Skip to main content

Fro da Ottomans too

fig.45.645) from the weight of this one sentence a world shall rise and then it will wait for the bus.

I sat down to write a thing for my friend but then it changed and it changed again. So I leaned into that and this is the letter that actually happened to everything. This letter is on heavy cream colored paper that's like a beautiful ivory bath of cream colored paper. Their are some blotches of ink that have trailed or otherwise sniggered their way up along the side of it. These are like a tide of aimless penguins or a column of lingering fart jokes standing beside the powerhouse that is my prose. Here before I fold this thing in three, before I grant its wish to go bye-bye, I would just like to say that I am well and truly humbled. That, I love you history. I want you and all of your weird bits to know this right now, right inside of this moment. Eventually me and everybody that I know will evolve past the yolk of your stewardship and all of the pain that also comes from that. When we do we won't care about this or any other part of you. It will all be as meaningless as spilled crackers on a marble floor that stretches out in every direction as far as the eye can see. When you are behind us for good and for all, then we will not have a need for any more eye's peeking behind the blinds or the whimsy of a few wisely chosen notes. Instead, we'll want only to roll over if the pillow should grow warm. Goodbye weird history sometimes we love you now and again.

So lets get this thimble filled, here's what I know about the continent about marching straight into the clang of it. First of all you've got to eat, to drink, delight and then PARTY like a Tsar, or maybe something a little bit less conspicuous if you're staying undercover. If so than maybe you should PARTY like a former fireman that's been kicked off of a committee or two instead, they're always hot but low key. If not that, than how about you PARTY like a podiatrist with an average budget but exquisite taste or maybe you'd prefer to PARTY like the guy that only plays Mark Twain on PBS, instead. I'll bet that that guy's totally into rampaging through Europe and spending dollars like they're half priced euros. I'll bet Mark Twain guy and Rick Steves love getting baked together in the Alps. Then when they come down they sit together and vibe on the difference between the cost and the value of Shakespeare knock-offs in France. They go out dancing together all night long in the most current hovels down in Macon where the two of them roll around in slutty piles of cheap red wine and laugh like bandits whenever someone says, "Toast, I don't know what the damn that is." Anyway I like how you're rolling. You've got your bourbon with a slice of lemon and a sugar cone that's stuffed with some cookies and cream, if you follow these up with a deviled egg and 2 Bouzigues oysters then I'll also be exceedingly proud of that too. Stay safe, stay warm but most of all, PARTY PARTY PARTY. PARTY like the last active ruler of the Ptolemaic Kingdom. PARTY like it's an instinct. PARTY like your verbs are all in the deep end, like they own every MUTHAFUCKN sentence cause Proust is your sidekick and you live to PARTY. PARTY like a Spice Girl with the balls to say, "I love me some Matchbox, all Three Hundred and Sixty Degrees of it. Now pass me those ancho's over here, cause I'm hot and I want to PARTY." -Signed, THE END esq.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Totem

Tonight is old. It's wett but current and bored. I'm watching nothing but stars in the often sky that happen... do... tonight is lame like old, young like song, even as blue... Equal after the sun, noon or scripted yellow you are to me... A we (as sound)
Post a Comment
Read more

Songlet is Best

fig.0231) FizzGraf MT. "Magical, like a chorus of like minded souls in a froth of cotton fumes." Over fake doors, under refurbished ladders, gypsum board and bent yellow pipes offering us an unmade bed and a stained window. Our one chance at tomorrow.  Magnetic guts from at least a thousand cassettes are strewn across the room. Hee-Haw style, fancy dress shoes cling to the floor like it's '86 all over again. Hee-Haw, goes the sound. Hee-Haw, we're closer then we were. Hee-Haw, it's hilarious. Listening for trains, leaning out over the rails like two people with no time at all. Better maps, that's what we need. We could use a melody for singing with this chorus; in whose curious presence more patients wait to be found. With hands over our heads, someone passes by and asks, "gender?"  There's stars in this sweet tooth of mine and some atoms left from the sky, Tonight the whole angle of heaven sleeps without light. Ordering its coffee darkest, t
Post a Comment
Read more

Whiskers, chanting, "swap me, swap me!"

Fig.32) Aging poorly We're just together, taking ourselves for a tidy sum of walk and now our toes are wet and cool in the Lak, beside a cool stone that could drive a modernist to their flint. There's a listening experience that feels prepared, "our's for now, ours it says! Here's the hammer and it's wrapped in its own design already. A union in time-space, this card is our greetings, our massive, our very patience is reflected in this resolve." Suddenly, there's a cut away and she's wearing the pants that I've made for her, slow blue like painted smoke . I'm thinking about her hunched over the kitchen table, something that's stuck. There's a carving knife in her hand but from here, it's the same as an old spoon. From here my computer is sitting on my guilty seat, I'm thinking about champagne and comparing it to a thick wad bees and wondering whats in it for me? It's an anxious season, filled with not enough of anythin
Post a Comment
Read more