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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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?
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)
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)
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.
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...