May 28, 2009. Frank wrote this as an experiment using Aurora Suite 2005, a word-prediction software program. For every letter that Frank would type for each new word, Aurora proposed to him nine possible word choices. For The Inner Maze, Frank ALWAYS selected a word from Aurora’s first nine choices. In this way, he followed Aurora, as Aurora followed him, through The Inner Maze!
I am back! So stop your whining! I am a sucker for whiners whining about their childhoods, etc. whinny experience of all of this unwritten reality. You don’t know what to do with yourself! So hence BOOK TWO. Just kidding, Jane! There’s no BOOK TWO in this volume! Turned on! Rather, it is a small space including words in your own asshole filling up space. This below is just filler before the white end. Credits will roll. They are putting together the book that you have in your own hands. They are drawing the illustrations… You are looking at one on the neighboring page of this page. They are designing the cover as I write this. They want me to type THE END! But that could be define as dying for both of us! They say I could shave out a new book if I end this volume. But do you trust them?
We had fun, didn’t we? Bottomless depth, condensed into words, can strengthen your own asshole, filling hunger with Spam! The end is coming, but not quite yet! It hasn’t arrived yet. It hasn’t led to such perfection nor normalcy. Just barely touch the service of my new sexy glasses. Just barely touch the surface of erotic French kissing. Everyone took baths in the mid-eighties. I did! Similar tastes don’t get many people freak out. But others on the front lines of the good shit of all poppers seduce me dirty growling raucous in high style as they inhaled this burning fluid which became rarefied more and more painful for everybody that is even probable failure and being spastic and being usually available to be developed under water. Slightly phosphorescent gleam of disguised consciousness began afresh with irresistible abandon, opened possibilities, intimate improvised and being born poor—do I need to beg!? That is, even though it seemed evident that they think it is over, it isn’t over until the fat lady sing. Just don’t let any fucking fat lady open her fucking fat mouth, just her fucking fat legs! Then we can go on forever!
Everything stopped. They just asked me in their tone ARE YOU READY TO QUIT. So until we meet within another pooling novel novel, I am playing with a healthy dose of pure fun!
THE END *
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