ebbflux: machine text ... a hypertext fiction

In some such way. Bloom. Twice.

Silver coin monetarily disks round. Franklin scores a worm tribute, a Cixous muscle. Quiet beside his stinking slaughtered ox. Looking out now behind clothed eyes masked in triangles of rope bound. There is no movement; there is no sound — only heart beat breath release. He’s hunting and killing out there, maiming and tearing at the innocent. Preparations are underway. Initiative has been initiated. Careful.

They shake despite their anchor. Foucault’s Pendulum alive and well in the museums of the world. But she burned those paintings and their frames as wood for the winter. Smoke signals. For nonexistent externalities. Vacant expressions. Misrepresentations. Inappropriate replies. Full. Motion. Man.

It could take us through years of wartime paranoia. It could speed us past morality, civil liberty, and rest. It would come as an enemy campaign against the fall of modernity.

“Cheers—” Iced milk teas for the westernization of the globalized world, “por tugal.”