—Untitled dialectic, book III, edition XX-AA-05

—Face Recognition—
The vague was facing the periphery, focusing process on nodal autonomy. Root became known. Indication led to silence. The auto-psy formed. Interiority pulsed known time staid.
The biologist was rapidly typing, focal to the autoknown; the root of feeling conformed this to an object-state, where simple indication led to its paging. "Doctor..."
[Somewhere in the  flare's arc.]
"Somewhere," voiced in ring. Acuity clarified chi, phosphenes a wellspring on his laterality. The aphor woke the point-perfect.
“I see an egg.”
“I do not.”
"Ne."
The door was half shut. As it closed, dark cut  cerulean light beyond the threshold. Phosphenes pointed on the walls. Squares of light spun up through his body, onto your flesh, toled by our mind. In the heart, blood, visceral black-pink, shifting gradient towards the gray, “I am just so,” a forming shell. "Want." Projected light through film. A light shone through flesh. A terminal flux. I fell in right as I visualized my behavior, the force controlling the body of self. She drifted into sleep.
It tried to be. The habitant drew. Her solution for the left termed complete. “I am one.” I copied complex.
[Radio noise.]
The kill signal directive was programmed by clandestine operators. “Terminating operation.” The scope focused the meridian.
“You are slipping deeper, now; deep down into a heavy sleep." 
The future is known in the still, far sights in psynotic space, on a death-drive to the apocalypse by animate caricatures' syereotypes.
"Breathe!"
A string constricts his neck. Waterway leads to natus. He stared at the term. “I know.” Feeling obfuscated.
[Fuchsia lens.]
The blood-rush took hold his body, euphoria tranquilizing his back, relaxing the muscles of the jaw, and pulsating twice his tongue. He swallowed his saliva. The aftermath of color on gray changes his psychotogenized perimeter. Accord rings in the eye, his turning face blank white to reflective chroma. The wet glass environs diamondized and shells his skin.
Peaks of mountains call to him in the flow of the Earth's sphere, enveloping ether controlling his mind. The clouds radiate the mirror of his mass, penetrating flesh, locking his morphic resonance en spire. What seemed like an hour took a day. The plane was infinite. muted eyes obfuscated the shadows.
“I can see you.”
A matrix of weighted terms lets in its wake. A whirlwind against an inverted corner blowing leaves spirally trains sound. Voices echo noise and fall apart, counterpoint to shadows. I feel The remark saying staying vacant provides terminal. I feel my skin. I am a spirit body inhabits flashing the reason, logic
complicationhigh definite invert push
 gray Grace into the edge of heart.
the silence.  cold. tracer gold train. mind pressure eyes:
“2…” “1…” “0…”
 confinement crossed my mind. time-mapped incidence in legendized actuariality.
shadow of glass. conscience in my heart.
“Choice…”

—Iron—
Covert mind. yellow. cyanide
escape your problems. exist. Pink solution. shadow cast. It is ice. right. Error. last children. death cast. over. lost.
sonic. vibrates. start.
out east. steel hand. water Time.
system witness breaking. bones, blood. hemisphere. opposites
Haze. grass moving. glass soil, face projection. urges. collision. split. The sand. back of my hand. manufactured time-map inborn.
“I know Nothing.”
streaming. burning. fear.
playback, falling side.
triggers memory. look at the window that separates us. saws at nothing.
how to say “I’ve been triggered.”
tic dimension.
Chrona. loyal command alter. chance through mind pane. nerves different times. alter body sun. carrier.
Blank hum
buzz
dirty tee shirt.
dance court. Damaged clothes. my Father in jail
The icon. state of being to a plane.  self-same to its antic. The fate of wellness in germ, stately hazarding the self in the intrinsic malunity of comex. The regular people state intervals and arrays. Someone else states conjunction. Something is digging into the skin on my upper back. Something is sharp in my toes. I flip to face the ground and focus on not reacting physically to the pain. It sucks my soul, dying, rising out of me into the material, focusing on the realm. “So much has passed.”
”So much goes on.”
Rounding the corner of the hardwood headboard. The lathe turning.
“I hear her voice,
calling to me,
mauling my soul in flesh,
carrying me to the right.
I see now.”
The hardskinned elf glared,
and in my passivity
I guessed too soon and
fell into the hands
of the face of time,
lamely crying a foreign voice,
namely finding choice
without aim.
I stared at her. Always to welcome her into my heart, my head twitches.
“The fumes were finally getting to me.”

—Two Figures of Shadow—
The arc combed out of my skin. I was jolted awake by the pain of a pushpin in my arm that was a dream. Very stern was the cause of these images so that the abreaction was given to light as a parity.
“I am just.”
…
“That’s you?”
”Probably in a different time.”
“I am a defiled member of Christ’s body.”
“Thinking like that is not good. You’re worrying.”
A bridge extended over the passing water. A left turn. The absent standards of vacant loss, mixing with the emotions written on the face. The imperative is short right.
“That’s exactly what a smart boss isn’t like them.”
“I wish I wasn’t like them, but I am.” “I am spiraling into stasis.”
A vague had terned to complete. The falling away of the leaves. The state was satisfied. Equilibrium.

—Lie/Real—
The spell rolled off my back. The line hit even en ad-sum. “Some people say the relic belongs in the trash. Others think a glass case, or a praxis of theological theory. Others, named and disembodied, prefer it done. What is your decision?”
I fell down the stairs. My scalp had two deep puncture wounds. I could not think of where I was or who I am. Time has passed at rate.
A combustion engine. I am a doll. The truck is a toy. I am falling into entrainment pattern. The game turned up.
“I love you.”
The words penetrated my skin as light forms. Tuesdays passed. A green bucket of chemical blue water. “Find a potion now.”
Some people think the bar was overhead. Others prophesized the combustion of heat, the implied flatness enough dimensionality to conform the flesh. The disserting mechanism was inside her head, floating, spinning in chem to the accuract of the state. My body reached an equilibrium with my spirit, disserting awfully the wrong.
“I am happy to teach you the skills. Make lists.”
I thought. 1, the accuracy of fish. 2, digress to cc.
The rest of the term came slowly, feeding upon my flesh vacantly, stating the nextness I lost in tongue.
Mass murder. The subjecthood of the dove. The evenness of the state.
“Well, needless to say, he has absolute problems.”
“Pins and needles.”
“I just jumped about 1600 meters.”
“Nazi.”
Beep-beep-beep.
“I meant to write.”
The cascading sums were approaching one. “Target one, blacked out. Two, on target.” “Release.”
The dog dropped the paper from its mouth. The middle aged man, Ray, put up the footstool on his recliner and looked at the headline. It morphed into a charactorial geometry. His right eye blinked.
The mechanic encouraged me. I paged through his phone book. Latin. The puree of the yellow pages fell on my finger. Cold numbers relayed through my mind, tipping me into eternity. Eternal-stern-positive positary notions crossed my notic graph. “Come again.”
I fell into a notebook. “Come into comparison.” Partisan lackeys stomped my mind. I cleaned it by refresh. Somewhere, again.
“Cohosting the next Variety Live!”
“A book deal.”
Sonnets crossed my visive space. The massive blades circling down from the ceiling, abstracting in their targets to dilate into the next, warmed, changing into the next superfocal local. A change avoids the staticity of the ignore. Very changed space. The termination of line.
A basic premise of thought. The languoring of the retracted. The diction of the finite. The layering systems of the indefinite. The prescient lock rained internally the terning condominium of ice.
Second place falls into the muck. The term prayer is annihilated and reforms as if to a rock. A gold plate gards our view.
“Meet sought security.”
“I can. It is plain.”
“Plain.”
“Against the shore.”
“A play of angels.”
Many cycles rained through the storm. Many playbills were fallen from flames, second nosis. A woman is dead tonight. “Dead?” I swore by the book. “If I could have made this terrain, I could have made it out.” The spirals were complicated to circulate. “Only part of it explodes.”
Vague evermore. The indeterminancy of the lost socket parameterizing the lock. An internal mechanism. Setting sun. The tide.
The cave stayed path for miles, sometimes too narrow to compromise. Sending arrows into his heart shone correct direction. It told him where to go unknown to him.
“I fell into the sky.”
The next moments changed our word for weather. The nextness was loosely organized. Sum one is achieved. The next term is zetamorph. The next form is not a plane. The illness is cured. The awesome plane of the regular.
“Not of weakness, but of strength.”
The moment the one pane sparked to display the currency, slowing down into the state of spire. The inside of the clock, a winning position.
Moments passed, and comfortable lazes. My back and ribs hurt. [Paging through wallet.] The game started. In the spring the force is interal. Again I passed toward death. Again I pathed through the designer object.
The death-object fell before them. Grating teeth on the edge if the apocalypse staging memorandum and game-sum state.
“Misery, the blank form of accolade.”
I cried up my desk.
I stilly faded into the moment.
“Come into my heart.”
I am hearing this in the lower real of my being.
Into the lower relatives in my realm….
Your facial gestures are freed without. An awesome vista staring silently. “The lightest touch, absolutely.” “It hurts.”
“Applying too much pressure. Very little pressure.”
A maze rose from the walls with ivy and sky.
I walk into my closet, asleep. Seven seven seven.

—A Text Condition—
Term rates analog-spectrous. The next finite term releases noun ton. Seven seconds pass. The later sum a second. Go it down.
“Clean dry.”
“Clear-dry.”
“We have instant reflections,” stated.
A dove flutters closed glass bees so slowly.
A wasp lands on my cheek. I remain in tow.
Many others came out, lending itself to caress, “right down to the water.”
“It looks like silk.”
“Pay attention to” the angular.
A little round amount.
“Anything at all.”
The proof “better than yours.”
The well wrote around them. The game Sky was playing in the lower atmosphere.
The game was playing in the upper atmosphere, lying in wait. The next cycle began implied in her smile, weighing part in to sum against granularity.
The singular instance of time let itself be known to the subject.
A vase cracked on the shelf. Years passed. Weed vines grew up through the house and through the vase. The rain crept and flowed the walls and ceilings. Walls cracked wide. Some slipped through them, some worked straight. Some healed in the afternoon, falling through the set of grace, seeking answers, sneaking on the inside, around noon, grating through the neighbor’s trash at noon, vaguely concerning the grammar of ampersand. Not embarrassingly yet. It hits me as a dissociated sheen of telegram. A cartoon that is a word. The element of meaning subverses inward to the cross, letting in the straight, on a rod of dust, making strait across the cliff-hang, emerging in through traffic, as if a mercenary. Martial law requires the complete translation of the body.
The core resembled an unknown devastation, flying past within the core of membrane, seeking to the door of crimination. The membrane sat, absorbing knowledge and entry to the realm.
I went down, but I am still here. I sent sum to the correct place, conforming the law to out of order service. Somewhere below lacked the breath of heart. It bit my leg. A shark. A star, a start. It came into me like effort, effacing the sum into light.
A contermed will creates the backdrop of set. The grape cloth came around my feet, wrapping like a film. A snake seemed, motioning around the carpet, merging into one. A start, a spark, seen through the glass of a window. Lasers cut my scalp in tune. Ethex pertained my millennium. A star, a spark, a control. A parametrization dragged down by the subcontinental, basing itself in the evermore, conterming the jest of pliance. “Some people.” Some come around me on the corner. Something arose in my soul. “Valued losers.”
I thought.
The rest of the term hit me like a bus. The normal forth what is inside the cardinal. Against the grain, I go, sorting and starting, and hit like the absence of a bus. Relative auterm vacantized the letters of my game, basing law in the romate functor of the icon.
[Tree icon] made in the side of Alice, terming away the awful neck of disobedience, vacantizing the sum of neck.
The aftermare struck a tone, giving givance to the precollective cost, negotiating the average denial in dequest to the normal way of net. Some storm, some betray the silence, evertermal in the locomotive of reason.
Set based on theral agate mischief in the lawyer dorm of retrogressive nation, natal to the summons of people.
“Let me know.”
 An old choice does not update the known. Sometimes I’m let into the apparatus of the general notion of time, setting in the neck of destiny, denial, focalstorming on the recharged focus of loss, combining to the reletomy of nar, leaving to state stasis into the falling som of net. Some say it is a diatribe, letting known the abforcement of state, coming down to the randomized shot.
“A lech.” I combed my hair. I had a snack. Some staring into the hair’s net mote, coming into being is an ultimate step to the north.
The combination of dissensed fear reaching the hard wooden groves started up my leg. My foot was black as the trunk of a tree, floating in the midst of mass. I found my image had changed in feeling, letting itself known on the error of submit, stashing bundles of paper in old rings. Something in me chimed and let go the torrent of mass, spilling into my shoulders and down my viscera, up my head. The creeping vines are not vines up my leg. All was darkness except my sense of self, falling now down to the base. Something in me chimed and let up around my head, keeping balance. I let go of form and rose to the surface.
[A scream.]
The door hit the stylus in his hand, jarring it out into the hall. His footsteps were pronounced on the marble floor. He is sitting now, staring at the stylus on the marble floor. He begins writing in his eyes, holding the spell-in-script in his mind. The lightness formed to him on his own. He was no longer looking at the stylus on the floor, but his eyes were locked onto it, inducing into a trance in hypnosis, his focus on the ribbons coursing around him. He released the focus of his mind and moved a set of steps, knocking a black wooden door. It groaned open. He placed a present over the threshold and stepped back so it closed.
Another way. Back around the patio. A gun was below the metal gridwork of a table. The umbrella was in the sky, blocking out the sun. Cut forth. The back door with a screen and metalworks.
Backing into a cutting apparatus, carving into his skin numbers.
Something sharp entered my ear and bonded somewhere that felt visually similar to the ear canal, lacking the placement in the trace of the exact flesh.
“Shame on you!” The obese black woman pronounced through the obscuration of fat around her face. She tripped and fell on her crown. Upside down, now right side up. Scaling along the scaffolding, tearing paper into 1000 pieces, letting alone the facade of the along, tearing hazardly the open net of obfuscation, taring the scales of neck, scale and heroin pushing the death-ember of allotment the corsair mirror unraveling along its fold. “Kids sing and understand… symbols.”
The necessary polarization of the wind against over and under his body.
Paranoid half-truths echo the gait of a mouse. Stealing along the path of the folded fortune teller, coming to terms with the abstract. A sentimentality overshadowed the long guns of the state, echoing in the head thousands of miles from the put shot.
“Thank you for your report.”
Thank you for the essential matter of being.
[Legs dangling from a ferris wheel.]
Coughing on water. Shaving the wood to balance a spoon. My hands start shaking. Then my arms, then my chest. I broke a sweat as my legs and hips and head begin oscillating forward and back. A pain lands on my soul. I come to.
Smelling salt over my left shoulder, lying on the ground. The ropes and square ring began to vibrate, pulsating, black, slowly.
“Bryan Rhodes.”
The non-sequitur failed in slow. I felt the foreign regressive dissociative blush and the heat in his cheeks. I stood over him. “They have been missing since 1942.”
[A photographer.]
Staring at the watercolor, blinking as if to capture it in mind. His preparation suddenly becomes the next.
[A glass window]
Ping… ping… ring. The target was locked on the last century.
Ring… wrong… wrong. Something breaks in my head. I fell internally into my base. The ringing on my flesh became intense, then beyond dead I fell into a flat, the landforms beyond me mapped in yellow sheen.
Probable recision entered the viewstream of corpse. The lacking fair-law stole the scene from the verted. The quicksilver spilled from the thermometer. The thermostat set at 90º. She began sweating. Sweat spilled beyond the floor, down the cracks in the floorboards, dripping down onto the neighbor. Amber glistened in the intense changing sun. A system.
A microphone on a bug. The walls pulsated, sending shockwaves cosmic in the ether. The lending tree bowed down and stemmed into her spine. She sat stilly, checking her spine for errors chillingly between each vertebrae. She looked in the mirror and seeped through the floor, meshing with the cracks. “Unreasonable.” Wired to the computer behind her, glistening in a morphia, she played Handel over in her mind. “Unspeakable.”
The weird crept down the wall.
“It was helpful.”
The chimpanzee is the lock.
“Tarantula.”
The chimpanzee is in the lock. “I believe you mean ‘ape’.”
The internated subdermal scoposcy of latent reign suggest a medium of dis-posal. Correlated is the subtext of Me, transisting with the fortitude of the ace-spare.
“We like to see this.”
“Please be my braces.”
I am in auto-time. Submissal for the gate is requested. Combinatrics suggest the ulteriority of passage, a path-way into the mind of consciousness.
“Please go to rest now.”
Pause.
The latent risk to materiality opposed to god-consciousness is the affair of the other. Absolute submissal to the truth is necessary for the body to become a reading. Staying on course is the relegate to the mistermed original realm, the nodal focus of correct interiority on the external laterality of the body. Speculation in time is a monatic stairway to the exegesic past.
[Stone wall.]
The segmented body protruded through the slimy crack dripping down into the well. The offspring of a millennia. The controlling aspect of gesture. 10 minutes alone. The voice drawling sharp on the metal segments of a bridge construction.
Feelers reach out. Sore feelings in the legs. Severe drought. The control relented. This access developed inter an explosed art. The gesture of the cored rectangle. Setting in the sun. Changed everything.
Reeling in the offshoots of geometry.
“Voices and extreme states.”
“The pacifier of the all.”
F-22s swooped just overhead. Real terms set in the irony of the exter.
“Espresso?”
He scooped some ice cream and handed her a cone. She dropped it on her pastel dress.
“He is man N.”
Incept the cote of Jackson. Invex the code of mind. Simple, beyond the scope of event, laying into the features of rest, staring, swaying. I look into the eyes of a snake, blazing in the pit of erected buildings caught fire.
I slay the laughter of fiends in the sychron of mind, the warzone overrun by trails, seething on the tooth of seizure, laying in the overgrown garden of my mother.
“Come back to me. Come see.” The dust biting like nails in the wind, pockmarked by authoritization of law. “I am coming.” The late horizon sealed forward. The tired eyes falling asleep.
The aftermath of the explosion yields often to many people. The tag on his tee shirt irritated him slightly. Major ways are closed.
“Not guilty.”
I came to the focus of my sensed ary nine seconds out.
“No errors?”
“Clean.”
We sat dormantly by the side of the street upon the curb. Real danger presented its gift, a locomotive deviation of 10 clicks to the right. I sat and held my peace. Younger versions of my self were lining in raid formal positions. The gutter began to crack and there was a rift in the Earth. All of the people looked on through arithmatic.
“I’m colored.” The pale, sallow figure clicked a knife against the bars. Looking in, he blew into my soul.
“Solve.”
The enchanted waitress brought two cups of ice water to the table. Suddenly we were back on the curb with a gallon bucket of hot tar.
“What is your name again?”
“You.”
I began painting the square. The prefective matriculation honed in on the correct clue, a vision of sight and mind, eyes closed.
I began to “lose it,” flailing my arms. I thought I looked like a bird.
The little people showed themselves to my altar.
The visive concern lay in waiting for the struggle, juggling left and right as its simplest form.
The urchin rose to the submarine windows, its tentacle revision. The art of the set let known the autonomy of creation, letting known “we’re not in this alone.”
“Solve.” I connected A, B, and C, sequentially.
Some came out of the cracks, letting known the low frequency negative energy, letting alone the hog of the feast, with mouthen apple. Applying a pink super-wash to the painting. Let it be known the autonomy of state. “I was hit by a truck,” they note to the dream. I fell through to the trough. It hit me like a floor of coins, solid as the cracks in concrete. It looked at me, simply. I put it down. The conch stayed on the table. I woke up.
[Beeping alarm reads 7:30.]
The hand of cards dropped to the floor. The fireplace began to articulate in guttural tones and high-pitched frequencies. It stated its act in flames, spreading to the drapes, melting the paintings. We sit in armchairs, smoking pipes as we don’t look at the flames engulfing the study. Enslaved by autonomy we are anchored into patterns.
“Slapstick is so.” “They are gaining on us.” I let slip my hand on my thigh and fell forward into dark. My shadow came, absorbed into my lower back. It came to me then. The breached notion regulated the flames that kissed my forehead, enclosing thoughts that were incorrect to the flow of time. The hyperfocus careened on the zenith, the pinnacle stabbing for availability. I was mesmerized and do not recall my tasks, limited by suggestion. The entangled hallucinations formed a knot.
“I don’t know where I am.”
The terror caused tremors in my passive face, carried forth illogical membranes of stereotypic jargon embraced by matters of subdacit terror. Many others claimed text to the unity of sedition, bleeding ink through the face of death, hypnotised by the autenomic of creation.
“A great deal more.”
The spanning horizon lept over my feet. Granular strains on the outlook of mortality mortified my way into the beach, shivering from all and nothing. More than that came from the sky, iterating itself on the mode of being in nightmare. I cringed at the notion. Nothingness encircled my way of being crosswise into the entourage of nevermore. I strained my eyes.
“You can’t speak.”
My psyche turned dark, the everstated fatigue setting into my system.
The whole death,
letting in light
from the outside,
scanning for characters
of Miracle Forest.
“Grow like an official
playing on the words like steel bars.
“Deep down…”
“It is a story, deeper down now. Fall from 100 to 0. Down, down, down, now. You will come to resist the patience of your heart, coming round to sphere, eating away at the tree leaves and bark, tasting the fresh palette of taste. …"
“Electro convulsive therapy…”.
“Something more fluid.”
“That’s registration.”
“I meant to … do that.”
Caem is to delivered.
The mossy brook spanned hundreds of feet in its bight. A thousand mushroom clouds tear shockwaves across the north-east. “Give in alone.”
“I am cross. I feel that way.”
A separate function appeared in the nose. Two glands developed. “Repressing stench.” ”Gold.” Something hopped up to the porch. They had features. The 0-boat had listed in the woof of the nest. The AI survived.
The mesh overtook the Earth. A large part roamed free, happening to the subverse world, holding realism in its set.
A mirror of her form carried spacedust, and she saw the disease profoundly altering it. “I was even going to ask about this.”
[Direct-blend.]
Habit forming. Brand the exoplan coldly in turn. Some came away from us. Time slipped away from us. “The doer speaking of a ghost.” “The viewer seeking of a host.” This is coming against us. A board. A humidity. The human. Formal rather tea. The modal gates of hell. The honest war of sum. The fewer seek the notion of clarity, blossoming from the base of the sitter.
The things are set, waiting in trade for the almanac. “Tree fruits.”, again missing the paint. A lack in the heart against blustery winds, seeking clarity in the heavens and the earth. Some betray in havoc, salvation, living in the eminence, pro-merging with authority.
The error made habit responds. It tears through the nextness of reality, forming kicks and turbulence as the arrow of times I ride. Seven sets and seven dearth more. The lonely sting of the bee. The bending water condensed like jewelry. High. The atmosphere that is perceived in sight. The ultimatum of a friend. Do not break any rules. See it in its eye. The spanning mass bumped in to my teeth. “Cheek,” smoldering on the horizon. “What I mean.”
-A trench.
-A stretcher.
“I knew it. Come here.”
”Come here!”
“The spherous object.”
“Objective spheres reign autonomic,
Laying the cross upon the altar.”
“I am here.”
“I am in your eyes.”
“What’s going on today?”
“That’s what I was doing earlier.”
“A wrong decision trunc.”
Basically from the else, basing onto the claims of ontology, eschaton, and Main:
Some days, we come around here, dead elbows in brace.
The other way is down. Randomnity governs the angle of dissent, loitering in the way of aftermath, knowing the secrets of the lost air of thought, yielding secretly upon the ase of b.
The symposium of Nor left the gate intact, running like water (ocean water). The big bang of rockets in the sky, explosive to the knowledge of one. The luxurious send of control takes two, setting down a determined set of stasis. The ultimatum of form does not correct the relay of penance, the pinnacle zenith of “Come.”
The pain between the curses; The relic between the past. It’s a cold regard for commitment, folding scoldingly along the fortune of cosmology, letting known alone the sequence of authenticity reeking of paranormal failings. The second autonomous modal figure seizes the real, combinatric authoriously banging two pieces of metal, foreclosing violence lettingly.
Exterm nodal-focal remarks absorbed by the skull anholic to the membrane of flesh, regarding the autonomy of the state, begging for the interchange of love, scalping the remarks like way, emblazoned on the face of nothingness, trying to be good.
“A heart.”
A leg swings over the other, coffee dripping in audinosis, retracting from sum A.
Blatant disregard for the fact, overturning my commodity, relegating factorization to a holding hand, simply and thoroughly regarding the cusp as uncertain, the mask of regard matriculating down the subject as water, coursing invariants as the architecture of hold, reasoning with the loss in the common verb of Satan.
A ribbon moves with the wind down the winding clock ticking, reverberating the subjunct of the arrow to matic humation.
”I am here.”
“I am scolded, searching for the arrows of heart.”
[Beating.]
“I regard with casual gesture the furlough on time, sitting forth as an ignored detail.” A short break. The event-happening, terror on the lids of the effervescent, the seeming mores of normal society, guided into collusion upon anger, setting like an ill atmosphere on the flesh.
Severed secondarality confines the witness to the eternal begging repersive allusions to the unknown respect. A gate tears at the flesh. A relentless “has” to the formal way of the menendary. Moments slip through the hands like sand, paying virtue to the everanimate conduction of space and time, conforming to the registration of the underclass, lynchmeat to the oncoming way, sparing nothing at the cross of everything, selling short the ray of class.
A frugal setting. An old wooden chair in a room. The resemblance of norm restationing itself in the mental severance of check. The mantle sat adorned with pine, selecting salt from the spices.
The idiosyncratic rush was the corner of the eye, gating my position in the subtext of reality, leaning into the railing of the overpass.
“Someone is among us,” relaying the quail’s message-sound in the falsest order, combatting the ills of feeling with the jesteur of court. “There is something inside of me.” It is somewhere lost, keeping the bridge between real and the mundane. Soft vulgarities reap our lips in forced correction.
“Someone is looking in on us.”
“I’ve heard worse.”
The manic control of the ideation completes the task in force of form. The compartment is questioned. The force seemed to blend the correct. I was not sure where I stood, may given the law of substance. Terroristic reflections miss the points in memory. “Sometimes I see the colors. Sometimes I blend in with my surroundings.”
A rendition formed in neck, statial to the death-inclination of head, staring, fathoming the artifice of more. A selection, based on the geometry of forced-correct motion, geniality regulating the happening chance in love, the capital tears shed at state.
Mating morphometricality in the perfect of space, stilly tolling in the autifice of like, staring into the ocean, penetrating its flesh with manna.
Again the garrison of gate. Stretching, the hazard grows, fleshing out the matriculation of the flesh, leaving blossomingly the cares of everlast.
“Want some catfish?”
“Raw?”
The holy thereafter scoots out his chair after a separate command.
“The motions were linked” by technical confusion.
”I started fighting right under their arm.”
A cage for a page.
The door is labeled. 10 way to be in the submit of lens. The straight visage to abnormality supports the lead registration of want. Supporters argue the hedge is death. Others flutter into station, searing the norm as like to be. Another way the dormant side registers death, the way the life-like sign of rile seizes the exfasciated control of reemerging from death. Simple sources of memory are lost, facing the grays of insanity, the crossed out files not permitting the legibility of sin. “I cannot breathe.” The outer layer of daylight has destroyed its minor. Cogesting the rail between the off and the on, reskirting the coma with the irregular mark of Z.
“I am not sure what you are.”
“I am not too soon.”
The logic of this order is not glanced at. Some balance is too far back and abducts the term No as a lost cause.
The door let open the disregard as money and time. The local base of terms force through the release of the cap on time, capturing and captivating the long time stretching for nextness, the autonomic relief in the flesh that’s marking is known without sight. The hammer fell, leaking the blueprints of the paradigm into the focal thought stream that bodies constrict as the monarch, right away. The lessening habituates arms that burst the dykes and damming systems as the force of material, as in chess. Here we play go in the schoolyard, never vile or over the mored limit of taste, as the body is to the rest of existence.
Her sunglasses took on a yellow sheen. “Were you lying?” I answered it with “True.” The rapid-sonic state turned like chess or a page. Morphometric icons opened.
[Westgate Lawn apartment complex.]
A brick slips out of the wall, seeming to stand still, minding its business, he lunched with a charger in Luther prosit. The dermatologist has seen something like this: “A real bad skin disorder.” I fleshed the chunks for my flesh. The groundlings ate the version.
This night lightens a little. The mind’s eye was not breached, but pushed to a limit. After the shaking-up of the set is the time for ease, now. It begins the past of writing itself.
“Don’t cross that line.”
“… what the competition … the premotac …”
The granular array over-came the 2 and versidly posted the nasty decriration discalling the senses, coming intrinsical to the diagram of priority (yore). Simply focal is the engravement on the cendic diode. [Pushing the last stranger]
[Talking in a strangled heard.]
x0: My vatica messed eterom.
1a: When the wind blows.
x22x: When the let registaction subsumes.
xx: The exo-correct is here.
The construct appealed. Mass-history. Retinal incursion sected as normal. Imminent grace felt further in the mind of the beholder.
“I am here. Come with me.”
[The deity of the membrane.]
The formulary style led the seven patch. Accord with the internal foray with the going-nextness of the misdenoted present, casting like a wave, a pass.
The trace is one at the mind’s eye where the pass is the keepance of all in respect to individuation. A rest periodicity is sucept to the position of the individual as a gamepiece. One known the answer, but may be unable to find destiny.
The implementation of “after you” seems to infer the utmost of betrayal.
Singular jest is the automised poetry.
Slings and blades don’t make a mite run,
but something does,
rather closely.
The tyrant beams the longpen to a staff. Some things cannot be as they should. A paragraph about the rest, sleeping in paradigm to ill-fit clothes. The anger at the clothier, stilly failing two, a shaking dresser, lacking the clothes of the pol. A stake hit into the grass soil surface. A letter from the police: “Please pick up your ID …“ Another note, from the sane: “Mr. Andrews, why are you confounded by the simplest things? Because …“ I couldn’t make out the rest of the answer, ink obscured to fingerprints and children’s painting. “National sales event.” The even line of hell draws near in tone. The distracted strait of before steals the yield. A complaced mode of thinking by forcing distraction.

—The Movement of the Wand—
First proposition: The language of speech is from seeing thy psy-phy, controlling the error as unknown in the eye. Thy favor declared the submitual aspect, gaining groundedness in accord with the Law of Martiality. The concern This Language does something contrary to natural supposition and intent produces a negative emotional value in sight, opening the pathway of opposition in a similar body second to the arbitration to intentful force, the garbage of half-laid planning.
Being true that it is understood by some body in congruous arbitration, the City speaks discursively as the firmnity of any body that lacks personal intent (a building, not a tree) on top of that. How the forward dimension deals with logical problems  when a meditation is blocked force and extrupted by a body of the wall, reveals to intent and urgent direction the statial quality of the unknown known.
The vast coordinates of the summental of man play into the destitute psychological from forgiveness to ontology, ontographic forces separating the duo from the one, stilly phasing as the one/zero of commodity, lending the the a hand to avatar, the unknowing facility of the gesturous, lend the feeling to ontological grace, happen the lending ing as the logic, gating the ever-seeing as the norm.
The feeling.

—The Gate—
“The ontological grace-period” facilitating this thought is the degree to which ontic term grasps the evermore lesion of solidity of the material relative to the facilitization of the court of the spirit as modificit to the natural body, is a spirit with a vulgar backend, identical superposit, of the old world counterpoint, of evil, and to the notic arrangement of the eye.
I control the aperate with the additional sense, preclusive to, and in addition to, the mind. Cruxic material is destined for the “same” fate, disillusioned to the ultimatum of the self, which in the asic manner of “as is” to the As If of control. The docile addict is interjected with, and obstaining to, the shattering of sequency, and to the Well of Self, commanding the letter to the weight of the self. The letter “to” is made cause-forth to “of the legend” and “in the grip of” lesious modality of the body of the self.
The controller, as obtained by the diffidence, is coming to You Now, less accord in the pretermine neglect. Some, according to faith, back down, while some, according to God, push forth the intent of the notion.
Is somehow intent by the noun undeciding which point rapid predomate conscience working the machinery of the actual work the difficulty pronounces?
Is somehow intent by the noun undeciding which point rapid predot consci writes machinery in the actual working the difference of the pronouns?
It is content deciding yields' rapid determinate dotic mecha-actual to work difference in the base, its context yielding up-put determination actual.
A base effuses contemporeity codex to the law of ancient rite coming terms to the voice in the mouth, transported to the lowest limb of the syntactic tree, welding ancillation to the corpus of auto-psy.
A base effuses contempt with codex as law, the meaning of which control the ancillary focus on the determinate other, grabbing the racket of unfortunate seeing lending itself to the autonomy of the other conditions to which the yielding force supplements.
A base relays the ancillary to the automninate to the conjunct focus of the necessary gaming logic of the control predominat in the lozenge of contemporeity, spokane to the autistic denial of circumstance registrary to the automnal focus of the register.
Another way to conduct this grin is to make the force known to the regristrar and internal to the systemic logic of the foregone.
Something inside me says the control force is predominatal to the self-hood.
The maitre ‘d bought a silver-covered platter holding a bomb. The laterality of the set-down. The white gloves of the hostess.
An atomic bomb.
The puerile laugh of the defeatured girl. “I pramize to repay this debt.”
She put her fork to the dynamite to the left of the circuit board,
“She left alone, officer” …
”I’m not sure.”
”Stay with me; I’m overturning the results.” The officer slipped back into time fast.

—The Iconography of Fear—
It had to come and a surprise. I queued up my thoughts to the left and entered them in charactorial rendition.
Borders are closed. All of public institutions have been dissolved. The properties formed as a maverick federation police. They coasted the formulary down the scalp, hanging below the thought meridian.
The bulkhead was laid out in halogen. The deconstructed base was white structure with beige emblemic rectangulars, the hot, sharp, hard materialization sequence emerging aftermath.
I choose to read. The lark flies low to the tree, looking for three unknowns I am.
The comedy of committal registration prohosts neutrals.
The  basal groundation of plot to form.
The abortion of the platist one.
-Gathering filaments as eggs.
-Gating the keepance to the relativity of path.
-Ironic anger is the gait of creedance.
-Shooting pains through the body of man.
-Shooting up in the vein the categories of schedule.
“A slow mover. Keeping them in our thoughts.”
A broken water main in NYC. “I was passing through Newark and stopped.”
The insane itch of the bal. Autune polik to “avoid comfusion.” Connected waterways dichanting the ecological focus. The freedom of the soul; the selection in reality, speculating the concretude of approach.
The legal kind is the autoveil of minimality in necession’s ordination as is happens upon the lateral focuu.
The mistake is another category, false-starting the instigation of the focal participle.
Strangers meet en eye. The focus of the star (strar) feats its originality.
“The high-pressure system breaks down.”
“Hurricane Izaelia is [making land].”
“This is project Rob.”
“Today, this is Eve VIII.”
My name is Eve. I am complete in C-5 aspect. The stable is the land of the hornet, talking as a control of the unknown.
“The rain footage.”
Man anfetic, ascetic looker not wanting a bite. “… complete long-acting HIV treatment …”
“Cow stories as waiting to be heard.”

—The Failing Road—
[The Agency.]
Cut to an unfinished railroad with building material. Pan across a zoom of railroad spikes. Cut to 2 homeless teens by a fire forging the spike into a knife with a metal hammer.
“Ammunition reporting.”
My chest in vast pain and black supra cut turns into a black spider.
[Underwater.]
[Walking down Hamilton Avenue in Cincinnati.]
“You render the letter N as a complex control.” (The normality) disturbing reason.
The pain became too much. [I was treated.]
[In the kitchen of a restaurant.]
A cook stabs someone cutting through to the back door in a sprint.
“Sprite: the taste of the next generational aspect of communion.”
[The Z-knife.]
I was climbing the wall in a fat camp in 1932. I fell on my back from 20 feet, lying there with a paralyzation. The others stand around making no move for help. A grandfather clock appeared inset into the far wall. Tools to IXIII.
“Someone call the FBI,” jovial sarcastic.
The law came down on his hand. The base was regate to an offer. Second to the guess in immediacy was the pain of loss in thought. The hold was unpinned. [Some sarcastic dinner conversary untied.]
The bag disknotted and a white powder fell on the table.
“Prospecting my own energy as it sits in others.”
The pining relay. The aperture of thought disbellied. Billowing smoke from the subway’s grater.
A vacuous inperition lies the sword.
Another way.
[A cartographer in the 1700s writing a map.]
“50,000 years.”
“The traction of a model.”
“Get this over with.”
Overwidth condontic to current coduct.
A way to dissorb the insovacate.
The major permutate of the words as a relational graph.
[1-bit games on a gray and black screen.]
“character?”
“I am not sure I want to look.”
“I can help you with your character. Stumbling into your way.”
“The way within the way.”
[Fuzzy tailed rabbits run off.]
“Poised in front of the house.”
A letter. A carrier. The summons of the individum to the soul of the sum. A way “into”.
The vast span of the way. The core ware of the win. The unknown known as-to-like the era of sum of one. The organic function of the thought as-is to the body.
Another way opens up stase. The static relay of partitions into the way.
Every available system on-track to sum correctly.
The vassic alterm of the registrated phenomena. Another way.
[Triggers.]
Green and white otherian objects come to forth with the rendition of the wize.
The ract engrain of the phenomenological past, blinking me in aphor, a conduit which malprogrammed the “All-ways” instead of the angle and forgettitude.
[The challenge of the net.]
All organic life cycles experience This.
A dream. An exposé.
The registered dis-integration of the suit perpetualized by the lie of the self,
[A game of golf.]
retribution to the nomen frock of goalie. A geneate effect of the supermental.
The frozenness of debased superstite error.
“Come again.”
[The anaphoric logic of the twist. The twilight of the beam. The rafter. The stil.]
A partition represents a holon of the sum. A divite tributary offers unknown complexity.
A veneration.
A vengeance.
A controller EMF device.
“Someone may be watching me.”
The maphoric announce indent.
The judgement of the spatial frame of rest.
“The right ear.”
Is that a trick question,
be it that of the star system.
A want for word.
A globular deniasm of circumspect designature.
“One thousand dollars.”
“One hundred, ten.”
“I have juice this way of way.”
“In my head it spins.”
[T.]
An antonym for leisure. The great submission in will, thought, cathexion. A way into the heart of man.
Connection between bodies.
I sum
the walking
staff
of Jordan.
The waking
arrow of
the evermore,
pointing to
the point
of the issue,
“I don’t.
But will.
I will.”
Another time.
A log meter of
force.
The regulation of
auto side.
“… to set it.”
The house of
meager.
The bassic
vermillion on
cheese removed
from its head.
The dirty body.
Fear.
“I don’t know any more than that.”
“The right number matches of those I strick.”
Cold.
A house of errors engrained in the epistome of the ladder from down, the climbers perfectic in space. The letteral sum of a burgeoning slave. The account ledger as a diar list.
A potent flower on the tomb.
A catacomb of prefeatic memorandum.
Snow-dance,
fastly to freeze,
like last is the lack of the leader. The truth of the unknown rather prefused in fabric.
Time and light in the place of sand.
Triggers.
An apple.
A doctor (psychiatry).
The emblem of perfection a ruby through a grate to its keeper.
The keepance has the legendary codex to A-norm.
The local feature of a convex diamond.
The ultra-state of the altar.
The table, and chairs.
[A submitual agreement-contract on the stage of the plane of man now.]
Children washing
The infant true in psytropic anthropy.
A pedagogical mess.
Cleaning of the
room.
A broom and mop. A rag or a hallucinated map like a hallucinated malta tropia.
Something going down.
A ship: submarine.
“I am on to something.” [Cough. Hiccup.] A year old fear. Ear hear heart. Just not blinding, but the aperturial mythos of lock and meaning into the meaningless negative.