Long days seem so much longer.
Distance does not make the heart grow fonder.
You’ve conquered the empire of my subconscious.
Your crusade so short,
Yet I hope your reign continues for eons.

We’re far past passive flatteries,
Instead, we fill each other’s hearts with vows.
You mean them now,
But what about a few months?
What if you decide I’m not what you want?

The torment I am slowly approaching,
Consumes my distant soul.
I can hear the sounds of futuristic loathing,
From when you decide this love has taken it’s toll.

So tell me.
How can I pay this inevitable toll?
How can I save us from Cupid’s malicious tyranny?

His arrow is too far lodged within me,
I cannot remove it.
I can only push it farther and farther
Into my heart until it falls out of my back.

But this arrow, trenchant.
Cupid, the sharpest of marksmen.
Yet colorblind, he is.
He sees not what colors his targets represent.
He draws his bow for the pure love of marksmanship.

Sometimes, yet not often,
He will hit the intended target.
But the odds are scarce.
His subjects are often punctured,
And connected to one whom reciprocated Fate’s desire.

Yet this time…
This time…
Cupid must have hit a target of Fate’s approval.
For thrice he has missed.
This time He and Fate are in sync.

This wound may stretch over time,
But the arrow shall remain firmly lodged within my *****,
***** and immovable.
Until you kick it through my backside.

But until then,
I can only endure.
I can only be woo wounded.
I can only survive,
Another ambush of the militant called Cupid.


But I will do it for you,
For by you,
I’ve been so divinely seduced.
Wooed by your lips.
Not by your kiss,
But by the music,
Which your mandibles so express.

I desire not to seal this wound,
But to evade its’ repercussions.
For I have endured a similar wound thrice.

He is winged as if an angel,
Yet Was Lucifer not once an angel as well?

Cupid is an impostor.
A spy of Agony, himself.
He prays on the young, the old, the strong, and the weak.
He cares not who he obliterates in his crusades.
He is a bloodthirsty heathen.
He makes scoundrels of Saints,
And Harlots of Housewives.
Saint Valentine is no Saint.
He is Satan’s nightmare.

At first, his arrows are ecstasy,

But like a cancer,
His poison-saturated arrows
Seep deep within every crevice of your body.
They consume you as if enriched with ******.
And eventually rot within your *****
Until it is nothing but dust and a memory.
One day I will assassinate Fate’s Malicious militant,
The one we call Cupid.

I feel your love,
Yet your marksmanship is poor,
For towards me your love aims not.
Your intentions aimed elsewhere.

A past lover.
And I am not he.

Malicious Misery pushed you too far.
Too far this time.
Your life is precious to me,
Yet a treasure you seek not.

It dwindles within these machines,
Like a strand of seaweed.
Being crashed upon by the waves,
Of this poison you endowed yourself with.

Much a tragedy this is.
Yet not that of Shakespeare.
No, this much too real,
To take a form of fictitious imaginings.

This, much more complicated,
Than a Shakespearean masterpiece.
For if so,
Your love would be aimed at I.

But it is not,
And in resent, I mourn this tragedy.
Yet, I must let love,
Travel upon its everso hellbound path.

My eyes lie upon thee,
And my heart within the feeble hand of yours.
Yet your mind lies elsewhere,
And your desires lie with your mind.

Upon he.
The one currently at your arms reach.
The one at your desires demand.
The one you truly love.

I must not resent this,
For love hath struck thee as it struck I.
And Cupid's arrow hath stuck he as well.
I can see it in his sorrowful stare.

He loves you in a way that I cannot.
A consentful love.
For I am just a scapegoat.
Temporary.

Well now you've quenched your desire.
You've acquired what you sought.
Love of he.
(And I, for whatever its worth.)

His love is a precious gold,
And mine a mere coal.
Black, unwanted.
Only able to provide temporary warmth.

Pardon me for obstructing.
Love hath stolen my precious vision,
And wandered, I,
Into the meadow in which you hunt.

As a poor marksman,
Thou cast thine arrow of love upon me,
And realized I am but a scapegoat,
When the white stag is what you seek.

Once before,
you lined him in your sights.
But evasive is this mystical creature.
And once, he escap'd.

If your life so solidifies,
I shall replinish my vision,
Banish my love,
And obstruct thee no more.

Instead,
I must prosper in silence and patience.
Shun my hearts desires,
And let thee hunt.

I apologize for my inconvenience.
I shall groom each of your horses,
So that you may ride into,
The meadow of love together.

Hence, beware of hunters,
And wandering creatures.
Teach thine unsteady hand,
And this time...

Don't miss.

You kiss like an angel, but don't pretend,
                                       ever you are one,
(never mind, I've never met one before)
your lips taste, manna, exact,
(the elixir's taste  my mind had to invent)
When  your lips touch mine,
I taste thunder in my nerves,
(your eyes bid  me to do it,
though I didn't know what awaited)
I never thought a girl so docile and quiet,
could play tricks,with luscious lips and tongue.
                                        
The marksmanship you display in that,
would never be learned from any school of love.
You are a wonder, love  has exclusively sculptured,
to propagate its creed, aren't you a whirlwind?

I am not perfect.
I am nowhere near perfect.
I simply play the part,
But only for you.

I try to be the best.
I aim for perfection.
But like Cupid,
My marksmanship is poor.

I will always fail,
I will always be,
This same imperfect entity,
All that is yours.

If imperfection,
Is perfect to you,
Than I shall put down my bow,
And aim no more.

I am not a masterpiece,
I am a forgery,
Created by the perfect artist.
You.

I apologize for my texture,
The flaws that give me away.
For to an expert,
I am nothing but a replica.

To an unlearned eye,
I may be something,
Born of the renaissance,
Yet I am nothing special.

I was born of this age.
An age where an artist's ideals,
Are formed from past works.
And I am nothing but a forgery.

Not a forgery of Da Vinci or Michelangelo,
But a forgery of these new age artists.
Only a forgery of an idea's idea.
Nothing more.

Continued from part 1...

There was a thud as someone behind him hit the ground… probably the recipient of the bullet.  His chest hurt, everything from his neck down was on fire. Michael tried to get up, and gave up. He slumped face first into the shallow water, taking a mouthful of sand in the process.
So this is how I was meant to go? Was his last thought before everything went dark.
The commotion brought him back, the smell of battle and violence, blood and guns, arrows flew past… rifles went off. He decided to stay down for a moment, until he could maneuver how he was going to get up without being hit. Tilting his head, he looked back up the beach, they were more than he remembered… and seemed to be spilling in from the dense forest. And then he turned and saw his comrades. Five brave souls, an arrow whizzed past his head and struck! Four brave souls. Mark fell off the canoe and splashed into the water.
Hamisi and Lewis were yelling at him to get into the boat, he tried to get up but his arms failed him. The arrow had done more than enough damage, He was bleeding out fast. The pain was excruciating, but he needed to get into that boat… or he was definitely going to die on that beach… with these savages. No can do. Michael made one last determined effort and pushed himself off the ground, his broken ribs grazed against one another under his chest… the arrow wasn’t helping. But he was on his feet and dragging himself to the boat.
Lying on the floor and peeking out the front of the boat, Juma and Modi, the two coast guard officers were shooting down bow and arrow wielding savages  one after another. Michael got to the boat and managed to catch a glimpse of a head hunter as a bullet struck him clean on the forehead. A head shot! He caught the irony. The ragged fellow in a filthy and tattered brown shirt and blue jeans that were equally as tattered, was ****** of the ground, legs in the air… arms flailing and then landed ******* his back. His right leg flinched once, and then he didn’t move. Juma took a moment to admire his marksmanship with a slight smile. Then he was firing again.
‘They’re too many! We need to go now!’ Hamisi was shouting as he grabbed one of the oars and began to row wildly, Lewis lunged at the other one and followed suit.  An arrow struck the floor of the canoe between them. They rowed harder.
As they pulled away from the shoreline Modi and Juma began to laugh, slowly at first, then it got more intense, the other two joined in and in a few seconds all four were in hysterics in that little boat. It was more of a nervous celebratory laugh than anything else. Michael attempted to join in but his ribs shot waves of pain throughout his nervous system.
He blacked out again…

i was chillin one night
sitting in the clouds
talkin **** with the insomniac
when we thought of the question
what if we could transform
i began to figure out
what might actually take form
understand my imagination is crazy
in my mind all is possible
im tryin to look forward
so it might be futuristic
not like the jetsons
its gonna be realistic
some practical that might
help us out in some sort
making the human race more lazy
making our life her not worth it
shortly after nature kicks in
we get fat and wont walk
then great *** we will lack
men and women get restless
and things will get grizzly
not for me at least cause
in my mind im fit and well
with the power to turn
the pretty girls into supermodels
and keep the bitter ones
lookin like a blue whale

as u can see i think pretty awkward
id wanna be gigantic
but i gotta take flying lessons
because i gotta get some wings
to fly over my problems
and fly straight to the meanings
super strength to beat them down
then a lot of marksmanship
to make sure they stay down
my imagination is cautious
so i threw that one in
just to cover my end

but then i begin to think
about those that need help
so i begin to imagine
a being to lend a hand
maybe a super hero
in a 3rd world country
giving children water to drink
so they can have a chance
to grow and develop
maybe have an imagination
and dream just like me
then make that dream
an all too needed reality
you never know about
that kid you call a habeeb
he might discover the death
to that monster we call ***

but who am i to say
my imagination makes sense
Jody Breeze would feel me
he agrees wit it all day
cause my bro and i
we fly in the clouds since
you cats aint think freely
so using my mind
with the function god gave me
ill wonder how we will devise
a shortcut in nature
to alter our appearance
in this market based reality
cause if enough people
step up for to the table
to sign the medical clearance
pigs will fly
madness will multiply
the cosmos would be fried
and half the world might die
that means police would have wings
to catch "criminals" who wouldnt
steal but whose cousin has steel
that gives pigs halos to match
those wings given in police training
but thats my paranoia
in my silly imagination
i might sound crazy to
most close minded fools
so ill stay in my clouds
and contemplate
a perfect transformation
to slap onto the slate
to help us better our state
of mind and put us in the groove
to soothe our stress
refuse to use our heat
and become completely cool

Peace is Love. Love is everything

Never had it been of the application of force between
interludes of terrible waiting that getting on with hostilities
was more calming than the imagination of the horrors
that lay ahead

The initial wave knew the sacrifice would be written about
until the heavens decided that history was full enough of
our failures, shaking loose its detachment from the fate of
its hapless creation

They were led by men who could be counted on to exhort
them with words as to their duty; to be told of the good
hunting to come, but to men who had no fantasies of their
own, words only fabricate a hero

There was no marksmanship or survival skill that could
shield a man fated to crush the spirit inside the prayers
uttered by his mother; there was no training that could
prepare him for life or judgment day

And yet those whom absolution abandoned to their own
devices had fallen in love with their conquerors only to
weep bitterly as the beachcombers liberated them from
their supposed occupation

It made them wonder of the desperation that was
stronger than hope; about how a woman could fall in
love with the eyes of the enemy; and how the enemy
could have a heart for love

But his witness of human nature amidst the horrors
of despots would remain in abeyance until the fears of a
common man had met courage in the moment he realized
how mankind could never love him as does a God

He wondered if he would be different; would he be death
unable to laugh or understand a broken nail; would he be
able to believe in men; would he be able to love someone
when he knew his heart was left behind?

My life has been filled
with words like high energy,
hyperactive and
uncontrollable at times.

Now from my view
from inside looking
out my whole life,
I was just expressing myself,
sharing my thoughts.

There is an old saying
about some things are
better in small doses,
that in my mind
has always been me.

Standing on the outside
looking in,
I look out at the world
that is often surreal.

I see faces, bodies start
to twist in the wind.
As confusion,
boredom set in,
I continue with
apparently no end.

Yet even as my mind
says stop,
I continue on at a
high rate of speed.

This type of mind
leads to other actions,
just as reactive
as my mind.

Seemingly out of control
to others standing,
watching to see
what I'll do next.

So as a young man,
say around 12,
my parents took me
to visit family friends.

While the parents visit
the children would play,
stay out of the way
as children did in the day.

We were sent to the
basement, out of the way.
The boy about my age
his younger sister
heading off to play.

As was my nature
having no control,
I started to take charge.
We looked at the toys,
playthings to share.

A bow and arrow
needed my attention.
After all, I was trained
as an archer when I was 8.
Time to show my
skills and marksmanship.

Taking the bow,
I strung it tight,
checking it's pull.
Grabbing an arrow behind the quill,
loading it carefully in the bow.

Then it happened as the
arrow took flight,
straight and true.

The squeal of a little girl
her brothers fast retreat.
Arrow finding it's mark,
now protruding half in
and out the basement window.

Only one thing left to do,
which I had done before.
Stand before parents
head hung low,
explaining the flight of the arrow
that was out of my control.

Artemis is my godmother, but she might as well have made me herself.
not with anyone else; just her womb of stars and moonlight, and a love of open air and indigo sky.  chase the horizon until it becomes a little less distant, and suddenly you just are.  she taught me that.  she taught me a lot of things.

whisper to the wind and talk to the trees; they'll listen.  maybe, if you satisfy them, they might sigh back a response.  notch your bow of silver bark and quilled arrows with the breeze in their feathers, and teach the deaf what they told you.  she does it so often that it's instinct for her now.  (I'm still working on my marksmanship.)

she taught me to run with the wolves, too, but neither of us expected that I would settle into the pack so well.  I am cohesive; I obey the hunt.  I know how to loose the same long, lonely howl.  I know how to protect and guide and follow- mostly, anyway.  the trouble is, I stray in my heart.  I long for more than long nights and stray breaths between sisters.  

I long for someone who will hold me, and that is the one thing my godmother cannot teach me.  she does not know how to catch a man's heart with her glittering arrows, and she has sworn off the folly of trying.

I'm a little more foolish though.  

she holds me close in my despair, and we are so alike that sometimes it becomes impossible to tell the two of us apart.  but it always comes back, the stubborn truth:  I can never join the hunt.

because my father's song is guiding my wanderer's heart, and I was born to chase.  I just can't chase with Artemis.

I love too deeply to give love up.

Sometimes I need to write
to keep my mind at ease
If I don't, my hands get shaky
like the last leaf on the tree
Marksmanship is not necessary
when shooting the breeze
Daydreaming until reality
is just an illusion to me

Sometimes I need to write
to keep me level and grounded
If I don't, I start hearing voices
Then my head gets crowded
I follow the lead
whoever is the loudest
United States of Jeff
Population is countless

Sometimes I need to write
to mind my own business
If I don't, my body starts twitching
Swinging on anyone
within one arms distance
Please pray every day
we never cross those bridges
For those that won't listen
a fair warning was written

While American and Israeli officials
Clink their champagne glasses and schmooze
At an embassy in Jerusalem,
One thing is barely making the news:

Over one hundred twelve° Palestinians
Have been killed at the Gaza Strip
Since March 30 by Israeli soldiers
Demonstrating their marksmanship.

Over 13,000° have been
Injured, having wounds that consist
Of large, gaping holes in the victims--
Bullet holes the size of a fist.

The bullets shot from high-velocity
Weapons on hitting their target explode
Expanding and mushrooming inside the body.
Israeli cruelty à la mode?

People from all walks of life gathered
To demonstrate and express their frustration
For living conditions in their Gaza prison--
An abominable situation.

Conditions, in fact, are among
The worst that the world has seen.
May 14 was the bloodiest day
Since the strife in twenty fourteen.

Israelis call it "self-defense";
It's really shoot-to-injure or ****.
Are snipers keeping track of how many
Palestinian coffins they'll fill?

One uncle never imagined
That he would need a body bag.
He carried home his 8-month old niece
Wrapped in a Palestinian flag.

The people want a place that's home.
But while negotiations stall--
And marginalized by circumstances--
They live inside or outside a wall.

-by Bob B (5-19-18)

°Based on a report by journalist Sharif Abdel Kouddous

A center stripe on such a road would be no more than affectation,
The prospect of two vehicles on the same stretch of this blacktop
Which ambles from nowhere to nowhere, old logging path
Morphed into a convenience for fishermen or bird watchers
Heading to the odd bits of Adirondack Park land
Scattered higgeldy-piggeldy in its path
All but a mathematical impossibility.
Indeed, the fog lines are barely visible, a series of dots and dashes
Along the crumbling berm of the shoulders,
And the signs testifying to the calamitous curves ahead
Are faded and pock-marked
In testament to generations of pellet-gun marksmanship
And twelve-ounce projectiles.
There remain the odd traces of the byway’s former usefulness:
Rusted blades or unevenly-spoked wheels
Left behind by ancient logging outfits,
The odd abandoned hunting camp, and here and there,
Visible through gaps in thick, ancient stands of pine
(Having outlasted the original settlers and logging concerns
Through the sheer stubborn implacability of biology),
You might see an anomalous abandoned bus up on blocks,
And there are those who have sworn they have seen them
Adorned with curtains in the windows,
But that is most certainly a trick of the light,
A mis-apprehension of something half-glimpsed
By the drivers as they sped by.

The hydra-headed janiform neurergic neves sparked by jangadas of bangtail silverskin therbligs of ostentatious stack impudent against inveterate nomothetic scrupulous dirigisme in niaiserie because of incorrigible rhathymia guarding graft as eunomia for aerophores and volplanes of nidamental wrackful filigrees in subversive rudenture complicant to the latticework of nimonic scarpetti scansorial to every specter of ekka sphecoids because of a firm constitution of mackintosh statolithian perdurable protean verve in chameleonic tricotees of steeving suretyship buddling bait-and-switch bumboats and cozening paltripolitan smug with hauteur and aplomb surnominal in every arena because of immarcescible stipulations of svedberg inculcated in criminal umlaut leveraged deftly by ulatrophy, virgation and organizational opodeldoc eclaircise stripteases of purebred cyanotypes of equanimity despite tilt and tilt immune to gyrating ginglymus of linear crackdown and cubic idempotence in overlocked sciamachies entangling osnaburg and polity in quantum thigmotaxis precisely orthogonal to orichalc sesquiplicated by organity boundless to degrees of variegation in revalorized exchequer beyond snooperscope peers skittish on marksmanship and precise stenography maximalist in vestigial obsessions. '

Yet the  revenge of nodalities of nevosity the coquetry of invidious vendetta spurns peremptory rudenture brackish in tarnished hues of handspiked rackrent subterfuge backfired in implodent flashbang casualty via oersteds incidental to odonterism in frenzied bangtail blemishes hampering obvention favoring broader dirigismes armipotent with ixiodic argali keystoned endlessly into ravenous interramifications immensely integral to the surface area of negotiosity (the circumjacent proctor of the conservation of chryselephantine duramen of the interpunction of  sublimated bulging catalysts of numbat volumes gaseous only in hypothesis yet fungible in categorical interdigitated vulcanization permissive of protean permutation immunifacient to entropy in monolithic suffrutescent latency readymade for exigent subrident fiascos) that preserves mainsail fulcrums of stochastic stabilization of the composite quantum uncertainty of volatile aleatory variances in an unbounded system ratcheted by subduplication. A stupulose adjutant preservation of firm rubefaction contrary to jack-assed adiathermancy compital to elflock because of ideological bowdlerization of balanism simultaneous to wrackful adenalgia and dizzying balefire confirm the elephantine pedigree as an acroamatic commode which (even in baseline disagreement derived from tangible acharne pivoted on several centrifugal cultural aborted acerbations) absterges the trauma of oneirodynia with cynosure dancette subsidiary to meritocratic afterclaps of azoth finessed in clockwork filipendulous auxologies slightly sunbittern because of echard reductivism and maximalist emphasis on perdurable swells in the radial radiance of spherical umstrokes pliable to expansion of scale and scope never finifugal nor neglectful of the potential backfires of the autecology (very predictive of malaise in attemperment) of alembicated vicissitudes of deterministic akinesia subservient to regnant finite bounds of possible contortionists of interramification yet decided by preterition.  Yet despite the pedigree of a volplaning society partial to interlamination in sordid dereliction the swape and swanskin of standpipe realism augmented by orthodox adherence to intemeration of subternatural banderols because of overhailing innitency against indumentum becomes a stunsail inglenook of all terpsichorean modular realities conceived by freethinkers despite froward agitprop styming sufficient latitude to pinpoint with imputation reformatory agenda to imbricate an idiorhythmic attempt at ichnology subsumed by a supreme confidence in oikonisus and faithful fidelity combined with the iatromathematics of sociogenesis to  formulate a pragmatica sufficient to streamline stradometrical stolisomancy of a comported dirigisme to conform to bronteums of blaring social justice imperative to broader civic decorum such that both the barmcloth and the ashplant unite against  the worst stulms to manufacture a diplomatic coherence of stibadium cognizant of imperative aberuncators slurvian and dilatory to orthobiotic optimums to unionize public morale and private discretion to appoint emergent meritocracy tholing the collective triune causal mandate of anti-flautino, anti-fracedo, anti-specular inertial impedimenta to bionomic swapes compatible with the integral stipulations of the suretyship obliged to tangible stipulations relatively intransigent to systematic rejuvenation despite prerogatives of oystercatcher eyeservice ponderous to the overall business model but transcendental in deontological value. Chomping vinegarroon skullduggery partisans embattled with jordans of acciptrine papaverous rapacity because of mehari metaplasms have largely been transformed by the backfire of acarpous vestiges of historical inantion but the reprieve of callous jockeyed cladogenesis in nomogeny is so sussultatory it remains and remands the custody of a Republic to anemocracy as a tribune to acipenser overcoming acyanopsia and acyesis simultaneously in gambados of happenstance virtuosity referential to adjutant aggiornamento that transubstantiates prurience and cultural larceny into reclamation of spiritual provenance and providence transcendental and regnant over the affairs of men. Adipocere refrain by all pointillism policing a system where veridical paranoia is estimable in the jurisdiction of bugaboo transmuted into hobgoblin subterfuge is both an entangled thixotropy of mutual abseils of afterdeck of  wrepolis parturition of willowish seguidilla bartered against sheer leverage of mandarism of kitthoge kirking with yogibogeybox cryptadia siderognost magnets superlative in wrangled telematic tantiemes of adjutages of sericterium “generators” bequeath to scientific leverage sledging nimiety on varsal vastation of vardles versus human capital exorbitant because of simpered advection funneled through aedilles macroscian and cyclonic to watershed gullywashers of evaporated joy and frowsy taxidermy liturgical in aerodonetics outmantling aloof affeer nucleotides of overhaul deprived of Anglophonic reach and cultural zest.

The allemande dodges abaculus aardwolf vaalhaais raadical in harling handspikes of abvolts hammerkopping specious whangams halyarding affiance to habanera exosculating sublime eurthymics into ethonomic warbling vacillations of tentation espaliers gradately distant from apophasis desiccated by the preeminent precedence of epigons morphing into epigones whipstaffing oppidan octrois of vaccimulgent brehon eruciform only to brickbat devolution stymied and sweltering among raglan obsolagnium plevisable to parabasis of paralytic ichnition of cookie-cutter iberis of cultural uvala by polyphiloprogenitive hibernation urubus infiltrate with surnominal reach to embattle newfangled controversy with inveterate propinquities to prejudice, stature, largesse, prosperity and capital command goading sciamachies among sudd, wroth, sastruga, striga and woonerf internecine to mummified wittols of scofflaw Marxism against boskets of woodreeves glinting tantalized prerogatives at clueless doytining websters of jamdani steenboks walleteering only to agathist zero-sum pullulated divergence (too velocious in psitticism to garner traction) in vehement diaspora odonterism (the disheveled tombola of wadmals of yonderly clarity from yellowback fortunes of yarak bonanza) such that proxemics actually redoubles the fortunes of falsehood at the expense of integrity in finifugal frames of projicience while patient proband proairesis of piscary leverage monotrochs inveterate scruple delaminated by rigid metaplasms by tympanies on baseline primordial psychogony to keystone apperception into renewable therbligs of bias telarian in sagacious silence at officious gambados of intellectual elitism of tautomerism of tachytelic bacillicide pregnant with rumchunder progeny vernalized into precedents of pedigree because of ventrad verglas whorling into sussultatory frenzy amicable to audiences once divorced from the gilberts predicating glottogonic gleeds of samizdat freer than ever in gimballing supplications to gavelkind viscid because of virtuosity embalming partisan divides because of jiggermast kickbacks wergilds for cultural acharne in rabid fuming crestfallen jurymasts of plighted failure (or ignored pertinacity) as the predominant caenogenesis of the few prolongs the prosperity of the many. Simultaneous to the predicaments of biocenosis of cenobitic realpolitik ceratoid on stringent cathexis to normative fringes frigid to Keynesian bonanza the enthralling chabouk of underdog chamfrains jockeyed on champaign inheritance proven by the liturgical emergence of recondite chapbooks garnering chevet in chrematistic gnotobiology prove singular when stricter proscription of plenary coemption because of the forbearance of supervenient idealisms  that abrogate crudity engage in coquelicot chirapsia buddles elements of alloyed negentropy from chasmogamy to negate emphatic negannepaut and harvest nepenthe in nepionic perscrutation on grounds of grievance always parallel to neutrosophy nidamental in a bonce of several interchangeable theorems of bontbokian boyau redacted in incorporation of some minor tenets of omphalism as a bricole against swarf clothed with broadcloth niceties to annul specular indigence among spodium with clever centralization in orichalc edulcorated against institutional effulgence and instead focused on ekistic agiotage fond of altricial largesse dabchicking popular morale in pious fidelity to the verdict of azoth mathematicism in mantissa mediated by scaled oligopsonies of initial auncels (due to poor trade agreements and gouged alarmisms with unwieldy disproportionate burdens on the United States) balancing once baragnosis becomes apprehensive of being apprehended to the extent of prospect checkmating specter in the augend of social mobilization.