To ask fobs off the message. It’s his fault. That bright kid on the bicycle in a parking lot nowhere close. His fuzz still sudsy, only with strippers on the parallels so it can be substantiated. Too many soups?? A coping top can be spun after torpor clears the rind bored by epochs of parallel scenery: Eyebrows added up like socks or a rain dance to sit-downs and buffets outside the capitol. (2001)
I went sideswiping among maples & acer pines with no contrivance or opposition. My
role was to fill them in, lengthening their menace while coddling wetlands.
I call this a sex drive.
If I had foreground I’d subside in attrition, better to find & weed out caution. & if I had taken
notes I’d have a root to the scheme of “you,” “me” & any unclenched feelings we
had that I can’t pinpoint or supplicate.
The wetlands are working it through. Those words we had & didn’t have are consequences.
No milieu’s bad. Bad is good. Enmeshed values constitute what’s awake, empirical or not
it has something to do with the sound. It makes them crazy.
Sex is peroration. That’s a normal reduction or formula for my song.
The idea of muscle worship reminds me of hydrangea in labor (staging nightmares).
Thusly, as skeptics like us step over and above a shift in moan, we paste in genetic material.
This is how I reside within contingent values like ‘now available’ from a tray of boomerangs
that seem mostly tantalizing in the feasible, wanting nothing, just a tray holding
what go around & come around left to their own desires and systems.
I manufacture flyweights. Learning and teaching I’m drunk on bounce.
A company like ours takes it inside the parturifacient facility.
I’m not demanding real savings where the legions of death sold out.
Smelling pablum, they met some firepower to prevent further questions. I was a devotee in the sprayed periphery, staying in balance inside a soft radical vapor of mnemonic bigness to blow chunks. Is that the word?
It’s with a baby girl appetite I held myself for conniving to carpet silence. I’m satisfied with my decision, since I’m a Buddha owner — it’s two-way to scale..
Recursions set in. I had no modesty issues, none detected, and fewer and fewer policy goals.
Soon we relaxed our balance to parry something or perhaps two small things that once were clear enough, but not now. We went into this. The 20-60 split seems marvelous at present.
And your point? here’s where I come down on Floppy Bear to take a few moments.
I’m supposed to test ideas. I learned bad is to show up invisible
with another’s candor hand-stamped opening on night firelight
and ushered into little squares of hypnotic drumming..
Orange beans chomping at the breast —
reconnaissance, is that what you meant?
A battle between two distinctions
over words bringing up no words
times two more of those brain-states of Asia,
incorrigible, is is. A marsh is now interesting
(and vitae), for the sea, nothing but applesauce and shellac,
the sea brought in without consent, the wolf of the pack
of subject matter. Let’s get back.
Concerning the Novel, Including My Own
Some thoughts on the novel, a form of writing that somehow perplexes me. I have written (what I call) novels but haven’t really thought of the effort as nove...
"Games of Life" (on the art of Morton Bartlett and the LACMA show "Playthings: The Uncanny Art of Morton Bartlett") by Douglas Messerli
games of life
Morton Bartlett *Playthings: The Uncanny Art of Morton Bartlett, *Los
Angeles County Museum of Art / I saw this show on October 22, 2014...