Money Has An Enemy 1.4 The Bank put itself in full view. Infirmity broke its mountain. Infinity held its ground. Wrench Boy-Girl was uninvested. Hammerhead hid in his own head. Melee was disconcerted-- nothing resisted the diffusion of her forces. She paid a call to Crystal inside a rock. Crystal communed with The Infinite. Wrench Boy-Girl "on the margins of non-entity" were content to be silent and hold within their own entity. Infinity paid a visit to Wrench Boy. Wrench Boy took an academic interest in the vicissitudes of The Bank. Hammerhead abolished his position before its abolition could abolish him.  Everywhere everyone expanded their vocabulary. Nobody anywhere wanted to block Aberration. Bellows blew all things further into the manifestation of what they were. Fissures along the surfaces of rocks no longer read as aberrations. Seedlings of violets in the valleys were just about to be busting out all over. States and methodologies of Transport were poised on the brink in embryo. Wrench Boy-Girl Girl multiplied their avatars each of whom took a stance atop a different exposed rock.  Long River runs uninterrupted by fiduciary catastrophe, as Crystal's dimensional matrix needs court no philanthropy; The Infinite transcends The Magnanimous; and you cannot flatter a Black Box.  No one knew what conflagration was yet to come. Wrench Person in syzygy, repaired to Long River for a week of investigative contemplation, while others resorted to the study of Red Book.  There is a Rock on the far side of The Broken Mountain. Hammerhead dressed himself in highest magus priestly garb, picked a set of silver tongs and set forth on an investigative journey. Hammerhead took along his finest artificial African Rattle. Thus was the response of a spiritually broken Hammerhead.  But The Rock Beyond The Broken Mountain-- was the rumor of its existence mental aberration? The ten thousand avatars of Jaguar prowled the path to it. Magic syllables shifted within vocabularies of beings inhabiting intermediary territories. You could not negotiate with them. The mocking eyes of these distance-dwellers condemn your bewilderment out right. Wrench Boy and his avatars dream of The Broken Mountain in a chorus of oneiric wonderment but do not venture beyond the representation of it in Red Book.  Material evidence for it? Absolutely zero. Positive belief in it? That seemed an aberration. Only desperate transport and the strong compelling pictures in Red Book, and reports of access there to, so to speak, transalpine infinities-- these things and Wrench-Boy-Girl's charming if actually quite academic colloquies on the subject of broken mountains brought Hammerhead to undertake the Quest.  He equipped himself with a ceremonial bugle, an n-dimensional crystal, and set out for The Rock.  Deep Storge rumbled and opened up a passage, but the tokens required for transport were confession of aberration, a fist full of violets, and a letter of commendation from an avatar of Wrench Boy. Money Has An Enemy 1.4 B The Banks dissolved. The infirmities of the system succumbed to the infinite resourcefulness of the enemies of money. Wrench Boy exulted. Hammerhead despaired. Melee's flaming red hair lit up the dawn. Crystal said: "There is a certain mountain across a distant plain. It passes beyond the conditions of existence." Rock said: "I have no idea what she's talking about. I am Existence. No one conditions me." Crystal said: "Whiteness is my anchor. The sun is my choir. Life is my nose gay. Being is my soul." Infinity said: I Bow to this exalted entity. She alone compels me to my own excess." Wrench Boy stretched his hands towards Wrench Girl's hands. Their fingers touched and all conditions resolved in a prospect of absolute infinity. Wrench Boy exulted. Hammerhead set forth on a quest for The Broken Mountain.  Bellows blew from a stance beyond conditions to cause conditions. Infirmity was unsure of herself. Infinity felt at ease. All Being stood in embryo. Aberration took stock of its own condition. Violets were busting out all over. Aberration decided the whole thing was not delusional, but it might have been some gargantuan mistake. Infirmity felt stirrings of compassion. Infinity invested in the Rock.  On the path you must pass through Deep Storage. There is a portal through which transport can occur. An avatar of Wrench Boy stands on the rock that guards it. You pick up a fist full of violets and the portal opens.  Hammerhead appeared as the figure of Infirmity desperately seeking transport.  An avatar of The Old Hotel, construed at each joint of the path as succor to Infirmity . . . A red book in every bedroom, a raceme of violets on every sill. Crystal watched from a star above the tower. Jaguar prowled invisible and chuckled heartily at "conditions." Conditions resolved for whomever wished to resolve them.  I broke a pod on my African Rattle. It was night on the path. I took out my n-dimensional crystal. You can use this as an aid in interpreting Red Book. The African rattle made a new sound that was like a clear crystal whose facets multiplied through all dimensions reflecting the subtle purple hews of an African violet. This was transport for me-- through crystal to The Infinite.  Long River at night on the path gives birth to jaguars out of the crystal rills that trouble its flux. I take a breath and I am a bellows. Destiny is unconditioned and like a Black Box. Long River is Strength and Infirmity, the mothers of disembodied rain gear. Something is buzzing in the tamarisk bush along the river's margins.  "Yes, Long River must be a pathway to transport. Here are my silver tongs, tongs beyond my lethal aberration. I still cannot bring my thought to Infinity. My rattle out of Africa in ruins, not really out of Africa, will only take me to yesterday. I am Hammerhead. Wrench Boy unmans me. Oh, I must get to that rock beyond The Broken Mountain."  On the open plain a place of ceramic zeros whose surfaces were tessellated with mirrors, as if one's own aberrations were nothing at all and yet seemed multiplied to Infinity. The Ground Between was strewn with violets.  On the open plain a Great Red Book--ten stories high-- as if one's own aberration were spelled out in a vast vocabulary. On every page an avatar of Wrench Boy there to explain Condition and how to pass beyond it how to pass beyond gargantuan Red Book, if one thought to ask it.  Now a bugle blasted from the prickly mouth of a creature whose body was like a cactus. Now the sky looked like an n-dimensional crystal. The earth was just a big rock. Money Has An Enemy 2.4 A jaguar in dark glasses toasted Infinity and began to discourse on The Bank and the consequence of its exposure. "It was not only," he said, "the source of every industrially fabricated embryo, it was the trivialization of industry itself, as if all there was to the system were the production and distribution of rain gear, African rattles not made in Africa, plastic salad tongs, red notebooks with spiral bindings..." He paused and picked up a set of silver tongs that glistened from some hidden spring of energy. He proceeded: "The Bank was its own brittle embryo, certainly. But the Bank suppressed or dismissed, not to say aborted, every embryo not under its survey, or would have done so, were it not for myself, the Jaguar, and my avatars and the invisible chorus of disembodied, uninhabited rain gear, in the rain forest fashioned, in recesses that the system could not find.  Hammerhead was a man without an embryo. His use of tongs was desperate. He could not find Black Box. His thought will never countenance Infinity. He has no love for the sweet effusions of Violet. He tries to find his truth on the pages of his own red book. With the demise of the fiduciary system, whither has he vanished?  We do not need a red book to tell us how red-haired Melee can pull irrelevancies out of her own Black Box and that she can easily transport embryos for whatever her crazy fascination wishes to toss about up from Deep Storage. We now have to live with the general conflagration the enemies of money happily brought about-- a practically infinite proliferation of mixed and merging entities and processes, thoughts and situations; the orderly arrangements and arrays familiar to some of us from Deep storage are themselves irrelevant to the present situation.  The Broken Bank bleeds to Infinity. The Rock of Materiality remains resistant. The fiduciary system lies in ruins, but The Mind of Money still compels the world. Vocabulary proliferates but does not find Infinity. Deep Storage recedes to Black Box. Being itself releases the Bellows.  I must put a question to the crystal I wear as diadem. 'Oh, how can we find an embryo out of Black Box? How draw from Black Box a pathway to that Infinity which not only sucks out the poisons of mere quantity whose measure is money but finds in the roots of vocabulary transcendental syllables and puts some sort of spunk back into Red Book?'"  This discourse was delivered to an empty house in the quiet lounge of The Old Hotel at lunch time. Only Violet was present burgeoning in a set of Japanese clay jars. The situation was not a likely embryo for the rejuvenation of Red Book. Outside and down the hill-- a desperate Melee--no red hair in evidence--: accusations, furtive hoarding, abject theft, gangboss hoodlums the only intelligentsia; looting, exhaustion, famine to infinity. Since the Bank closed.  Red Book and its rows and columns ludicrously useless, far beyond mere infirmity. Violet hesitated, continuing to emanate her sweet effusions in season, but even she was starting to think about money. Small groups in little villages huddled together to calculate how to reconstitute the bank but with local scope and privilege. No one thought to do it on the basis of thaumaturgy charged with zeros. The power for that locally was lacking.  Jaguar closed his eyes and listened. His diadem started to sparkle in oblique dimensions. He knew the code that required no cryptology. He clicked his silver tongs three times and Wrench Boy popped up before him in an exact selection of alternative dimensions. His syzygetical doublet took the form of red-haired Melee. They went for an afternoon cruise down a hyperdimensional segment of Long River.  In an egg-shaped aura above the river by a tamarisk bush, a geometrical figure in n-dimensions took shape. They recognized in it the essence of an embryo. An n-dimensional bugle blasted. The silver tongs turned hot white. The sound of Long River was white already. They found themselves at The Rock behind The Broken Mountain. It was no delusion, no aberration, foisted upon them by an inexpert manipulation of magical tongs. They all saw it. Wrench Boy had come equipped with a fist full of violets and his own set of green tongs. These events and imageries both were and were to become memories placed in Deep Storage. Money Has An Enemy 3.4 Black Box is its own archetype . . . avatar . . . archetype. Nobody flatters Him. The Bank requires no archetype to authenticate its origin. Its place resides in its own displacement. Jaguar with a wrench in one shirt pocket the head of a hammer in the other zooms in a hot white rush in and out through difficulties that other beings negotiate. He senses the breath of The Bellows and manages forces accordingly. Bugle cannot activate its own agency. It stands ground that is never its own. It is at peace at the hip of Wrench Boy. The archetype of Hammerhead winds from the beginning his path to The Broken Mountain. Hammerhead's suppression of the trickster in his nature led that path to seem a Zeno's journey. Jaguar laughs to watch him toil along it: every step shorter by half than its prior-- until he comes to know he is The Broken Mountain. Bellows grows weary beyond the night. Only Jaguar, entrained to Bellows' rhythms, allows his world to know its own surcease. The night beyond the paths of day and night must be Black Box-- Bugle at rest on its nail.  The Old Hotel accommodates "systole / diastole--spokes of the wheel"-- the magic of history that works like a bellows-- and knows in its chambers the avatars of Infirmity. Its ruse to heal is the dream of a Rock. It sends its avatars to India. You read of it at your pleasure or your peril. All language devolves from an African Rattle. Being takes on the operation of an Old Hotel. It pumps the bellows. It ensconces itself in Deep Storage. But it never finds a path to an irrefragable morphology.  Phenomena of business, phenomena of Transport, distract every Wrench Boy from the sounds of an African Rattle until he finds his way in and out of each Red Book and learns on The Path the scales and patterns of Bellows.  "Stop that thinking," Infinity interrupted. Hammerhead wasn't listening. He began to doubt his own Red Book and grew increasingly despondent because of the images of Wrench Boy that adorned its every page.  "We are setting forth the more abstruse conditions of The Path," said Dr. Tongs. "We need to know the precise operations that constitute a Zero, what happens to the region of apparent human beings transduced by Hammerhead, what by Crystal, what is and what can be made of Aberration."  What will happen now to the Embryo Bank? Beyond each Rock a Jaguar. Long River flows all the way to India.  Existence there is an avatar of Melee. Hammerhead hired an elephant to ride to the temple of Ganesh. Conflagration was not his anxiety on his quest for that accursèd "Rock." He found an Old Hotel in which to sit out Monsoon or else acquire an adequate suit of rain gear. He still kept dreaming of The Bank, its possibilities, its demise. The Bank was his mother, his ontology, Black Box, Deep Storage. What would become of the tongs that plucked The Bank? Who would guard Vocabulary now? All these matters occupied his spirit as he sat in The Old Hotel, not vexed by African Rattle, not tormented by Violet. He yet could imagine himself the Master of the Bellows of History asleep in an Old Hotel. Money Has An Enemy 4.4 India found Zero in the recesses of the intellect of a Bengal Jaguar. It was like a Black Box. The Long River was full of corpses. Vocabulary reinvented itself sourced in the secret recesses of such an intellect. Conflagration alternates with inundation. Rain gear with Brain gear. The Old Hotel was like a complex temple complex. You wander through its mental room and passages only to find a deity denuded of rain gear in whose lap sat a black box, out of the back door of which the Long and sacred River pulsed; and if you looked sharp at a sample of its waters you could discern corpuscles in the form of little black boxes. When somebody dies he tries to reach Long River and meditate on Zero to purify vocabulary abused by life.  Hammerhead, Hammerhead, where are you headed? Aberration without end uncompensated by rain gear, impossible to patch it, no use to deploy old tongs. Even Melee ignores you, Hammerhead. Jaguar zooms in circles about you on the path but you see only fragmentary flashes of what you think is golden goo. You try to find Transport on a rented elephant.  I dreamed last night of a village made out of a golden globe sacred to Ganesh-- streets, shops, tents and random deities dot and streak its shining surface whose curvature is positive.  Demeter's pig has a basket slung around its neck full of super-natural embryos oblique to the natural plain where jaguars detonate vestigial objects strewn like land mines containing rather abstract aberrations. When they fire, the energies of their explosions freeze into crystals. You can pick them up on the path along Long River. Each one is paired with a corresponding Black Box inside of which an embryonic aberration works an indeterminate system of gestation.  When Jaguar speaks soberly to Hammerhead or, so to speak, joyously eats him, the magus priest will at last discern his home along Long River.  "My bellows is played like an harmonium ornamented by enamel jaguars whose image is in Red Book. They look like they'd just popped out of Black Box-- their eyes flashed like crystal." Wrench Boy was reminiscing. He was just about to sink into Deep Storage-- his Old Hotel-- the temple of his body. Long River was switching its topology according to the bidding of Harsh Aberration, who curiously had just managed to assume the Bellows. The music that came out of them was accompanied by an African Rattle. Red Book, Old Hotel, Deep Storage-- transforms within the same topology. Add a bugle to that, set it in an orchestra of jaguars, a jaguar on the podium, the program tempered by zeros-- a great cosmogonical cacophony not about to succumb to quiescence.  The silver surface of Demeter's pig flashed in the sacrificial fire light. The details of how to perform this are written in Red Book. Wrench Boy reads this and his intellect flows down Long River. His Old Hotel is ransacked by demons with tongs. Long River is a Black Box. Tongs can pluck anything. Long River is the vascular system of a gargantuan violet. Everything you wear can turn into rain gear if you have the right mind set. There's a reason for everything in The Old Hotel. I look into my crystal and experience the flux of Long River-- Long River that runs passed The Bank. My Strength commutes with Infirmity. I think I am Wrench Boy. These days I feed on rocks. I stand on an alter right next to Demeter's pig and look down on Long River which is made out of money. What must I do, I want to know, with this infirmity? Money Has An Enemy 5.4 An aberration sets in along about now and only Black Box can remove it. It is a secret of degree zero sealed with a crystal. Its possession is-- and transcends-- Transport. It grows from no embryo, blows no bugle. The infirmities of all that seems to be pertain not to it. But it is no it. You can bugle that. Zero laves crystal with zero's crystal-- crystal aberrations are the spaces reserved for Transport.  Here it is and isn't it. Crystal's aberration at play in Jaguar's diadem. Crystal's heart plucked by tiny tongs. Black Box, of course. A rattle rattling out o Africa. Melee's secret: crystal. No one's infirmity and everyone's. This section breaks the code.  To understand Bellows seek Infinity's Black Box. A name that doubles its own rocks and challenges Universal Infirmity.  I'll bugle it if I break the code again. Meanwhile, put on rain gear. This poem's Black Box is the devil's detailed Deep Storage otherwise corralled as The Old Hotel. I'll tell everything but, (quote unquote): Who Is Speaking?  My vocabulary did this to you. And a crystal-packing mama who shoots from Infinity: The magazine that stashes her ammo? Black Box.  And you better update you rain gear or Black Box will fail to surprise you and you'll think I'm trying to offend you rather than offer you violets.  If you run into Wrench Boy--just whistle. Don't bugle. Give him a hand if he's pumping his bellows. He's conducting an inquiry into very deep storage. So cool it with that bugle. Together, you, me, and him will acclimate to Infinity. Can you say : "conflagration"? It came. And Zero broke the Bank, but It had already cleaned up or cleared out Deep Storage. Conflagration was sayable for that. Infinity organized transport and sent a Red Box to India. Lets concentrate forever on a crystal until Infinity smashes through Transport and Hammerhead returns to Black Box, Black Box congratulates Melee, and Conflagration floats away Down Long River. Money Has An Enemy 6.4 Melee took the podium. She said: "You shits--you think there's some idea other than Zero to quash your aberration? You think that your twinky tongs would be sufficient to pull apart at last a moribund world? Well, me and violet-- we know better. We know when the bellows blows, the kind of vocabulary that reaches Infinity, and the kind of vocabulary that sinks to Aberration. Tongs pick at Aberration. Tongs ain't good enough for Violet and me."  Only Jaguar was listening to this recital, though all twenty-seven of us were present, in a manner of speaking. It was golden dawn in the red lounge of The Old Hotel. Vocabulary wondered, "Should I help her out? If Infinity fits her, it's to her flaming hair. But what can be said by any of us depends on the Phases of The Bellows."  There was a Black Box near the double doors that opened onto the lounge. "It's gonna be a long day," he thought, but kept it to himself. In his mind, however, he continued: "She's fueled in zeros, alright. Where's Hammerhead when we need him? Out crushing embryos. The Old Hotel needs a new Melee, 'long about now."  "What the hell ARE we?" I shouted. Deep Storage had no interest in the generality of my inquiry, already holding each and every one of us in all our checkered ontological variety within his deep machinery. Zero had nothing to say. Rain Gear provided covering. The question irritated her and she wanted to hide. Vocabulary said everything, like: "Come on DOWN and join the PAHty. You want to SAY what you ARE?" Bugle blew reveille very snappily. Only The Old Hotel was open to the inquiry and intimated there would be all the rooms I needed to kick it off. African Rattle similarly offered its services. "Ask the question and listen. What you hear might come from Deep Storage." The Bank, whose archetype persisted, iterated: "I know who your are. Your Being is your capital. Your existence, on account." Violet suffused the space with an unambiguous tincture.  Here we were, together: one collective, intellectual conflagration. Vocabulary dissolved into his magic syllabary and the syllables floated like moths above Long River. The Old Hotel accommodates all things. Vocabulary, finally, is indifferent to how you use him, and the Bank, quite frankly, doesn't care who you are as long as you have the money. Red Book is ordered according to the Phases of the Bellows applied to all of us, to history, to meta-cosmic everything. Zero retracts every essence. Transport distracts from who you are: that's its function, while Dr. Tongs, if in San Francisco-- why did I say that? denies the atomicity attributed by certain persons to him. Bank said: "It seems I'm still alive." Oh? Back so soon? Zero zapped him. Embryo precedes the question. Crystal completes it. Even Infirmity has its own vocabulary. Every Rock is just itself. Money Has An Enemy 7.4 What happens to Europe when The Bank is down? "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to answer that question," said the Rattle just out of Africa, "Not that it's some kind of aberration or that its answer is the obvious--a melee-- you don't need me to see that. But Hammerhead himself has sought a consultation with me. That's why I came out of Africa--Mali, actually-- and before this moment his lack of interest in my mantic capacities was like a rock." It actually was Long River who had wistfully put the question. He had had to transport what was left of the officers of The Bank, and they were by no means in a mood for "Transport." "Melee" was more like the name for it. But Hammerhead was seeking answers everywhere. He had opened up desperate negotiations with Melee herself. That Hammerhead had got his head into the sounds of an African Rattle need not only seem like the melting of a rock. In a sense what happened to him happened to Europe.  Not every question is like a Black Box. But this one is: Given the obliviousness to its own infirmity and its penchant for trusting the likes of Hammerhead regarding all matters pertaining to order, when The Bank was exposed-- what about America? For America also seeks Infinity, trusts itself with some innocence to the expansive mood of The Bellows, even at times could be generous to Aberration, celebrate Melee, and allow itself a certain fascination with the metaphysics of Zero, so that Alexander Hammerhead (for instance) found himself disaffected with her exorbitant populist tolerances. Melee, at one time, could be happy there, not being bothered by the unabashed and gleeful exuberance of its bugling, and Old Man Long River just kept on rolling, and America's Archetype kept on projecting a Prophecy of Transport, however degenerate the Deliverance, however its ideals turned to Melee, however grandiose and fatuous and grandiosely lethal its explosions towards Infinity. If America turns out to be one vicious Zero, still the jaguars south of the border were no aberration. But Hammerhead hadn't even heard of them, so when he bugled to his own truncated cartoon of infirmity, the transport he longed for ran straight into Wrench Boy. Hammerhead had only his digest of Red Book and its utterly spurious synopsis of the sequential stages of Transport, no accurate account of Melee, only the applications of the various issuances of the different kinds of rain gear, as if all there were on The Path were a cycle of meteorological defenses. Hammerhead had as yet to imagine a direct encounter with Jaguar.  The Old Hotel was an indifferent conference hall, but it provided the instrument that by a kind of misdirection worked The Cosmic Bellows-- the bellows that sucked in every Aberration, blew out all infirmity, afforded the course of conditions that eventually exposed The Bank. Violet studied Hammerhead. She thought that Jaguar's perpetual zooming in what were for all practical purposes white, invisible circles, were an aberration in relation to him. She thought that one might try a different --- Vocabulary! (sic) Even this aberration, was just an aberration. But Conflagration swept up everything in an unmanageable vocabulary.  Infirmity's last recourse was to visualize a crystal. Wrench Boy waited for Hammerhead, who had headed directly onto his path instead of digging in and seeking the advantages of Deep Storage. It was Transport in the end that Broke The Bank. Wrench Boy broke Hammerhead. Tongs transformed from his material to his magical function, as if the two were mutually exclusive. Perhaps they were for him.  I say: "There is ultimately only one archetype. Its avatars are at Infinity. I break the code again Hammerhead entreated: "O Elephant headed Ganesh, O Ganapati, Remover of Every Obstacle; Lord of Categories; your palace is behind the mountain called Kailas: Show me the Rock Behind the Broken Mountain." He saw a headless person at a harem gate with a loudspeaker on a table from which a voice was saying with great urgency, "O kindly passerby in the wilderness of this universe, my head has been severed because of a Gargantuan mistake. If you wish a boon from beyond the gods, please cut off the head of the first being you see and give it to me-- don't concern yourself about the suture." Hammerhead saw his own elephant. The ornamental saber he'd hastily strapped to his belt was just long enough for the bloody task. When he'd completed the deed, the Head said to him: "If you would see The Rock behind The Broken Mountain, you must cut off your own head-- stop mucking about among Categories! You are The Broken Mountain-- the only obstacle." Hammerhead understood little, but looked at the carcass of his elephant and wept bitterly. Money Has An Enemy 8.4: On Various Matters I am Wrench Boy. Wrench Girl can be Melee. When I multiply the musics of my African Rattle: Everyone has avatars; Everyone has an archetype; Everyone suits up in rain gear, accordingly. I am writing this in The Red Book's writing room. It is night. The full moon and Jupiter are clear through the small dormer window. Jupiter shines like Crystal. Violets in Japanese pots are hanging from massive wooden beams. The pages of the book in the moonlight are tinted by their hew. Jaguar is my intimate, my ally. Together we canvas The Invisible and cover it with intimations of Violet. This too is among the musics of my African Rattle. Oh put on your ceremonial rain gear, enter the white rain of the moonlight. take up the Rattle out of Africa. and your rain gear will prove you an avatar of Wrench Boy too. I seal it with the passes of my wrenches and write it in Red Book.  How to specify Vocabulary; and how its law complements Black Box. Not only that it issues in Red Book and its promiscuous avatars or that Jaguar wields it and The Bank if it existed would tighten the skrews on its rules. Violet's animadversions testify to the intricacy of its problematic. It has a certain entropy and behaves variously in times of conflagration.  The Phases of The Bellows (in a certain light) do not vary to infinity. They admit of definite aberration. They are dissimilar to Long River in this respect and can thus, perhaps illusorily, be accommodated by the plannings of The Bank. They tell you when to put on rain gear, so to speak, They discount The Incalculable, and treat it, quite rightly, as a Black Box.  The uses of Transport as pertaining to Conflagration: Transcendence of it; Passage through it. A good way to be burned by it. The uses of Violet: an effective standard by which to measure Vocabulary.  Motto: The Essence is not an Embryo.  Transport must be no holiday, but both It and Melee may be a journey through Deep Storage.  Conflagration obliterates your pathway. Only violets remain. Only the oldest of Old Hotels-- the ones you do not meet on any highway-- continue to accommodate.  You cannot openly question The Bank. Rain Gear Brain Gear. The Jaguar is not openly the enemy of money. The Mind of Money knows The Bank. Only Long River abides beyond but also behind the complete system. Hammerhead bides his own head. Red Book Dead Book Zero: the animus of Infinity. Cash out on Rain Gear. I keep a white jaguar in my white garage. But build it so its big double doors open on Long River. Oh sweet flow of Absurdity. Let Melee flourish her African Rattle.  You cannot hide a rock in soaking rain gear. Only Black Box is adequate to Melee. The Bugle of Awakening. The Melee of Continuance. Violet also-- a consort for Wrench Boy. Melee and African Rattle pick up the tongs. Violet is kind to Infirmity. Violet is puzzled by Bank. All Power to Violets. All Things revert to Black Box. Money Has An Enemy 9.4: Golden Dawn Conflagration precedes and follows. Inundation comes between. Together-all Existence: a river on fire. The Great Noise of The Rattles out of Africa, Innumerable shakes the Avatars of Wrench Boy. The Bugle of Awakening looses the links in the chain-mail Existence is-- each link plucked from Deep Storage by angry Tongs. An anomalous Rock plucked from Black Box-- a Rock on top of which stands Wrench Boy and he blows the Bugle of Awakening so that every one of the Avatars of Wrench Boy is aroused by that Bugle and Conflagration comes and Inundation follows and Deep Storage opens its sluices.  Violet wakes up on her own in her little garden hut in back of the bank. Hammerhead is learning to accept interchangeable hammerheads.  Behold The Embryo of Splendor-- red cloud, pale luminous sky-- if you climb above the tree line-- colors that wax brilliant over blue mountains. Then: Exultant cry of Bugle at the top of the Dawn when the brilliance of the sun far exceeds its luminous harbingers.  Black Box is the night forsaken by sunrise. Sunrise, a melee of birdsong, day-life in embryo. The bugle of reveille proclaiming Wrench Boy's Nativity in a cave in Arcadia. The boy is born equipped with an easy vocabulary and an African Rattle and the shell of a turtle he'd slaughtered for the affects of its music, when transformed to the shell of a lyre; and a Portion of Apprehension equivalent to zero when Wrench Boy was Hermes.  "The Mouse is the master of the inside of everything." He is Ganapati's mount; his diminutive character, no infirmity. Like Hermes, a thief, whose liability is fixed at zero. When the Mouse blows his bugle, Wrench Boy attends and readies himself for Transport and supplies himself with hyper-dimensional blue and green and silver magical tongs.  After Inundation all rain gear falls away. The goddess that is Crystal adorns The Old Hotel-- with a wall full of ornamental bugles and the sounds of syllabic essences of vocabularies. The Black Box of language resonates to vibrating tongs and The Rattles out of Africa ride on their own sounds and integrate the sounds of The Rattles out of Africa with The Bellows Beyond Condition and the Aether that Mediates Condition quivers and seizes all space from within.  Aberration is a thing of the future and abides far away with The Bank as if its only existence were the way it complicates crystal. But Infinity animates the Bugle of Dawn whose energy trails glory clouds from Great Zero out of India and night is Black Box. Black Box is the secret engram interior to Bugle. It animates Crystal and restores the life of Red Book. Under these conditions even Bugle is Black Box.  Dawn time resonates Crystal-- wrench Boy its Avatar whose rain gear is crystal. Wrench Boy in syzygy with Crystal rides the Jaguar straight through Deep Storage.  Along n-dimensional Long River, whose waters flow All Ways and whose Secret Rock will prove the Archetype of Hammerhead beyond the compelling sovereignty of its own banks-- The Rock whose heart is beyond all broken mountains rich as Zero. Money Has An Enemy 10.4 : Desiccation Not in the beginning, but in or out of phase Embryo hastily evacuates its issue in favor of an enigmatic Wrench Boy. "I don't get no con-fla-gration out of my Vocabulary when I work The Old Hotel," thought Hammerhead, with a tight grimace. His restrictions caused Red Book to collapse back to Zero. Red Book went into the phase of Conflagration that is effectively Desiccation: Its vocabulary conflagrated. Vocabulary itself ran dry and sank back into embryo. In the Beginning was Etymology. In the enormous library of The Old Hotel.  Zero black-boxes Wrench Boy. Aberration vocabularies Transport. I whispered: "Listen to your Jaguar-- Listen for it, anywhere. Begin to make a practice of African Rattle. Oh Listen--will you not listen?"  I thought: "I'll have to make my own bank, pluck my instruments to articulate my tongs." Wrench Boy bellows. His vocabulary blanks Black Box.  Rock stands firm, while Bellows is all weather-beaten, frantic lest Red Book, frantic as well, order a universal desiccation of violets. Long River runs dry-- only the rocks in the river bed are visible when Wrench boy comes out to assuage his own infirmity.  Rain Gear won't help much. Vocabulary for once has nothing to say. Something says nothing. Nothing has but a few things to crow about. The nature of thought--Black Box.  Bugle does its thing but has no concern to equip itself with a vocabulary. Infinities stay put where they are.  Vocabulary, Vocabulary-- why such a melee? Listen for your Jaguar! Tongs will find what to say! Silent Silent Silent is every African Rattle.  Abstract Abstract Abstract-- Crystal behind and beyond the new-fangled, newly-forming map of Everything contained in The Universe. (It fails before it starts to have enough of everything.) The scribes that slave for Red Book patiently await this; but the Stone that is no Stone but a phase impervious to Rain Gear's declivity-- is set as a glittering diadem in Jaguar's spotted brow.  Red Book contrives to be obscure enough that Aberration be evaded.  Deep Storage takes the form of the thought beyond Vocabulary, the Ruse beyond The World, and pays no mind to the terrors of Aberration. He cultivates his personal sartorial splendor in an out door all night cafe-restaurant and discourses dryly on matters of universal concern to a wryly attentive Wrench Boy. Money Has An Enemy 11.4: The Phases of Bellows When The Bellows comes to its Still Points: Conflagration. Then at one extreme, Embryo; at the other, Transport. The system has its infirmities. Rain Gear can distort the pattern of its phases, Deep Storage introduce an aberration at any phase; Deep Storage supplants with ease just about any embryo. Transport can overwhelm when an embryo broadcasts its inclusion. And Transport can carry off anyone at any phase of The Bellows. Such are the system's infirmities.  Hammerhead had been quite desperate to improve the cycle. Why should Embryo happen where metaphysical motion comes to full zero? Why Melee or Conflagration at all? Violets proliferate at Still Points, on whatever scale-- cosmic, pneumatic, fiduciary, psychic, social. But whenever such pragmatic inquiry would succeed in adjusting matters, Jack-in-the-Black-Box, "The Trickster Function," springs into action. The appearances of Being can never be like a rock: Transport's too central for that.  Jaguar manifests as Trickster, taking the form of Coyote, Coydog, Coywolf, or changing his character to take on Hammerhead as is geographically or otherwise conditionally appropriate.  When Conflagration comes, knowledge of The Pattern is among the first things to incinerate. Between two moments whatever one is thinking can simply disappear. Thought is like Long River-- n-dimensional, momentary. If you can, let it go. Then such evanescence transforms to Transport; dimensionality expands as if divided by zero.  No need for Tongs or Deep Storage. No need to tighten up like a rock. Everything turning to crystal. Even the somber pages of Red Book take a ride on the next conflagration. Tip your hat to Infinity.  Who was it that muttered: What hat? That depends on your vocabulary and the liberality of your access to Black Box.  Long River runs true in every moment. Long River runs free beyond the worlds.  "Part of Hammerhead's present difficulty," says I, is that he aborted every such exercise in embryo, so when he listens now to African Rattle, he hears nothing helpful emerging from Black Box. Its oracular embryo sounds like a melee. Such is one phase of his infirmity."  "Another phase of his complex aberration," said a young avatar of Wrench Boy, while sitting in the student lounge with incipient Melee, out for a late-night something, "is that Hammerhead is hung-up on 'concepts'. This is why so many things in embryo of other species of emergence fail to stimulate his bugle.' "Well, lets go to Ye Old Motel," said his seductively temporary syzygy, "and make it with some transport of our own. Someone gave me this really cool African rattle, a rough-skinned black gourd incised with tiny coweries-- its song is just this side of conflagration."  The Bank no longer ran the university. They sell all sorts of rain gear in the "co-op." Deep Storage is prepared to franchise whatever is needed. Still Point is proximate. Obstruction: zero. Money Has An Enemy 12.4: Hammerhead's Embryo Long River had run long enough. No more embryos. Bellows tried to blow fresh life into Violet, but her desiccated petals flew out on its breath to infinity. The bugle blew taps for Existence itself. The Old Hotel--well-- it was an old hotel. Bellows, when it found no more violets, exhaled its last exhalation. Violet herself was absorbed in a world beyond her own tincture and sat in rapt contemplation alone along Long River. Quiescence became her infinity.  Wrench boy put his wrenches in order and touched fingers with Wrench Girl. He'd long been acquainted with Zero. Everyone donned ceremonial rain gear-- even Violet whose garments were violet-- even Melee whose garment was the grand disorder of the world. Red Book's pages recorded only empty ciphers, or equations the equivalent of naught, null credentials, self-canceling movements and narratives; in short, six hundred blank pages; and from it there emanated a fair efflux of violet. Bellows reduced itself to the catalogue of twenty-seven phases that once had organized the pages of Red Book.  For Crystal to hear her own being beyond the jaws of Existence, she had to pass backwards through her natal embryo, beyond the patterned forms she imparted to Existence and find her only being as Being Herself. This operation brought succor to Bellows, syllables to Vocabulary, wild excess to African Rattle-- white rushing river of audible bliss, then oblivion.  Rain gear hung up on its nail. Being is Black Box. Violet vis a vis her tincture and her perennial happiness entered the tent of final contemplation and with Vision and Scent followed an order just like African Rattle.  Hammerhead walked alone through the empty rooms of The Old Hotel-- spider webs and broken furniture. It seemed like the guests had been gone for forever. Suddenly Jaguar came prowling down a broken hallway to the Red Lounge not really red any more-- ready for a melee.  Deep Storage had settled down deeply, but crystal was a vanishing point of luminescence that sent intense, attenuated beams through every cramped quarter and nook of The Old Hotel. Hammerhead was startled as he stood on a red box and one of those beams found a cranny in the handle of the hammer he was holding. It flashed along the seven hungry pools inside his starving body-- and the tongs that hang from his cord started to heat up and vibrate.  Hammerhead, Hammerhead, have you an embryo out of The Bank that's inside you? Have you at last found your depth?  There was a rock outside the broken picture window on whose long, crooked sill there sat a shattered pot with a fistful of desiccated violets. The sounds of conflagration roared about him-- no time to correct Aberration. Tiny mice were running helter-skelter, blowing tiny bugles with sharp tones. No time to opine about Infinity! Grab that fist full of violets. Hear it all as the sound of an African Rattle-- Existence everywhere in ruins-- and give it to you as you listen for an inexistent embryo . . . Money Has An Enemy 13.4: The Character of Crystal Crystal. The meaning outside of Existence where no bellows sucks or blows. Even Long River-- in that place is like a rock. No Bank in the interesting cold out there. Vocabulary would not reach it, generally; but where all other speech is but Infirmity, one singular lexical item releases an African Rattle. What item is that? I do not release it. Infinity is commended to the rush of our Long River. The Rock Behind the Mountain is like a mirror: it inverts Long River's flow. Such is the meaning of Crystal outside all pertinent Toplogy that cannily skews The Bank.  "Take this Rock," sings Jaguar, "and blow your bugle ever, shake that Rattle out of Africa, till Melee and Rock together run and roll rampant along Long River. Then all run down to Deep Storage, which, inside itself, is like a Rock." He was wearing rain gear to cover a sudden infirmity sensed in a state of Transport: Aberrancy, Infirmity, in him? A surprise to a curious Wrench Boy.  They took him to The Old Hotel to treat this sudden Infirmity with the simple presence of Long River and the simple absence of Hammerhead.  "Is it ever sufficient to arrive at The Old hotel, unequipped with tongs and bellows and a hat in a sleek black box and an African Rattle? You can sit on your Rock and contemplate Zero till your Rock turns into an Avatar of Wrench Boy, and there is no difference, hermeneutically, between Infinity and a Rock." At this point Wrench Boy interrupted himself and began to pump his Bellows. He was spontaneously concerned that The Wolves controlled the Space around the Villages-- lykanthropy in embryo-- and this was fomenting Bugles. In came the Experts with Tongs to vary the Geometry and distract the Wolves, and Sentinels were already standing on their Rocks.  Violets flourished in season according to the phase of Bellows, while Crystal was perennial, quiet and rocklike, just like Long River. Melee scrambled the seasons, far more likely to throw than to sit on a rock. The matter of Wolves Circumambient was of growing concern to Red Book.  Come the Conflagration, there will be wolves from The Steppes in the mountains-- wolves where Aberrations wake the hesitant villagers-- noble wolves and mindful, fomenting village buglers-- Melee all excited-- as if she were a goddess of The Steppes: her consort is a Rock.  Money Has An Enemy 14.4: Of The Book of Wolves The King of The Wolves in a kingdom of tongs, far far out away along Long River. My mind adheres to Crystal. I wander through the pages of Red Book to accumulate the nature of a jaguar. Such transport echoes Infinity. Wrench Boy retires to the shadows. Infinity reflected through Crystal projects the King of The Wolves. I wander through the pages of Red Book. My crystal flames wolf coats-- Red Book full of secrets-- secrets of a kingdom of tongs. I surround myself with pictures, mental pictures. I am ten-thousand jaguars.  Zero. Wolf Coat. Run along Long River. Hammerhead in wolf's clothing. A cloud of roiling aberrations: page 53, Red book. A shadow over Wrench Boy.  I put on wolf's clothing and get lost in Red Book. Let the bellows pumps me out, out of my vocabulary-- twenty-seven words caught in the wound hairs of Wrench Boy. Wash them out in Long River. Flush them out through Deep Storage. Get me out of Red Book.  Though my bugle tunes-in to Infinity-- wolf coat embellished with violets-- slink, prowl, make inquiry-- instigate Melee-- Infinity flames Conflagration--  Wrench Boy, Wolf Boy, in shadow. Hammerhead, ravenous, wolf's clothing. Struggle X vocabulary. Outcome, income, Crystal. Wolf-style rain gear.  Wolf inside vocabulary outside wolf's eyes made out of crystal. Pathway from Embryo to Melee. Vocabulary conflagration -- pathway for Jaguar.  Ink itself Black Box.  Brick face bank face thinks Red Book the food for conflagration. Flames go up from Long River.  Rock wolves along Long River. Long River wash out Deep Storage.  Infirmity: The King of the Wolves, conflagration in earnest. Silent vocabulary. Wolves at home in The Old Hotel. Wolf disguised as rain gear.  Lets go down to Long River, fetch Wolf Girl Melee, shake African Rattle . . . Money Has An Enemy 15.4: The Shadow's Gift Must Hammerhead begin again, to meditate on crystal, reinvigorate Tongs, till they master their changes in hew? He's condemned to inquire of Deep Storage so deeply till he comes upon the chambers of Black Box, repeating this mantram: "Violet is My Mother," one thousand thousand times and the memory of the bank, and the memory of money's conflagration change and The Bank seem a mother no longer, just one more institution by which Tongs manipulates the surface of Deep Storage, and Hammerhead himself opens inwardly onto Black Box.  The Old Hotel at night, if it manages to vanish twixt storm-flash and moonlight, has a passage to Deep Storage. Certain of its chambers form a bridge arching o'er Long River--if they vanish.  The shadow over Wrench Boy is no aberration; rather, shadow transport-- a gift from Zero to Wrench Boy; in transport, the gift of Tongs; the proper knowledge of Bellows; the language of African Rattle; the open secret of Embryo; the golden key to Deep Storage; passage in an instant to The Rock behind The Broken Mountain. All this the gift of Shadow.  Transport alters Red Book, delivers his wrenches to Wrench Boy.  Infinity assumes a wolf's rain gear and harasses what's left of The Bank: inordinate, profitless paperwork, tinctured by fiduciary infirmity. For every vacated account a broken bugle.  Vocabulary fissions into segments ruined by previous deleterious usage and the resolute sonorities of an African Rattle-- a veritable conflagration of lexical particulates, utterly amazing to Wrench Boy. An exuberant Melee dances on the cracked rocky roof of the dead bank.  Without adequate tongs you cannot manipulate molten ingots, or advance a fantastic conflagration out of the forge . . .  Violet is the mother of nobody but further clusters of violets.  Jaguar prowls through Deep Storage doing "research." Embryo remains in a realm populated only by embryos, absorbing its resonance with Crystal . . . Money Has An Enemy 16.4: The Gray Rock Turns Black Throw the pigs of Demeter into the pigs' pit. No use for rain gear. Too late for tongs. Hammerhead sinks into the swamp water in back of The Old Hotel. Nothing to be done but meditate on Zero. The gray rock turns black. The jaguar prowls around it protecting the hidden embryo. Jaguar guards the swamp-water hell-mouth for Hammerhead to sink behind The Old Hotel-- no use for rain gear. Noon Day Night-- time of schismed Zero. Wolf on top of the mountain.  The Rock behind The Old Hotel, broken. The bugle not really a bugle. Rain gear, fallen from its nail. The tongs that Wrench Boy wrested from the hidden conflagration no one knew was flaming beneath the Writhing Rock . . .  In the brilliant sunlight--a crystal-- Invisible violets--blasted by sunlight. The Red Book open on the table to the protocol for embryo. Crystal blazing, loading its matrix with sunlight-- Violet overwhelmed by the brilliant conflagration.  Run to The Bank with your bugle-- jaguars leaping from Black Box-- Violet charged with inordinate sunlight clutched in Hammerhead's fingers, sinking, sinking through the swamp-like pages of Red Book.  Infiinty, the Bellows divided by Zero-- the ravenous embryo, its own conflagration-- ten-thousand miniscule jaguars accelerating to the blast of what is not a bugle.  When the embryo of the maiden bursts forth in its burden of floreate light, will this be sufficient to resolve the melee of jaguars?  The Silence of the Invisibles-- they dance in luminous rain gear-- The Silence of Crystal . . .  Red Book accelerates its intelligence before the intelligence of Wrench Boy, whose avatars ride quietly in saddles on the backs of ten-thousand jaguars. This phase of The Bellows releases Infirmities of Embryo, equivocations of The Beginning.  Along Long River ten-thousand avatars of Wrench Boy search for a vanishing Violet whose hundred blooms refracted inordinate sunlight into the aether as she sank through the swamp-water hell-mouth behind The Old Hotel and the sound of what is not a bugle alerted the Great Ceramic Zeros with their mirror tessellations installed about the meadow . . .  Colors flashing at Noon Day, inverse of generous shadows . . .  At this phase of The Bellows a maiden abducted by magical tongs from the course of invisible starlight the forest goddess and her horses-- manifests as an epitome of infinite losses-- a mutant proliferate vocabulary--  The air full of the sound of African Rattles-- Violets all over the meadows shouting out their colors and then they fall from their stems plucked and dropped by invisible tongs-- the sounds of the bugle that is no bugle merging with the sounds of ubiquitous rattles in the field around the swamp behind The Old Hotel in Noon Day conflagration crátcha crátcha crátcha crátcha kt crátcha crátcha kt crátcha crátcha  This is called a Transport of Jaguars on the pages of Red Book but in the mind of Wrench Boy the proliferation of the avatars of Jaguar was a matter of the phases of The Bellows.  Demeters' pigs were thrown in the pigs' pit. The officers of The Bank supplied the lot of them but failed to hear the bugle that was no bugle. Jaguar sat on the porch observing the phenomena, assuming a theoretical attitude: It seemed that the scene itself put forth an empirically verifiable instance of an Actual Infinity. Vocabulary expanded to project it. The Bank proclaimed a grim holiday, largely for publicity, but Violet returned from her ordeal down in The Mines plucked by magical tongs-- the episode the Aberration in Being that foments Apparency. Money Has An Enemy 17.4 Stop that bugle. Hammerhead is hiding in an underground chamber to witness the banquet of the dead. He is wearing ceremonial rain gear. His infirmity, his aberration are known from Red Book. He sits on a throne at the back of Black Box. He cannot hear the suck and swoosh of the bellows. Black Box his natural habitat. Rain gear qualifies Infirmity--ceremonial rain gear-- Archetype of Infirmity. Turn off that simulacrum of a bugle. Attend to Aberration.  Keep Jaguar as silent sentinel at the lip of Black Box. Supply him with ceremonial rain gear. Supply him with a diadem of crystal.  Black conflagration is his habitat. Infirmity is his embryo. He cannot hear his own bellows. I don't speak here of Jaguar but Hammerhead. Everything tends towards melee.  Jaguar, set up your vocabulary as if it were a Black Box. Open The Bank. Prepare for Transport.  Twenty-seven days in the cave of Mt. Ida. Violet has a twin in the underground. Black Box and Deep Storage ancillary to Dark Conflagration. Black Box, house to Dark Lord H. Long River flows black water.  The Bank defunct functions as an avatar for Black Box. Wrench Boy has a twin on the meadows. The world is its own infirmity. Its name is Apparency.  The twins have only one embryo. In the dark, an African Rattle. Is this an infirmity? It is not. Embryo, essenceless origin. No aberration.  Black Infinity zips up the locks on Black Box. Deaf, dead, insensate sentinels. No temptation to Transport..  Return to The Meadow with mind like a zero. Tongs and Bellows-- instruments of Black Infinity fired by Infirmity. Return to The Light in the Red Lounge of The Old Hotel . . . Money Has An Enemy 18.4 Who are you? I give you your own vocabulary. I give you your own rain gear. I silence your bugle. Who are you? Infinity motivates Melee. I found you in Deep Storage. We will enter upon the way. It is not zero. It floats along Long River. It will silence our bugle. Infinity motivates Bugle. Bugle summons Infinity. Vocabulary militates Melee.  Do you have a god named . . . ? He dwells under seven coverings of rain gear. The Bellows Outside of Existence queers the will to renewal. We read of this in Red Book. We all do. There will be no conflagration save for the rain of zeros falling from the roof of his cave. Bellows set to infinity. Such is our life on the path along Long River.  The wolf on top of the mountain. Epiphany of Infinity. Take off your rain gear. Strip down to Embryo. Hold one tone on the bugle. Divest The Bank.  Wrench Boy in seven layers of rain gear possessed by Dark Transport descends through Infirmity. Aberration through the forest of black ceramic zeros, black mirror tessellations. How terminate this transport? Vocabulary scattered over the surfaces of his rain gear, in pockets, in its lining, on its boots. Sounds of African rattles through brain gear, prefigured in Red Book, manifested by night along Long River.  With tongs we'll extract false embryo, renew Infinity, Infinity saturate Crystal.  Return through Black Box to safe transport-- skull of a Yakagir shaman-- various the anodynes through Zero-- Jaguar tinctured with violet-- wolf on Wolf Mountain.  Rock. Gap. One zero for every chamber in The Old Hotel. One necessary embryo. Return to zero. Rebirth through Crystal. Fresh anodyne.  Convert The Old Hotel to an anodyne of zeros. Mercy for the avatars of Hammerhead. Money Has An Enemy 19.4 Transport is a device. To start it, blow your bugle. The selection of the operant vocabulary follows as if an allotment from some bank. The sounds of an African Rattle can harass with ambient, penetrating sonorities in compact with the forces of terror. They might for instance invade The Old Hotel with such inescapable ontological aberrations that even Crystal can only appear through her aberrations. Vocabulary struggles to free itself from The Bank. Vocabulary, in fact, wishes to dominate The Bank and, conversely. Transport, conversely, has its use for the positive dispensation of African Rattle.  When Embryo blows its bugle, the power of Being itself, albeit in the dispensation of Black Box, transmutes Aberration as if Zero were pumping the Bellows and apparency were tinctured with violets. Aberration manifest for use. We manipulate tongs. We listen to African Rattle.  Who rules Ontology anyway? Where Melee celebrates, red tongs dance in the forges. Tiny bugles excite the ethers. But excitation is not the same as fiduciary ruin, as in the case with The Bank. Wrench Boy and his avatars have liberal access to Black Box. Ontology broods Apparency through the filter of Deep Storage. Long River, whatever his vicissitudes, however dimensionally excessive or quiescent, in the end is obedient to his banks.  Jaguar would assume his theoretical posture but remains preoccupied with the closure of The Bank. The Bank is preoccupied with unloading its cashe of rain gear. Not the least of its aggravations is the juiced up metaphysics that such garments release upon the land.  Hammerhead is off on his self-revelatory adventures. His bellows and his archetype disabling any other access to Deep Storage. He cannot help The Bank. He is some time and distance off from his integration with fair Crystal. Black Box plays havoc with what's left of The Bank. Vocabulary stays centered in conditions. Long River just keeps on rolling. It rolls out the conditions, herein, of The Twenty-Seven. Infinity exacerbates Infinity.  Red Box has vanished somewhere in India. Its bellows, and its long pulmonary cycle, keeps it in Deep Storage which India is. Black Box, if it manifests cyclically, does so exceedingly rapidly. For our part we procrastinate, imagining a new form for The Bank. We must rather adhere to meditation upon a singular form of fair Crystal.  Zero pervades such meditation essentially so that every aberration liberates vocabulary and the issue is as constant as rock.  Long River assimilates the vibration of every bugle. Vocabulary plus syntax takes every infirmity to Crystal.  Come the True Conflagration, Deep Storage embraces Long River and purifies The Old Hotel of every terror. Money Has An Enemy 20.4 Work to manifest violets. Subtlize Vocabulary. Put Transport to use. Dialogue with Jaguar. Be Wrench Boy as he sits through infirmity. All this, an alternative to melee, another means than tongs. Generous, nevertheless is Melee. Her transport rides on jaguars. My transport, an intuition with jaguars. Violets fill space for Wrench Boy.  Crystal forever just behind me. Her particulates are virtual; they fill and they empty all space. Her tessellations invigorate all my inner places: see them flash when it rains. Hard, hard is Hammerhead, in spite of his current internal melee. He will not yet abrogate his rusty tongs. His bugles unsettle my particulates. His vocabulary yet abrogates all subtleties. O Hammerhead, stay away from my crystals!  Space is a plenum of particulates, space is full of eyes, each point engulfed by a viscous complexity. I put down my tongs. I surrender to Long River, leave aberration to its function among crystals. Being itself is a rock. The Old Hotel is alive, even through its shadows. Africa rattles for all of us-- Africa is all of us. Miniscule jaguars run radical in the mind blood of Mexico.  Violet induces quiescence. All avatars of Jaguar form a field. It penetrates the whole conflagration, electrifying The Old Hotel whose chambers are like zeros amenably subverting vocabularies.  I put on appropriate rain gear and weather Long River, feel for the life of The Old Hotel. I see the jaguars lounging on its porches, all manner of tongs hung on all manner of nails. Behind me at rest at Zero, a full field a-wave with miniscule jaguars in transport even at degree zero-- miniscule vibrating jaguars.  Though The Bank is in ruins, I fear for The Old Hotel and its porches full of vibrating jaguars. The zeros of their essences fall off and extend to Black Box. Melee compressed to her embryo; Melee to expand with The Bellows. I'm melding into a field of wild and miniscule jaguars whose energies expand without let.  The outer world transmutes to Deep Storage. All is cognitive melee as if The Infinite progressed as Long River-- O Melee, O Hammerhead-- How shall we traverse aberration? for Being is like a Rock-- Melee, your lust radiates tessellated zeros. Soon we shall disappear into a missing Red Box . . . Money Has An Enemy 21.4 Violet returned from the winter under the broken meadow. Her vocabulary subject to transport, her information a garden of jaguars. Wrench Boy was wary of circumambient infirmity. He wanted to ward off Melee who was not his sister now. He worked his silver tongs. Melee sought transport on the back of her jaguars. Transport reduced itself to a stable full of jaguars. Violet was cool to Wrench boy.  Time returned to embryo seeking renewal. Melee bided her forces. The mind of Hammerhead contrived this dream: Long ago a wolf king killed Wrench Boy and spilled his blood on the alter of the wolf on top of Wolf Mountain. Lightning ripped open the sky and turned the wolf king into a wolf indeed.  The gods banqueted on time's embryo. Vocabulary blackened. The king of the gods ate a rock and gave birth to The Bank.  This is the song of a vast aberration. The Rock is Black. Melee at rest--at zero. Red Box, lost in India. Jaguars running a bus for everyday transport. Zero itself lost in Black Box.  Where is the joy of Crystal? Why does Hammerhead dream? Why is Melee quiet? What annealed Transport to the world? The wolf on top of Wolf Mountain turned into a man with rusted tongs. Madness is blowing its bugle, madness that its melodies comport so coherent a vocabulary.  Hammerhead awakens and tries to think about Crystal. He puts on mannerly rain gear. He listens to Long River. He feels the living shadow of The Old hotel. Wolf atop Wolf Mountain. Jaguars run in the garden. Hammerhead attempts to think about Crystal.  The Bellows approaches Still Point. Melee bides her forces. All the tong-types shall align on an abstraction of crystal.  Deep Storage cannot be exhausted. Melee adapts herself to the rigor of the twenty-seven phases. Infinity outrides the patterns of ceremony. Long River flows passed the ceremony of phases. Melee cannot exhaust the forces she feeds on. Hammerhead labors to change his own head.  Jaguar prepares for a new round of rhetorical performances. The thought of Conflagration recrudesces. Infirmity will always be with us. Melee is just itching to throw her arms to the ether.  Old Man Long River irritates the incendiary. Dr. Tongs prepares for a fresh round of oratory. The joy of Crystal abides in every moment. Jaguar runs through the garden. There is no telling what will leap from Black Box.  There are men who are wolves when the secret sky rips open. African Rattles underscore the sequence of episodes. Hammerhead puts his head to work on his new vocabulary.  Has An Enemy 22.4 Black Lake. Rock. Silver sylph sails for transport. Everything's coming up violets. Around the world space--Black Box. Great Conflagration--contained. The Infinite--like the intricate white sound of an African Rattle. Hammerhead, watching from a hut, picks up his rattle recently gifted by Africa, fingers a garland of violets, considers the existence of Black Box, fingers his garland of violets recently gifted as if by Black Box, everything quiet like a rock containing conflagration.  Bugle just sits at rest on its nail. Crystalline, the quality of the light without infirmity. Black Box--invisible continence. All colors of tongs together under one measure.  The possible occurrences in The Old Hotel held in equilibrium. Over Black Lake hidden in the body a single luminous crystal. Hammerhead requests a new body, a new kind of tongs.  Melee's comb on the table, red hair falling softly over her red book, silence pervading the white sound of her African Rattle, situational aberration hidden in Deep Storage, red-haired Melee preparing for tranquil transport, all time in embryo.  Ceremonial rain gear. Black Lake reflects Black Box. Residuum: zero.  Wrench Boy Wrench Girl in wonder. The whole world in a black box. They need no ceremonial rain gear. Their experience, entirely transport.  Hammerhead discovers his own inner lake. It absorbs his perennial conflagration. Nothing prefigured in Red Book, no prior vocabulary for the Golden Dawn of Infinity. Memory of The Bank remains his indelible infirmity. Jaguars surround Black Lake. On the walls of his hut an orderly arrangement of tongs.  Quietly runs Long River to countenance Infirmity. Its essence is transport. Red Book Black Box inverted. Time in wait for Tongs. Money Has An Enemy 23.4 "There is a story written in Red Book about a kingdom otherwise richly decked out with violets, but that a certain rock as hollow as any zero contained a certain embryonic time by a river bank and an avatar of Wrench Boy in this narrative quite wrenchless removed a suit of slightly transparent rain gear. Now, this Wrench Boy had been selected by his people to enter into the rock and allow the zero of it to transform it and him together by zero's transformative property --all this according to Red Book-- and enter the time of that embryo.  "Hammerhead read this story or at least the start of it and entered his own dream. He heard a bugle blow and manifest wrenchless Wrench Boy at his rock garbed in yellow rain gear as if Black Box construed a world transformed by a tincture of violets-- no mention of the bugle in Red Book.  "There was a Black Lake in embryonic time and the boy was required to dive into it and swim as if the molecular constitution of the lake were miniscule zeros internally linked to Deep Storage. He swam across the water and when on the other sure he emerged from Deep Storage, the entire world was denuded of violets. The boy had turned into a wolf boy to wander by Long River and Wolf Mountain."  Jaguar was quite prepared to deliver this discourse. He had long considered the story and the dream, the matter of the Bugle and Black Lake. He shook his African Rattle, set his inward nature to accord with inward zero dispelled the anxiety of every aberration, and went on speaking.  "Hammerhead is changing. He has seen Black Lake.. The inside of all of us requires an infinitely absorptive surface whose depths are as significant as the rocklike resistance it gives to what our senses receive from the melee of the putative world. Hammerhead has begun to put questions to his own being. The Black Lake gathers this surface of all of us. There is only one Black Lake. Its existence is not putative. No one thinks of it until he must. I must apply my own tongs. His knowledge of this is as zero. The bugle he heard is a missive from Infinity. It arrives before the epiphany of Crystal and its zero. The bugle is diminutive-- its atmosphere--infirmity."  Wrench Boy was sitting in the Red Lounge fascinated and not a little apprehensive. Jaguar was holding several sets of tongs. At the hip of Wrench Boy--his black bugle. "But what of the wolf and Wolf Mountain?" he wondered. "Vocabulary interacts with Black Lake. Proto-language forms around its borders. Proto-beings dance with proto-tongs. Zero took animal forms. Laugh if you must but think of a wolf wearing rain gear."  Where's Hammerhead? Drunk with his new body, dancing with Infinity. Smell those violets? They have no bodies. Their odors arise from a rock."  Conflagration everywhere. The woods on Wolf Mountain burning. The boy wolf runs through the ravaged land. He is not hiding, he's hunting. Time is zero, bugles blasting everywhere round the burnt periphery. The bodies of violets dot the ruins. The aberration is from Being itself. Bugles blasting through the ontic ruins. The police are everywhere with silver tongs. Being is a Rock. Try to think of this: High on Wolf Mountain, The Old Hotel.  Consider the Zero Point of The Bellows. This is the time of Black Lake. The wolf boys gather around it in log and grass-thatched huts. They have no need of other transport than their own wolverine character. They are marked by black zeros on their backs and fore-paws. They bring their inner melee to order among themselves as they array themselves around Black Lake. Will Hammerhead swim in Black Lake? Will he transform into Wolf Boy, Wrench Boy? Hammerhead, Hammerhead, your head is full to Infinity! Violets are recrudescing everywhere around the Rock. . . Money Has An Enemy 24.4: The Fun House "Deep water. Deep Storage. Guarded by a rock. The world kept locked in a red box. And who can call it aberration? Is it a comfort to know that all phenomena read out according to the phases of the Bellows?" Jaguar pauses in his discourse to check the picture window. Has conflagration reached these precincts now? The sentinels are scorching the air with their bugles. What sort of conflagration is this? The kind prefigured in Red Book? He continues: "If we countenance the category 'aberration', "we must consult Red Book that we might judge just what it is an aberration of. We do not find aberration listed in the catalogues of entities registered in Deep Storage. Never mind about that, for the categories invocable change with the phases of the Bellows."  The wolves are older than the moon. Hallowed coins, older than The Bank, are stashed in black bags and dark boxes. The wolves whose eyes are chiseled out of crystal once were ravenous men; or men became wolves to attain the ravenous character; or men became wolves to acquire such eyes for their sockets It was sufficient to be like a rock. They required and acquired a more puissant vocabulary.  The underground realm is ordered like an Old Hotel. It alternates between a time without a key and the ever-threatening immanence of Melee. Infirmities and their concomitant aberrations creep through shadowed chambers. The sounds of mighty bellows penetrate the earthen chasm.  Every guest is provided with a proper African Rattle, and a special rock for token to be taken back on exit cut out from Deep Storage and signed with black tessellated zeros. These rocks confirm a subterranian vocabulary. Water condenses on all surfaces exceeding the material guarantees of rain gear. Only iridescent violets quiver on their stems and murmur zombie anthems down the halls.  A banquet for the dead is thrown in Red Lounge. Long River runs through the hallways. Its banks are mudworks. Visualize the dead in absentee rain gear. It is a theme park underworld with ghoul show transport. Images of Hammerhead manifest in his numerous avatars: whale, shark, bank lord, reindeer. There's even a ghoul-run Bank office, decorated with omni-colored tongs and an optional discourse with headset rentals, upon the ontological ins and outs of aberration, all in a perfectly accessible selection of vocabulary. But when the show is through, you find that something has taken your exit token marked with black tessellations back to Deep Storage. Psycho-pomp Wrench Boy turns Trickster. He opens the door to the bank but you've no account. You try to remember the theory of aberration. Where is Infinity now? Hammerhead appears on a mule waiving his hammer like the cross of the Inquisition. Melee comes screeching and cackling. The space has become a Black Box. That and only that is not an aberration. . . Money Has An Enemy 25.4 The Golden Flues of the Sky House (Wolf on top of Wolf Mountain) An elevator shaft runs through the central column of The Old Hotel, up through the tower to the pole star door where Red Book says the Magus Priest King ascends on his night trip to the wash-water-celestial, and the cosmic ocean causes the cosmos to evert and become one star. The elevator runs from pole star down through Deep Storage and there is quite a melee surrounding the elevation of its car and the deep descent along Long River into Black Box and the cellars of an embryonic vocabulary. All embryos we know have their centers in Deep Storage and Melee herself has a silent dome down there in Deep Storage-- Melee herself has rooms under The Old Hotel where Long River flows and deepens.  Underground violets and iridescent rain gear, celestial jaguars and bugles with shaman roles and Melee mediating throughout the cycles of transformation . . .  The Bank is now a null repository. Broken embryos and frankly deficient zeros; rain gear to defend against transcosmic waters; embryos of speeches destined for no hearers; transport frankly to nowhere; vocabulary informing null speeches.  Hammerhead prepares his ascent and his descent with studies in Red Book and lengthy interviews with Trickster Wrench Boy. He retrieves his embryo from the idea of conflagration. He dons ceremonial rain gear. Gone are many of his previous infirmities, forgotten the suppression of his embryos. Coming transport gathers all his attention and the active call to forces of Long River.  Well might he pass through conflagration riding on defunct infirmities, gathering distant embryos. But Trickster Wrench Boy rides the cables of the car diverting gravity, inciting confrontation with Infinity. You cannot skip those pages in Red Book and hasten your assimilation to stellar crystal.  Conflagration exacerbates whatever infirmity yet remains in embryo. Wrench Boy conducts you to Infinity. Conflagration exacerbates Red Book. Last stop: the Star of Crystal.  The whole conspectus: one embryo released from Deep Storage. Time to shake in earnest that African Rattle.  Don't stop on a rock. Transport must be continuous. Melee is your consort, that is your context. O Hammerhead, you must give ear to ten thousand jaguars, though truly one at close quarters is enough. Soon Red Book will no longer furnish you with rain gear, or qualify and purify vocabulary.  Your tongs are turning color. Your jaguars are approaching. Bugles are blasting , echoing and responding up and down the shaft. But your conspectus has not yet thoroughly been covered by Black Box. You have too thoroughly studied the phases of The Bellows: Melee erases that and deconditions Transport. Another kind of pages in Red Book must soon consume you. Otherwise Aberration will interrupt Transport. Burn Red Book! Your body is not yet an Old Hotel.