He's crammed inside a clay box for baking. Furnace seven releases an escape of molten iron. Running heads for endnotes. Spatters of hot glass on every shoe. Satellite braille. One we never found. I look at the ground where lead had run, cast molten in dug channels. I compile a list. Current words are discarded and are replaced by terms of abuse. Curse and praise are combined to form an indissoluble whole. Two-Face begins to emerge. I undertake to get into their camp through the midst of their guards and of their watch.
Simply a manual for encipherment. Artifice and humour. One winged. You had time and opportunity and would not. Regret. A nerve ring, severing defects. Inventory traces. Truces of soil and a disorder of things. Grieve ore. Put simply, one another. The Exes are ripping off banks to pay for their endless summer. Moving transversally across the tongue, forming a short-circuit. I think it's going to be The Three P's before sex tomorrow : animals with uncleft hooves, and the principle passions. You might draw up a list itemizing the crimes, and to the right, the appropriate number of lashes. He pours all the sap into templates, black glassy membranes. A narrative without a code, a kind of radiation entering into the world, regardless of pronounceability or meaningfulness. A pricky creation, she was, you know, one of a forest of signals, a dream of rood : gallows canal and manmaker. Something which he called 'solid lace'. Not here, but having substance, with the merest possibility of imitation. We shall hold back from any decision about this.
Vertiginous possibilities of discovery. Day of dog star rising. For the time being these
sources are unimportant. He's been recognised. He'd been working on the problem of making
measurements. There's an underlying coherence to his actions :
1) spore radicals.
2) canal root politics (you don't need to see it, vision is highly overrated, hearing too).
3) Evidence of midline crossings. Mutants have recently been identified in other species : the provident ant, the artisan, the necromancer.
We haven't the least idea how any of this could have be used as a motor or register. This leaves only the sector T-137 melancholics to account for.
This change was brought about through the influence. There are also ray centres. The north
pole is at the top. It looks like a map charting a marginal interest in debt, divided and
dispersed. Object words and others. Nitric syntax. The tissue forms black bubbles. Back then
scientists burnt blood, a form of speech therapy. Books fell foul of the embalming air, and
the species, gospel side up, resembled a compote of artist, sailor and bear, like the good
primitives that we were. Inevitable death came by football, part of a baroque plot. He
discusses explicitly the subdivisions of stones. Until.
A hypertext message : YOU'VE WON HIS TRUST. Air raid alert sounds. Of course he was only a messenger and didn't know the contents of the letters he carried. These are difficulties the man from the country has not expected.
Put it this way, after a couple of months, we took the calendar down.
A nation of fays. And among them is a tribe which knows how to embalm in ice. That night was pretty bad, no sleep from three o'clock, therefore somewhat plaintive in the morning. But the boots have lost their painful places. Legs in order. Do not ask for change.
Fantastic temping. Divination by used gusset. Salt Rorschach. It was like a giant food
blender. History matters here. It churned and roiled in indecision. It may present
interesting psychological issues.
I consider you.
He had to turn. The roaring behind him had become too intolerable not to face. Still boundlessly in need of sleep, his body aching all over from having been in such an uncomfortable position, he could for a long time not bring himself to stand up. Faction talks bode well. Several weeks before the first cases of infection were reported a tall gangling man in an illfitting frockcoat and beaver hat arrived at the dock. There seems some doom over this ship. When no one met him he made his way alone to what he perceived was the centre of everything. Icy and out-keen, he walks on until he's felled by a mighty blow.
That's life on earth for you. The Department of the Insane Poor. And the cellularists – Cell
riots – Prison riots – An insurrection. My teeth fall out. They're not even rotten. White and
clustered. Good writing teeth. The track of a bite. Now here, bolted to time. Whence
the exotic taste, the passion for journeys. Unwanted visitants come: Call me Ishmael,
and so forth. And this is also like a weaving loom, where the different threads must be kept
apart. But we all have to bear up against the same thing sooner or later, the image of the
monster vomited by nature, an insult on his lips. Always crashing in the same car, in that
personalized style that is all his own. Always the lure of magnificence. The unwanted. But
we remain sanguine.
An insect settles on the surface tension. It doesn't break. It nearly does but it doesn't. Acid yellow of light particles. I jump from the crossbeams. I realised then he was one with us. Where have you been. Where are you going. Out. Morass of nerves. The dry salvages. Houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended. Are removed. What else? His eyes get blurred with the manuscript. End.
Persuasive argument has been put forward to demonstrate that this pictorial cycle, like the Spanish cycle, may derive from a very ancient prototype. Recent studies have shown that this view does not hold. Babbled utterances seem to have no meaning. Though some may resemble the words of later speech. For instance, he drew attention to the use of i-type vowels to express nearness (this) and a- or u-type vowels to express farness ('that/you').
The sameness thing was numbing. We looked at the slides. Couldn't figure them out. Not a thing. Looks like virus. Or a map. Another planet. A star system. A motorway network. Infrastructure. Nightmare technology of cripple controls. Veinous canals. Scribble with henna lifelines. Runways and tracer. Out from the naz.
On the same day two of them were making their way toward a village sixty furlongs away. And they were talking with each other about all these things that had occurred.
He let them have the man they had been asking for who was in prison for rioting and murder.
His tomb betrays no artistic pretensions or desire to be conspicuous. He was an eye witness
of the disaster. In this same year he recorded :
Mistress Mary on the Bankside is for erecting a figure. What do you call her.
A flyer flies until earthed flat by a passing torso. Announcing.
Lectures in Philosophical, Mathematical, Optical, Magnetical, Electrical, Physical, Chemical, Pneumatic, Hydraulic, Hydrostatic, Styangraphic, Palenchic, and Caprimantic Art.
Groups of laymen have been living in quasi-monastic communities, holding all property in
common. Sometimes with sanction. Taunting the successors. Mercy I.
I think that covers all the places where he's most likely to turn up. Usually he keeps watch from a little way off. He seems to be obsessed with finding out what we're up to.
Through the alleys after girls. Every nation. Circumstantial details are necessary to interpretation. Such transparent simplicity. The pale usher – threadbare in coat, heart, body and brain. I see him now. We're not even going to count accuracy for you. Let's try talking about something you know about. In the lab were cases and jars with mice suffocating inside them. It felt like that time on the moon. Not ours. This change was brought about through the influence. There are also ray centres. The north pole is at the top. Am adding transitions to a side show.
After the great rain a task force was organized to reconstruct the cemetery. We're on site. Hardhat zone. Ah am one luckless bastard. God knows. No Spitting. No Smoking. No Petting. No Diving. No Jokes. Psi neurones. No Fun. Ten ways to win, ten ways to lose, ten ways to stay put. Strap up and avoid. Rotate and push closed. Danger. Do not lean out. Void behind door.
You've got no place to go.
No. No. No. No. No. No. No.
A word count.
Atmosphere of worry and apprehension. Twitching suits, Bull Class enviable. Mine's to go. There was to be something of the ritual about their execution. The news of their deaths was received with rejoicing. Chances are we'll all be on the guess list now. It's time for a fast ride in a sealed train. Across a continent, ever before them. One step ahead. Beyond change in atmosphere circulation. There's even a fucking goose shortage down there. I stand in pause where I shall first begin. Lay your ear close to the ground and listen if you can hear the tread of travellers. Such a globe : Chummy firemen. Burning chimneys. Gentle factory stacks. Training rituals. A barren, grey-white expanse surrounded by a high cement wall. How comforting this is. Pallets and tracks. Skat! Skat! Skat!
I often take on freelance slayings, on a Need-To-Know basis. Classified facts within
visions of channel crossing : the coals under the ashes between two dead forests.
But it seems possible to go farther than this. Not England. Not France . . . THE CHINA MISSION! Under footfall sphagnum moss. Good for wound dressings. We're living in peat. Bogmen all. Closer examination showed that the dead man had been deposited from a light aircraft. Danger is part of the friction of war. That is why I have dealt with it here. Suddenly, away on our left I saw a faint flickering blue flame. The driver saw it at the same moment. He went Rapidly to where the blue flames rose. When viewed from outside I could see the passion which binds them together. Spittlesouled. It didn't seem to illumine the place around it – A long Linear crack of flame – Rising columns – Circles of mephitic blue fire. Burning neocathar, archcathar. These wicker giants. The need-fire. Likeliest moment of transmutation. Surprising the amount of blood, across the ground in the square.
First you go hot then you go cold. Plop of a canal rat. Remnants could be fed to persistent colonies. Revulsion swallowed. Signs go up everywhere in red paint.
– Sango The Haemophiliac – Bleeds At Will For The Crowd –
The Man With Three Stomachs)
What we really need is a history of mountebanks and charlatans. Conception exutero. Ectopic. A movable feast, wandering wombs. Representations of midwives and male surgeons at work in the birth chamber. Below, the name of the operation. Wandering rocks. Scylla and Charybdis. She was born with three rows of teeth. This tree is my life, centred for antimage. She threw herself off it into another sea. The waves roared dreadfully. There was a sorcerer out there today. A human body is another such colony. Body in a body. Wicca man. He's wandered the screes of the world. He collects. Up to the ankles he wields a sharpened shinbone.
Searching for the economy ratio one of them struck our friend like a thunderbolt (as said, he
walks on until he's felled by a mighty blow). Today I feel like Mantegna's Sebastian.
Stripped, tarred and feathered, tied to a tree and shot full of arrows while feral cats
pace at my feet. Premature burial had been my preferred option but I lost the flip of the
coin. It's never too soon to start anoxia.
The cracked looking-glass of the servant being pretty universal now, we illustrated the break-even point. The quick touch. Crackling background radiation charts, gauge-lines thrashing like a diamondbacked rattle snake. These are my all coordinates. Must finish before I finish. Come time. It was hard to touch firm ground in the overheated atmosphere of reportage in that era. But on the face of it, the confessions give a fragment of evidence for the endura. Land was forfeited. Education just abolished itself, the visible part of the crisis. One can read there this avowal of a strange pessimism. No room for flattery. In neutronium night : Treadsmart.
Were you thinking of crossing the frontier into Belgium?
You weren't thinking of crossing the frontier into Belgium?
Everyone tries to climb onto the recently deceased man's roof.