Clagmore Mentos,

Between two sheets of heavy glass, and lidded eyes, and falling leaves, and tassles. They took the chairs away so we'd have to sit on sand, but then we found some umbrellas and shoved those up our asses and sat that way, which is really a lot more comfortable than I'd been led to believe, once you get used to the poking. The fiends are coming to take away our plants and seeds, but even our unmistakable necks are still shiny.

There's a lot to explore, but I am woefully disorganized. The freezer full of hard-boiled fish (many thanks to the Wedge) is my only completely self-contained unit. But this sort of misalignment has its perks - the ones who came in here earlier looking to take the labels and dishrags couldn't find them. I am not a safe harbor, but the air around my head is breathable.

I witnessed:

A clanging, of sorts, off in the hills. When I arrived there were cleaved pots and pans, as if some secret treaty had been disregarded. In the trees, the crumbling boxes of old cereal were hiding, but a few fell out around my feet. "I mean you no hurt, boxes. I merely came to exhume the clutter of yesters and songs. Can you sing?" I asked them.

But there was no response. Even the cereal boxes now have silenced themselves, or been silenced from outside, and the orbitting germs were not offering sympathy. On my knees, now, I dug into the dirt, but could barely break the surface before encountering the facia of a massive sheet of something imponderable. I stopped there, sweat poring from my nodules, and considered enveloping my fuchsia. I managed to make it back here.

Consider:

__ Eleven Chinese Neighbors
__ Quite Nice Basket
__ Lighthouse has Opening
__ Spaghetti with Owl Sauce
__ Lines were Drawn Lightly
__ All form of word
__ Buttons do not Speak
__ Count Backwards from 1
__ Left Turn, Clyde
__ They Found Me In a Condition
__ Clovers
__ They Found My Friend in a Circle
__ Sending Spoons
__ Frown
__ Until the Measure is Correctly
__ This is a Spice
__ Tend, untend, bent
__ Exhaust and Treacle
__ Herbie Spatula
__ Glad to Lift Heavy
__ Nape Unwarned

Last night the spiders were windowbites, but steadily I came to my aperture. The opening peered inside the favorite things, excused, and left dinner like spilling other days. They wrote that this was what brought me into the nursery, where I screamed and lifted my pastels to paint a pigeon having a picnic in Ludlow. They coughed all over my stencils, and brought a shampoo with no included conditioner. My skin was named Alfred.

Turbulent postulates told many truths but left a lot out in the margin. For instance, where was the rest of the coupon? Who had arranged the artifacts in such a haphazard space? Most importantly, why third, when, clearly, a capsule of cleaning extinguisher was welcome? The days like this count off in lesions.

The days, like this, count off in demerol.

The lake cleared a tree shaped posture, spoke in currents, "Your self is like magic spandex, and collapses to include breasts and wings." In my dreams I command great leaps and boundaries, but in my wake I merely hide beneath a blanket. Existing is just three tenths of the law. Flat animals on the road are decorative but only on loan. Do you concur?

They won't read this, even, even they won't read this even, then, they won't see this, my reach is no longer beyond the front, or side, panel.

Intrinsically Not Walking,

Junt Underbar Sloon
Fir Carry Naster, 23
Yewpaste Cargo 346d0c-cie.29