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The last thing Penelope Suitor wanted to know now was how he was going to go on a long sea journey (referring of course to her long-winded husband). The wind... the dark and dull... the lush and the lavish, harsh oaken waves, the wandering stars, the deep, and all of those other rudiments of the social contract and ocean travel, did not interest her nor, for that matter, did the prospect of spending several weeks in Crete with Professor Tabble poring over all those horny old wretched Grecian stone fragments of the Pleistocene. Her father's fading files and her work here in London where there were what interested her most for all of the time being at this time. And her husband, well her husband was on his latest trip, it was to be said that this his last he had said and, in reading and rereading what he had been reading seen there reading in his his latest long john letters, she had developed triflingly long striding fingertips if only from wandering aimlessly about, albeit relentlessly, across the abrupted yellowness of the frayed pages of his many missives.The heavy brown metal door. Bevelled metal rods. Posts. You name it.

"In so many words I am leaving" she said to herself.

She had a delayed departure, disputed with him then as and now regarding the suggested timed inappropriateness of this, his final voyage. And as she pondered later on on these matters the latter developments of Tabble, and looking odd through the windows of her eyes which were filled with the same eerie prospect of the foggy London streets below. In the little patches of the yellow lamplight below, the ancient cobblestones betraying their wet gleaming surfaces, streamlining streetlights... streetlights, and a passing motor car silently slithering away along the peach stripes with a hushed merciful mournful automotive hum along the dimly lit pathway. And yet as she, as she, yes, as she clung admirably to the memory of that too used and to the main man frame field yielding euphorically to the euphemism as she had addled simply added that she had set the rhyming categories in the place of the retrospective in and adding it all to up in an ambling umbrella, in an inkling, of a jargon time the young lady in the yellowed tunic simply slipped melted awake away swept. Up. The latest little light supper, crumpled crepe papers wrappers and crumbs, bestrewn with upper literary papers politely and placing them so lightly gently in the itinerary palace where she had slept; and tracing them as carefully and as candidly as she could and then kept tapping the pages gently on the table top whereever she would go and then there they were. Kept. The incandescent whining, whirring of the little blue fan.

"Fin de la siecle," she thought. "Matters most of those amassed importances. But no matter. But there it was still. The letter."

"Hm, " she wondered.

She wore a. He wrote she continued...It was during the bartered reconnaisance (Renaissance: Reconstruction period of the old South) that permitted the retailing, retaining of these masters of these items that pertained to these traces. The concept is that all these projected villains claim to contain to these pertinent informations vis a vis theses...but Black Jasper Touchstone new better. Now, turning into the wind, she the veering invertedness of the umbrella taking hold of and a brief struggled with, skirt tightening...gulp as almost gyroscopic in her concerns for a concept not that it matters), a light chemise, a sharp blue denim jacket and faded pink blossom bellbottoms. That was what she was wearing. And the wind seemed interested. Standard corporate dress in these latter days in the ionosphere...balloons.

Now as she had heard of the zero below weather of the deafening roar of a Billy Bob club, (Cairns was swelling this time of year) but...by the rattling and roiling of the bayou underneath and led by the sound deep sea presence of the repressive yet repetitive canyons and sinuous caverns of the graded blue chunks falling glacier like, with shades of purple underwater under where she wore as she, as on the misty blue horizons two sails set, Billy the silhouette, was pushed gently on the sliding window of her evacuated black floor door far beneath. And as a white wintery water crescent smile. Trees in the meadow adorned near the new mourn mown lake a lawn. Forlorn, his long constable fingers now leaving trails of dust in the mud amidst the quickening pace catlike, quilted categories. Flags now waving effortlessly in France. The French gendarme at the turn of the century. Pity the reconstruction of the South did not last that long, the guillotine, the gallstone, she thought. Now waiting motionlessly noting as she passed he had said so that he had nothing he had left (had not left ), and at that (Plankton must have known it then by then) it was safer for her after all, she had been through it all and had been picking a locking and a sliding door, a rubbing sound, herself also getting into the caravan minivan, and as he altered his mental picture approached somewhat and proceeding. And as she drove off.

"...Wondering what she's doin down dere in da crocodile cap," he queried puzzlingly. Her tunic was not to be found in the parlor but by then...the cross-linked cattle catlike orifice. In the blackened window-daffodils as she had stepped, retreating up into a cab.

Cross town, crows downed like a peppered skies, and like a great pepped up gaping red squirrel atop, headlights gleaming- well he notes the nuts, quotes the nuts, and sternly, sadly, sanely contemplating change, and next of kin to be, next the (sum up side down sun coming up on the veranda) large poplars as if I burned berries by what they are so doing publicly popularly called to and fro and as henceforth brilliantly constructed nonsense and anti-force referred to and from a cut above the wind. Incidental Dynamics. You see, in my thesis I referred to the solar system its sun and its sun spots, its solar wind setting in my quest (and then as I opened the window and as I dressed in the black turtleneck I think I see) therefore I think I see striving and striding in the parlor in the light of the vestibule and the bent figure of a benevolent old man, pipe in hand mind you, and a telephone, thinking (light through the veranda window there...) and then the same old question remains in his mind. I see morning, meaning.

"How then comes there to be two layers or three of the same grimy salty old stuff? Cations?, Immune sense data?, Hmm both Churchill and Roosevelt saved by sulphonamides, a German invention, in the nineteen thirties.. The course of History and ...hmm here we have jungle genes", he thought, "I think the concepts of consciousness and subconsciousness are dazzlingly degrading. Actually they are a continuum," his eyes closing, pipe smoking.

"Subconsciousness is a consciousness that you are not supposed not to be conscious of but that which is none the less in the same some sense conscious of itself and therefore a consciousness of and in itself. See how flimsy itself. It goes on now out in a three way tie. The consciousness of itself and I am a third consumer - consciousness of it all converging. Something else what was it. Ah yes In 'I think there fore I am' there is a whole world there and much more than meets the eye then going to DesCartes Ontological proof that a perfect being must have as one of its perfections, necessity (Anselm I believe said it also) as a proof of God. DesCartes is there I believe. Right there in a nutshell"

Since a science proclaimed and said he thought (not very impatiently) of intellectualism so called as he thought later on that day that he and his contemporaries and collaborated as he did so say she did it lovingly, voluntarily, flagrantly. I mean inverse functions, where is the relevance of the calculus. it is in the relevance itself. So to touch God's hand before the end we meet.

"I'm not so very sure but that this is a good idea, " sang Signeur Plankton into the phone in hand and added, "I mean isn't it all better by far to make sense. Common sense dictates...I'm kidding. Of course. In all honesty it could not have been seen that only the One Holy Trinity. The ultimate would take that form if I understand correctly. But I am not sure. The only holy to be joking with you sir to be sure and to be frank with you here. To be thanking you . To be here nearer you who deserve so much sweet and sincere charm as you're doing, you dear wiffling dog, you dear, dear old listener of deserver of this jargon...all Ah but now how could I then go on? Stifled as if I am by the rule of life, the stuff of life. The stiff old staff of life. I know you think I am being jeopardized by the ...being patronizing but I am not. I'll have your job. The world of letters." He hangs up the phone. Dear friend indeed. I see but almost hear it.

Defend. Defend

In Bobbingham. A bottling plant of beers I believe. A bobbling gesticulating rusty old ceiling lamp with a hard coiled cord dangling. In the loop. And then, here it goes again and then there was the night before Christmas I can recall. Copper capers shadows swaying. Soon after now snow flying flowing from the lantern in the window of the tandem canteen fragrantly falling toward the raging river boiling down the water tower town. Here he goes on to the usual recoiling onto himself, recounting, recanting, now and moreover again if from some time to time again and again retiring he should let on say.. The. Time is now not approximatingly (he looks surreptitiously at his stopping watch). Argus Linkletter winked laughingly, grimly and said, "surely, you're not a serious, man". The silver bullet.

He scampers, i.e. scurrying a squirrel-like, across the darkening courtyard, arms akimbo. Moon is up at ten. But by then time next he must across the fidgeting ambuscade, and in the fading fusillade in the gathering sweet data dim, away. I'll get you there by now by then you know, you old Cockney Sweeney or whatever. Crook. And by me getting them then. He. "But how now could that be. Can he... she...he, "he thought it first, thought it then, " for if she had only known by then, then..." Otto thought it through to himself, " And then, as he grimaces. But first this must get through. Pointing to the message. Else..holy how now brown cow." Said he.

Cannonade. Cannonade

Time was I remember. She loved Bob. He goes on to say, the light socket in his wincing eyes. Wistful wet and winded with his tears in his ears. Cold shining wet yellow umber rubber raincoat on him in a pre-Christian Ireland.Omagh. Socks soaked, he sighed. Otto and Bob had met at the cafe safely. Somewhere I think ... somnambulese, he continued, Pickering, Yorkshire, (you know) one rainy night on July 22, '02 at approximately two gravesend God's end save as the Queen sized bed side signed insignia guinea hour past a rumor the allotted time, I'm not sure. From now on end and then and there they went astray on to stay. She was in a good mood a question or two ago of character by then as by now posed by the interrogative set. (Erie Lackawanna) And moreover she stood in the little room moon dim light of an interface of the green light last given at the not-so-fast. Not to be taken so lightly, i.e..impolitely if you may say so by the light of company. I can tell them then see them now and then again literally speaking oft about her so languidly and softly, joyfully. And as if by... as if by recalling what they had just seen they had done so noting nothing better then to do than this that again. I am stopping by the immense data. Specifically. The work for example. Students after all as I've said before. Gated, stepped liars. Killers of Nuns. Be off to you.

Then Otto; again Otto. Dear Otto. There.. and as he approached the Veranda by the moon-set-up-at-ten, in a nearby fishwater pond where were ready waters regularly perambulating jumped by the myriad lights, and are caught up in the tumultuously regathered reeds, Otto, peering through between your greens, them gems of eyes that are changing of the guard the more easily now as at with the moving center caution. And now as he was by far for now, not the best of times, is free for all three to converge, contend. It is better to becoming clearer. Brighter now. He said to himself and this would not be so in the easier early dorm either. No. Let's let the Jet set in some sense sell the hot dogs at the barbecue hoping to.

Bob looked upon her. Her eyes were so breathless. A pity. A situation to look into. And in addition derived from a poorer image of himself. Her teeth were not white so bad after all..

"Perhaps she wouldn't mind that I am older than she and have bad teeth also," he said to himself even as he jotted.She moved off to conduct his business. Drooped. Half a million dollar house. A sham. How to. He gasped. And now this, shot down by the Saratoga Shrink no less. Oh the pity of it all. Must move forward. Descartes again.

Hacking. Spotting scenario. And as in the same time the same room of the same inn, Otto and Bob would have had just to roll up as she strolls in the walk by a yellow moonlight upon her arrival sifting, whistling softly, citing and reciting some of them things to herself deprived. Or just simply repeating the phi sigma delta plasma flow question as she was asked to do, not so very long ago, when a question could bear the repeating of it. The ingrafted words of. Spotting. The Law of Liberty in James: be a doer of the word (make sense of the word). And don't fret. They posed the question. Lights played on. Ah threads of sense.A childhood mildewy ball on the ingrass field. Then and thereafter. I don't understand this. I have to talk to you, Jesus.

Ok so how do we do this? Or is it being done, this talking to. I realize that. But. In the meantime let us. God is aware and thinks things. Thinking up persons. Three only? Seems like there could be more like eddies in the solar surface or something. Why three cause of some infernal equilateral triangle?

The sum the whole question is I blurred I feel. I mean some frankly may think it dull. I do not. Then but then by you...They scamper scurry and stroll and get things done. The purpose is I feel who goes there.