Around August 1st 1936 Berlingham, Germoney geoglyphically hosted the Oilampix. Plush spun down to the stylus ship, set needle to breakers, past pretence future weave of atoms and wiffs – froth on the godly sea – now riverum tumble of Shannonigums Wave. Plush set up mast sail and antenna on that stylus ship, which rings us bwoy a turntabius vicus of recirculation back to back to No Yowlk and Rapalltown and Berlingham environs: august 1st 1936, Giles Chase wrapped in nanotube paste, fr’over the short snot sea with billyum canvases – rearrived from mouth Amorika, heavy with weeping, and winds from starboard to fight his pen-isolate war on the words at the Oilamp Trick Gums of 1936.
Giles Chance – covered with a close webbed mist (which contained his tech support cloud) was joined by Ira Pod, Cutler Bates and Marten McLure in Berlingham, while they went doubling their mumper all the time – with glitter of sun-rays, Bates and Chase brewed by arclight. Here did they writes. Plush on Altable, a prayer to the sickly death’s heads, ringsome on the aquaface. The fall. Fall you might rise your mast. And the penmen rose’ shadows o’er all the ocean. From a swarming disk data memory stick each character smelliported to the oil-gums and their upturnpikepointandplace. Poured we libations unto each the dead, of a once wallstrait oldparr is retaled in bed. And drawing Stylus from my hip, i dug the humptyhillhead upon the Altumble Tabletoes.
History clashes with wills, many men mauled by the scribes – the oystrygods. History HOAX HOAX. “These historical forces and values gathered about me, with shouting” Plush said. “Unsheath the narrow stylus, I’m going in.” Berlingringstroms. But first came McLure, our friend McLure. What chance cuddleys, of going down the long ladder unguarded, to engineer molecular, magnetic, chromatiq and atomic structures, what chance cuddleys, what chance? Plush holding his golden drumstick “struxk his tete in a tub for to watsch the future of his fates, but ere he swiftly stook it out again.” “A man with no fortune and a name to come.” He said. “Ira Pod’s Dantales and Shannonigums Wave by Giles Chase – intertwined, intermixed disks on our Altable.
Ira sailed by Sirens – the trim-coifed goddess path, outward and away from Eyeduno - Amorica to yourhope: Rapalltown under a fog of biocides. Bearing the golden bough of agaricida so that our hip hop cubehouse still rocks as earwitness. Ira brought singing matter, shouting matter, dancing matter of youths and of the old who had borne much. Ira fell downdown the unguarded ladder and shattered a nape-nerve against the buttress, or it mought have been due to a collupsus of his back promises, as other looked at it. Hahahaha Mr. Pod, you’re going to be fined again! With the golden crown, Iradite’. Comeday morm and, O, you’re vine. Ira moved to Rapalltown, Mitale’ – and abducted the town with music, painting and poetry. Cutler Bates soon came.
Hang it All, Cutler Bates. Who was busy compiling the Camelfnord book of dates when he received Ira’s ransom romance – Bates and his ship landed 12-13 weeks later, eyes of Dali’ water cutting under his keel. Indestructible mind full of GYRES. Chase, Pod and Bates triplicity lights inexstiguishable. And the wave runs in the Rapalltown beech grove - and the stylus runs in the disk groove – RNA ink draws atoms and quiffs in the Hawks well at noon. And poor Giles Chase, blind, blind as a bat. The three masters of modernism and English poetry cling to the rocky shoreline, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, there is a wine-red glow in the shallows a tin flash in the sun dazzle. Ira, Giles and Cutler to overthrow history over the Berlingham wall, and put her back together again, with the murmur of old men’s voices. Wake running off from the bow.
And by the rock pool a young boy loggy with vine must was spotted by master Wools. Three quarks for Bygmester Shermon: Humanksi, Wools and Muller. Orbiting the Apollodelphi Theatre – Now Yowlk, 10.00 PM . The young boy of 4 from Gerritsen beach - Sonny Bob - plays McGraff’s younger cousin in McGraff’ a musical by Carsun Wools, “when they brought the young boy i said: he has god in him, though i do not know which god.” Carsun said of Sonny. Shermon conceives midgital communication using the long moon for a churn stick. Humanski Carsun and Muller watch as Sonny Bob telepathically passes fourier transfers to James Shermon – the cranic head on him, caster of his reasons. The Jazzy wave-cords splashing around the theatre hollows, bebop McGriff bellowing out Black African music and theatre into history on the night of July 31st 1936 achording to Plush's current platterplate place.
And Midgital communication was born, and dynamic maximum attension, and the foundation for seamen tricks too; all these great tales told by Sherm and Shan in the gritty Shannanigums Wave to brew Chase’s masterpiece of mathematical genius which launched the midgital information age off the page. Glass-glint of wave in the tide rips against sunlight. Grey peak of the wave, wave... Woolsrusspower to all-around humanity. Pull down thy vanity. From grosskopp to megapod, as from the beginning of wonders, Humanski went in for structure but consumption is still done by animals. Holy snakes, chase me charley, Eva's got barley under her fluencies! Tempus tacendi, tempus loquendi. And the plot to alert Ira in Berlingham got underway.
The great scarab is bowed at the altar the green light gleams in its shell, fold the hands, bow the head - and gun sales lead to more gun sales, guns, guns, guns. Dollis and Skully Von cum to have Adolphted such a Adelphus! O, the singing. 1936 contracts to secure guns and dope. Using the people as its mere dupe, undercover: the OILYMPIC troops. Mr Pope has conformed it to the notions of Englishmen and Americans in Tacitus and in Homer. Ingle end says now for know. Stevenscum, Dollis, Folly and Skully Von and the Berlingham faith exchange. Germoney, Inkland, Mitale’ Amorica, where in history will you find it? “Isle wail for yews.’ Said Chase. The spooks grilled Pod, Bates and Chase, literally – electrochemically shocked them – blotch and void. “I am noman, my name is noman.” Ira announced to the twelvepodstall inquisitors. The old moderns resisted Spengleton’s pet project SADIO: Trading Cocaine Cola, Christianity & crude oil - a kind of Christmess speedball for summer 36’ – around the globe. “NO” Ira, Chase and Bates said sincere...