, like an interminable ascarid, drained out of my insuccated luisant ṛtrailiṅga (ऋत्रैलिङ्ग) so that, while my upper half took on the alluring appearance of said water-logged gopi, my lower looked like some illutatory devil posing in a rear-split anorak zingiberaceously parted to reveal quelqu’archi-forain môme’s bottom slick from those perilous periliminary gamineries that so charmed our favorite Siuslo-Cambrian sirenologist. But alas, back here in Jeanne dite “la Pucelle who-at-the-Stake-was-Burnt” d’Arc’s Lutetia, the abundant, unpleasant, inelegant rain spoils not merely — speaking sympathetically of which, as, spread out en triboulet like a freshly waxen erigible yet all too desultory saurian doll zerlumpte und zerzauste in my futon that was once a majestic magical Huchown sixern I yeomanly plied up and down the most turbulent mer lascive’s littoral of love but is now the most ascetical marécagestical otiose celibate solo loco, I’m reading a dictionary of Early Anglais in conjunction with a thousand rough nights’ vaticinal rereading of l’Armoricain Médoire Anglarès’ spiky eyewitnessing of a Beulah Bay dugong that shriveled up when its anadromous instar was mistakenly released into an environment more appropriate to its catadromous ditto or vice-versa, and like some perverse Epipsychidion I’m recalling how Trober’s putid anecdote anent riffling a rosy recessum puellarem during the “despondent rainy season” iterated itself throughout the vagabondry-lush Saint-Glingliny sarala (सरलता) of the Hesperian dim recollection of that autumn soir I apostrophisai so promunctorily when, before proceeding on to various spinomedullarily transliminious romps avec quelque amourette du Bois prancing about all sylphlike and such there where specular mirettes abound profusely and glistening reinettes, proud arboreal fruits, look on whilst some other soubrette Pindaresquely playing the rantipole devi in pancratiastical rut trendily begins to serve me a bock and a bowl of frites, I stood in multicontrast lucid entrancement before that shopfront aquarium-by-proxy where insomniac trundlers attired in sivodïy proletarian coveralls étaient en train, tout en œuvrant les imprimeuses, de me regarder à travers le verre I sit harsh- and abrupt- and stereoiracundly up in my damp and not in the good way futon and repent slushily grandiloquent since I humbly agnize and sourly realize that perhaps I’d all too soon dismissed as being too traidor, lazy, unrealistic, même, that kind of plump ravenous literary Innerlichkeit that smartly entrains an impatoïant character’s truant dilly-dallyings into a parsimonious ad nutum revelation springing from the epiphany that, for instance, just as the Agnodice rain maieutically extracted that menstruation-rain embarrassment in de pronto phocine Madrid and the Montcalm rain staunchly besieged me with the catamenia-rain obstinance of the seaside maricón-dream iconically indexing Alinor to Norlia in the “serão inquieto” as I entrancingly metamorphosed amidst antediluvian xiphosurans, tiny cnidarian dracunculi, brazen brachyurans, instable stingrays, stray selachian artotrogids, and so on in the cryptogamian brine on wave- and windburnt Isla Miranda whilst my furfuranny sister Lamia was off cavorting with that jewel in the crown of the island’s aquamarine nobility, Nirusa, and the Oedipus Rex rain roistingly awhirr inexorably instilled that menses-rain état obvie which, when whether by fate, chance, or simple error I anxiously found myself wandering in that Varanasian Tertio Regno to the north of Plaçatina Hortensia, led me to that cloven-priaped inebriated Porlockian devil-sport yodelingly taking a break from besmirching le trottoir with his Nura who accosted me with something along the lines of, “Excusez moi, meussieudame, mais j’aimablement vous prie — ralentissez-vous vos pas, s’il vous plaît, et tire moi un petit vavain de clope, princesse!” — alas, the abundant, unpleasant, inelegant rain spoils not merely, speaking syllogistically enough, the floor, the bed, the stage on which to dance — the aberrant, repellant, incessant rain sabotages even the invitation to dance! And yet, since my floor’s a spuminigerous morass inopium frustorum cruentorum and vulpine sexy I who’m normally the world’s deepest, dampest, ripest, plumpest, flippest, hippest, steepest, sharpest, crispest, and dare I say, cheapest lay, void (ironically enough in this dull cold season of gusty rain unstintingly pouring down sauf in those otidimorphic matinal moments when, speared by the misty sun, rainbows bleed briefly above the phoenix-new earth) a repulsive mort-né(e) menstrue most (and quite in contrast to the headily perfumed unction exuded by your menarchical nymph) monstrous — how could it have come about that a sopping pile of disjointed bras perturbatively drifted in through the window like so many windblown sycomore leaves? And furthermore I ask — pask, si grêle y è, n’y a plus de pain cuit dans ce turlâtre boxon — where’s my inimitable pale Pedro, invincible scaphanderer of my nether Sphynx’s moonier weirdnesses? Could not he, like an ivory-tailed spongobiotic honey-nix, swim rheophilically up even the swiftest of outlearnt Lutetia’s cardoon-choked rigoles? And then, like a cotylestome, poilu, transvertebrative polynoid, shilly-shally himself up le cataracte d’escalier and straight into my fimbriate pond’s uteroprostatic délurant ravin? Alas, even sthenolabiate Pedro turns tail quand il hume mon venimeux état!
§ 138 | Sloimčik
Such supersaturated circumstances forced me, thus, — since smug Mère Soréa, spunky child self-indulgently blinking its turquoise-and-amber, almond-shaped sphinx-eyes (minor wonders in themselves) in the empasmed valley of her plump soins, arointed off (leaving but an “En Attente du Beau Temps” sign affixed to the door of her beauty parlor) to some halcyon Erehwon’s mixité balnéaire where one imagines our parochial spunky sorcerer submitting to Helios’ cyan Skrupellosigkeit in his Hathor-silky, anse-cupping swim-trunks, cosily heaping hot sand on his Qeseshy pink oracular poumons isiaques, and determining, thus, by means of this “avunculisius paronomasticus” (sic), the slinky rapscoundrel’s true paternity — to contract the services in person, as it were, of that type specimen of a species of indistinct and, given the clownishy morne exiguity of its genitalia, by now most likely extinct slavey — obpflichtgetreu, obpflichtbewusst, obfleglich, obpflichteifrig und obpflegeleicht — whom we have encountered so often before en bluster-balustered and berunnelled escalier, on husky palier inondé, in the submerged entrée de l’immeuble même (vid. supra). I found our biddable muriqui inhabiting, not a mildewy nixish room en haut comme moi, mais rather, au deuxième, a lackey’s prison-hutch, a flunky’s apish recoin, a crumbly closet van Pfiffikustically cluttered with the bricoleur’s hanky-spanky fourbi limé quinaudement par son Oui-M’sieur-this-et-sa-Oui-M’dame-that hackerel-cackerel malarkeyish conspurcation of it during the otiose mimicry of a vacant sly “po-veb” flunky’s chores: lapidescent mops, sour inaidable sponges, corrupt dustpans, battered buckets, balding brooms, whiny inexécutables vilebrequins, chokey sarpliers, clunky asphodel-root glue called ῥίζοφύρον (rhizophyron) one mixes with various pnismotic substances such as sand or sawdust or the fluffy moults of blanc vypelichané sovy (freshly moulted barn owl) to stop up chinks, re-lay sordid tiles, unsqueak sploshy incrusted creaky planches souris blanches have made their nests under, und so weiter — all of which impedimenta this product of, according to Styffclent Blavy’s opus on the topic, that “populist migration out of villages [which are] so oppressive to the human spirit and so otiose as a form of socio-political organisation” lugged up the stairs in order to scrape and shave and drill and drain and sand and repaint and stopper up and regrease the cranky sluices hopelessly ajar which the battants of my fenêtre had become. Alas! His ressemblance to my beloved Huerta-Fukarian stacker (see § 68) was not merely doubly, but triply belied since, not only was he cowed at first by all the harum-scarum libri quietly awaiting the scholar’s assiduous caress (as we’ve described elsewhere [§ 31]), and cowed in turn by the perfumed Abfall coy spent voluptuously splayed bras had constructed at the sodden foot of the uncloseable fenêtre where the jasmine Whyos inexorably imbricated their foliated acts of floral thuggery — “All these spunky cholis are, euh, the bare chunky spoils de vos conquêtes?” he parsimoniously asked as he meticulously yet obstupefactively set about his task — but, furthermore, his seemingly sugoi, ostensibly prehensile tail turned out to be utterly postiche, the stub it masked all too otiose and useless for the sort of punctilious “romp in satisfaction” of “services rendered” I had had in mind to have in bodily store for him, onyx wine seriatim slopped into the greedy goblet I proffered him to no avail whatsoever. And so, alors, our little Mr. Least-Said Soonest-Mended se fait tôt descendre tot el seu bombriliu equipament — emergency bof-vats, pelles à poussière, surly rakish ponceuses, búho-slinky scrapers, larceny-worn moxie-shivs, poncy felt balais, Zpevnyt’s colle, abpflückte toise ouvrante, sui generis mops — au noir comblé de la petite chambre qui lui incombe après bien avoir réparé mes joints et mes gouttes, bien sûr, mais sans m’en avoir goûté(e) jusqu’à l’inimitable — fsplnvy! — comble des plus inégalables de mes points de repère.
§ 139 | IMSO
“I’m so horny,” she said.
§ 140 | M
§ 141 | ON
Ordinary narrative; ordinary novel. "while the countless tribes of common novels laboriously spin veils of mystery, only to complacently clear them up at last; and while the countless tribe of common dramas do but repeat the same; yet the profounder emanations of the human mind, intended to illustrate all that can be humanly known of human life; these never unravel their own intricacies, and have no proper endings; but in imperfect, unanticipated, and disappointing sequels (as mutilated stumps), hurry to abrupt intermergings with the eternal tides of time and fate." [Melville, Pierre]
§ 142 | Novels? Really now!
“Now in the cultivation of the mind one of the most important factors is precisely the feeling of strain, of difficulty, of a task which one part of you is anxious to achieve and another part of you is anxious to shirk; and that feeling cannot be got in facing a [good] novel.” “good novels never demand any appreciable mental application on the part of the reader. A good novel rushes you forward like a skiff down a stream, and you arrive at the end, perhaps breathless, but unexhausted.” Since “the best novels involve the least strain,” the goal of the senimalist is to write the worst sort of novels imaginable Despite the injunction that “bad novels ought” to remain unread (Bennett 1910: Ch. XI, Serious reading), surely the highest task of the senimalist is to write, not simply bad novels, but the worst sorts of novels imaginable, “Imaginative poetry produces a far greater mental strain than novels. It produces probably the severest strain of any form of literature. It is the highest form of literature. It yields the highest form of pleasure, and teaches the highest form of wisdom. In a word, there is nothing to compare with it.” [A. Bennett, How to live on 24 hours a day. New York: George H. Doran Co., 1910. Ch. XI, Serious reading.]
§ 143 | Inexplicable
§ 144 | Œnyutuyliium
οἰνανθάριον a compound ointment; οἰνάνθη inflorescence of the grape-vine; the first shoot of the vine; generally, the vine; the soft down of the young vine-leaves; οἰνάνθινος made of the wild-vine flower; οἴνη, οἰνάς the vine; wine; a wild pigeon of the colour οἰνωπός (fresh, ruddy); the rock-dove, Columba livia [conveying the bruised, contused coloration of this bird, as opposed to its wild tan cousin, Columba palumbus]; οἰνέλαιον wine mingled with oil; οἰνεραστής lover of wine; οἰνιστήρια a measure of wine; οἰνίδιον small wine, poor wine; οἰνοηθητής one who strains wine; οἰνοθήκη wine-cellar, wine-cask; οἰνοθήρας the root of which smells of wine, or was used to flavor wine [see orgyoygro]; οἰνοτόκος producing wine; οἰνοτροπικοί wine-blenders; οἰνοῦττα cake or porridge of barley mixed with wine, water, and oil, eaten by rowers; a plant with intoxicating properties [see orgyoygro]; Οἰνόη Oenoë, name of two Attic demes, Οἰναῖοι τὴν χαράδραν, prov. of self-inflicted ruin.

ὤιον, ᾠόν egg (ovum) + οὔτοι indeed not, certainly not (or οὐτάω to wound, hurt, hit; or οὔτησις a wounding) + ἰλλός squinting (or ἴλλω, st sg fut ind act attic epic ionic contr of ἰλλάζω to bind up, make into a bundle) (or Ἴλιος, ἴλιον Ilium [= Troy]) = ‘wounded bundle of oospores’; that is, in the lexical sense, the bruised seeds of my SNE. [see Dr. A. G. Oman]

[8.3.5] But Oenotrus (Οἴνωτρος), the youngest of the sons of Lycaon, asked his brother Nyctimus for money and men and crossed by sea to Italy; the land of Oenotria (Οἰνωτρία) received its name from Oenotrus who was its king. This was the first expedition despatched from Greece to found a colony, and if a man makes the most careful calculation possible he will discover that no foreigners either emigrated to another land before Oenotrus. In addition to all this male issue, Lycaon had a daughter Callisto. This Callisto (I repeat the current Greek legend) was loved by Zeus and mated with him. When Hera detected the intrigue she turned Callisto into a bear, and Artemis to please Hera shot the bear. Zeus sent Hermes with orders to save the child that Callisto bore in her womb,
[8.3.6] and Callisto herself he turned into the constellation known as the Great Bear, which is mentioned by Homer in the return voyage of Odysseus from Calypso:–

Gazing at the Pleiades and late-setting Bootes,
And the Bear, which they also call the Wain. [Hom. Od. 5.272]
But it may be that the constellation is merely named in honor of Callisto, since her grave is pointed out by the Arcadians. [Pausanius]
§ 145 | Ur
[anagrams of Ureaders: Aredes Ur (arede = aread = inform, tell, prophesy, advise, counsel, soothesay, interpret) Red Sea Ur Reseda (= 1. A plant (Reseda odorata), also called a mignonette and dyer's rocket, having greenish flowers with orange-colored stamens, and exhaling a delicious fragrance. In Africa it is a low shrub, but further north it is usually an annual herb. Reseda odorata is a species of flowering plant in the reseda family known by many common names, including garden mignonette and common mignonette. It is probably native to the Mediterranean Basin, but it can sometimes be found growing in the wild as an introduced species in many parts of the world.[1] These introductions are often garden escapees; the plant has long been kept as an ornamental plant for its fragrant flowers, the essential oil of which has been used in perfumes.[1] This is an annual herb producing branching erect stems to 80 centimeters in maximum height. The inflorescence is a spikelike raceme of many flowers. The fragrant flower has six white to yellowish or greenish petals, the upper ones each divided into three narrow, fingerlike lobes. At the center of the flower are up to about 25 stamens tipped with large dangling orange anthers. 2. A grey-green colour, like that of the plant) Ur Seared Ur Erased Ur]

"...the Ur-texts of his vision of conspiracy and ritual..." [R. Gordon, Fake power. TLS, 18 February 2011, p. 21]

§ 146 | Sashay
§ 147 | TO
§ 148 | Tear off her skirt
“The witness, a frowsy ferret-eyed stork-shinned heifer identified as Io N. (IN), froward, toffish and frisky in the box, told the court that the assailant, Nolan E. Deal, used something ‘sharp as an edge of a ferrate instrument’ — ‘Do you mean a knife?’ suggested Kristoff Härter, the lawyer for the prosecution. ‘More like a lamber’s bodkin, sir.’ To which even the judge, K. F. Seaforth, cracked a smile. — to tear off her skirt (a sort of retro-freak Shaker linen frock and shift with a tarty chambray guimp, actually, the vestiges of which were later be used, according to Sheriff Cratti D’Aruntles’s report, by ‘the sore, befouled, but nevertheless still spry waif to flag Aunt Oprah’ [AO]), and threatened to strike her with it if she did not kneel down and “troth his fife then and there on the very
tear off her skirt “‘Estás lista para rut, my puny blond slave?’ K venerates into the ears of BM. ‘By all means, you alien!’ BM posts a pestle plea and redistemperates her lesbianism as K starts to tear off her skirt.” (M. S. Litarn, The humiliation of BM. Krišnaborg: Lepastic Press, 2006, p. 11). “And should I tear off her skirt? Or should I ruin no fields? I opt for the latter. Not for the first time do I prepare to knead and knuckle her, tender and soft at first, then deep and hard. I warm the lube in my hands before proceeding to gently circumambulate with my volars her sacrospinalii and gluteals.” (Velasto Prastier, Cuánto does a grip pèse: Les mémoires of a multilingual masajista). “Don’t worry, I think the fairy will get away, but the dragon’s going to tear off her skirt. How embarassing!” (Jasmin Islam, Agua Prieta Piste, 19 June 2004). “For Lee See, I’d keep her unders on, but tear off her skirt. Glom her lares, and cramp her to stairs and jars and posts and whatnot in a steamy abandoned stable and heat her up with a dose of lusterine” (Ariel Ebsalai, Amiss in the abnorm.). “Five-year-old Sophie paid no heed, but the small rescuer overtook the terrified little girl and tried to tear off her skirt, now all aflame. The right sleeve of her own dress took fire and, frightened now herself, the little girl dropped her friend and clutched at her own blazing sleeve” (“Girl of six tries rescue. Burned trying to put out flames in her playmate’s dress.” Minxburgh Monitor, 2 January 1912). “AT couldn’t help but unbuckle her belt nebulously as M, K, M, and J sought to rule over her once again in the front of the schooner, attracting a large crowd of seasalts. Most of the converts had already debarked by then, watchfully, but from the docks they could be heard to yell encouraging words such as, “Rip her shirt off!” and “Tear off her skirt!”” (Gals Saliba, Tales of the Arathu Sea). “Every move she made was drawing out a new side of him – a side that just wanted to tear off her skirt, bend her over and fuck her till she was screaming his name” (Onyx LS, “What Happens in LA Stays in LA,” 27 December 2010). “Voldemort smiled as he saw Filch having his perverse fun. He watched Filch tear off her skirt, and then pull down her granny pants using his teeth. Umbridge cried silently as she felt his mouth on her skin, his breath coming in quick, hot pants, tainting her body” (Laura C., The Burning Pen Sickest Lemon Challenge, Untitled, nd). “J enervates to elate the duty as OA, OD, and ON take gonorturns blessing her soto Rumi who invites the onlookers to slake prying eyes by means of the holes drilled for that very purpose in the wall. Despite her eye-purging amber and though starving for more Wyoming, she readorns as the man o’ war gin goons tear off her skirt and continue to try sanding hulls in her promised realm” (Ure Aders, Trash thug vigor. Port Gaspard: ).
eskar. But affeert it must ha’ been, since no slim effort of prodding and shirking I spent to hark and heist it from its sheathe could coax any glory from the little terror. And so I tried forking my fur-trimmed shako athwart his trotters an’ shark. But that only irked his affret the more, and launched his freakish thirst on a raft of blunt lust entailing him to strafe and fritter my glistening soft hiker’s frith with the hickory handle of his shifty roker’s dirk. In the afterthroes he sobbed, and kissed my forest of bruises and blood, and whispered the triffest lare barg in my ears.’” (Teresa Frith-Korf, “Lyness Trial, Day 2: Witness Takes Stand.” The Hoy Ahoy, 4 April 2002).
§ 149 | Osier
§ 150 | Realm
Real M? Re a Luis Magrinyà? Refer to story, supposedly in Habitación Doble, in which upstairs and downstairs neighbors' sexual relationship ends in violence and compensation, buying of property of one by the other, joining two flats together with staircase, and thus doubling of property? Plagiary of situation with Swopes and Moéu?

“Differences between the ‘true’ realm of the grail kingdom and the ‘illusory’ lair of Klingsor are obscured, refocusing the moral drama away from religious and metaphysical absolutes and towards the presence or absence of the capacity for pity [the rapacity of cities]” (G. Dammann, What kind of fools were they? The exercise of pity in Wagner and Mark-Anthony Turnage. TLS, 11 March 2011, p. 17).

“‘Rational’ criticism can find no hold here, for it evolved, as we have seen, in response to one form of (political) absolutism, and finds itself equally at a loss when confronted with another form of self-grounded absolutism in the realm of transcendental spirit” (T. Eagleton, The function of criticism, London, Verso, 1984, p. 43).

“From the writings of the later Coleridge, through to Carlyle, Kingsley, Ruskin, Arnold and others, literature is extricated from the arena of Realpolitik and elevated to a realm where, in the words of one Victorian commentator, ‘all might meet and expatiate in common’” (T. Eagleton, The function of criticism, London, Verso, 1984, pp. 39–40).

“What such a realm will then be unable to withstand is the inruption into it of social and political interests in palpable conflict with its own ‘universal’ rational norms” (T. Eagleton, The function of criticism, London, Verso, 1984, p. 35).

§ 151 | None rates
"Among these methods, none rates higher in importance than schemes for detecting wildfires and putting them out." (Boys' Life, December 1961) "Among the professions represented in Washington probably none rates higher than the statisticians', and perhaps no profession was ever so concentrated in one city." (Teaching statistics at the Department of Agriculture Graduate School in Washington. Biometrics Bulletin, vol. 1, no. 3, June 1945, p. 33.)
§ 152 | Trouves it
§ 153 | Otiose
The structure of reality, as we know, is yazdehan; her nature, however, is otiose. Probably the best way to characterize the fundamentally lazy, absent-minded, uninventive, and inconsistent nature of reality. Reality is truly otiose, hence her gaps, her repetitions, her antiphenomenal plagiaries, her “spooky action at a distance.”

Otium (‘leisure’) is the freedom not so much from other duties as for creative and cultivated activity. It is a byword for a way of life and writing which Cicero (when in writerly mode) and Catullus share and exercise.” [J. Katz, review of S. Culpepper Stroup, Catullus, Cicero and a society of patrons: The generation of the text. TLS, 5 November 2010, p. 30]

§ 154 | Entails ruby do
the seedy traboules in Lyon
§ 155 | Ven
§ 156 | Srai
§ 157 | Minion sexy whore
§ 158 | Subborainizy
§ 159 | Wyoming
§ 160 | Io
Waxing crescent moon, three evenings past first visible crescent; also, crescent phase of Venus.
§ 161 | M
§ 162 | Tulpuyauor
A town on the Port Astri (or Eight Ports) Bay of Wyoming, also known as Port Uluyau (from the so-called “old [ulu] wharf [yau],” supposedly a relic from Subborainizy’s voyages throughout the Arathu Sea, in the new port of Tulpuyauor); New Lexican maps show the town as “Putu Rayolu.”. Also, a traditional Norlian dish of snails, cracked barley, and eleven species of mushrooms, the matrix, some say, of the impossible-to-find Catalo-Ionian dish of paella amb caracols i sept setas.
§ 163 | Nelc pabsl toyvf
§ 164 | Lusterine
§ 165 | Playtoy
§ 166 | Equilibrium
“The equilibrium of her nature, savage and refined, gave her bridled skull a look of compassion.” “There was some derangement in her equilibrium that kept her immune from her own descent” [D. Barnes, Nightwood. New York: Harcourt, Brace & Co., 1937].

“When I went out on the prowl at night I was more frightened than ever; the sex and the spying had sustained a kind of equilibrium, each a cover for the other.” [J. Banville, The untouchable]

“Complicity is fundamental to every reader-author relationship [RA: reader-author; RARE: reader-author relationship; ERARTSOS: every reader-author relationship TSOS], but the oulipian covenant also implies a radically modern equilibrium [ME: modern equilibrium] of readerly freedom and readerly burden.” [D. Levin Becker, Many subtle channels: In praise of potential literature, p. 294] Conjunctivism is fundamental to . . . ?

§ 167 | EFO
Euphenics Forum of Owlstain; Éducation Flousianienne Obligatoire (ou Obligée)(ou de l’Octroi, par Octroi, à l’Octroi)
§ 168 | Orgyoygro
ὄναγρον, ὀνάγρα oleander (Nerium oleander)
§ 169 | Nuskalo ecyi pshr
§ 170 | Promised
A promised review that never materialized: “Dans l’un de nos prochains cahiers, il sera rendu compte du tome de M. Spitmarkx, qui concerne la duplicité d’hippopotame &c., chez les indomptables, les chômeurs, les mystiques, les attelés, et chez les hépatiques d’après les longueurs de la mousson et selon le temps” (Journal des Sçavans, juillet 1825, p. 446). The promised paella amb caracols i sept setas also never materialized, and despite the trips I took to Barkeno just to spite her, I have never been able to locate this dish in any restaurant of la ciutat condal.

"Again the cornucopia poured out its treasure, and promised still more." [Melville, Confidence Man, p. 334] "True, it was just as much as China Aster could possibly do to induce his wife, a careful woman, to sign this bond ; because she had always regarded her promised share in her uncle's estate as an anchor well to windward of the hard times in which China Aster had always been more or less involved, and from which, in her bosom, she never had seen much chance of his freeing himself. [Melville, Confidence Man, pp. 335-336] "Upon this, indignation and abhorrence seemed to work by their excess the effect promised of the balsam." [ibid. p. 120] "in fact, this he believed would prove the foundation of that famous fortune which the angel had promised him." [ibid, p. 333]

§ 171 | Tit
§ 172 | Ysraaln rieg
§ 173 | Neutral bigotry
§ 174 | Unders
§ 175 | Bernouilli
§ 176 | Bantu
[I recently chanced upon Babur Rao's youngest daughter Bantu in a café on rue André del Sarte. She was in the company of that nobody, the much older poetaster, M. S. Strickland. Why she was soliciting mentoring from this old nobodaddy I could not imagine, but when I saw him embrace bubbly Bantu's young firm tan body in both the Appalachian and the Flouzianian senses of the word, and she respond in kind...! However, since M. S. Strickland has published the above in his Rime Argile (Clay Rhymes), it seems that Teresa R’s poignant eulogy was actually ghostwritten! — the hack having gotten the job, apparently, after having hooked up with the Widow Rao’s youngest daughter, Bantu. And clearly, however firmly he embraces the young firm tan body of bubbly Bantu (she cannot be much older than sixteen!), MSS has a rather weak grasp of Flouzianian: the phrase “Sartre est à serre” (the fourth word’s initial sibilant should be lower case), is an allusion to Victor Lucas’s Bell Jar — I know because I recently had lunch with him at the X X cafe, ! And the "mirror self"?! Further evidence that MSS not only does not know his Flouzianian, but does not know his R! he who shaved by feel alone, never with a mirror!]
§ 177 | M
§ 178 | SO
§ 179 | Ani Dybn Yeud Ikky
§ 180 | Dudu
§ 181 | Ktar
§ 182 | Nene
In Egu Belong (Gaubolambe; i.e., la isla Pequeño Andamán), nene is an imperative suffix in Onge. In Hawaii, a nene (Haw. nēnē) is an endemic goose (Branta sandvicensis Vigors, 1833) evolved from a vagrant Tetrastic form. In Barkeno, a nene is a Catalan girlchild. In the swamplands of southern Appalachia and eastern Flouziana, a nene is a Muskogean path or trail (sendero, chemin). In perfidious Albion, the Nene is an Fenlandish river. In Aotearoa, Nene was a rangatira of the Ngāti Hau, a hapū (iwi) of Hokianga. Also, a notional, or noumenal, “gene” (i.e., minimal unit of reproduction and variation in the realm of ideas).
§ 183 | Yin
[I’m as much yin as I am yang.]
§ 184 | Mustig
[Misspelled this word in my brief article reporting the fall of Ada Romer in Agua Prieta Piste; u should not be umlaut.]
§ 185 | T. S. Eridzoi
§ 186 | IN
§ 187 | IS
§ 188 | Dear R
§ 189 | US
§ 190 | Snoyw smudrto
§ 191 | M
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