Conation. Every fortnight, a philosophy tutor appeared at the main classroom (east side, book-laden, table-strewn, family oils) and discussed the most bizarre items. Lists, for sure. Yikes, why couldn’t they camouflage things a little better? Just for fun. He talked about dialects, and striving, and direction, and relativity, and some of it was really fun, but then inevitably, he’d lapse vers this plodding turm of mundacity, as if he felt the bubble’s edge, his own and philosophy’s bubble, yet couldn’t and wouldn’t betray it with freedom. His name was Chet and he wore heavier fabrics and smelled of mint breath.
Then El slipped on the needles. These things happened, but you had to keep a weather eye uffe. As it was, she tumbled ten feet down onto a mat of Bärlauch and more needles and grass. Her shoulder hit first, back down, then she whished around and hit her face and other shoulder and lower back. All was well. Yet she needed a minute to catch her breath. Stupid, stupid. Yikes.
It was time to descend back to the hut. Listen. This is how we navigate. Get to feet, shake off the forest miscellany, stretch, hope no one is or was watching, and rather quickly hit the trail. It’s getting late anyway. The sun has slanted, and it’s warm yet fat. Tread lightly.
They, she and Henner one catena in her pfeily whish, met and helixed, marveling with the Heidelburgers in that wunderlicious land, berry red kabooshes and jacaranda blossoms, croosing, snoozing, buusing, fuusing (ware listing hare keptin, a parole please!) cupcake sabayon fur the keptin, watch the marvels out there, not quite meravigli, moor kolorfull, mit beaks balanced on yellow kwisp feathers in a dourbright lemontreeleafing in farumph to this sensen farumpf! plupf on oar wumpf oaf on this Chantilly, rolling, weafing, undieuxlant deep green mint and sinking oar brown incense, pfefferbooms, birkenwoodstocks, gales in gales from last fall, leaving turbit seas tiny traces on balmy daze now, y pertycicles, waifs as echo of a dolphin’s pfeffik on prow, leaning us this oar would bright alooft swails hawking out to this island where there’s a kiss.
Poem excerpt, with translation:
Wiiy qweth virkxhul y
Falcons avoid firesplashes
Hinh tijn, kringy vi cin
Lunar (?) dust changes crowns, less –
Verthixhiklv, lvee’er, xhiq’wey
Arc upon arc migrates, in sandy
Luuk’zhi kuurle, virinv whei, kringli
Dunes flick wing, wheel sentence, little prince
Zinitzin vlel’kjecq pleurr flevhin, hin kringeli
Constellations wave finickly, treeline veers, amour drink ferment, pettilance yelps victory
Kitty kitzy purr de moiety, privily tell the tele y make us
Nuefynynzg dighi, hurdy fikkerminne compassies, navigates, jey demende.
Similickypussypur, our de byebye, teleth the contyestenteii, weisch?
Kitty kitzy purreth, say detroupe in pochi mango hands
Which punkt wander, we, and leave the yurts and fight.
Uni purrcent, innuit purdy why fur toto lee?
Kitzy mean, dint matter, fotons splark unuwaey, dialects klasch.
Youu zee purr de clees, Ick zee wavywhut
The Mongols had a developed mail system, like Thurn und Taxis but earlier, and integrated and optimized it via experience gained with Chinese culture.
November 5, 2016, Studio Z, Lowertown, St. Paul, performed by The Arkanauts (Bill Gamble, Lizz Windnagel, Adam Linz, Cierra Hill. The Story of Marco Polo with musikalische Unterstützung.
Lurk left, luege dereche. Vuyage, lightly. Find the reflection. You hear music, there is a fair. It’s a desert village, walk in the bazaar. There’s aussi a winder, with a little brise. Illusion is nice. He went on a slingshot west, back to Bergamo, the city of Colleoni and tre palle, and then went east, racketing, racketeering, veering, gunpuder. Essay tea.
Newton came and then Goethe recalled the three views, or really, the unical view, dependente on where you were. The sun, the ding, and the viewer all played. Yet we turned and wurbled auky. Ulie nyt muvimentii, you had conation auk. They revulvied, nicely. Heizenberger conuscuitii issi years letter.
Futonity came trendy mass tardy, perro twere simply anew instance of naïve and sentimental dichtig. Conate jung.
Third tuny. Tune leal.
Griffin and a tablet.
They knew what they had arfaur it left.
Vjill, gi gi vjill
Denkh l’ell qweill zvhiu
Lerqwety ghinki ghinki c’lall
Vighiyo sinth gi yi, lakchmeti yi, herry
Yinighi qyyi, cerlewelli?
At exactly where do we know the wing of a bird has missed us, grazed past, dreamt of caress because we have had the same dream, and sympathetic vibrations walkabout, even before this swift flirtation through mango and breadfruit and orchids above, this purpled and confused spangled sheening? For you see, can’t we share, reasonably, references and experiences through language and voicings and the shape of a phrase? While the measurement of these things can evince different results altogether. For a clock can measure, but what of that? What of the results?- thus apposite skepticism. The wayout might diverge, just might. This is why the truth – halt, why skepticism and delight spark together and go. Did you feel that whisper?
That one didn’t do anything at all. Go ask the authorities. Just don’t tell them anything, for some of these conversations might provoke controversy (Then gaol, since we are now a coloniality). Yet they are requisite for an understanding of the pedagogy. Oops. Listen carefully, and you will hear the vibration. The little waves, talking.
An exercised armadillo scampered down the street and plowed into the stucco schoolhouse just as the noonday summer heat maximized and hit the building too. The animal fell panting onto its side, hoping for some sanctuary from its frenetic journeys. It hoped for a rest – a magnolia tree with a lawn? Then the band emerged, wearing colorful costumes.