(It might seem impostorable the innerview that here fellows ever happened, given I. B. Ionized’s brain is jarred in a mustyleum in Philadelphia and some of his body parts are locked up in a safe deposit box in New York, but if you’ve read my odderbiograffiti you nose I invented a waveback machine, like a co-lapsing telescope through time as gives insides to thinks outsize the box, which was my means to these twinky questions of a genius.)
P. B.: How did you first know that you were a genius?
IONIZED: I didn’t, like a fish doesn’t know water, like we can’t know the bad to our addicts or if we are framed. In utter warps the explainer doesn’t know himself from his own explanation. As I’ve so awfulled said, reality is mirrorly an illusion, allbeing a very poorsistered one. But even and odd as a boy I nude somethink was deeply hidden behind thinks, though I never beliefed it a wide gob human, which is sum kind of mind job. In mythmathical terms: the humiverse and/or Naychur = Divinity, though this might be putting Descartes before the horde.
P. B.: Could you slow down a bit? You mighty be thinking too fast.
IONIZED: Am I? I’ll reduce speech. What are you wandering to ask me?
P. B. Let’s start with the cart full of whores you reefered to in your book on Genderole Realmativity that you dumped down on us dummies. What did you mean, ‘No spaced endity to a field’? That’s a miffical term, isn’t it?
IONIZED: No, only in a matter of speeding. If reality is scened only for its slow ponder bodies the noshowum of a no-spaced endity can seam sum absurdabull. I like a body; I like pondering, but the body is sum subject to over-thing itself. We idendefy with it, though what it is, is more what it is not, space being more the funksham than what gets called the cup and so too the hollered absence of a windoor to a wall. It is this space between us all that makes us pausible to be otherwide than each other.
P. B. I think you’re losing us here. Could you be a little lost spatial and restate what you’re intensing in turds of a laid man’s job?
IONIZED: Sure. In effects, space is more than its seams. More than 99 % of the humaned body is empty space, so vast are the distances between the atoms that make up the slow ponderous body; and so although we looks a lot like solids, we are essentially space. In simples, more than 99 % of us is not here. It is this space that connects us. This is no co-insilence, for at the same time, or in the same space, 99 % of the humiverse is stuff we can’t seize and can only call dork matter, as can make us massresent reality to our own ends, idendefying with our own stories and our own storied endings, as what the world’s coming to. But no matters what happens we are all realmatives.
P. B.: God to know but how did you come up with this Genderole Theory of Realmativity, gibboned you were trained in the monkey-see, monkey-do phyzzmatters of the Forensic Newton?
IONIZED: I didn’t overterm the Newton, I only expanded the Newton, thinking about what he didn’t think about and just keeping thinks symbols but no more symbols than they had to be.
P.B.: Like your famous equation, E = mC². How did you come up with that?
IONIZED: I absurded a pandalump.
P.B.: The simple humping Chinese animate?
IONIZED: No, the lump of mental that swings back and forth between point A and point B. You’re proboscisly thinking of one of the circus zoo of partycults, a leoptard, a Z bozo a hick bozo, or a quantum clown or one all of those odder quirks we’ll halve to resolve if we are going to amswer the big questions, such as nonlocal casualties of distant spooks acting at auditions, which doesn’t explain why we can’t see Santa Clause who gives the gifts to the neatest most.
P. B.: I think maybe your train of thought has left the station. But back to E = mC². Wasn’t this the equation that gave the warhole the atomic bomb?
IONIZED: Yes. Thinks didn’t term out exactly the way I wrote them. Had I known Addled Hotlid wouldn’t get the bomb I wouldn’t have leftied a finger, because I always had a since the massamplification of the symbols might fall into the hands of some madmop crazy as alone or bad shit wacko, as trumples me still and equakes me late at night.
P. B.: Are you reefering to our precident crazy who would totally destory North Korea, with the fury the lights of which the warhole has never seemed? (It suddenly occurred to me, that not only was I. B. Ionized a genius who knew thinks I didn’t, but that he might have more knowledge of the waveback machine than I did, and might well know if we survive the Tromp in the forwarped future.)
IONSIZER: Our problumps can’t be solved with the thinking that craters them.
P. B.: Yes, you’ve said that before, but what about Tromp the lonertike and the bomb? Do we survive him, or do we become an utter state of a Russian oiligarchy, or wars yet, blast our cells to smithereens?
IONSIZER: Two thinks are infinitely funny, the humiverse and humad studipity and I’m not sure about the humiverse. But let’s talk about somethink else, like what we weren’t talking about, like Golf, more complexed than Phyzzmatters, like jungling fur balls at once with its parsnickety eroginal rules, like the stymied rule, “If your balls be found anywhere touching each other you are to lift the fuzz ball and play with the left ball.”
P. B.: I’m impressed by your i-dotting memory but they got rid of the stymie roll in 1952. (I knew he was trying to putt me off) Back to the question of the Bomb. In your essay, “Atomic War on Peace,” you stated science could not be organdized like a large corrobberation, but now we have whole indastardries based on ‘if we have bombs let’s use them,’ as if the naysham collectively had a debtwish. Are we oil scrooged?
IONSTYMIED: Any intollerigent fool can make thinks bigger and more of a complex. The question that drives me hazy is: am I hazy or are others hazy?
P. B.: (I could see I was losing him but made one lost attempt to bring him back from weird he was going fast) But what about Tromp? Does the planet survive the terraballing infant?
IMESTYMIED: It is applaudingly obvious that textnowedgy has excessed our humammalty. Peace cannot be kept by farce.
This was the last think he said, far off at this point the marbless genius reburped to a babbler as needed a pacifier. It deterriorabied from there; Imestymied began barking like a dog. Ether his molecules had gotten scrabbled in some malfunkup of the waveback machine or the future he saw was wars than mads could endure.