Good East! Hard to blow out! Sometimes! Darkness in my final kip. This shot will send the gossip mongers yarking back to Harvard frail slat, soft, full of gyzms in slit lacéd hatreds for light is light O Lord, O Lord, I pray, my Lord—Again! Once more! Ta ta ta! Om

56Ack, who gives a ruddy fuck about all this American showoffy prose I’d like to know why Whane meant horsefly & Brane something like, & why Owe’s Born is Awe’s Dead, & all our intelligent handsome Tedsy Boys go yearning after our pink pages & never find & all the riots in Pixy Dilly & all the Traf on the Square, Elgar with his music doesn’t impertaramount the rock of Murican roll? For strings? Air? O nonce, node, these babic yoiks, these Inds, these stupidities, these gem americans

57TWO DAYS AGO, MARCH TWIP, 2059 (AXTONO) (WOW the twip of that carry-on I’ll never fly another Yet to Souski that country wont feed me nothing but ersatz gatagatpataraze which is a kind (wow, the munsch) of farlidaltamanigalo the color of which, well, yr aunt Mary mighta told you but O the gossip in these other galaxies just too much my dear the rurn, the klen, the hoit, the noises of Flup. There was Onat Roren, Bob Torlignath the Crank, the Cranker of Hono-Machines, & the Bile Pister of the Falledern he was there be-sartifying all his meanies & the meannesses & told me I didnt have praper green in my pen gat—But he B.O. was alright, felt good, was glad because her time was late, & as for those publications up there that they turn out with all their bearded Trees extemporiating on the state of the talismanic oral pata—

I just got tired & retired but got involved in a long tat with Sinabad Talgamimargafonik Crud the interesting fool from the well located (in emerald waters) continent of Magic who told me there was a Sound recently developed by Shitteers that wd eventually require dog whistles hanging from breast teeth & bug micro bugs & long swarms of Milky Wayers vacationed over from Blue Curtain Country listening to the Country Pard say: “The tanitat of this Omakorgeklid is infested with Imagery & therefore white as moon—but O my Thinkers never let it be said the sooth—“I couldnt listen to any more besides I had a deadline to meet & new flows to fii so came back to good old Tierra del Firma & had Princess my Tabtate, (solit) go eat another bont, which meant I only had 2 days to wait till today so rested up reading ancient texts & spent all night watching the sun on the moon the sinking mountain till all vanished & even MRS Stone made no comment but slept & that is my report to you today, my Dotggergsamtiian-idarstofgiviks