XI

[the ball of golden into later trip thru season say a mark or mount until you green your tree together. Green as feat or probable, as dying dads and moms litter little notes ordering inside order. That gold instant of sun kempt morning waits in loosing forth always treading in a dying moment guild. It takes a task to see it thru.]

Ernest Borgnine of the bluff full-featured beard, who grows lost in the destiny of the film script, is the everlasting contribution of father while a story. It means a lot that Vikings, personable as they sound, are photogenic, especially Kirk and Tony, to each his own.

And lo the tides and the marvelous ocean seemed like little square things that you read about in gentle books. Yet storming into somewhere pointed on the map are selfsame Vikings, the whole merrie crew, and they mean business. Box office business, enough to take your breath away. The steely dawn with red and blue streaks strikes up a picture of exactly its own thing. Suddenly the course is set. Suddenly Vikings storm from the credits into the picture of battle. It's the ramparts of current thinking, roughly around the logical thing rationed by governmental bodies (so strange). Crashing like wakefulness the Vikings try a few unsporting techniques and constantly constantly find reproval towards their every action. Pillage, rough stuff, intermarriage. Patterns exist. The people are in dismay. Tony Curtis looks a little rough and wild, for someone born of Brooklyn. Ah Brooklyn...

Walt Whitman woke a day and teemed with the rest. His city street goes to that one, in an intersticial networking availability. There's talk that poetry needs something more. There's talk that England's cultural bounty could be improved. There's talk that somebody needs to change the whole thing, for English teachers of the future... and Walt arrived.

Emily Dickinson arrived too, but that is a different story. How different, you must read another book. She lived in a place of distance from exactly the centre and trying to figure the best weight for weighty things in general. Thus Whitman, your own literature and crew.

Suddenly the effects were strained thru a few years and the work of many. Talk about important stuff! The legion who thrilled at the stark story of brother against brother, nation against nation, and a love that survived plot twists galore until the final scene but one (penultimate) wherein brother fights brother until brother is killed recognized as brother. And a damn good sinking feeling in the final shot of Viking ship aflame with the losing brother (not to give it away but: Kirk Douglas). And don't it all happen to make dramatic sense final? Yup.

X

Dictate your face. Hey, gave us that clue! Their excellent conveyance of space travel considerable went to us so cool. It told us some just landing our desert. We'd speechless if complete neurons. Misfire when last of talking? Your dictated face then mine. Almost across universes that have little but regency to let us know. We'd rest better after squeeze. Stiff arm all those left off the list. We lean something learning. The space saucering device spells special desert event. We're not radical enough to care outside the traditional norm. Furthermore the Vikings on the seacoast, looking rough and better off now. What empire really continues with the strong arm? Frightening to seize so much less now. A race to investigate skraeling.

The better sort of skraeling, said Fu Manchu, with which to fill the world with active presence. And tho complete enemies, tho each likes the balance they describe, Fu Manchu and Sir Denis Nayland-Smith, which see, each, bristles at the thought of of. Those who are tools, who will buy the long road excuse, conforming to the lug of intuit program. Yet too and furthermore, as staring at selfsame enemy, he of crazed laugh and aged visage and he other of grey temples and smoking pipe, see indeed maximums to reach for. Maximums, called empire, for the days that they shine.

IX

[the ball of nearly dying yellow overtoned and enlivened performed something dismal under the cloud of giving rain. The warrant were stretched to the limits of election or just saying so. All grey of utmost vernal wind and rain had promulgated as far as any eye would see. Comments of generosity could be stretched until further reddening come the eve. Who were stifled but had tried a few stray daffodils, or something. The language created its own barrier. Come along, the ball is nearly rolling into interest!]

the associated Vikings, fresh from 1959, slew a few ready victims as of thursday instant. Commodious neurons, etc, sparked some debate as to whether indeed these rocky mainlands could truly play home to savage hordes of praying to rocklike gods. The Vikings were a topical effect starring Kirk Douglas and, somewhat slovenly, Tony Curtis. Via Tony Curtis we see then wife Janet Leigh,who stood for blonde in some maximum gesture. Tony stood for a place that belonged, however guilty in the eventual tide. Kirk reckoned on exact staying power, give or take. Bring up Ernest Borgnine and pull everything into familiar. Then dunk the candidate land. Taxes arrest. Lots of entered bollocks make meantime with the centre of the political carpet. So you mean to say something unto that main branch, elongated until lowering notes of the oscillating greatness, or plan therefor. Bring your church to the outpost, and let loose its mighty wails.

VIII

DUDE! The frogs have started their own narrative. And it means a spring toast of all terrestrial marshmallows. Love will grow. The morass of winter rests upon the sludgy davenport of definite insult when you can see that all is not exactly lost (spring arrives!), so far as can be said. Some things are so true, story wise....

...and that is why I talk so seriously, said Fu Manchu, newly returned to natural darksome hair colour. His life is great and sparked with tunes of world domination, doffing cruelness only in the reeds of river wealth. And do we read into the magic of his compulsion? Sure! Watch just now, the landing of the living pod from that faraway but no less important:

16Greezl'po with reliant onset, you who would dream more if you were only one word. But you as reader are many words, almost most of them. So you attach to meaning with a glee and glom. Funny foreign fellow. You'll take what you need, no worry. Stars feel like a political throb when they go burst with nova cue at just the right. How is language changing all the time when you only want to read?

John Keats the bloody fool and English tool took too much tubercular choice from the planet of woe. His Fannie Brawne was some nonsense bequeathed by the god of industrious ritual. He'd marry Emily Dickinson someday, too, and glowingly ruin the outreach plan. And the others who are onto the throne of reading on will stammer greatly.

So Fu Manchu realizes the novel of his spent. The world won't be cowed into pastures of trick me again. Not exactly. The world is dark alas but not the tunes inherent. Fu Manchu, a doctor, needs to see. Keats lands in a huff. Keats had a plan. Tom was a-cold. George started the idea of American soil excuse. Coleridge, yes, as negative as capability could be, also sought that mud. The mud was worth a kingdom, and Fu Manchu had not yet the report. Well! Insist on more story!!!

VII

There but dented, the saucer that fell dreamlike from the empyrean as grand as needing to tell a story. And the story goes of gods, rich reliable ones, who did once in future days decree some slim marvel brand of bargain on our world. And we as small as smell did reach for this noose, comfortable to prop. And as those gods are serious political whores, we understood right well the proposition. Conning tower of submarine peeks above the rugged waves, then the sub rises. No sub indeed but interplanetary convenience as good to say as nice new pope. Vend further wavelengths when you cry, said that political flurry come alive. Scads of detected strongholds exist. The margin will not hold.

So the mighty dragon ships pile into the bay while screech from the mainland tells the fear. This is resistance to order in its very token, cried expert and ne'er denied. Bells ring. It is the odour of the day. And something about the mere presence of the stunning news, in our land, as we plan a day again: it fills our remorse with the source of flowers.

16Greezl'po alights in a confrontation, but only to the degree that anyone plans ahead. Sparking away from deserts to remain poised for the infestation of where else can one go, this is the impervious relation of 16Greezl'po to he significance of our grand day. You could join him, you know.

VI

Nordic blond Fu Manchu feels a dapper moment of conquest. He's not just ancient but a trip into explaining things again and again. Isn't this a miracle of riding? He'd take the world by each bit of value if he could. We assume that he can't, but we've heard tales. Emperor of French Ideas, Bao Dai himself, proposes an ordinance of very good Champagne at the door chilled thoroughly and by the logic of glistening will allow survival as a piece of something more. What exactly is a rubber plantation? Dread Fu Manchu asks. Resumption of mighty Michelin processing into the economic springing step, said sipping reference to Bao Dai himself. Arduous need indeed.

[I listened at the seashore as 16Greezl'po told world and worlds. And I am supposed to take as given, each projectile of the next thing to come, in the long delaying line of plenty. Logic strides the orb of night and day, roundly beating or taking excuses as trespass. The alien season of deliverance seems so shaded by glassy-eyed riding on the calm moment into which, for all your love, and maybe losing on the way. Struggles are inside. We love to be near the thing we name. Even as we reach, we decide.].

V

and then the Grateful Dead went down the road feeling bad. Weren't you there? That's Kerouac or the moment of that one, Neal Cassady. Were trees still green when anything dies? Legion years. Emily Dickinson was left in darkness. No further claim finishes the sentence. Would a boat take her, only her? The best of blue sky slopes into ruffled grey, ending in night. The tradition of towns absorbed into times of going grants us. What exactly do we need in the implication? Dire in tested feature of one word then another.

IV

the Viking Kirk Douglas resumes as a mighty entity of power and almost peace, in an ageless battle onwards towards the places where the sea doesn't quite overwhelm, said 16Greezl'po.

[Note the rugged texture of a rock landscape, when thought might last into decimals and outward, I thought, but not to myself, for 16Greezl'po includes that benefit of empathetic journey across parsecs of thinking about 'it'. 16Greezl'po knows the need of being in some sense of where words are from to go. I think it is a battle but human as I am, I can forget.]

[Meanwhile,
a beautiful dinner resides before Fu Manchu, blond and vigourous for a chap his age, and his arch friend and perfect nemesis, often sodden though: Sir Denis Nayland-Smith. Much to discuss, as worlds need domination within schemes of doing work. could landing in the last minute help an alien, when these stalwart trying to be can't agree on which domination makes the most sense? Alert goes to passive exhaust. We have no news until someone says so. Music into one ear and out all others. What a system!]

[Meanwhile, Emily Dickinson isn't perfect but all right. Greens shoot thru earth on their way to. Listen to the sun globe's outward showing: burning a sea if could, liquid to with golden ire of light, yet daunting in value added, trusts us to perform. We should never neglect the symbol of burning, it cooks even the green to life. So Emily, you've been in the light and dark both, how is that simple thing in your eye?]

III

The readers shall be with us some day, I told 16Greezl'po.
Ah! replied the alien (or so alien seemed this entity to me).

II

one again something in the sky pours over red as a changing mood run into the sky by a collection of forces or envy bodies. Exactly as dawn makes the map, so do these colours freshen he pace of once or twice. Nothing ordinary exists, anywhere or anyhow. a gruff abundant f cloud bank worry collections as embargo on the frame of east. Shorebirds field he wind, an easy urn. They might hold the place in sky with degrees of hover but they prove. Ow listen, beyond cries of gulls, which familiarize the land with a tradition, now listen: the silent imminent and full of beans landing of a flying saucer. From a galaxy nameless to our tongue, from a cinema variety, from a lunch program haunting he ages. Lovely to excuse yourself from oddities. Vikings have departed for the next frame or even. Fu Manchu and mystic opium. Bao Dai could engage a delicate veal plaintiff. Sir Denis, ah, involved in the pipe that is a pipe. Trade on, readers! [I'm totally, want to, and it isn't hard to try].

You are yourself alone on the quiet sand of beach and I in my distance-consuming circular motional device land squat on before you. This living dimension of time sequence allowed me as an entity to face you as another embodied living as per understood creature. Greetings That of Earth! Hail as yourself as 16Greezl'po exactly! I have learned the intricate your language, to each the dotted i and so the talk between goes smooth as silk underwear on a spring daylight savings...

At which point I face this creature, who called me a creature, I think. Am I starkers or Emily Dickinson at the lip of some twist? No wait, Walt Whitman, bundled up in a New Jersey he lived across and thru. Or do I dream, as John Keats did once, perhaps as a way thru to poetry or not. Or...

but speak earth kind, greet or whatever.

And I look at the interesting development of creature, with words in my head skewed to the utter resistance of saying something. Oddly, that is, when I try to make it to a guided language report. Shed me the remainder of being in this sway! I feel like a dollop, maybe less. There was wine in the evening but not 'this' much. The gulls squall elsewhere, like normal is a route. So I should answer, or pace instead.

You got the hemoglobins, friend of the extent of this minute and a half, eastern elbow time, as I've heard.

Righto, say I, and how very fresh. But other words must be plumbed, chance in a lifetime until next we meet. Where did my language come from? I greet you, salient interest embodiment from definitely elsewhere.

Recognized, said the alien afterburn. If I don't read your mind right, who are you otherwise than here before me?

Call me Allen after the many patterns so likewise named. And you said some name that isn't held for me yet, but I am sure I could include your demarcation as easily as any other, with practice in some cases.

16Greezl'po as I said and even with now boldface as I show you. Look now how these antennae present a shape that might mean the same thing, if only you were set right, not the distance that we find. Fear unto not, however. We shall have to watch television together, and gruffly say, switch the channel now! as bold as entropy.

Yes, said I, attached, we shall.

I

[The ball of grand red liquid agent indifferent to interest tunes rose in natural laying out of drilled pieces. Such was space and time, in a special crack. Upon these stories told in distance patterns and resistance waves a boat was bet upon by playing on the scale and bounced. That verb was its. Those waves were grades of grey and green, classing themselves as I looked. But I wasn't only looking only there and then but speed was offered membership. The boat could sink and then what? Fresh deeds to forget. Viking ship, a dragon, as was present when we rented that movie1, rental being a way to name your addition. It was Kirk Douglas all right, and the sound that fjords make to intent rocking machinations or wet lips after a quaff. This could be the dirt, with even a part of Tony Curtis talking onto the field. Suddenly we fight a moment's worth, with English kings settled on those sorts of questions, which all looks nice in a botched sort of drama. Sudden to the change of pace, we might pass a few roods of Hastings Field, to consider how history grows its own. Aliens aren't everything we know. Much ignoring changes the sport. No document yet exists concerning this, that or the other thing. Not one. It's still fun.]

Nordic blond Fu Manchu, he was due for a change. Conquerors are always alien or it just wouldn't make sense. Sir Denis Nayland-Smith bears his own presumption of the set up to work his way thru. He will make of himself an Orientalist, to seek into the mind of yet another half of the same pumpkin Earth, not to say he is losing his gourd. By aged precedence Fu Manchu also branches into seeing how the pumpkin inheres in fulness, tho half the picture's missing. Yet another agent is that Frenchman, Emperor Bao Dai, the 3rd half of the same grapefruit, albeit a decorative cherry at the centre mark seems a lovely division from just plain. [You will see the clues with me.] What are you hissing about now, Dr? Always hissing, says Sir Denis. The sir indicates the colour of something, a grainy texture, and the sweat of the horses from the Charge of the Light Brigade, which Tennyson naturally copyrighted. [I'm reading this frame as straight as I can.]

Damn bleach burned my scalp, replied Dr Fu Manchu, with a continued hissing, as of thinking of balloons and the miracle involved in trapping gas within withal, to partake the exuberant chummy freshness of the expanded rubber thingie, and yet the damn thing leaks. You should have gotten the premium brand, remarked the Imperial Frenchman Bao Dai, and this pâté is superb [redolence of truffles and quark-laden anything scrumptious in this day of expecting some thing].

We will assume this goes on and on, as a typical instance, the spore of kings. Meanwhile, transience, the ocean gold beget by red sun light over the horizon in some striving that we define (sometimes) as our own. The Viking ship sees land, after a night in deep. Deep in the presence of anything lost or going. If death, then death. The night held onto stars or planets until finally, and death is not simple, the sun rose over all. The shore could be pierced by sight. Grand moment. Fierce Kirk Douglas and Ernie Borgnine—father or fater, and son or sun—now there is festival of great hearty fight! Eager in their sailing, and the needs within their socio-economic system by which of systematic looting while looking around hither and yon, even remarking upon the weather and sights, all will fill history books and heir tokens in Hollywood's exchange. Gone a-viking, back when the fjords melt in chiming tingle of snow from this world to the other end of different. Yet at this dawn, which started with this pink nuance claimed from the doldrum of grey matter, up untipping to the boil of red at sea edge, horizon wink, then further into splash in the eastern sky, with a pouring across the watery stretch, into dulled eyes but heck it's no remake but a new cinematic treat, and a sentence that could say it, this dawn stars a river.

A river mouth, and inland prey, no doubt, said Kirk Douglas to the father Ernie Borgnine. Not to forget glowering star bolt Tony Curtis the extra bastard in the drama circa 1959 or whenever movies of this ilk were in the way of being on. [No freshness dating exists for sequence]. Two brothers and one kingship, that's a tussle in claim like a picture piece of Vietnam. But actually, this is only Leif Erikson and so forth, varied murderers who were out of town for the nonce, collecting land as history, collating history with tale, and ironing out a few facets of trade and stationary tradition in the midst of rivers and their input. A river mouth back in the day invited a shark enough to kill a few and even eat them, which then come to us as a way of Pete Benchley telling a mink-lined 17.3 gazillion story. So you see, basically, in the tribal memory of going to bat, we have many ways of saying something and an equal number that can say nothing, as we choose.

Description gives us a clue as to where the describer has been.

Note the viking ship pushing up the Mannisquan River, fresh New Jersey enterprise, that's a toke of random informed wavelets in a physics test of water. Thru cribbage games worthy of fierce fighting, and tender boating mishaps by the weekend chardonnay, and even television reception graced by continual stalking of Yankees players when they perform royally-induced perception, this is a stun gun for an assertion. In these untied states, any thing can happen.

The blond queue dangles like halfhearted retirement funds. Even the lengthy strands of mustache and chin whiskers are blond to the point of bringing back that sunny surf of dread tunes outweighed by anything but banter. What was I thinking? hissed the envy of every fictional despot to troop thru the imagination of working leap of faith lives. [What would anyone try in thinking? I'm on board.].

A passive indictment sits between Kirk Douglas and Tony Curtis. They will claim aspects of the history of the coming event, in which they will raid endless English castles with a logic quite spelled out in battering books or quiz tones. Royalty to them means special sales, a future of interest and a quiet day living at home by the voracious pool. This will not change when Fu Manchu arrives, blonder than the sun, with a bottle of chilled chardonnay. He has monkish intent in his eyes. He has interest that won't rest. He will stay on the patio, embarking on plans. The vikings will lose interest in a flash, race off to a gully of beer and theory while the theatre called Valhalla will await hem. Yet this isn't a trip thru every guess but a sad pang that won't heal. History turns a worm around.

Bao Dai, greenish and emperor, relaxes after a French accent. He entertains the history of rubber plantations, and guesses at the size of sharks. Sir Denis Nayland-Smith contributes a weird novel buttoned onto something about drugs in bullish Orient quest. Which vested drug works best? The clamour of idle warrants display new aspects. These two are a pair, but then every two is. They rationalize their piece of the action with a truculent portage thru those wellknown jungle ramparts. They will guess on and on. What is empire but it fills the trees with smoke?