The echo is where in the back of the wodes; callhim forth!
(Shaun Mac Irewick, briefdragger, for the concern of Messrs
Jhon Jhamieson and Song, rated one hundrick and thin per
storehundred on this nightly quisquiquock of the twelve apos-
trophes, set by Jockit Mic Ereweak. He misunderstruck and aim
for am ollo of number three of them and left his free natural ri-
postes to four of them in their own fine artful disorder.)

rustrustrust

smoking cigar, reading newspaper, business;
minerals, wash and brush up, local views, juju toffee, comic and
birthdays cards; those were the days and he was their hero; pink
sunset shower, red clay cloud, sorrow of Sahara, oxhide on Iren;
arraigned and attainted, listed and lited, pleaded and proved;
catches his check at banck of Indgangd and endurses his doom at
chapel exit; brain of the franks, hand of the christian, tongue of
the north; commands to dinner and calls the bluff;

Whereof One Cannot Speak

burning body to aiger air on melting mountain in
wooing wave; we go into him sleepy children, we come out of
him strucklers for life; he divested to save from the Mrs Drown-
ings their rival queens while Grimshaw, Bragshaw and Renshaw
made off with his storen clothes; taxed and rated, licensed and
ranted; his threefaced stonehead was found on a whitehorse hill
and the print of his costellous feet is seen in the goat's grass-
circle; pull the blind, toll the deaf and call dumb

Happy Birthday

Shem's bodily getup, it seems, included an adze of a skull, an
eight of a larkseye, the whoel of a nose, one numb arm up a
sleeve, fortytwo hairs off his uncrown, eighteen to his mock lip,
a trio of barbels from his megageg chin (sowman's son), the
wrong shoulder higher than the right, all ears, an artificial
tongue with a natural curl, not a foot to stand on, a handful of
thumbs, a blind stomach, a deaf heart, a loose liver, two fifths of two buttocks, one gleetsteen avoirdupoider for him, a manroot of all evil, a salmonkelt's thinskin, eelsblood in his cold toes, a bladder tristended.

Hard Targets

nonfatal mammalian blood as proofpositive of the
seriousness of his character and that he was bleeding in self
defience (stanch it!) from the nostrils, lips, pavilion and palate,
while some of his hitter's hairs had been pulled off his knut's
head by Colt though otherwise his allround health appeared to
be middling along as it proved most fortunate that not one of
the two hundred and six bones and five hundred and one muscles in his corso was a whit the whorse for her whacking. Herwho?

Black Plastic

Sleep in the water, drug at the fire, shake the dust off and dream your one who would give her sidecurls to. Till later Lammas is led in by baith our washwives, a weird of wonder tenebrous as that evil thorn- garth, a field of faery blithe as this flowing wild.

Approach

kills him verysoon, if yet not, after) is a wake, livit or krikit, and on the bunk of our bread-winning lies the cropse of our seedfather, a phrase which the establisher of the world by law might pretinately write across the chestfront of all manorwombanborn. The scene, refreshed, reroused, was never to be forgotten, the hen and crusader ever-intermutuomergent, for later in the century

La Nausée

That patternmind, that paradigmatic ear, receptoretentive as his of Dionysius, longsuffering although whitening under restraint in the sititout corner of his conservatory, behind faminebuilt walls, his thermos flask and ripidian flabel by his side and a walrus whiskerbristle for a tuskpick, compiled, while he mourned the flight of his wild guineese, a long list (now feared in part lost) to be kept on file of all abusive names he was called

Interior

water black on me. And it steeping and stuping since this time last wik. How many goes is it I wonder I washed it? I know by heart the places he likes to saale, duddurty devil! Scorching my hand and starving my famine to make his private linen public. Wallop it well with your battle and clean it. My wrists are wrusty rubbing the mouldaw stains. And the dneepers of wet and the gangres of sin in it!

Stygian Ruin

God help us! I, says Deansgrange, and say nothing. I, says Barna, and whatabout it? Hee haw! Before he fell hill he filled heaven: a stream, alplapping streamlet, coyly coiled um, cool of her curls: We were but thermites then, wee, wee. Our antheap we sensed as a Hill of Allen, the Barrow for an People, one Jotnursfjaell: and it was a grummelung amung the porktroop that wonderstruck us as a thunder, yunder.

Fractured Suite

we strike hands over his bloodied warsheet
but we are pledged entirely to his green mantle; our friend
vikelegal, our swaran foi; under the four stones by his streams
who vanished the wassailbowl at the joy of shells; Mora and
Lora had a hill of a high time looking down on his confusion till
firm look in readiness, forward spear and the windfoot of curach
strewed the lakemist 

Moth Unit

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