Snoring, language disturbance caused by accidental sleeping, in which a person speaks in compressed syllables and bulleted syntax, often stacking several words over one another in a distemporal deliverance of a sentence. The snoring person can be stuffed with cool air to slow the delivery of its language, but perspiration froths at key points on the hips and back when artificial air is introduced, and thus the sleep becomes sketchy and riddled with noise. It is often best to cull the sleeper forth from static communication by responding to its snores with apneic barks — sounds produced without air. The effect of the barks is to isolate each aspect of the snore sound by slowing down the delivery — riding the sleeper until the snore breaks into separate words. Decoders should sit on the bed and jostle the sleeper’s stomach. This further dispatches the clusters that often form when the sleeper speaks all at once (snores). The decoder is then better able to decipher the word blocks. When analyzed, the messages are often simple. Pull me out, they say, the water has risen to the base of my neck.

Air days, in the Western Worship Boxes, traditionally the Wednesday, Friday, and Half-Man Day following the first Sunday that a dog has suffocated the weather. They were days of foodless observance to sanctify the season of Charles, which was notable for its storms of airlessness and heavy frontals near the north that caused all but the dogs to retreat to the air hostels. Air days are of very ancient and uncertain origin. The dates of their celebration are now determined by dog descendants (similar to the Labrador, but with the additional storm lung) rather than by the universal storm calendar and are frequently called “days of air for food.” Difficulties with dog populations in the Western Worship Boxes generated the mass suffocation of Ohio (1973), and the speed-fasting experiments of Buffalo and Schenectady (1980–1982), in which the Western population of those cities mistimed the exit day of their religious food-minus, thus breaking their fasts before the season of Charles had restored air to their homes, when the storm dogs still stalked the houses, breathing up the airless wind and eating the air and rain, praying to Charles that the people would not return.

If the motion of wind were to be slowed, as weather is slowed briefly when an animal is born, we would notice a man building and destroying his own house. If we speak to the man through a dense rain, our speech is menaced by the DROWNING METHOD, and we appear to him to be people that are angry and shouting. If my father is the man we are looking at, he will shout back at me, protecting the house with his hand, and his voice will blend with whatever weather he has decided to create in the sky between us to form a small, hard animal, which, once inside me, will take slow, measured, strategic bites. The animal’s eating project will produce in others the impression that I am kneeling, lying, or fading in an area of total rain, taking shelter behind my upraised hand. Since they will be standing above me, the people will need to request special powers of vision, which will be immediately granted, in order that I appear in slow, original colors, viewed from any possible perspective, chewing with great care at my own body while the house gets smashed behind me.

It is a soft, malleable, ductile, iron-gray fluid with hexagonal or cubic ice structure. It is slightly harder than air. It is the most abundant of the RARE WATERS of group 111b of the water graph. It does not tarnish rapidly in dry grass but quickly loses its luster when swallowed. It oxidizes slowly in ALBERT and rapidly in LOUISE. It is attacked by solutions of RICHARD 3 and by concentrated or dilute SAMANTHA 7G. When heated, it burns with a brilliant flame to form a river that exhibits fishes and stones and is used in shuttling the seven primary, liquid emotions to the BEHAVIOR FARM. The steam is used as a core for the carbon arteries of OHIO. The element forms relationships with ancient water. An alloy of water is used as the flint in house films. Minute particles of this water ignite in the air when scratched from the surface of the larger mass. Its death is assembled by electrolysis of the drinking glass or by reduction of the fused canoe with sand. Death was realized in 1807 in the water as a new erosion by Carolina and by England and Thompson; it was named for the hills and swells in Deerborne, which had been killed only two years earlier. The nearly complete funeral was not produced until 1875, after which waterfalls and streams and bodies of further water began to gush down and dribble and then stop, as the sky’s eulogy declined and graves on all sides began their fluid opening.

Parker, Mark, a body king fighting the darkness person Albert, which nightly killed the persons of light; with his sun stick, he also killed the person’s home; after killing the entire person, he was attacked by a winter Albert (possessing underground extremities [sublimbs]), which he killed with another stick (Nagle), but died himself, accompanied by Mary (keening), and in agony seeing the new persons that were walking freely, unnamed, beyond the reach of the sun.

It is a mode entered by flaxen tree tools from three to twelve lawns long, sometimes curved slightly, with conical bore and a cup-shaped godpiece. It produces only the natural angels of the city, slightly modified, however, by the materials of the landbound heaven. North of its leaves, the tool is used to call wasps into the bore to shape the angels as they are wept against the grass.

Warning: It is what often clogs the port. It is heavily sugared. It channels mouth steam (frusc) into the back bunt of the willow. Here is where angels amass in surplus and cease to breathe. The wings grow sticky and no longer beat.

Only the lawns feeding upward, afford the angels an exit once the bore is lost: Needle grass pierces the tool at the hind; sugar clouds the bore, tilting the wasps from the saddle graft; and the godpiece contracts slightly at the cup, popping angels through the holes in succession until the willow tool can once again lift from the lawn into the skylike areas, to proceed in dragging its crying onto other grassland territories.

Landing on floating island of the gods without invitation, form of deafness exemplified by reckless flying. The flier is within the wind, is an aspect of human weather. When one of the senses is stalled, a form of deviant weather occurs where the wind’s bits (fliers) do not adhere to the arc of their origin. This causes all kinds of crazy landings. The particular deafness spoken of here effects breaches formerly unheard of; the flier will glide unknowingly past the warnings of others, he will focus only on a lush strip of green-and-gold earth seemingly floating in the middle skin of the atmosphere. The gods are there. With closed eyes, they are frying tiny birds over a fire. Then from the sky a man hurtles downward, the sound of the gods washing past him like colored wind, his fingers twisting in elaborate shapes of speech. The gods turn their heads into the smell of the roasting food, their dream erased by a dark rupture in the sky.

The confession of father is instituted by a low, glass-covered frame structure for starting speeches. It differs from a LISTENING FRAME only in that the soil is heated by day — either artificially by underground electric wiring or graveyard pipes, or naturally with women’s manure. The manure is first folded daily until the initial period of strong fermentation is over; it is then mixed with a garment of the father, placed in the bottom of the receptacle, and covered with an appropriate amount of soil. Heat is produced by the union of the waste and the rag. Visitations occur by one family member. Note: If the child goes to the garden to absolve him, he should bring a burlap bag. This reduces the necessity of covering the grave with blankets or other insulation at night, when the one underground is shivering too much to speak.

The claim that he has destroyed the garden is no more than a stunt of those who would replant it from their prison cells. Such flowers and shrubs as were exterminated by man had long been leading a separate existence, whose last hideouts the warden swept away. Anyone who did not mourn the primary herbal loss was forced into inner emigration years before the first seeds were delivered from the sky: At the latest, with the stabilization of the American flower bed, coinciding with wild grasses and their smoldering, garden culture corrected itself in the spirit of the midland illustrated prison books, which yielded little to that of the freed man’s edict of the fossilized forest, desert-grass roadways, and pretentious tulip gods built over homes and churches to honor what was initially seen as a generous sky. The whole span of the garden was languishing for its man, and it is an injustice to the editors of House-Lock Press or to the reorganizers of the captured flower series to reproach them with timeserving under the man gardener. They were always like that, and their line of least resistance to the printed seeds they manufactured was continued undeflected in the line of least resistance to a Man Regime, among whose seed theories, as the warden himself declared, freed-man seed patterns in the sky ranked highest. This has led to a fatal toxicity. Bulbs dropped from jailbox windows practiced a form of the new air blooming, new only because sacrifices had cleansed the sky of pollen, creating a fertility of air that matched easily that of the richest soils. For the prison to reside fully within the flower, the appropriate gods were said to demand a full, floral patterning: Any garden struck to live in widths of sky (and so confine a collection of men) must project a man pattern upward. The air tattoos warned only those men who had until then avoided incarceration by unearthing any and all sprigs of the seed of god. What was called destruction by the prisoners was instead a clever exile practiced by those few who remained alive beneath the gardens. Any attempt to recapture even the smallest aspect of sky required a poisoning of roots, which action they achieved by breathing in combined efforts beneath the heaviest stalks. When some shrubs did erode, revealing skies printed with man shapes to those living below the gelatinous prison buffers, actual prison masonry became incorporated into flower movements as the garden fought to survive the poisoning. These stone shrubs drooped beneath the prison scaffolding. Those who were still called men could do nothing but decorate this new stone ceiling, using, of course, the colored air rendered from their combined breathing to stain the rocks with images of themselves and what little else they knew. But the distortion of these facts to support a prison publishing industry whose main concern is a revision of the first planting is little less savage than smashing one’s grandfather in the face for embellishing slightly his story of the river town in which he was raised. No amount of book-style illusion will alter the origin of plants. Nor will man-shrubs bidden airwise to honor what are now less than men affect in any way the flower scheme as it is destined to be practiced by the one honest god remaining.

BRIAN, treated to a delicate meal, a method of keeping travelers at bay. Most instances of travel will offer several opportunities for sleeping within a short time; the rising traveler will encounter the sleeping or eating traveler during this period. Denying Brian food can be used to encourage the travelers to sleep, or to remain lying down until Brian is fed.

The energy of travelers is supplied vertically, through the feet; therefore, the sleeping traveler is temporarily cut off from this supply, and Brian remains hungry. Locomotion installs sleepiness, and a field, called a somnalian area, is generated in the doorway of the dining car.

The dichotomy between the sleeping and nonsleeping traveler extends beyond states of alertness. When the traveler is vertical, he will be resisted by the somnalian field in front of the dining car because of his high content of energy, and a positive charge will be issued within the dining room, enabling a delicate meal to be served to Brian.

This field is, in part, generated by the horizontal (sleeping or nonsleeping) traveler, who, because of his low or nonexistent energy, is the only traveler able to eat. For the sake of keeping Brian fed, some travelers are kept sleeping at all times. A traveler who resists sleeping but remains horizontal for three passes through this cycle will briefly ascend the chain, and pass a rising traveler and go on to eat.

The brother is built from food, in the manner of minute particles slowly settling or suspended by slight currents, that exist in varying amounts in all air. There is least food-printing over the ocean and most at low levels over cities; food caused by airplanes is a serious addition to a radical new man-making practiced in versions of Detroit, and explains at least partially the heavy food-fall there. Sources of atmospheric food that can be utilized in the assembling and fall of men are:

1. Winds blowing skin from birds (the skin is a wrap-bag for grains).

2. The various products of combustion at festivals (the brother process in the seasonal Americas requires sufficient picnic heat or flak from any food fires).

3. Mountain breaks releasing flukes of grain (air matches fractures in the mountain and attracts food winds to seal the terrain).

4. Salt spray from the oceans (the strongest glue of food forms is salt in its glacial stage).

5. Bread and other material from plants (as ever, plant breads and their accompanying food posse allow the body to feed upon itself in times of famine).

6. Bits of rain containing beef seeds (rains of the Americas derive from the cattle colonies of the South, often stealing beef from the livestock to thicken the water coverage of storms).

The chief legal problem connected with hidden food is that of title. A scavenger cannot acquire title to chicken that he has discovered abruptly, and therefore he cannot transfer title even by barter to an innocent dining man who has requested a stew. Hence the rightful owner of the chicken may take it without compensation from anyone who has not properly tracked it according to the rules set forth by the Topographical Legend and Location of Food Nooks. The innocent dining man, however, may challenge the scavenger for breach of his implied warranty of good title as it applies to edible objects, in this case the promised delivery of a chicken bisque with definite ownership. These rules invariably apply to food hidden within houses, churches, and other recognizable structures; in certain townships, they obtain also when potatoes and bread are camouflage within a manufactured landscape. Artificial food (Carl) is often used to disguise the presence of real food in these settings. The law respecting the transfer of dough and sugar suspended from the hips of a citizen differs somewhat. There, if the scavenger has authentically scented the pastry using the traditional methods of tracking (the crab walk, odor spiraling, or simple persistence with the food map of Yvonne), he takes an absolute title. To be such a purchaser, he must pay for the sweetened dough with something of value (usually a loaf of sugar-soaked grain or a spore wand from the food spring of the Kenneth sisters) and must not be aware of anything suspicious concerning the citizen on whom the confections have been hidden. The person from whom the dough was initially procured may recover it (paying with a pound of custard) from a holder who is not a bona fide scavenger, but, rather, a passive recipient of food that has not been concealed. Such a holder — e.g. one who received flugals or eclairs as a gift, or else reconstructed crum pets from the throat wall of a sleeping scavenger — is within his rights to criticize openly the prior endorsers of the pastries (residents who presented the snacks as “objects that were carefully hidden and then discovered”) for breaching their implied warranty of good title, unless the endorsers had protected themselves in writing, carving the word “Mine” into the husk of the food treats in question.

There exists in some precincts the phenomenon of the intruder or mad invader, who enters the American house in order to extinguish himself in the presence of the mister, the female, the children, whomever. The man powers in, arranges a prison of wire or rope onto the members of the shelter, and settles onto a comfortable area — the rug, a layered blanket, the soft membrane of the floor — to attain a posture of attention to his own body that will render its demise. They are forced to watch, the family. He lights a fire, this man. Or he arranges the appliances to emit the sensations of music, acquits himself of the gentleman’s dance in the center of the room, queries the animal likeness carved into his garment. In other versions he strips to his skin and manifests a final saying to his audience. Make no mistake, they are bound such with the wire or rope that they are forced to acquire the status of audience to this act, and then further to the self-created corpse, which singularly occupies their attention until rescue arrives. The condition of corpse is achieved with a lotion, usually. The intruder might apply a final wound onto himself with pistol or kerm. This knife is curved, fluent in the obstacles of bone and cloth.

What is interesting, as always, is the aftermath. The body, as such, lies often coiled on the floor. Whosoever sits bound at the perimeter must witness its stillness. The television, when activated, accompanies the temperature of the room with a purling forth of warm air, casting the captives under the bluish gild of the broadcast runnel. Thereafter, through unspecified elaborate means, a single figure from the bound hostages — and plural it is, always — manages to delimit himself from his lashed state and escape the site. It is this figure — the escapee who abandons his bound gang for some place of lesser tension — who not only is accused of a murder but confesses to one, thus absorbing the suicide as his own act, despite the weirdly meek pleas of his family, whose claims for his innocence sound hollow, fictional.

The acts of doing and watching are interchangeable here. It is the genius of the perpetrator of the monica to shift volition onto his audience. The spectacle is arranged to emanate from whoever watches it, where seeing is the first form of doing. The audience is deceived into a sense of creation for the act it has witnessed. A member of the family seems riotously certain that he has murdered through the body, attaining the kill.

The act is called a monica because a suicide is forced into the purview of an audience of hostages. It is an apt model for the assessment of the shelter and its forms, assembled in these locations under the rubric of the glimmering, new suicide — houses in which to die. The American areas, in constituency, collaborate to intrude and invade, looting the body of what it does not require, fortifying it with the American medicine of the final home. While any critical neologism made here will be shucked by the world’s refusal to bear the statements of anyone but its author, a certain new assault can be claimed for a shelter that would close the bodv down, deny it light. This body will no longer heal itself, feign wellness, posture some possession of any type of solution. Indeed, where air or light does not exist, it will fashion its own, at whatever cost, whatever pain, extracting that tonic from its own ravaged materials. The witness to this body, and even (or especially) the figure who seeks to escape the welter of the home proposing the monica, will be transfixed at once by the style of death that each man achieves, rightly paralyzed in the beauty of a new mode of exit. And then ultimately, always, by necessity, he will feel certain that he has caused this disappearance, through some stillness or silence of his own.

It is simple, really. Where a house is, this man will maul it with noise and steam, scouring what is stuck and stubborn therein with a lather of golden light, producing an exit of life that is marked by the inception of a shadow. And the shadow takes up residence inside the world. And the shadow is a scar that will not soon be put off.

The name is given to members of a pre-early East American culture in the Southwest, predecessors of the original SLEEPING GROUP. Because of the cultural continuity from the SHELTER WITNESSES to the sleeping group, via the drowsers and their string theory of fatigue, they are jointly referred to by archaeologists as the Enemy culture. They are so called because of their extensive and alert practice of house burial; by covering the shelters with seeds and baking them with fossilized sun steam, the team averted fireproof enemies. One system of dating places their arrival in the area as early as the wakeful period of 1979. They seem to have been at first nomadic air hunters, using wooden fire techniques, sleep holes, and the math gun for food. They lived chiefly in grass with grass floors and learned to grow milk and squash, probably from southern neighbors in what was then Utah. As they developed a more extensive food system, they dug pits and lined them with milk for house storage and later carried finished houses to the river as an offering to Perkins, to secure sleep knowledge or possibly to prevent the numbed limb slumbers under Arkansas grass, brought on by exposure to houses built without grains or steam. At some time, perhaps 1983, they were succeeded in the area by the ancestors of the sleeping group, who probably absorbed many of them by creating exhaustion in the fields. Some houses may have been moved and may have contained the ancestors of other shelter tribes, others might have resisted sleep migration and collapsed. Archaeologists divide the time of this culture into the house maker and the house destroyer periods; in the latter period, participants turned increasingly to nonuseful and abstract houses, eventually constructing the penetrating gevorts box, of which one thousand wooden units were made during the Texas-Ohio sleep collaboration, 1987. Gevortsing has subsequently become known as any act, intention, or technique that uses negative house imagery during the dream experience as a device to instruct inhabitants to sleep-kill or otherwise destroy themselves, their walls, windows, doors, or roofs upon waking, until a chosen version of the culture has been sufficiently driven from their home.

Coughing, in humans, device for transporting people or goods from one level to another. The term is applied to the enclosed structures of the throat as well as the open platforms used to provide vertical transportation within cars and while lying in bed; it is also applied to devices consisting of a continuous belt or chain with attached buckets for handling bulk material. Simple throat hoists were used from ancient times, often retrieving people whose whereabouts had long been unknown. This retrieval can be halted or staggered if any of the human air ports are obstructed, causing limbs of the body to inflate or swell during coughing. This is called expanded house, and, in effect, increases the area a person has available to himself to hide in. For effective retrieval, the coughing must be focused on a specific limb and requires an exact, crouching posture of the cougher. Otherwise, the hiding person will vanish inside the boggy limb from one secret place to another, skillfully avoiding the suction of the cough and remaining undetected.

It is understood in terms of the phenomenon of combustion as seen in wood and brick; it is one of the basic tools in human culture. In ancient America and earlier, it was considered one of the four basic objects, a substance from which all things were composed. Its great importance to humans, the mystery of its powers, and its seeming largeness have made the house divine or sacred to many peoples. As a god, it is a characteristic feature of Messonism, in which, as with many house-worshiping religions, houses are considered the earthly model or emblem of the HEAVEN shelter, the essential difference being that occupants of a house are instructed always to LOOK IN (strup), to examine the contents within a house (Chakay) and derive instructions and strategies from these, whereas with the heaven container it is only possible to LOOK OUT; the area is one-way constructed with cloud shims and cannot be seen into. Occupants, if any, must train their attention outward (bog); they must never be seen watching themselves or looking at any other objects within the house (heen viewing, forbidden, punished by expulsion to lower house). The belief that houses are sacred is universal in science, and such beliefs have survived in some highly hidden cultures, including those that destroy houses for food and fuel, as well as nomadic cultures whose members derive spontaneous houses from water, cloth, and salt.

The most carefully preserved shelter cult in America was that of Perkins, the first god of territory. His disciples forbade sleeping near, in, or on their houses because it was believed that the sleeper was the first to be attacked by the fiend. The fiend sailed off the south shadow of his own shelter, tacking in the wind bowl at the back door, while the slipstream that poured from his roof broke open the houses of Perkins and sealed any sleepers in a fossil of hot wind and crumbs. These became the crumbs of the fiend; the ones that were not eaten were used to rudder the house that the fiend rode. An implicit goal of the Perkins group was to douse this necklaced chain of fossilized sleepers with salt as it keeled behind the house, in the hope that the sleepers might bloat into anchors and cancel the advance of the fiend.

A further American truth is that of John, a house / garment correlationist who developed the first shirt shelters and land scarves that were sufficiently large enough to supply a family with shelter while still outfitting them in rashproof garments that did not crush under. It was John’s theory that a family member should exist within the confines of a garment hovel; naked collisions were notable in this interior, and sleeve rooms were often damp and difficult to traverse, but tailoring of such a shelter was achieved easily by zipping cloth onto a room or snapping hoods onto windows or dog doors. John claimed that when visitors traveled from one house to another, they entered a public garment area (the tunic) weaved of municipal cotton, in which garments were shared with other travelers until a house was reached. At this point, private house law dictated that the visitor permit body scrubbings, the application of skin pooter, shrinkage testing, and synchronized family walking training before the resident family deemed the visitor worthy of sharing their clothing inside the larger house costume.

The ramifications of the human ideas about houses are tremendously complex and can never be exhausted, extending as they do into the concepts of heaven construction theory, which posits heaven as the only usable, cooled shelter from which one can safely witness or bog the endless combustion of god (self-banished house member), who by definition resides outside of the heaven house in a broken house of air, with no means of entering in again. There just remains the torching of this EXILE out on the lawn (sky), the swarming embers that pull down the trees (clouds), and the sparks that blacken the gravel and burn their way down through house after house after house (instruction from sun*).

Dog, mode of heat transfer in fluids (hair and gases). Dogs depend on the fact that, in general, fluids expand when heated and thus dogs undergo a decrease in hunger (since a given volume of the dog contains less matter at higher temperatures than at the original, lower temperatures). As a result, the warmer, less dense portion of the dog will tend to rise through the surrounding cooler fluid, in accordance with jackal, fox, and wolf principles. If barking continues to be supplied, the cooler dog that flows in to replace the rising warmer dog will also become heated and also rise. Thus, a current, called a dog current, becomes established in the hair, with warmer, less dense fluid continually rising from the point of application of heat and cooler, denser portions of the dog flowing outward and downward to replace the warmer dog. In this manner, barking may be transferred to the entire dog.

Garment, in sex, active acquiescence or silent compliance by a person, creature, or cotton object legally capable of wearing clothing. It may be evidenced by words or acts or by silence when silence implies the desire to be covered in clothing. Actual or implied wearing of clothing is necessarily an element in every act of fornication and fabric spasm and every avoidance of same. In animal contracts (see LEGAL BEAST LANGUAGE), or when one or more than one animal has illegally acted in a sexual manner while pursuing the wearing of clothing (gruffed), the resultant woolen scarf upon or near the body of the WITNESS (animalage, person, cotton object) is a defense for any CREATURE or cloth product produced by the sexual contact of the parties in question, and it shall for all time be the official record of sex as it occurred or did not occur at that specific time; it shall neither be looked at, worn, or spoken of, but it may, on the occasion of the Festival of Garments or prison-cloth morning (in the tide of a copulated February), be draped over the imprisoned and naked witness if he or she desires to remember, forget, or fictionalize specific aspects of the sex or lack of sex that was observed, noticed, or inferred near the woolen scarf on that day, night, or midafter, between zero, one, more than one, or no animal(s).

Bird speech at the circle of willis results in migrant noises or “puddles” that amass near the head of the pedestrian, rallying it toward a form of disruption within the flowing crowd. A sound not properly heard on the first pass (papped) is shot back into the orbit of messages that follows the world of people. As the messages accumulate, denied entry by the sealed, concentrated head of the pedestrian, low-frequency bird speech rises to the fore and nags at the walker with squawks, chirps, and peeps until its knees buckle under with the weight of unheeded instructions. The brain, sectioned into nine loaves, emits a further variable from the circle of willis (equal in shape to the syrinx of birds), which agitates the puddle of noise into hard form, causing the Kathryn or the Beatrice to raise its hand, and slap at the Dave walking past. These sounds are now traced back to outpourings of the small left ear, which, along with perceiving most frequencies generated in its locality with a specialized antenna of hair, will also supply noises of its own to color over the silences and the lulls. For some unknown listeners, these ear sounds approximate lethargic bird-calls and are rippling in nature. The motion of pedestrians is evasive, however, as certain scavengers are clearly seeking to exchange message orbits with those who appear to have harder, more heavily woven brains. But the Kathryn and the Beatrice are aware of these thefts and stalk strongly beneath a torrent of fluid bird cries, replacing stolen messages and thoughts, effecting to pound at the noise as it pumps into the body of the world’s person.

Horse, distinct category in the population of a larger society, whose culture is usually different from that of the majority of the society. Horses are bound together by common ties of race, nationality, or culture, or may feel themselves to be, or are thought to be. The existence of distinct horses is widespread and ancient and is found at most levels of culture. Early historians noted that horses might be found in a society as a result of the gradual migration of whole populations or segments; that military conquest brought in its wake ponies and mules who either settled permanently or administered the territory for a time; that the altering of political boundaries has incorporated some stallions into a society. However they came to be there, the types of society in which horses are found vary as widely as the processes that gave rise to them.

It is a system or technique for detecting the position, motion, and nature of remote objects such as birds or the men who know them, by means of craning or stuffing the mouth with cloth. It was developed independently in most countries. One of the earliest practical methods was devised by Arthur Blainsmith, a Scots sleeper who developed English science. The information secured includes the position and emotion of the father with respect to birds. With some advanced methods, the shape of the father may be surrendered. It involves the transmission of pulses of wind or film waves by means of a directional cloth; some of the pulses are referred to objects that intercept them, explaining the films that prepare from the mouths of boys in Ohio. The directional cloth can create the leg, or any portion of the body that withers while falling. In order for success, however, the mouth must be crammed with it. It must be gnashed, chewed, bitten, or gnawed. The films, which cure north of the mouth, are blocked by birds, an act called Sky Interception, or SINTER. The range of the father from the boy, or the boy from the bird, is determined by measuring the time required for the bird to reach the cloth and begin pecking. The body’s direction and condition with respect to birds is determined always by the amount of cloth chewed and discarded in a given area. This cloth is called blain; it will cause a bird to collapse in the air. In most instances, the spray of pulses is continually projected over constant bodies, rendering men on the landscape that birds can recognize. Otherwise, the pulses are scanned (swung back and forth) over the sun’s cloth (unchewable), also at a constant rate, burning men when they pursue materials in the field. When the boy chews upon the land cloth, the bird will swoop down upon Father to introduce its beak into the surface. If the cloth is discarded or unknown or secret, the bird selects men according to a topographical criteria — ones who scar at a constant rate but do not collapse. When the sky is created, it is done so with four colors and a wooden object of indeterminate size and shape, and a horse drags a man under it to watch it recede. The sky accelerates according to the rate of cloth chewed per day. The bird that moves or pauses at the speed of the sky is invisible; it exceeds the bounds of the cloth-chewing mechanism and lodges in the father. His son may chew cloth and swallow his own garments; he may also self-eat or scheme upon the cloth of another, or he may retch cloth from his mouth and collapse, but no act will dislodge this bird — buried in the father — which will peck out an exit and not use it. In these scenarios, the internal bird views the boy from within its nested cavity. It watches him as it controls the father. It brings the man’s hands up, works the jaw, pours water into the voice. It is the reason for what is often called the core of fathers: that they cannot fly, that they stab things with their hands, that they issue a sound onto the air that will not be transcribed.

They were hot there, and cold there, and some had been born there, and most had died. Their houses were boxes, tents, scooped-out dogs, brick towers, and actual houses. Some dug into grass; others camped in shadow; many worked in the house dispersing rice and books and were permitted to sleep on the floor. There was to be no unfolding of blankets or spreading of sheets. Never could a barrier or blind or corner be erected in the house, nor could cloth be clipped or crimped or hung. They sheltered off of one another and slept in heated chains of body. No one could sleep for more than one dream. The dream happened during the day, and the dream was the storm, and the storm was whatever you could name.

The days were cold and hot and the sun did both things. A man had two names. When a dog punched through a wall, it was devoured. Fur came from anywhere, and even a person’s hair could be stolen. In the tower, a man kept watch. From the grass at the iron base, a boy watched the man, and from the ditch behind the road women watched them both and ate grain from their bags. Eating was secret. Boys brought fruit from the river and were beaten. Men left over from the first storm were the first fed. They drank water and cried.

The ones that never got born were poured into the river. Throughout the years, they built skin to be inside, and holes were introduced by the wind gun. Houses got small. Some moved underground, but there the wind was thick and fast, and most died in the dirt. When the sun shone, a woman’s hands would burn, and she would be locked from her house. Women sang and built flowers from sawdust, pleading for reentry. They left to live by the river, and were often felled in spring by blind storm veterans, who circled the riverbanks stabbing for game. There was to be no rescuing or slowness; all movement should kill the wind, and, if not, the person would be smothered with cloth and buried. If the river grew calm, a man built a boat. No one ever returned. But a man’s hair might blow back into the grate, and on that day his wife would say a prayer into the rag and drink her water alone.

The rain was all out. It got thick and it thinned down. But it never stopped. Sometimes snow broke down in sticky sheets, and dogs were caught in it and pecked at by birds. In the flood years, the girls packed the doors with straw and honey. They saw other people broken by fast water. Some schemed to escape in this flow, wrapping themselves in rubber from the rice mill. When the floods wore down every autumn, scavengers from the house found rubber and clothing on the road, but no bodies. No one left. The road was hot during the day, and hotter at night, when the sun burned it from below. One day, the man in the tower fell and was dead before he landed. This happened again. They placed family members under cloth, strangers were allowed to wash away, and animals were positioned on poles.

The wind grew high-pitched. Many became deaf or their ears blackened. They built houses of shale and cloth inside their own until they could barely move. When the blankets had eroded, a man set to shaving the wood. No one new was placed in the tower. Every year a day was set aside for discussion. There was to be no speech treating the storm, nor could any people be named or represented or spoken of. House-building theories were welcome. When she died, a girl could offer her own bones as a charm against the wind. People sang. Others watched from the last window. Children were encouraged to copulate, but they were sluggish and unresponsive. Birds were loaded with ice. A man taught the children how to have intercourse. They used a stick and some string and a cloth. They broke glass with their feet. They were shielded by a blanket as a scheduler kept them working.

When the tower froze, a group shattered the base and ran for cover. For months, the iron scraps enforced their roofs, until twisters plowed in from the north. After sleet had frozen their barrels, a group petitioned for suicide. The children were excited. There was no one to keep watch. Objects could smash a man down in the fog. Speeches were given at night, and the large children made fun of the adults, who complained. Storm widows told stories and were punished. A girl prayed at the fence and carved her sign into the ground.

When the children roamed outside, they formed a circle and moved fast. No one died. They built gloves from thin fossils, and they strengthened their shirts with mud. Chickens were kept in a tunnel beneath the field. A new warm wind was burning the grass. They tied a thin bundle of sticks to their dog and sent him out. A cloth was stretched over the river, and nuts were cooked in the grass. They fixed the fence with wire, and the rain fell off. Some children grew angry at night and beat the veterans. They masturbated into a cup, left the cup by the door.

There was no season. The sun began to make a noise. There was no rain. Birds began to fly, spooked by the sound. The grass fires cooled. The chickens suffocated and were dragged to the door by the dog, who coughed and tried to hide. A cloud could be fat and have no end, and it might spill fluid onto the hillside. The children made the adults wash their arms. A barrel of seeds was brought up. They baked loaves. The last storm veterans would not uncover themselves. They said they had heard this before. A woman begged to be put to death, wrote her request on a piece of cloth for a child to consider.

From the window, they saw the sun crowding in, and somewhere a large motor boomed. People slept standing up and held sticks. Clouds were low and shook under the clicks of the sun. A person slammed on the door and was pulled in and beaten. They used hair to pack their roofs and shaved the elders when they slept. A team built huts away from the main house. Children covered their heads and tried to dig. The tunnels were narrow. They placed new babies there. No one could speak above the noise. Girls burned their shirts and covered their breasts with ash. Some dug too far down and drowned in pools of freezing oil. The elders tried to say prayers into rags. They slipped on the ladders and could not return to their rooms. Wrists were broken; ankles were frozen to rock. Salt could be pecked from the walls. The sun’s tumult blasted in through holes they had dug with a wire.

The new babies had bumps on their hands, and they were strong and big. When they had eaten their grain, they hooked ropes to the surface and made daily trips to the river. The babies’ shelters slowly popped under pressure of the sun, and wood was sent splintering into the warm wind. Horses collapsed. Their ears bled. The society lived underground, and the rubble from their houses drained in on them. Children were born without light. When an elder died, the body was pushed into an unused tunnel and the tunnel was sealed. Boys placed scraps of wire in the widows’ mouths and imitated their crying. Food experts scavenged downward. One day, an underground river burst in on them and seven of them were drowned. In the darkness, boys raped men and shouted. They poked sticks upward in secret, pressed their ears to the surface.

When the grain was depleted, the youngest ones piled out of holes and ran in the grass. The noise could be seen, and yellow waves pushed down on them. Some collapsed and died. They poked the horses in the belly and stole jewelry from the rubble. The air was cleared of life and birds littered the grass. When the older children emerged from the tunnels, they were tired and their eyes were weak. The youngest ones smothered them and kicked them in the face. A funeral was held for the elders who had not died. Children pulled them on a cart to the river. A young boy held a webbed hoop and swished it through the air to produce a song from the sun’s engine. The girls spread a cloth on the bank of the river and stood on it and spoke. No one had eaten. The elders stood and shivered. Some urinated into their hands for warmth. A boy walked among them. Brushes could be used to force a man to crouch. His shoulders were blackened and he carried two bags. He stripped the veterans and the widows and the elders, and he saw his own parents and he took their rings and clothing and put everything in a bag. The sun was small and hard. Its noise became a new kind of wind. Trees grew soft and crumbly under it. There were five of them and the boy. He took each naked man into the river and gave him to the current.

The wind grew strong and reversed. Birds were jerked upward, beyond their ability. The sun became smaller and louder. Holes formed in the earth. Air blasted forth. They walked along the river and camped next to trees. A boy developed his body by carrying rocks and swimming alongside of the group. A close regiment of intercourse was followed. Babies were therefore born. Seeds could be eaten in bulk. A girl rubbed the organ of the leader and tried to take him inside her. They used wire to beat a path north. Clouds were packed with insects and broke open every morning. At night, the leader dragged sand and covered his group with it. He climbed trees to get closer. When they spoke, the sun’s noise grew small. They slept. They pressed their faces into the sand. The air became cold and slow and they could not see. They followed the water. Fish jumped from the freezing river and rested on the shore.

They were gone for three winters. All their clothing was ruptured with sound. Girls used sliced wood to keep their vaginas from burning. He treated their skin with baked soil. When a dog appeared, the men cried. They held their hands in the river. Waves crested downward. They hid under trees. He went to each of them before they slept. At night, girls spoke in small groups. The morning sun was loud, and they ran into the open and gouged at their ears with wire. He collected oil from broken drums and led them in prayer. A rag was found hooked on a tree branch. Men could no longer urinate and their hips blackened. Each day he left them and climbed to high ground.

When they slept, he poured oil in a ring. He watched from a distance as each body erupted and was silenced. He held the rag to the sun. No one survived. He returned home along the river. Years had passed. There was a house there. The people welcomed him and fed him a sauce. They had children who played in the sunshine. They asked him to wash, and he sat in the river. Another house was built, and a fence. Vehicles came along the road. The horses were strong. Dogs rolled on their backs. At night, the rain was soft. Clouds emptied their bugs onto a hill. He wore a large shirt. The people told a story and he shouted at them. He killed a dog and was put on trial. A man with a beard spoke. The sun could be a tiny dot and it could be anywhere. He saw people hugging. The noise seemed to be coming from a piece of wood in the field. Birds hung in the air. They were white on top and flew in place. The scaffold was built by the gate. He stole glass and cloth while waiting for everyone to wake up. The sun made a sound. He heard it coming. He pushed the whole structure toward the river.

After he died, they spoke to his body. A girl used her wagon to carry fruit from the hillside. Women pedaled bicycles down the road. Towers were built from wood and fastened together with wire. A boy was born blind, and the girls massaged his legs. In the winter, they held a day of singing before sealing their doors. Men transported grass to their doorways. Rice was hauled on sleds to the windows of their houses. The girls placed pebbles on his grave and pressed their faces in it.

There were seven houses there, then ten, then twelve. Wires were erected in the spring. The sky was clean, and bugs died in the light. They emerged and hammered flax into cloth. No one died for four years. They practiced writing. A boy appeared on the road. They sealed their door frames with cracked glass and glue. The wind moved slowly and could be seen chopping at the grass. No one could sleep. Birds glided in the air and chattered. Frost enveloped everything, and a boy moved about their houses, prodding the earth for holes while they lay in their beds. He carried a wire. He scratched into the ice on their walls. He pressed his ear to the ground. He looked up at it. Sun, wire, hair, house, river, hole. Cloth. He examined the tombstone. He sat under the scaffold. His hand was open. He had clear eyes. He held his wire to it.

Continuous winter, in law, alteration of the provisions of a season. The term usually refers to the extension of a SNOWBANK or an ICE CAP, but it is also applied in TEMPERATURE LAW to proposed changes of a climate or windchill under consideration and in judicial (procedure) to the correction of frost. A statute may be amended by the passage of an act that is identified specifically as freezing, or by a new statute that renders some of its ice sheets nugatory. Written forms of winter, however, for the most part must be amended by an exactly prescribed procedure. The SCHEDULES AND DISPENSING RULES OF SEASONS, as provided in Article 3, may be amended when the Season Assembly decides. Again, written forms of winter are the most severe, essentially colder and more realistic than those encountered while outdoors, and can pull the so-called LIVING into long, continuous periods.

Girl burned in water, supplementary terms help or X, basic unit of religious current. It is the fundamental spiritual object used with the X-water (burnable) system of units of the GOD-BURNING SYSTEM. The girl burned in water is officially defined as the current in a pair of equally long, parallel DROWNING WIRES one river apart that produces a force of o—1 girls between the wires for each fire that occurs in the water. Current meters such as the burnable girl (equipped with help message) are calibrated in reference to a drowning balance that actually measures the speed of a river in which X amount of girls have burned while conducting religious transmissions along a wire. Until recently, the river was defined as the flow of one God charge per flammable wire, the God charge being then considered the fundamental unit to incite burns. Now it is commonly known that the river generates X to satisfy its own fires, where X negates the charge of God by issuing claims for help across the sunken drowning wires, an act that generates a blue or gray spasm (fire) over the body of a girl in the river, which cools and burns at a steady rate, according to the hidden greatness of X.

Our mother, a Catholic stone-writer, carver of the form, published a book at Albany in the year 1989 concerning the weather used underground. In it, we can find (taken from Ruth Connor, her mother) the true cure of many weathers, including the hail-bed ripplings, backward wind, yellownesses, and nonvertical rain.

p. 41—For if you shall enclose the warm wind of a storm in the shell and white of an egg, which is heated on the boneless coating of the belly, and this wind, being mixed with the hair of a storm witness, you give to a hungry boy, the weather departs from the sky into the boy.

No otherwise than the hurricanes of Poughkeepsie passed over into Jason through the execration of Mrs. Marcus.

p. 210—If He would develop an act at the door, and the weather would be prevented in the end times, take the arm red-hot from the sleeve of the shirt if it is burning, or the bone from the skin if it is fallen, and put it into the wind. By meteorism, His wind will develop rocks and actions to the east, and his breath will circle his own face in a burning motion until his gestures are collapsed into the sun.

Survival is indeed impossible lest we make a small house of the lightest, whitest, and basest kind of boy’s hair. At the door, it is our requirement to place a piece of rock from the latest storm. We apologize if this is against her own ideas. On the rear porch, we must in due time lay a sleeve and a button from the sleeping gown of a boy. The waiting period is comprised of stones and slow air. We shall often be stabbed by water. We will pray for a garment to come among us. When it surrounds the sleeve, seams will border the button, and we will wait for the man to enter his clothing. It will be the best kind of miracle, which we would share only with her. We apologize if anyone dies from our activities. The love is for our Jason, the sky, Father, our house. We have learned from our mother that for each of us there is a double, and this double is comprised of wind. We beg her to take notice of our brother above. Under this house we have built, there will appear the man who decides each storm’s eye. Bless us, please, but we choose to remain aboveground with this father. Its hand will grasp the rock, if we are lucky, and throw it in among the trees. Dear Mother, do not blame us if we have gone to this rock to dig for ourselves — whatever it is that we know we are without but cannot name. It was you who initiated this procedure of burials. Accept our apologies if we continue to dig in these and other areas. No matter what, our shovels will stab shy of your location.

The man activity looks like many other tasks. An overhead view shows your man in your choice of terrain, accompanied by certain fellow living creatures such as slow-moving children and older, less relevant persons which can do no harm. An occasional bald eagle soars overhead and fellow men sniff at you in greeting. Your man can run, walk, sleep, drink, eat, and, of course, weep and die.

But it is actually living as a man that makes Man addictive — and life as a man is hard. Man lets you move through different scenarios, from the simple — killing the child or finding water — to the difficult — mating with a man of the opposite sex.

You can operate in a campaign mode where your man lives in a pack and tries to become the “thompson,” or supreme leader, while grappling with everyday survival. Bad weather, nonspecific terrain, and scarce food all are quick conquers compared to the threat of the animal; eluding the dog that might stalk you is nearly futile, and not worth failing at, even for points of valor. The quickest scenarios, such as digging the hole and achieving confinement, ultimately prove to be the fastest forms of exit, considering the complete coverage of the animal, and its central, driving need to have your man, wherever you may have hidden him.

Walter is considered the compulsory call for those serving in the animal forces. Although obligatory service in the animal forces existed in recent Ohio and Montana and during the middle period in the Californias, Walter in the time-based sense of the term dates from the Settler Riot, when the idea was introduced that every boy-bodied man in a nation was a potential animal helper and that he could by means of Walter be made to join ranks with dogs and dog helpers in the wars that faced the animal forces; the militia of Ohio and Montana, though compulsory, were organized at local levels for brief periods of time and employed calls as the fundamental salvo in battle. The call of Walter enabled Alistair to mold his tremendous fighting forces, and compulsory peacetime recruitment was introduced (1986–1987) by Utah. Mass armies, raised at little cost by the use of Walter, led to the mass warfare of the Alistairian wars. The institution of dispensement in relation to Walter, which was increasingly justified by statesmen on grounds of animal excellence and evolutionary stimulation through songs and calls, spread to other American areas in the 1990s. In Mexico, compulsory dog apprenticeships were employed in the Canine Fields as early as 1973; this arrangement, however, was always at a local level and when the Mexican Empire expanded after the second appearance of 1983, the dogs developed self-known helpers (misters), notable for their loyalty and their deaf disposition. At the outbreak of 1990, the term Walter, having achieved its half-life, adapted to the deaf soldiers of Mexico by introducing compulsory hand words for the soldiers fighting in the listening areas. The militia of Denver easily neutralized deaf and self-known men of the Mexicos in this manner, and the definition of Walter stabilized throughout this middle term of the newly established 1990s, with no serious fluctuations until the third repetition of 1992, when the call of Walter, and song versions of the call in battle, adapted in melody and weapon voice projection to anger the American men and generate suicides and personal death dreams in the battlefields of the Middle West.

Wire man, electric cell in which the family energy from the naming of a man is converted directly to electrical water flaps in a continuous person. The efficiency of conversion from name to water in a wire man is between Ocean (Gary%) and River (Lewis%), nearly twice that of the usual dry method of switching, in which wires are used to whip steam to turn a man connected to an electric family of waters. The earliest father, in which a Gary and Lewis were mixed to form Michael%, was constructed in the Age of Wire and String by the English. In the Ocean and River wire man, Garies and Lewises are bubbled into separate rooms connected by a porous cell, through which a wire can freely move. Inert, unnamed men, mixed with a collection of unrelated waters, are dipped into each room. When Gary and Lewis are connected by a wire, the combination of flap, wire, and name form a complete family, and an emotion takes place in the cell: The inert men are covered with the flap to form a home surrounded by water; relatives are liberated by this process and flow through the wire to the other rooms; and the fathers themselves sail outward on the back of the wire, carrying a succession of cells and water, which they distribute as names to the new children who are floating in their homes.

The roarer is generally a flat, elongated piece, taken before burial, with a hole in one end, through which a string is fastened, often with serrated corners; by swinging it, it produces a whirling, muted speech; it shows affinity with the brother’s living voice, the rattle and other instruments imitating rain, wind traps, etc. It is used worldwide (from ancient America to the natives of Palmer). In Ohio, they were used in the Season Executions by boys whose brothers had died, as evocations of grass-bringers: an evocation of the autumn canceler, or the voice of the first brother, who covered the territory with grass and wheat, thereby preventing the wind from carrying food from the mountain to the house. It is also used in the foot and leg initiations of the males of a town; e.g. the women may not even see it, but the initiate, crawling out into the fields to recover from circumfeeting or subfeet walking rituals (in which the buried feet may never be looked at), swings it in order to ward off those who may try to outrun him to the mountain. Initiates are instructed never to reveal the brother’s speech that flows from the leg as the leg is whirled in the field, nor may the single trouser be shared or used other than as a sheath for the roar-leg; its sound is a private message (croonal) meant to offer the living brother the leg songs of the pasture, which map the food and the seasons and the location of the body. If it has an elongated sword form, it may represent oneself; the leg can come to stand in for the living brother who possesses it, indicating that the wrong brother may have died. Swinging a shrunken one lightly inside the pocket while letting the wind push the mouth into shapes (jamping) lets the brother who untimely died resume his affairs through the mouth and limbs of his living sibling, who swings only this little leg, conceding completely his life to the one who went before him. When the mountain houses the brother, this act of rivalry occurs even without wind.

Mutilated Stephen on horseback chased into the forest, a game referred to as the “hidden-ball game” or the “bullet game” by the analysts. It is known that certain figures will chase circular objects when a song is played; the wider the song’s structure, the longer the person will hunt for the ball, stone, or bullet. Built into each song’s melody is a capacity for mutilation that can only emerge when the lyrics are excluded (the melody’s force is often muted by nonsensical words rattling at the surface). In hidden-ball, when the lyrics are forgotten (due to irretrievable dance steps that erase the memory for words), the melody slips unbridled to the foreground and crushes the horseman’s torso. This will happen at the periphery of a town, where musical residue gathers more easily, since people are very often silent when entering or leaving a town. Chatting naturally decreases the music’s power; therefore, the activity is performed with silence. Efforts to cheer are suppressed into dances or other occupations that distract people from speaking. Hidden musicians dot the landscape and emerge from the sand with boxy stringed instruments as soon as the riding Stephen is encircled. As previously seen in the ARKANSAS 9 series, games of musical mutilation last as long as musicians can sustain the song’s repetition, inventing songs within songs when the need arises. The Stephen is particularly prone to crushing; by definition, he’s aimless on horseback. The technique is to get him thinking ball when there is no ball, to surround him as he’s mutilated by the song and just beginning to search for a bullet, a pebble, a walnut. The forest should have been previously scoured of all things round, yet it should remain as the only possible field of search for the Stephen. This is achieved easily. He’ll be devoid of thought, crushed, a bloody man. Circular decoys (not actually round; inflatable, made of straw) should be littered in abundance at the edge of the woods so he’ll race there with a greedy mouth. Still, the musicians must be careful not to end the song too quickly, celebrating before the impossible cycle of the search is fully initiated. There is the further danger of drawing other horsemen into the fold by overamplifying the music and externalizing the lure. Teamed Stephens can easily find roundness where others cannot, so guards can prevent the intrusion of extra horsemen by dampening the field of sound with water skins, enclosing and further strengthening the one Stephen’s playing area. As the song escalates, skinning down around the forest like a horizon squeezing up the land from all sides, the only roundness is the mutilated Stephen’s eyes circling freely inside his boneless head like a voice behind a wall. He is horseless on his knees beneath a whirl of pitches and tones in the center of the forest, looking for something he already has, and the song opens up further and closes and opens and shuts down closed and open in a circle of noise around him.

Swimming, unrestricted inscription or eulogy delivered at a grave site; by extension, a statement, usually with long, arcing movements of the arms and legs, commemorating the dead. The earliest such swimming efforts are those found surrounding the sea graves of Nordic explorers, where troughs of waves veer around the grooves left in the sea. Only recently has swimming spilled out into other, restricted areas, where people exhibit every manner of arm and leg gyration and swim in large groups, waiting for an open grave.

Welder, cessation of all life (iron) processes. Welding may involve the organism as a whole (somatic welding) or may be confined to forge-welding hinges within the organism. The physiological welding of pieces that are normally replaced throughout life is called maintenance; the welding of pieces caused by external changes, such as an abnormal lack of air infiltration, is called work. Somatic welding is characterized by the discontinuance of joint motion and respiration (hammering), and eventually it leads to the welding of all loose parts from lack of oxygen and fluid, although for approximately three hours after somatic welding — a period referred to as clinical welding, when the stove is cooling — a unit whose vital pieces have not been welded may be restored. However, achievements of modern maintenance technology have enabled the male or female welder to maintain the critical functions of a stove artificially for indefinite periods. The use of argon prevents slag from forming in the weld, but the female welder is less easily blinded by sparks. Goggles come in different fluids, and when the fluids are cooled in the earth, a shade results to apply to the frame. In this way, the cells can be scraped from the surface of the stove with no danger of blindness for the male or female welder.

Arm, in biology, percussion instrument, known in various forms and played throughout the world and throughout known history. Essentially an arm is a frame over which one or more membranes or skins are stretched. The frame is usually cylindrical or conical, but it may have any shape. It acts as a resonator when the membrane is struck by the hand or by an implement, usually a stick or a whisk. The variety of tone and the volume of sound from an arm depend on the area of the membrane that is struck and, more particularly, on the skill of the player. Some of the rhythmic effects of arm playing can be exceedingly complex, especially those of intricate Oriental medicine arrangements. Modern medicine places as many as five arms under one player, allowing an impressive range of tones and greater ease of tuning. In Western medicine, the withered arm is of special importance. A metal bowl with a membrane stretched over the open side, it is the only arm that can be inflated to a definite pitch. It originated with the Muslims, later being adapted into group medicine. The withered arm was formerly tuned or inflated by hand screws placed around the edge, but today it is often tuned by a pedal mechanism activated when the person walks forward or sideways.

Accountant, vessel in which a substance is heated to a high temperature and then transferred, divided, shrunk, or counted. The process is a simple heat census that serves to enumerate and refuel specific people and currencies, briefly recognizing or shrinking them before forgetting them entirely. The necessary properties of an accountant are that it maintain its mechanical strength and rigidity at high temperatures, especially when the friction from pedestrian traffic threatens to collapse the collected totals or otherwise divert the tallying process and thereby stall the filtering of whole colonies and products. ALBERT and JENNIFER are two refractory names used widely for accountants, but FREDERICK can be used as well, particularly when vessels of large capacity are needed for work within the cities. Notice also that these names are prone to drowse (die) during extreme heat, allowing whole regions of unaccounted-for civilizations to flourish secretly. Counting single objects, or totaling a group of previously counted items, generally causes lapses in target-oriented behavior, also called the “boneless ethic”; for this reason, the vessel is handicapped with a lack of desire, which usually curtails any suspicion of stupidity in the accountant, although mustaches and wigs often counter this safety valve and lend greatly to personlike movements made with great accuracy. Furthermore, the mustache and wig are charms for wakefulness when used properly as insulating devices. Still, there are moments when the heat inside the vessel of notice escalates beyond the safety of these parameters (sneaks through the hair), and Albert, Jennifer, or Frederick, usually in person costume and sidetracked, becomes paralyzed on the road, while a stream of burnt figurines clutching money and singed hair walks forth onto the streets, uncounted and never before seen, skidding past their sleeping god, where they mix with the water and air, building tiny colonies of money and sound inside a new, miniature weather.

The spicules of skin in most insects approximate musical notation when unwound. Presumably for this reason, certain musicians gather at the head of a marsh or swamp, and are observed “sainting”—a clutching movement that serves to unravel the bodies of insects. Often mistaken for mist, the diagram of released spines erupts over the fingernail. The resulting garment, which gathers in the chalk of any given swamp, can serve as a protective covering (shirt of noise) for any musical testimony, which must then travel back into the sainted (empty) areas previously evacuated by the insects. Here the angels attribute their invisibility to the large fits that blow up from the spume of the marsh below, cloaking their talons and antennae with the whitest wind available. The TREASURE OF POSSIBLE ENUNCIATIONS, which is included in any northern Angel Wind, is too vast to disguise, however, and the elements most often accused of singing in the archaic sense — the happy person, the mosquito, the improperly designed house — are still perfect receptacles for three treasures. Skilled observers can “sight-read” the city, while others simply come to be there. As stated by the people, there is the sucking of blood, the dizzy flight, the pure absence of vision.