Saturday, January 17, 2015

VIII. Faire disparaître au fer




Sunday’s Willesden Cycling Club to Luton, when we first heard of the blue clearing
Of Mars (1967) by a subscriber of Icarus and Doris Lessing dreaming Djinnistans—Jeannie's
Barbara Eden, and the patient Jeanie, rerunning maternal gin runs on our trek to Horace Dall’s
Who pedaled the breadth of Iceland (1933), and bent his 39cm Cassegrain to the spheres—Exceeding
The Mind’s lyriform secondary rail whining beyond the Concept House—The Creep defacing the post
Bearing a benevolent affinity to a gomphothere; due to dentition, perhaps to his hindgut’s inventory of Sainbury’s avocado

Pears, after a particularly profane session —The only airman that got to the top of the mountain of a shipwreck by morphine syrettes, whose invectives shake in 117, and in the next door 119 avocado
Windowsill tripods, bringing tears; further than this zone to be productive, this outpost of psychiatry clearing
Radio Gourevitch—Heaving oil-slick coffee and missense of breakfast odorants in the first months in the untended back garden; a waste ground beholden to the intentions of the green woodpecker pair battering their rams into a fence post
Misheard; for the cavity of a rowan—Where there is no rightful mode for a third in a madhouse—Genie,
Startlingly still, ambulatory, starts down the road with a fading tattoo of a passionflower, the gear bore turning it into a flower's stamen, and feeling the same acrimony as Miriam; overtaking the bedsit of Horace Dall—
Our host, listless until restorative twilight, and brought around by speculation of the red planet’s oxidizing cyanobacteria; recalling a gridded facsimile of methane snow in the entry to Willesden Green—With methodology of printing Saturn’s rings ongoing, we spoke of the Martian impeded by ferrous eruptions blanketing the Sun, as on Earth exceeding

Its rust belt circumscribed in our bitten mouths; there were no other colleagues, but from the desperation of progress notes—Exceeding
Magnetized brains of oceangoing loggerheads, or anemic strays clipping pedestrians with their bikes energized by that petroleum-derived drink made from girders—Enzymatic browning of the plate’s sheathed cubes of avocado
Exacting taste; inopportunely, the lemon was left out of the evening’s shopping—Forgoing the fer wine whose rootstock resists pruning, or the bottle of red plaited into a fiasco—What was thought to be a footnote to that evening; the Schiefspiegler, averting shadows of a second mirror of the Dall–Kirkham
Telescope, reduces this instant's windings through eternity—A horse-ridden symphysis posing mechanical clearings
Excavated from a forensic dig’s unfused pelvis read as the points of antlers; ever since taking this post
Observing from this vantage, a parting of the valence, this autumn red fruit of the rowan; planted by the birds to keep churchyards patent—Chondrules of lunar impacts of backbone enjoined in rubberized cement pushing back into the solid masses of paper-thin walls; getting Claude (the Creep) started, again—Genie,

Suspecting her paternity Danish, reads from a monograph in therapy on Thorvaldsen—Jeanie,
Adds to the attributed, clay is life, plaster death, and marble resurrection that it does not take a tart to tell how many months gone—Exceeding
Proclivities to skewer the lengths of our human avoidance, she can be very perceptive—For forty years, Simone Melchior Cousteau posted
Eight portholes from the bow of the Calypso glimpsing  oceanic whitetips now grottoed in the iron braces of the Busner heirloom resounding as a timbrel—Live births of the dolphin-like ichthyosaur from Jurassic Blue Lias at Dorset (1811), its cover flanked by waves, and cleaving the Seder leviathan—Avocado
Species surrounded the Galápagos archipelago, whose San Cristóbal and Floreana mockingbirds, much larger than finches, decided the billing of the Second Voyage of the Beagle (1831-1836)—Horace Dall
Filtered Herschel’s notes for mirrored and telephoto objectives; warily, you repeat what Lieutenant Evenrude remarked among shrieks of the fissionable delivery in July 1945 approaching at 17 knots—Awake, in the clearing

Of our bodies and undelivered ordinanceMary Anning’s two-meter skull, with the largest eyes known to man starting out the size of krill inside that spiral and circle the harmonic receiver of an electrode—Clearing
The dusted American History Museum model of Jaws (1974) in a forward crawl—Anticipated by the childishly innocent Henry De la Beche’s fish lizards (1830) after the findings of a fraught girl; struck from her nurse’s arms by lightning, in the mien of Jeanie
When speaking of her mother, who pieces bestrewn cordage of the plesiosaur (1823)—Venatic labors of Leonardo’s infant self suckling the tail of a vulture—In a maddeningly obstinate justification by a young bride in bitter novilunium; not calling for Horace Dall’s
Focal lengths, shutter a curious groundwork of Knock Knock—Introjection on the totemic Strong Sun Moon between June and July, where nothing would seem further apart than Picus Martius in Hebe’s tree discharging nails, with incidentals for the twin founders apart from the wolf—Exceeding
The case history's channeling all these years, the Capitoline replicas Mussolini posted
To American museums—Of Woody Woodpecker’s debut (July 7, 1941) voiced by the creator’s wife, Mrs. Lantz, who is borne to the funny farm with salt on his tail—Was it depth psychology's alchemical match, if unsatisfied, given the example of the paired fruit, avocado—

Trouget, or the eyeing Martian, seated alone at bar of the Plantation Club—Avocado
Stones
, once nurtured by Doris Lessing as Martha Quest; complaining of the space between the steering column—She stood up to her knees in heavy mud, the red thick water closed below her shoulders (1954), with the rete mirabile filling and clearing
Chambers of giraffes in the distance—From the Beagle II rover scheduled to land Christmas 2003, posted
From the Isidis sink turning up twelve years hence; then, the stations will be epitomized as Jean Genie’s
Smorgasbord of imagined Americana (1972)—With you, and wearing your holograph, in the module toward the angled polar cap, where water yields its upper limits, for the Moon and Earth’s transit of the Sun (November 10,2084)—Horace Dall’s
Lenses were polished with diamond dust, and reproduce the effects of tlitliltzin, the ergotamine of the morning glory, which contracts its reverential vacuum exceeding

The avocado’s climacteric, with our cuttings—Exceeding the sandblasted iron facing and peristyles of this apocalyptic Marah—Standing before feeding pavilions of argonauts in paper crinolines tipped with iron gall inks, where Venetian accounting ledgers and arcana pose no such risk of oxidation—
Quite possibly, groomed toward djinni efficiency; improbably, by the woodpecker’s tongue that travels over the skull; below, the third band of the post-commissure, for discretion,
Becoming the red speck in the fertilized egg, where our desert camel wonders, retroverts in a clearing in the body, as the spatial period of a wave (λ) on Horace Dall’s planetary oases—

4 comments:

Σφιγξ said...

Some encountered species since "Caterpillar", and tonight, with the Gemini full moon spotlighting my Chiron:

http://www.ukbutterflies.co.uk/species.php?species=lucina

http://www.inaturalist.org/taxa/70128-Sphinx-pinastri

http://butterfly-conservation.org/51-1583/true-lovers-knot-.html

Σφιγξ said...

When I work the night shift, I feel like I am in a space environment. Physiological cues are blunted, and every room I enter has a television blasting at night in each patient's private theater of sleep. I turn off the television when I know someone is asleep.


One thing I notice is that I am not tired, per se, but very, very hungry in the morning. I wanted to pull over and have a giant omelet with Gruyère and mushrooms with a dirty Bloody Mary...with olive brine and extra olives, no tequila. The elder Weber azul agave plant is trimmed down to its heart to ferment for those head-splitting, pro-inflammatory congeners.

https://www.gruyere.com/en/fabrication/partners-in-the-gruyere-aop-association/the-gruyere-aop-cows#:~:text=Within%20the%20Gruy%C3%A8re%20AOP%20network,to%20her%20by%20her%20breeder.

https://www.nature.com/articles/s41574-022-00747-7

This is a temporary solution. No long-term Circadian misalignment for me.



"Auroras on the planet Uranus are caused when charged particles from the sun interact with the planet’s magnetic field the same way they do on Earth. The particles are funneled along magnetic field lines toward the magnetic poles. When they enter the Uranian atmosphere, the charged particles bump into atmospheric molecules. This causes the molecules to glow.

'The dominant gasses in Uranus’ atmosphere are hydrogen and helium and they are at much lower temperatures than on Earth. The presence of these gasses at these temperatures cause Uranus’ auroras to predominantly glow at ultraviolet and infrared wavelengths. By comparison, auroras on Earth come from oxygen and nitrogen atoms colliding with the charged particles and the colors are mostly blue, green, and red and can generally be seen with the human eye at the right latitudes.

Uranus and Neptune are unusual planets in our solar system because their magnetic fields are misaligned with the axes in which they spin. Astronomers haven’t found an explanation for this, but clues could lie in Uranus’s aurora."

I am finishing this, tonight:

https://www.google.com/books/edition/Wildscape/AmudEAAAQBAJ?hl=en&gbpv=1&dq=Wildscape%20%22emerald%20moth%20caterpillar%22&pg=PT261&printsec=frontcover

https://loudounwildlife.org/2013/07/wavy-lined-emerald-moth-master-of-disguise/

Σφιγξ said...

https://books.google.com/books?id=krPaEAAAQBAJ&printsec=frontcover&dq=Accidental+Astronomy+Lintott&hl=en&newbks=1&newbks_redir=0&source=gb_mobile_search&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiC8_XB8N2HAxVaL1kFHa3WA0gQ6AF6BAgNEAM#v=onepage&q=Accidental%20Astronomy%20Lintott&f=false

I was directed from the Basic Books imprint from Sharman Apt Russell's An Obsession with Butterflies (2003). The nonsense with pantheism aside, I will enjoy this quick read for content, and maybe pick something I didn't not know to expand.

Her father was Millburn Apt, who, after exceeding Mach 3, crash landed the Bell X-2 Starbuster in the Mojave Desert at Edward's AFB (26 September 1956).

Σφιγξ said...

https://books.google.com/books?id=ItIWgIpnVR8C&printsec=frontcover&dq=An+Obsession+with+Butterflies+Russell+%22Glanville%22&hl=en&newbks=1&newbks_redir=0&source=gb_mobile_search&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiN4LD18N2HAxVrEFkFHYuHKFAQ6AF6BAgLEAM#v=onepage&q=An%20Obsession%20with%20Butterflies%20Russell%20%22Glanville%22&f=false

A footnote to the X-2 is that the pilot lost control, and could eject prior to crash-landing.