The Cuil-Off

My friend Coyote and I were exchanging texts the other day, and we were both familiar with Cuil Theory (see January 6th, 2010). We had run through the gamut of reference the post, from "I am an ocelot. You disapprove" to "My head tastes sideways as spacetime is reestablished." I couldn't remember everything the post said, although Coyote probably could have kept on going because he's like that and has a better memory than I do. I wanted to go in a new direction, so we started our own thread of disjointed statements. We got a little carried away and focused on random statements instead of abstract statements, but it was fun nevertheless. Here is the transcript of what was said - I hope Coyote doesn't mind that I've put it up on my blog. I forgot to ask him.

Most of what we have come up with exists in the realms of two to four cuils. Even saying that one of these statements is four cuils is a bit much. Anything beyond four cuils is difficult to achieve in the space allotted in a text.

Lizzle: A fish blows bubbles at the sinking sun.

Coyote: The sun is a red rubber ball.

Lizzle: A red rubber ball bounces down the stairs and no one sees.

Coyote: A sad, crying clown in an iron lung has a red rubber nose. He watches the sunrise through a fish tank.

Lizzle: A fish tanks lies shattered on the floor as two fish gasp for breath. The red carpet absorbs the water – the mark blossoms like a rose.

Coyote: A wide-eyed midget in a powdered wig hands you a rose.

Lizzle: Clocks strike backwards as the long corridor stretches before you. Black-white-black tiles invite you to play hopscotch. A fish and a clown take tea on the ceiling.

Coyote: A small fish swims in a fine china dish. The fish is the color of the sunset in Morocco, blood red and vital. There is a snail.

Lizzle: A knight sits astride his midnight steed on a dune of sand, a minaret in the distance. A single drop of water drips from the stem of a red rose in his helmet. His steed starts to run forward. A midget in a powdered wigs asks for a fish while china breaks. The minaret crumbles and the steed colors drape. A single drop of water drips. It is a picture painted in the trail of a snail. We are all in a single drop of water.

Coyote: The knight watches the sun sink as he roasts spitted fish over a campfire. The campfire is a djinni, sleeping in the heart of the snail. You applaud.

Lizzle: The curtain falls and the lights dim as a red rubber ball bounces through the fabric of time, converting laws of pi into laws of fruit pi and disheveling powdered wigs.

Coyote: Lizzle eyes a dark pie in her baking class. The pie is filled with cities, and the cities are inhabited by olives. Darkness falls.

Lizzle: The nightmare rides on and the fish swims upside-down in a red rose. The galaxy melts into Morocco.

Coyote: Morocco is a fine place to visit on holiday.