Wednesday, August 28, 2013
You’re both bat shit over the Audi. Well, I really enjoyed it.
95 percent awesomely small for a verse play of the photogenic, unstopping scents, 4
wheels, moon roof, lounging in queue for the motorcade. You can’t predict what you are going to do,
and there aren’t enough shortcuts to go around to encapsulate your suspicions.
What does he look like now? It’s ok to ask?
Snaps of skepticism, sharpened anomalies.
An etude like celebrity.
Ancestors understood by these scarves we housesit,
patched in resistance, creating busy, making-chaos “work”
enacting a more cautionary life, absent trifles and your intuitive psychiatry.
The music took off about here, 1st looked wonderful along the quays with embarrassed
breakpoints to the past, thinning out in the high style of ending (Otto Dix). Something hesitant
but better starts the engine (cherry red) to recover what takes over
moving and sounding-it-out — the marsh gets exaggerated. Let’s conquer death with abundance.
Evasion foregrounds style and motives. Abruptly per the Chronicles of..
Bieber Values rhymes with the Ladytron inside earnest emotion.
Reading Delmore Schwartz repeatedly gives me head.
We or most of us have an attorney, after all. But this looks stupid
To vocalize what’s sunk in, I can’t worry or pierce my ears further.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 5:34 AM
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
I unbuttoned my supplies and pulled the first-day ‘turtle’ out and began to think of golf, wondering if I had enough saliva to give it even one full coat.
At one point Nixon loved China followed by the end of history.
The declension in the passage next is on advice of a clawback to choral music with a view. This of an airedale.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 5:48 AM
Monday, August 26, 2013
It started again. As I was saying, my memoir(s) could begin around 2000, celebrating a gaping yawn in my praxis (I hit the pavement with less inhibition thanks to your goodwill and dynamics). You and they must have a connection to the same eggy puzzle where there’s this lights-out factory, an eyesore we dreamed up or could dream up. There’s no agency inside, no intervention, only stripes of ideas multiplying in dark, reduced to making more inventory, keeping faith from their orientation, mining the richest veins, designing solid almost stoic codes and disruptive satisfaction. Some assembly required from dawn to midday, they think: so many in-folding explosive arcs of competing constructs they flare up into an aqueous shimmer. One I’ve been party to. Party is one word. It felt so good to close down a wide sector of the critical imagination, ethos, and move nowhere collectively, a function of a huge leftist irony-software & aggregation corp. The year two-thousand in brief is an egg-hatching moment, kairos, and from then I can move forward and back to connect the times with the ideas and people that encompass my naïve expertise.
Yours and mine. There’s a flywheel effect, also, that turns conversation over to science and greed, and the prototypes that mess up the visual cortex, paste-ins crammed with luxuries that bind, ushering an anti-life of grueling but quickened radiance they co-broke for enduring benefits.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 5:18 AM
Friday, August 23, 2013
Somedays the words are latinate for summer’s fixed width.
But thanks for speaking up for the Skia font family; we all’re feeling a little wisp waiting for a bullet to ‘what’s out there’ countering it fighting self-mastery even in spiteful moments — was it something to do with me? I don’t think
that changes my life. Oh, yeah, the breeze brushes this alliteratively off, too. A cheap divide open at the brim of syzygy. Tho the homeland is not in the way, exactly, Detroit is poisoned, anything but stable, under civil forfeiture, worse than a headache. Five episodes in it’s the Jersey Shore and the interesting morality of eco-suits.
Camps. Dupont Julio.
Je savais edifices le feraient fortement. Cuisses gazouillants.
Camps. Dupont Julio.
I knew edifices’d sharply. Thighs warbling.
Part of the world works backwards facing the street, passing it... A science fiction flushed hollow a few years ago, looking on outside it, and still walking through adhering to nothing, just passing, but also taking root.
You’re asking a lot.
Standing in the rain says I may as well switch back to what it says.
Fair enough but there is absolutely nothing in.
“Exactly,” and in that miracle voice? A tongue in his ear driving noise into a lost history of pioneers and cousins in lines of duty. It’s quantified; what does that mean?
The four-man cabin a flight down.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 10:56 AM
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Feeling cornered. Blue moon as it were.
How is an unepic life colorless, sparkling yet dissected, slumped over in gaffes, so you missed it?? It’s shameful to work for the state, but a foreign government is cool? how did he alone stand tall, pause and brush back his hair? all the other men like him looking up like flight risks? To keep up we don’t find a compromise.
The music seems headstrong.
Everything we paint is structure to write
or was when we were in Tacoma picking up fun Japanese. The miner described it as leaving gaps. No financial grasp to contemplation.
Light exchanges positions. Thank you.
Your mellowness operates a transferrable mind.
That line raises a lark, also structure.
Rules write themselves for freshwater miners drowned in bubbles, from .. Me? I’m
immersed watching the light.
I know you. So we forget
Paul Broadnax and sidemen.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 6:13 AM
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
To appear transparent out of a board game.
After a button is pushed a model young theorist says hello, how are you, then reverses course. She heads upstairs to an installation in perfect solitude.
I’ve heard that scream.
No, she didn’t. She’s indelibly here. She didn’t help but she did.
What will they spell for lunch today? slender objective on a square obstacle? To follow instructions, slippers are warmed; the scripture removers repair to a separate clearance.
The commissary is down in the sub-chambers, aimlessly glistening. I’m often holed up on the second level with the major issues that I have still (meaning my whole life); for now, before reaching a glacier-elbow high water, everything remains in hierarchical Finland, which has worked everywhere.
A kimono has been entered, explaining sex without thinking, and with.
A fragrance is found shaking our heads, wiping our brows.
The same stairs float, for good, if they could.
Like all of the above and people going in and out of buildings, climbing steps, you’re one hundred percent normal running up debt to keep devotees heartbroken, to downplay scene after scene, only springing or twisting into new life and renewed commitment at the last-possible moment.
On second thought, call me Fracking or Stinky. I touched it and it sprayed me.
The herd rushed to the rescue (there’s a deadline), a tumble of inventions, an ambush
a weakening of night to day — body in the hole — one enzyme waking up isolated, seeming eternity. I’d
Forever is a quiet pace except for the plastic : Lake Drastic
containers hanging along the bow : the cow
and top sails maximized along the side. :: hide.
This is a synthetic stretch, a few thought chunks going someplace that makes the senses look futuristic in the right light that’s constant. The point ahead is to enable the passing tourney among tense Fu dudes to nuance the 3-in-1 innocents to proceed.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 6:32 AM
Monday, August 19, 2013
Lindsay Lohan is making the ultimate comeback.
It worked once, or twice, but now we search the web for an obstacle by the fireside pumped with mandatory inflows of feel-
ing great! The new brands are awesome denouncing oops, they’re metering us to search counterfeiters
doing physics or philosophy with a hen of steam: ergo verdicts are trifles beyond Krishna’s preproduction. All these
personnel will have to be shifted or fired
but come to work anyway, achieving a seeming
bliss of the non-willed state, enlightened but lacking design
squeezed onto a breezeway, among detailed x-rays with blurred images to endure.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 5:28 AM
Saturday, August 17, 2013
We leveraged the social graph to miss you.
How long have you planted thoughts without a gender balance?
I agree. To be reviewed is to be published.
Teaching can’t be taught.
Poem on Super-8. Another mild one, one and all. Let me pull an invisible
to the eye hair off your blouse to increase the speed of our nation.
When you write you find your living partner. She’s a social creature,
capable of more complex communication, traveling in large groups or schools.
Well, 2 out of 3.
I hardly know you. And will never know you. I’ll give you a call.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 7:55 AM
Friday, August 16, 2013
Maximum restraint = get it done don’t talk to me.
I remember any ceramic with symmetrical tenets
looking up at the sun feeling talkative.
A branch can be a sentence, urgency in ideas.
We live in a debt growing country.
The air has the outer above for sky.
During the break we reached an agreement.
Big-hick-crazy quilts the sun buildings. Wives
“Great but I’ll just hold...”
Criminal samples predict behavior-like craftwork,
poll-taking is rhetorical solutions.
You live within politics and practice warfare
to engage another’s psyche
& you’re always wrong to prolong his appeal.
I promised you a ham for painting bombast.
Symmetry, advise your assistant to receive my phone call; I need to confirm the ham’s anger has hatched and kilt any chance at.. I’ll have you over when life and death are what they should be, augmented with Pablo Tac bouquet, a full deck of historical fantasy, and hyper décor that cracks the lobes of automation... After that, there will be nothing coarse or raucous to grab at, but thanks! we’re good with our previous melancholy, “no real choice,” and horror-struck, I’ll still want to marry us in quick fire in a church in white. Or did I?
Posted by Jack Kimball at 6:06 AM
Thursday, August 15, 2013
A rubber duck’s victims assume a moral duty. At least if you’re not buying, take a look.
Though there is irony to my lecturing to a square insult comic dissolving in wind sheer, freed into puddles of nudist delusion that swell and swell
hi and lo
young bodies keep moving, the elders seem alienating...
clouds part and the aerodrome rushes toward litmus introspection, snug, sotted with the urge to fit nothing in.
That’s how it works. If it is still tomorrow,
what was the transition? I heard that
measureth intelligence by bad bets.
The tea puzzle (for what its worth)
couldn’t be serious about ghosts.
But there they are in sleep
after only five days blindfolded.
It’s a case test. You have a pleasant
sencha. It strengthened my attention
that night as my nature to do so.
Meanwhile as an untrained artist
I made more than 2000 before poems
Which are bets of everything. A
lot has been splayed, getting warm.
Warmer. Some have kind eyeholes.
It’s not done well but we’re surprised (..)
See this pigeon? It’s a true albino. Incandescent.
I was thinking it’s hard to get foreign sports equipment
or the meaning of structure, a table for the indexes of suspicion and objurgating.
I’m happiest procrastinating. When stairwells mesh to go nowhere
between you and expulsion, the hole is closed. Turn here,
there’s efficacy in speaking clearly, gesturing, knitting your own softball.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 5:54 AM
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Keep the secrets of simplicity, float-free.
Together at night we can demodify again.
Is there a function that describes our preferences?
I put a recalled toy in my mouth. (Eric Dolphy)
I feel a lull in motives. Interforce rondure.
The apocalypse ignites downtown, combustion
And dust spores filling canyons between skyscrapers,
your honor. People take shelter in a convenience store
Then race down into the subway, running with the grads.
Asinine language (you can’t call it dialog). Ugly apartments.
Life-draining clothes. Absolute rubbish. Highly recommended.
Yet the jungle is quiet... too quiet. (Theseus)
This text shelter is self-conscious, an interforce with jawboned clauses, better so it can insist to stay again in a poet’s identity and her intents, conflated with audience, exploited media, her reputation, and so forth. It’s all to the good, superficially, temporally; that’s certainly a limit (to be defined when her success precedes the poem).
So a critical first question for any text is, can we start over. (Rondure)
Joke-check every box.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 8:47 AM
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Some had swing
The scandal passed, hardly worth the coverage,
otherwise excellent. You saw that?
We got back into the van.
Do you own your swarm? It seems relevant
if filed haphazardly under filming about a file,
“Ambient text file,” say;
her jaw trembled
While we Run the Jewels.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 5:42 AM
Monday, August 12, 2013
A few words on process
They’re from the Be Yours Outside tenor
& crew, high spirited sleeves thru the back..
No sweat. Cash is next.
You wear counterfeits and feel fake. I bet,
The trees, your neck, heavy inks squirting
deserve to hear from one.
A topical shift took control.
It is that one is there.
One is a stranger to consent...
we are in fact desperate.
mean the theme costumes?
Ok, I have not fulfilled the norms set by
hey! I approach the history that permeates philosophy,
Urinating while scanning the right data mining
(steam) to quantify any parallelisms.
To project voices “that acquiesce on a positive note”
Sunday franchises are the best as in The
Orchid Sto--es that splits itself up into a how-To
Search for lattice and trellis heroics,
never be bored, “I again
Take out my knife...”..
I kept a secret street car
Divvying up rain, benching the mnemonics,
em, I’ve misspelled every sign.
(I have a skin policy with its own voice.)
I’m doing only one thing at one time on a crazed errand stream
to a structuralist’s degree, as well as to a serener surface.
No wonder cowboys are rushed.
(Practice makes perfect in just one week.)
It was nice meeting your ideas
that changed in others’ lives.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 4:54 AM
Saturday, August 10, 2013
You’ll miss the pick-up. You already have.
Hello. Your voice means a lot to us. I’ve..
to stay within budget is pleasing
You see, there’s a cloying aspect when able bodies gather
to phenotypes, we line up the device of warm visual partners.
I had called this gateway the dooryard where doing well is taken in-
to far correlates inventing a new intelligence of largess. It
all comes with us. If you invest now, daylight garners you
several that are breathing.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 5:30 AM
Friday, August 09, 2013
There will be a brief ride 2
the time’s coming up. The evidence had been persuasive,
fewer sleights assigning you to defeat or traverse us
would be an intrusion without an understanding
of randomness in aggregate, the law on hyperbolics as
the least extraordinary appear similar to expand the mirror we’ve
induced enumeratively. Tho functioning.
From here it fetched something. Examples of published cook
-ing ontologies, whatever they got it’s alleged. We
don’t have the brains to have an open look.
Someone else’s sense was pledged & then.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 5:41 AM
Thursday, August 08, 2013
This will be a short ride. Largely harmless.
For this is how the fern drops over the aura of the photogenic vitamin to stop the sentence, fuzzed it yet one lacked the perfect raincoat, one’s self-reconciliation for past times.
So you get it now about dualism, you make 4 walls the rendezvous, along with a roof, lounge in queue for their motorcade. You can’t predict what you are going to do, and there aren’t enough shortcuts to go around to encapsulate your suspicions. (for RR)
Posted by Jack Kimball at 10:08 AM
Wednesday, August 07, 2013
out of sight out of your sight
w/ no neo-soul levitation
don’t fret not forgotten
my wife in binge-recording
she followed the brightest soldiers
despite her resolution support group
lacking too many to call a disorder
looked after for good reason
it’s so much conflict not about
conscience as a confession of self
this neighborhood perfect
to cancel the meeting
on a so-called preserve
it wouldn’t let it reason août
next to some sleeping people
staring through the ice
is this bluff for real?
before the ice scissored out
Posted by Jack Kimball at 11:39 AM
Tuesday, August 06, 2013
All attempts to grow God are disproportionate.
As one citizen you fail to mushroom, ignored. But we’re hellbent when two or more discover wisdom on statist terms. So we need oversight.
There’s a glow in the argumentation seconds before it turns systemic.
I’m also a lefty deep in the battle between the sexes. The rich won.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 9:16 AM
Monday, August 05, 2013
What Went Wrong
When it comes to an early suburb, Maoism is never good enough.
This aside, those issues of ours are not specific to now.
Hand-me-down functions are jerry-rigged, “I want us to be in charge.” I am.
Seconds later you’re unsure where dick-brain ‘stands’ vis a vis the design industry.
It’s probably not false that it’s too obvious (as well), it tastes..
Ok an explosion directed the shots down his throat, the light in back..
The envoy lay toe-tagged in the I.C., an imitative sort, not
That we’re abstemious over disquiet when it’s cutthroat & officially sanctioned
Getting a pulse, fixed pupils, dilated. Don’t try this without the others.. who?
They want to be involved clanked again, going back for a time out of pocket.
The sine functions were ‘pontal,’ still rising from parterres & topiary snapped in place
Posted by Jack Kimball at 11:12 AM
Saturday, August 03, 2013
I love everyone in the world but 1)
to fuck someone as dumb as myself is a patent gateway
for dropping in programs for the hard living you purport
this evolution internal-memos, and yet I do not care
someone called, we had just a week to reply. 2)
A trip to bountiful is automatic for any who knew endless circumstance
is overdone: rinse off the parakeet-in-cage top knot 3) this dazzling
calm bright warm evening.. I have something new to show me.
The rules commit us, all this will be yours.
(The rules are too much in the back office
with everyday voices cooking. That is their cubicle.)
Again, we're on the lift gate for votes, finding a clean carpet
afflicts our schools in a curious trade of IQ conversions
(we thought you gave it up).
We are pretty much part of their special advertising.
In this light you don’t say.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 9:42 AM
Friday, August 02, 2013
I have a revised voice for moods and I’m holding to their path, rescuing no one. However soft or firm, the drills at the end of the continent put up more shelves. And now an aspect of our fiction is told/on. We have no perverse incentive to be mindless of taking chances, since we talked a lot thru moods, too much, and too often we drank to the madness of how angry they get and how it makes us crazy for the late poetry of X.
No futures present newer phenomena.
The chorus is plural on that or whether it’s the end of aging, but one is the moral shapes are out. More order in mayhem. Be with it.
X, that’s the turning point person we hold for show. You want me to reconcile the semiology? Type in “split to a pulp, elegantly disruptive.”
We can feel it, silver-blue lamé (void) but I wasn’t too sure (strangers like it this way) swallowing their methods
for now, months and years going up in ideology and any kind of style. Whatever futures is.
Posted by Jack Kimball at 1:04 PM
Thursday, August 01, 2013
But plots don’t belong here.
This is a model venture.
The antihero has amnesia. Hellfire, excrement,
up against mad socialists for 20 pages..
Fire away when I say go
find hell in what it is, no absurdity,
no time involving shades of gray.
We are in no position to say
how at a client’s urging you negotiate with principals to preview what the client gets. (The grays show up as rule breaking.) The white deal carries on. You black are shut down.
This is my conceptual of the former myspace. Copy that order requiring the fireman (Verizon) turn over customers’ logs.
I wouldn’t say “favorite.”
Posted by Jack Kimball at 9:58 AM