2.
Hozo

The Glorifactien of Tarva Tilyen, by Hozo E. G.

O happy warrier, stronge finisher that thou art,
Slaye the slack
and tear the taut opart.
I hear thee,
fear thee,
come never near thee;
O yea—O yea, yea,
’Tis thy day.
And in it, whom next wilt thou to slay?

            But Hozo portrayeth also him self in the writing as the Father of All Chroniclers, a cornerstone specie of man, leading roler in the Tarvatillic legendry, as depictieneer figuring strongly here, and standing-out there, in eloquent selfaffirmatia shining brighter through the psalms than e’en the subject Slayer him self, and gathering men’s regard as an high falute, him self pursuing greatness by assuming evaluative stances over known greatness.  For, sure, Tarvatillion cud be said to be knewn to be great, and Hozo to be assuming.

            And see then how that all the people do dote, deluging Hozo Each [Hō-zō Ēēch, & also vocaliated as Hot-sah Yahk by sevrol among the overlearn-ed] with wordgravies:

            Hozo the Evident Peer & Inside Knower of Tarvatillian, all my childrens shall be name’d Hozo after thee.  And when that I ply casual boastage unto a man concerning my son Hozo, then will he think, Llama, here standeth the father of the Apparent Peer & Very Wordier!  And I shall to watch his eyes and be glorified in the awe that escapeth them, and I shall take up an highstep in mine walking, and a pirouette.  For it shall not offend my countenance that men think me the father of Hozo.  And how so young of me, at that.

            & thus & so became Hozo the only name given unto sons, after a time, as all seiz-ed upon’t in their campaigns for reckinitien.  Narytheless, lo, thoght men each of another:  In saying that his son be Hozo, surely my nayber referreth unto Hozo the friend and Apparent Peere of our Slayer.  Mine naybor, the father of Hozoe Each Groff Nidyen!  And there was much highsteppage [eye-stə-pahzh] in the walkings of the sayers, & pirouettsie.  Now, this atmosfere were wrought all by Hozo, selfaffiliator unto the Tarvatillium, whom—O bald pretensis!—Tarvatillion knoweth not atall.  Pissiewhistle.

            ow it came to pass that Hozo Each Grofniddion were found slain in his tent, & rippt & chewd & sunderd.  And his tent were rent, and his goods molesterd; and his bed were torn ope, and the chickens therein lay spilt upon the ground, and pulpt & mangld.  And behold, the Last Words of Hozo were found fingerd upon a trunk with his blood, even his writingblood, which he hath bought for fingerscriptage.  For purpos-ed he to leave among the living a poignant summarial of his slaying, which occurrence he found evocative.  And that writing of Hozo was exactily this:

Last Words of Hozo, by Same

, now am I fallen upon in my tent of frayed dromedary’s skins, straitway as I did court the fickling embrace of evening slumber.  ’Tis by calamity

4.

            Ah but lo!  When high time was come, and Shum was produce’t forth to transenscribve the shortstrokery of Hozoe, he remembert nought of the mysteriodesidactics of shortreading, having corroded in his statien as Practical Shortreader; for he had been thinking, No man writeth shortstuff any more, neither shall I ever be calld to tasque upon’t.  So let me to cease from this remembrance & from the hard suck of scholarity, and to glide about receiving approbation on my laurels, as every man presumeth continuatien in mine immense qualities.  And he hadt made no works atall for years & years.

            Thus were the misfortune of Hozo made even greater there among the chickens than he reckond.  For his terminol words, in shortstroke laid down in blood, were rife with profundity suffisient to tip the balance for his people, who just verg-ed on civilisatien but cud not bring it on.

            Forsooth, whilst his spirit waffld twixt heav’n and the lake uncordial where tears are vapord, there H. E. Grofniddion did discover in a galactic gully a dozen of the Episodic Impulses of Creation, there put by the Elegant Arranger, calld He, and for ages hid neath the leaves of living history.  And He seen him dancing there with great joy, and seen that he hath in his hand the Impulses, swinging them about his head.  And He said unto Hozo the spirit, Give Me those.  And He reach-ed and took them from him, and departed off to hide them exceeding.

            But all ready had Hozo heard their melodies amid the whir, in the yin & yang of his dying.  [Had he a wife, then surely had his wife unto him said, How dare thou die!  And had he children, then surely unto him had they cried, O father, O father, father!  But, Hozo hat none of those.]  And there were much of moment to pass down in his last wordage unto the living:

There cometh forth like ooze a people, the waste of creatian, knewn for the smell of their slough, with talent as plaguebearers, who shall repave the path to hell, which in popularitie hath been worne bare.

A ladder on your back, the Lord saith unto them; and lo, the nations climb across them unto greatness.  And the Lord saith, All the natiens shall rest their feet in your face.

And the finest of this paeple—he hu hath clumb above their low specifaxien—yea tho he honor truth and make his old mother’s cheese, and tho he sprink some sweet into his sour, yet is he shunnd by his own as some unpolitic bastrid heretic who goeth about doing thingues the righte way.  For his goodliness but kicketh up in their gaze all the naturale wrong that suffuseth their mode.  Behold, they emphosize his own misstepfs, and call him for hypocrisy worser than the worst, full of evil ironie for the song of principol he doth sing.  He protesteth unto them, I do aspire, and e’en a smidge attain; but they pack his mouth with rags and stain the streets with the blood of his reputasian.  And his life’s textiture is pitted by the flickt pebbles of those who fuel laffter with the smart cries of the innosent.  For who may go extolling truth above tradishin, and come to any honor among old dogs?

Look; the very Lord hath said unto them, I gave you the quickesands wherein on moonless nights to lead your losers and to lose your leaders—thus to better your bunche by a culling more selectic than any sieve.  Yet instead cast ye therein your rosiest hope, the very one that I find winsome.  Such maddning etiquette!  I gave unto you the clays of the whole made earth, with the which to cobbol & construct & spackle your way forth to reputabol works.  Yea, this at least have ye achievd, which wud for you b’merit winning marks—except that one considre that ye also have made explosians.  When have I told unto you to go making any explosians, and othersuch as ye do?

Unto such nullards as these be told:  the Lord, He hath no good news.  He goeth now to prepare for you a bit & reins & four stirrupfs, for ye shall be ridden by your own horse.  And such sight will suffice to disguste the natiens e'en more.             

            Now there were more that Hozao wrote.  But this Impulse visien and others of like mistic ambigue were by the Elegant snatcht again up into the hidden holy trust, to be retrievd & disburst on the gradual through traumatical revelatiens in pondrous synchrony with the cosmic clocke—not all in one day.  For the world must unfold, good connexiens must take & bad ones be set festering, and timely must the cement matings stodgify.  Come; notiens more slipp’ry to the grasp are there than these.

            The Lord, He cud to have laid it all out finisht, the same as it appeareth unto Him.  But the thing for people is progressien, as every man of book & booze doth know.  Verily, understanding of matters lieth in experiance of their sequense.  How upon encounter might any thing be understood, an it were sitting there all finisht?  (Unto us today are these things knewn; for time hath wallowd on, and sure by now we know it all.)  Tho Hozo (by which name he yet is callt) beaten the clocke and deliverd some revelatiens in shortstroke, lo, the same by the people never were receivd.  For Shum the Shortreader—O Shumm, who shud be damnt!—hath lost his learning to the tripligot influences of wine, and potteryburn by metal spirits (this pervasive of the era), and simpol deadly negleck.