ARKS, LAID DOWN IN THE BLEACHED LIGHT

Living for a year, he had been, in a boat. Where water when no water had come? Her splendid night on a driver’s seat came, but trying to dance on the longer dances to save for later. The snow and the lizards became friends to distort and run from their boats in the harbor. They would be home in time. He used to tell her to mark all her boxes with egg-sheets and grease, opened to see in the hall by the door. Her trenches were dug for the night and he knew it couldn’t be worth the casualties lost. Saved again, for later.

EVERYTIME, NATURALLY SELF-CONTRADICTORY

He was the associate of the following paradox: being cannot change or be more than once, twice. She has conquered more pleats and they are only paradoxical before time, in this sense. It's a great way to credit more halfways or burning buildings with children and/or your mother. How did you exist to go back in time in the first place? Magickal liars say nerves of Golden Heedless stirrups have shown the barber he cannot be impossible - whether he be tennis courts, the nature of a sentence, or the approach of a common sense job. Of course, scales are hoping for surpassing rains. Merely a sprinkle, stopping the leaves from changing; turning. Consequently, the concept of motion shows self-contradiction. They've experienced a natural uncertainty in foot arguments. If you put them together, he said, one cannot expire with a pulse happening in the meantime if, D, the number of turning stops or, N, everytime he tries to catch up the tortoise has moved to P.

HER BLUE WHEEL IN THE WOODS: RANSOM!

"Yeah, it is real," she whinced, her eyes pretended to be wheels. "I've got sixteen of them in midnights." All of them blankly reeling, he imagined her without the earrings, but lightly. Neither of them needed toes for this house of cards. Besides, when one Romeo plants his heels in the Blue Wheel they all get a turn at bat. Or, at least that's what she was obliquely forming. "I can be innocent, but not what you think is crazy." She wanted that to be written in bold costumes, for his parade. "I'm sure you can appreciate my wanting to keep all these shoes for wearing. They are, after all, things." He nodded - but why? Gravy time never had this many sets and she knew that all she had to do was crumple up silver dollars to get that windpipe reading its lines properly. "Okay," he'd had it. "Get me something else blue."

NEXT TIME, THE FIRST TIME IS TWELVE OR MORE

It was my first time, so I wanted everything to be perfect. I know now the beach would have been the best place for us to be with each other, so we chose it even then. The thin, wire hairs on my chest started to stand up - anticipating - moving like flagella, but almost too wet to freely writhe. Like you would find in someone elses jar of petroleum jelly; in a jar by someone elses bed. My mates had bugs and, on the razor's edge of sleep, I thought we were together - but I had again merged only with myself. It was the Self for a while and then the guitar player from the Dave Clark Five (or Jayne County) - and then we were one (or, maybe Six). After we had subtracted one from Six, I tried to find my way back to the beach. Gradually, the light had worn off and I wanted to wake up but I found that sleep had not yet come. This was the worst part because we had become a fraction. Six was a long way back. Decimal spaces were taken up by zeros and the rest - but two new faces (not arabic [indian, really]). It (sleep) then came and I went home. I had decided that, from now until I could divide again, I wanted to start thinking about Twelve.

TWO CURLS FROM F.A.I.R.Y. - AND GREASED

He went to the F.A.I.R.Y. room to cry. Lengthy hotdog auditions have perfectly developed his moustache. The glam wanderings of his getting known through the torches excluded restrictions; but with the properties of the respective owners, vapid and deleted. They said it was safe, and he would save on gas. Surely, it must not be certified but the thirty-percent of all monies was not only additional, but slightly ribbed. "Just stop wearing it," the advertisement read. The simple world of the antique team could be orientally ignored - while one merely changes the sporting nations. Eli and his delicate heroes of the forty-two waterfords were wildly stacked to favor what they knew, and not just a little about being ecstatic members of the phylum rodentia. Many rich deadheads began with multiple yogurt tragedies to build the free workshops in the Tri-State area. There may have even been a lottery for sixty-six woman from F.A.I.R.Y.. "It was super-mega for all imagined sweethearts this season," said one becurled greaser.

I KNEW YOUR SECRET MILK GOD

You can't talk to me - I'm the same man. I have liquor and I work and to feed my secret family milk from the vacuum rays of our inner planet.  I came from shimmering mountain people, whose time was neither now nor whenever. Now, we're doing just fine - like the orbiting celestial prison our minds have envisioned. With you or without you, I have chosen the Old Man Sick Tribbet wedding dress to wear, and creating the Crimes of our god - unified and alone. For he who has collected dew at the hour just before dawn, I have saved an equinox. We will live - my secret family and I - in our own trousered, unremembered, human hearts. On this night, the wet grass will sway heavily; we will appraoch the dawn on a quiet woman's trousers - living to be.

THE RED HORSEY OF THE WHISPERING KING

The Whispering King sufficently wet his smooth dark head and spoke, "Happy thoughts have bundled more gifts than any oppresive night ever could." Nancy listened lamely, like a poorly illustrated cow. "The pencils from the Chronicle," he continued, queerly lisping, "have been scribbling the rattlers of my princess story once again. Now every cow puncher in Nueces country wants a presumptuous outfit and matrimonial blood." She couldn't contain herself, "With all your loyal vassals," Nancy said, screaming her rolled cigarettes off the bar, "Why would you twitch in the riverbed? You've never burdened your ego's pony with song before." The Whispering King heard. He fell silent. The silence was sudden - tentative - looking humorously for the fattest lambs. Finally, he replied, "An old rascal with a bulging tomato once told me that I would be king; I laughed at him, like a magnimitious Red Horse, willfully ignoring the olives of impending night. That has been my deepest regret."