notebook pleasurely assigned

iconic ionic neutronic bionic tronic tonic drips light to earth as electro lyte wave formulas,

formed, for the re-use and purposed leasure to formulate or bisect, trisexualize, in the minds eye and not a mattering of smatter oog, but just, in form, wished up, lands of free, or huddled masses of tissutized light and shadowy formulas, from me to another, and another to another, stuck on you again, eh?

freedom was her middle name, miranda thought for herself.  the mysteries of her brevities in light circular motions, motioned her antagonistic, character assignment to the left corner of the middle of space bar collegiate ruled and number punched notebook #12.  she grabbed it up and tried to read into it, but it was blank, 'hah, jokes on her', she thought to herself. 'oh, hah, there you are again'

not yet, was the silence returned.  it was an odd bunny who kept asking a silly question in the middle of an unwritten notebook, yes and that was re-written as well -- perhaps it was whiteout, or sticky tape or a typewriter with a dropped letter L or P or mno, etc, in the middle grounded wire.

'so what am I supposed to do?,' she wrote into the middle of the notebook, as a dog waggled passed and barfed near her shoes.  'oh.. its that kind of day, is it'.  she put the notebook into her purse, which fit just perfectly as drawn into a parallelagram and changing colors to velvet red, roped, as in that bar where we're not allowed back, or so we'd imagined and never returned, good, bounced the mafia player of the night, who probably was armed, at least with a pair of fives, but enjoyed the dreamery of an inner pocket, inner circle, circular room and motion to pad the bar with fresh dramatized evenings, well that was some overdreamery, again.

'shh, you're not supposed to ruin it'.. was the woman standing next to him.. password please.  

yes that did keep popping up.  miranda was flipping through the notebook now randomly and discovering that the world did not make so much sense turned this way around, as she turned her notebook around, 'maybe this way'... flip flip flip.. flipping.. o000.. turned and turned on, she quietly blushed and closed the notebook.  maybe earlier, she thought, and by thought I meant said outloud into a headspace she used to use to think to herself, and now thinks for anybody in a 25 foot pole vault space above the head stop rest stop bar minded raised a glass ever or rarely touch anything at all sort of color swatch mind bender bits.  yeah that's the spot, she scratched her ear and looked down where the dog was still barfing.  ooh that's medical.  she woofed to herself.  the dog stopped and growled a satisfacturly 'oh i overate again' kind of 'oh those shoes look nice' and 'oh shiny thing in the pink sky today' grinny glow.

I guess this is my dog, she looked across to find another owner -- 'will you take him?' -- nods were just around the corner where nobody was actually or were totally but actually talking with her through straws in their coffee, or empty cups they probably were.. does anybody drink anymore?  

miranda fantasized that sets were setups all the time, and glasses of faux champagne were flown in from actual champagne, where they stopped making the stuff but copywrited the color.  yeah the whole town was in on it -- had some sort of flag party, or something, bought an airline, and quietly took over the world for 35 seconds every 3 and 1/2 weeks, the better part of summer, and a chocolate dipped winter, or so was the idea on busses between truck stops, and an organized pop-up whatever they felt like - probably something with signs like a political rally, with a protest, and a granola factory outing, with embedded city shutdown due to lack of permits, etc, all in a woozy perfect dream sequenced by the ooing party of whoever 'they thought you were, eh, miranda?'  

'oh yes, hello Q.'  'I thought that was you. . . ' 'you've been in your head a lot lately, as usual but in the unusual places' 'making usual oooh again.. '

'your symmetry was mere but a flicker that time' Q said, as her left eyelid upper crinkle section flickered again.

'you should mention it, it happens twice' .. indeed and thrice, as they glanced at each other again.

the two were standings juxtaposed by a vase, like in the picture, shadow and light, ya know?

'yes I do'.  is there anything but dialog on your mind right now?  

'no, I think. . . flowers for the vase.. and a puppy for my friend here.. and well that's odd the notebook is blue and 3/4 the size now.. I guess it'll wait.  what aren't you doing here again, Q?'

quotients were a kind of divide they would notice from time to time, etc.  after a bit, it became kind of like a 2x4, wouldn't, ya know?  yes.. it was odd, in between as well.

parrots are wonkers that trodden donkeys in the street sign on the floor, no!  the carrier pidgeon, hmm... ok the metal grating, not grating,  'well anyway, its just there'  she pointed to the manhole cover.. 'see?'  'yes its not as complicated when you point it'  she pointed away.  her finger was a little out of control, and she pointed back at herself for effect.. oooh.. 'that's me, or is it' her finger jiggled off and hid under a couch in the middle of the grassy park area, where her notebook sat down for itself and began to write. 

'oh this is better.'  materialization is the corner stone of modern matter, that which is neither and either and never both, or always sometimes, as the maths go, divided or naught, eh Q?

the couch was a velvet suededy bleuy notebook matching godsent, as leggings were getting extremely lengthy at moments between toes, etc.  which one went to the market?  the socialist no doubt, oh that was out of turn.  her foot turned, on, and she began to write.

and by the time, buy the time, try the time, eye the rhyme, pi sauce, oh.. <scratch scratch scratch> maybe an airplane.  or like. 100.  po0f that was the better part of handful of pages, with 100 micro airplanes folded and tossed around the couch ground, and her matters crossed her legs, and began to wonder if her legs were then cross.  trained in these matters, was her second smaller notebook, and she dug through her now crystal clear and edgy see-through purse, but only found a slice of gum.

fun.  she popped it in her mouth, sideways.  like a harmonica.  and it made a sound and she bit chomp wind stomp botter butter crybaby wah in the fiddle oooma loompa had nothing on this gum, float the numbers.

the bubble dared not to burst, and by the time she was floating up she forgot how much gum turned her on, and pulled out a pin from her pocket and burst the bubble like a pop shop stop, and pink went. . .

'everywhere'  she wrote neatly with a salt packet on a small patch of grass about an 1/8 mi from the barf.  'now where's pooch. . oh he's found girl pooch, good for him.. I hope he gets supper.  See you later pooch!'  

woof, was the response, from the group, as it was, it was the usual all togetherness which kept them together. wry and rye and. . . oh people had begun to find the airplanes. . . and the couch. . . 'it'll get ratty soon, when the rats find out'  and she packed up a bit.  there was a mirror, a piece of string, and several more croutons in the notebook. . now what flavor is this?

a bit of cheese fell out of her purse and onto the ground.  a rat rolled through the small airport and looked quickly and puffed the cheese into a pouch on the left and sunk into the grass.  wow the grass, brave little rat, didn't think he'd come out for that!

rats eyes are glassy filmed as in noir in the nocturnal concrete world, and where did they create? the life of a rat seemed to be unfolding from another section of town, and a rough party that was, tuft hair, and blottered veins in tiny legs, and that tail!  well.. call it a tail.. it was actually like a piece of carpet, dripping around corners, and idly being non-mildly wild, and pointed was its non point, to further the idealiogical notion which was that trash is food.  'yeah I'll keep that one,' it thought to itself.  a little onomonopea was all it needed, for itself this mid afternoon..  what was I doing on the grass, anyway?  looking at the girls feet, oh yes.  toes.  yes I remember.. and then the cheese dropped out of thin lipped sky, indeed. that always happens when I need cheese.  god must love rats, at any rate, no less than 5 on a dime quarter stopped, backed, turned, and kicked back, handled, and delivered to an end zoned for. . . cheese.  the best kind of trash, like that novel that she was writing.  oh man.  so much as a rat to think, it must be the cheese, again. . .  password.

'yes, rats have passwords, dumbass' it thought up as it exptected not to receive any more cheese, and none happened.  'yep, works EVERY time.'  the rat smiled and sauntered off into that grating she spotted about near 10 minutes ago.  that was our connection, yes, plonk, and it was gone down under.

odd.

even so.

so what's next?  I mean.  between facts and leasure, there's naught ought to do or time for fondling, ya know?  I mean where does that lead pipe lead to?  under a siege of something from the sink again, dripped the drop of pipe' cranky it was too.  well, leave that, oddly ground up as it was, it was use to the chattering.  'must be van der waal again', she tapped her pen onto the sink and imagined it speaking down the street to that rat, that had left in naught search of more cheese, for another time, etc.  the message was queued up.. perhaps the next tap of the pipe, as in turned on or unsettled settlement or place of just argument, would release the watery fowl message, or whatever that rat got up to. . . hopefully not this pipe'

the water fountain was just over there.  its timbre was tune a naught to brief messages of joy, nor sorrow, borrowed, sparrow, fly by tried tied tread bread head grow spow dough oooh.. backwards messages, or so she turned around to think through it.. no.. that's not backwards, its just a stream.. ooh the fish again.. stupid trout.  this isn't abfab.  or was it.

she reached into her purse, and now pulled out.. well it was a stop sign.  where'd that come from? over there slightly, as cars came crashing into each other.  oh whoops, she stuffed it back into her purse and the street stains vanished.  careful next time, officer, wear a seat belt and don't use that lead foot so much, it talks ya know

'to rats, yes, I know mamn' came the reply.  'you're in the hospital'  'no I'm not.. I'm right here.. and here.. and here..' she tore through pages in her notebook, pointing madly.  'yes and her and here' the officer in white pointed at his head and grinned.  'wait that's not right, write?'  its a draw.. yes.. 'oh alright.. if you must'  'must i?' 'yes musty ooo and muck fluff.. we liked the stop sign and the cleanup, nice one with the furry dice' 'oh yes, I forgot'  she hurried a sketch in the book and looked down expecting cheese.  damn..  'that never works.'

--

dash dash

so its about this time, where mrs, dash is supposed to come in and tell you how much flavor she has for you, but in reality, well. . . it is quite good in small packets, designed not to be eaten by hospital staff, never served, and searched only by mad men and women who wanted a souvenier, to eat on imaginery tomatoes, and gooey eggs, etc.

plonk.  that's your bit, eh?  12 and a 1/2 cents?  where'd you get that?  'indian quarter,' she looked puzzled'.  yeah it takes two, eh tango? strange footlings are under a wet stop muckery again, she took her finger out of her ear.  just radio again, chatter.

--

character asses were on the line again, or more like in a wave, or on a wave.. or waving, the gerund kind, no that was a repeat -- ding. dong.  chocolate came to mind, but only as an endorphic rushed pie smatter the wish rhymed with want, and wonder, ponder, alliterized, ok full stop, that goes back there.  her purse flashed open and everybody stopped.  'that's cheddar,' she smiled, and the pipe winked.

its time to head north, star, on point, for points, or so she thought, eleven by 7, seventy-seven, and that's my line, anyway -- its punch up, and pub sub for the proceeds of a mcmuffin, that was a midwest bit of cow on grass, no rats, no cheese, yet, though partnered on the outside, on a bun, for 59 cents in the 70s, weird combo meal, with a metal toy that was eco friendly, and ran on sentences from snotty kids hands.  funny the mcrib wasn't available, but the apple pie was, not like the movie, unless you're into that sort of thing, which I am, naught, tho it made for a sequal, sequened, sequenced, and thus is this, a sequened sequenced just a bit more, and less and like the raven, black but shiny specular and hair just invented for a digital version of the silver screen, emolient molient and sprockets till we dance dolby, eh.

bi-rite is a market in the upper west downward spiral note stock flash card, flashed a woman in the isle,  enjoy this for later. and her top was off, as she walked out into the middle of the street.  just for today, 'that's what the book said. . .'  'fllltlllT,' it replied.

----

aqua Q brings forth the tryst next and always for the fly right by writings of fifths of dim sentients and other rhymular oooze in these letters, to be strung like cat gut on a violo or hovered above in song about a word that hasn't yet been written, as in the lmno, and sometimes y?  and so here you are again.  and we are too.  and its a funny world.  when you give time to laugh, or believe that others do, which of course, is the course, coarsed in vain, like a grittle of sea salt that should probably stay safe in the ocean, for it keeps the surface tensioned just for the rest of the clearwater, revival, yes, look that up the sky blue once and more again, and so forth, until we reach that pi in the middle, offset, with some cruft.. oh yes.. the non repeating digits..  you're welcome.

peace and love from sentience sentences in and around and about the love and willing fronds of pondular goo muck san francisco c3w 2020. hindsight.