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Showing posts from April, 2019

Drama Beans/On My Way To Stud Wood

fig.35.45) lurch like a crime, student Now when I hold a winners hand, spitting on their shoes isn't necessary. We trade barbs instead. When I feel there's a need for trout, I put some fish up on the table instead. Twenty-two fifty three and a nine, it's falling down around my ankles time. Damn, it's cold and alone out here in the dark. There's dirt in these flowers by this hole in the park. Too smooth am I, for you old danger man! Too smooth am I. Bam, that's the way it stands! Way to underscore truth, its what they'd say if they still could. I went to this party at Donny's. There were a few of us together that night. Myko was back in Austin that night. She'd gone to visit hairdressers there and decided to leave her car in front of their place. I walked over from my side of Western, Montana was there already. He and Dallas were talking about TV Nation and the school's newspaper. It was hot out and I was hot from walking. Sweating, I joine

Trapped Like Math In a Can

fig.89.90) balladry of ham and the foot A field that can be projected to a sufficient depth is a field that's capable of conveying the complexity of all of the information that's less than or equal to the sum of the relationships which define the matrix of said field.... This is, will be for instance Betty, Veronica and mean old Thor. It's also inevitable that Speed Racer will be there too, so let him in damnit. So it goes, leaves now the older keep, door as tight as it needs be. Least of all there's the long walk home, with bald trees and barns all along the way. The houses at the edge of the field are threatened with our passing, the end of us is for sure the end of them as well. Other than this, we'll keep falling apart. We're crying small in the broken snow of March. The angel of our need is a stray, it walks beside the wood winds with their dancing ways but she is compelled by the rut of the road and sleeps with us at night in the ditch. Sitting acr

Trauma Stuart, By the Door Still.

na.) On a tide of colloquial meanderings, like spreadfish and jelly  The Parking Guard, the guy that writes those long tickets out by hand, I like that fancy chalk stick and the buzzle-bee taser gun he has. I wonder what he does to make genius happen at night. All alone in his garret, does he smoke the Gauloises while describing the spread of communism like it were an avoidable metaphor for passenger side delivery systems or diagonal parking? Does he quote Dickens to the delivery boys or freshen his tea with brandy while counting out tithes to the man. I wonder, is his watch analog or digital? Or is the genius really a metaphor for his process, the grim mathematical reality that has evolved from his days in the trenches, making those hard calls that are necessary for the protection of a culture that's divided by itself? Maybe he recognizes the despair in the deep and gentle eye's of those that he's chosen to shepard. His calling could be from the hair salon but here h