Friday, March 29, 2013
Give in, move it. What’s the x we talk about?
Shifting x and ugly is better than dying of laughter
only once, some form of home correspondence
When blood type was fresh in this place, no
intellectual Red (Perseus) v. visceral radiation (his bro).
Falsehood is an actuarial stat, one anto
-nyms assimilate since you haven’t said anything
to the workers wearing that reflection, giving
in, doing nothing with shades of March on your face.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 8:39 AM
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
You don’t even have to be interesting.
That doesn’t sound right.
Always buy what appeals to you.
I’m captioning this box Token Austerity, sleep-laden, neatly eating dog food.
Counterfeiting is more profitable than deep discounts.
We need to see everything before it’s retouched out.
Our vision said Partisan Tactics.
This is a new policy to block deletions that are missing.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 5:33 AM
Friday, March 22, 2013
A painter at noon, “Purple black teal
it gets exaggerated, the marsh
— they have many words for it was
god’s idea placed in my mini series,
The century we’re in control in
ruined by a few words,
the sounding-it-out tools.
Never enough rest or exercise...
This looks stupid. Start over.
Whom will you discover?
Did he check the oil? Abruptly
per the Chronicles of
Very good. Very goo.
I mean knocking the nonprofessionals
off, throwing knives, wrecking them
from the inside, slicing up!
The mind’s breathing is long overdue.
And I’m back in my vertigo seat, now
reading and writing without an attorney.
That’s how the paint sails.”
Posted by Jack Kimball at 7:30 AM
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
First I spoke Marxian argot, fighting amid effluvia
yet w/ quadratic status, a friend’s tongue in my ear
& all the bobwhites in the Appalachia hush... off
we enjoined getaways & then — second — noise
of collared hospitality, greening where Hellenic
banter might calm the tax credit havoc.
worshiping a Shrek glass while service precincts
look to ruses here with a hen of steam, as verdicts
are trifles beyond Krishna’s achieving reproduction,
the bliss of
everything belongs. The rest is stress related.
how can it be effortless if I tell you what I’m doing?
There’s a piece of karate with top notes to erase,
there’s something else fantastic, piquant, active. Your
push reaches a point at which time management is unleashed.
But I’m just commenting
on efficacy in speaking clearly, gesturing, knitting a brow;
I’m happiest when stairwells mesh to go nowhere,
tiny, hidden wriggling strings
between you and expulsion as a hole is closed. Turn here.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 7:47 AM
Monday, March 18, 2013
As one voter you fail to mushroom, ignored. But we’re hellbent in two, three, more discovering wisdom on human terms. So we need oversight.
There’s a glow in the argumentation, like before an avalanche. Or, in other words, the powder is wintry but fun and explosive. Like a snow machine.
I’m also a leftist deep in my head in the battle between the sexes? The rich won.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 10:30 AM
Friday, March 15, 2013
One year, twenty-three hours ago my ideas took time. Dozens of spices. A mind occupied, just so.
Am I in some experimental state of forgery? No, I live in a red state. & how do I maintain the balance sheets, my resolute informality?
It’s another day of no hope. Almost the same as hopeless, yet different, jokes turn into sleep. & it’s dreams that forgive me for almost everything but paranoia’s belated redemption, trapping me inside a force field of ambitions to blur what’s real and yield authority.
I talk thus in a low register. To get inside you my face sports a few layers of sleep relief, aching in baby, calmly accruing intimacy to belie despair over entropy, a quiet start, zero gravity.
So there’s no dead end!
Posted by Jack Kimball at 5:56 AM
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
First create a gap then put up a bridge to connect employees to each other,
movement you can chant — they’re doing it openly in a pillar of Nicocrettes.
The shouts of disbelief are strung together to be more fluid.
Same is true when it comes to airline safety, there is no plan.
Our guardians are tired of interruptions and self-reflective outreach,
hence the corporation is lonely as an inter-discipline that threatens.
Solitude, confidences, you’ll learn times in the day, the plays and the jungle of paradigms, such
that it’s useful to be in radiant short sleeves and white thong.
Wag the dog represents whatnot we give thanks for, a seduction of industry,
a sort river string quartets multiply because I am a pig like simultaneity in science fiction
Or maybe not. I keep up with engineered management to float like hydrangea in labor
(staging nightmares) — in labor we chose our parents; this is a tenet of Hindu verse.
It’s with the other tenet I hold you, Caesar, for conniving to carpet silence.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 8:12 AM
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
From The Book of Resonating
If you feel like sex, be sure to wake me up.
I should be collaborating, writing this down.
Government dotted with its joke mirrored hot pants.
Today's highlight from D.C.’s escorts: “You can change yourself into infinity, but still get the changes to the location from where you left...” That feels clear.
Perhaps my escort suffers like me from shaving in a symbolic realm.
Again, I’m doing an accordion fold, an étude-incarnation about the plu-construction of sensibility. The plot concerns D and D-2 who meet younger D-3 with a vinyl sleeve up his private place. I’m just using this idea as a springboard to bring the étude to mystical symbolism within a rational theme of imprecise turmoil, recycling once or twice. We witness destruction of a blues pub and its improvised scaffolding, disintegrating like runic practices, flung-out interiors silhouetted in acrylic behind projections of glass screening the ‘official’ episode. However I believe we’re past the middle and nearing the end of that theme; now it’s a higher number with incidents of homesickness without inebriation, long division, complex facticity that wounds tear open and heal slowly for enduring pain and disappointment and failure, climbing uphill and sliding back down just before turning 17, biting down, gritting my teeth, growing up a little, suffering a little moving in with my parents because they like me... I just don’t worry: It’s my best urban work, a tight 100 hours of narrative casually parading as self-help boilerplate turning in polyphonic leitmotifs. It’s on an uncapped Godzillian scale, reflecting what happens when melt re-ices, raising sea levels. Just hope I have the backbone. My greatest fear is going deeper into my inner trippy, conceptual junk — I’d be dragging a palm frond around at four a.m. That would kill my parents.
Add but an eyeblush of exposed material & this seems a desperate measure, and it is, in reckless hands, yet for a silent partner like you there’s depth to surface and un-despairing perceptions of what won’t be contained. If you’re the anamorphic type, you can pick a spot in informatics and be seen as well as seem on top, breathing life, o Swami, nothing to curate nor disbelieve.
D is still a little wiped. So is D-2. D-3 is frowning, ready to be seen. D-2 is blabbing. D is a little fucked up too. “Just starting one.” “Cool.” The thing is not to get fucked up too often.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 6:01 AM
Monday, March 11, 2013
When it comes to a former suburb, it’s never good enough.
This aside, those issues of yours are not a specific program.
Hand-me-down color had risen to his cheeks. “I want us to be in charge.” I am,
Having at such big, elusive ideas comes for a moment. I stared at the door.
Seconds later I was unsure where dick-brain ‘stands’ vis a vis avantism.
It’s probably not false that did. It’s too obvious (as well), it tastes used basketball
Ok an explosion directed the shots down my throat, the light in back..
The envoy feels like an imitative sort, toe-tagged in the emergency room, not
That we’re abstemious over disquiet when cutthroat & officially sanctioned conjecture
Getting a pulse, fixed pupils, dilated. Don’t try this without the others who?
They want to be involved clanked again, ovulating out of pocket.
The sine functions were ‘pontal,’ still rising from parterres & topiary snapped in place.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 11:17 AM
Saturday, March 09, 2013
To continue, asymmetry solves the perfection problem, not remorse. To think I got to know Myrtel Hammer who highlights me among others.
Others include us without parole, draped over a bowl of smashed heads and hooks.
They were a boring couple. Is one related? The too-serious topical regard for perfect categories is working backwards from walking out to compete with myself. Oneself
but there was a separation had that been allowed at age six, a caution.
Read the inspection label.
Snow lists a mood replaced as the driveway met you. You’ll always be daddy’s inside, animals looking at you.
You don't get to snooze
Snow is a collective that takes its singular form learning to drive.
Substitute snow falls like sea foam over snow.
So that’s craftmatic. Especially if snow sees itself a Marat procedural that does it and is done in by it.
A flea say had mamma-ed my speech with a signal emanated.
There's good news at the pump.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 12:44 PM
Thursday, March 07, 2013
Sonnet to the people at Boeing, since the poor make us sick — stuck
learning the plain facts by heart in capsule surveys
: the pace is noncommittal (not nothing) if you don’t inhabit what you’re saying, shhhh ...
Yes, fool, you sick typist - bobbling,
Learning about how to learn are cool (& fatuous) even if officialdom
germinates when we begin to step away from them.
We have to trust you on these matters. One apiece.
We’ll provide all the hip jargon on screen. And when you come to a three-syllable you don’t recognize,
you can just look down and see its one-syllable disentanglement.
I’m no model, I just look like one. (Helen Vendler)
As we advance, there are four thousand voice-to-gifs with references from which to
plagiarize a response, while the materials become more complex, building on what’s been said
yielding fast access to the obscure but highest table with sof’ freaks — handsome,
sniffed all over, never complicated, staring down our bitewing. Ask your financial professional.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 6:18 AM
Wednesday, March 06, 2013
To an Ex-Pope
You didn’t have to what the hell-?
Is it its gaze or its maleness?
The more you put your finger on it
it’s re-reading you, I sense loose projectiles “got thrown” into doo (implicative space),
a retrospective you and I may now never attain.
So you never know there’s an animal that needs you.
And I should know.
Someday the male coloration returns as a she-container with tinctures or inaudible signs from a long history
of decision making, preparing us for more adhesive behavior, more speech and extra sensory anger.
It’s a speaking animal that needs you, remember — and
Posted by Jack Kimball at 6:36 AM
Tuesday, March 05, 2013
What’s my business? The apertures told me to go, and that led to me holding
And these are the volatility models from T.V., vocalism in a sense.
Hidden risks shift weight (merge accounts request)
CVS photo counter. I know him, he knows me, I admire him, he back.
Instructions are errands, the fake story in English I never tell v. real fake.
So much like the naked around Queen Antoinette’s. They were textually modern, respectable Europeans: They
undressed for success, but also survival. They avoided bosses and careers that were intellectually focused, peering
back and soaking up the city among savages of their own designs.
I’m my own boss.
The flamenco troupe apologized. Horizon I wasn’t sure, darts of light & algorithm that solve you and me for x
when we let them.
Own a tuxedo.
The subtracted j-walkers return with renditions of zealous counterculture.
I’m thinking of someone’s head, until my spinal column heats up, thinking of you.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 6:53 AM
Friday, March 01, 2013
Big and floating a beautiful menace driving over from an outer trail.
I’ve been noticing your whisper when the weather cooperates round our wrists.
Let’s file this down.
You’re a Mets fan who’s happy somehow scraping by,
from there I can move forward and back to connect the times with the ideas and people that
encompass my naïve expertise.
It’s nothing personal.
What’s progress? Your name, weeks after.
I can’t live without it (it = a ticking whirlpool).
I’m a novice enthusiast. (Didn’t know I was a total surprise.)
I’m sipping Tropicana on your behalf.
Taken to the streets. Walking in sheer.
Hustling all the time, awesome!
Tomorrow I’ll file again thinking about those I forgot to lose.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 7:59 AM