Entry #87

The last information translated for this cycle, man down, orifill, at long last our nation, awkward circles lazy drawn and heart still beating, aftermath of crash test economics and the leavening of the field so that all can suffice. Trodden down and ground bound lies strength to rise like bread and skyward dream anew and capture hearts of reason and marinate. Yer druthers. Say it now, this warbled waterfall skill set, this damp ode to the wayward manatee, this anklebot delirium treacled out onto colored wax paper and offered up to the royalty for theirWelch on the man and you’ve got subsystem antebellum carpe diem purple vellum and still no call on the gimmick trickery. Big bloated buckets of bailout the bilge of a bogus system that was broken to begin with. Fingertip-feel your way around the craggy business building edge as ledge of the market’s making, with profit taking the image shaking tool of King Woord the Wizzer. And Oliphant sizes up the casa! Burn both ends of your talking stick and bring new light commons to dusky nether region bickering on the streets of every new soul placard and taut minstrel sing-along and whoop-it-up hullabaloo eagle’s nest viewpoint, but what you see, what you see, WHAT YOU SEE MAN is the LAST TRUTH OF A SEVERELY COMPROMISED mindscape holding secret vita-elixir and bearing noiseless lossless quantifiable datastream, once more the given passage of minutes hours and centuries back to the centaurs and not one damn lookyloo or common magpie or lurker whatsoever call or submit and don’t go gentle peacetime mannikin go up beyond your station and cross each path with renewed vim and preternatural whigmaleerie and mock encomium and tepid raves of sanguine nature and woo invective unnreving and enfeebled but BRINGING OUT and VETTING FORTH that last quivering gasp of pock-marked and pebbled verity. Run it to the vestals and limb from limb detach dissect deny and the deep deepity deepest analysis and bold hearty shimmering broth of the sipping sanctuary where BEASTS ARE CAST ASUNDER and FIRST COME FIRST BURNED so light grasshopper rice paper impressions and scramble forth like some mint proof grenade ready for the blowing and scattered shards of wind that come to rest in this and many other dominions. Bastion that cross-rererencing the Perspius Perspective in linear and aereal degrees. That one cure would benefit the mulled massive took flight in tropes and ideas like trees that sprout prosaic branches, filtered sunlight orange and citrus right, given outstance and proper heritage, I saw farther than those who circled camp on pony. We bear this circus gladly, as clenched grin and happy thought parades distill the essence of happy being, having cloud breath, bonding nimbly, cooking with pan-reduced stress, shuffling bum steer through the stables of pungent then-time, folly gauze and lilac spritz, neon clogs and lightning-fast read flexes, and jolly time, drawn coordinates and the lash, after-dinner warmth figs, lollypoppers and camo gear, lift your head and bob once for limbless, horrendous ships that sail on solar wind for years on end, and here comes one, FLOATING DOWN on this wondrous CLOUD OF ANTI-HATE AND WARMNUB illustrious foretaste for the near ahead.

Little Indian Girl, Where is Your Father?

Still later in the game, fifth quarter or sudden death nulltime, and every Central American prophecy grabbing at your gusto and trimming your vitals like the premature pruning of the wisened proto-vine. God, cog, dog, odd, evil, even, heaven, take out the o’s and e’s and the a and I and the constant consonant drone enlightens the truest weighty nature of our neck albatross alphabet. Gutteral clucks and Oswegean popping sounds and the Ket language of Central Siberia and yet not a single scrap of porridge for a dying dog if supper is held in highest regard.

Looming Ripe, in Fructus, in Berris

Rife loam, breathing funny, scratchy head part, having a way with the tom-tom group, snappy little katy-did, home and hone, whither which way and the directions was slim. Do you remember your own cornpone moment, when the jacks landed slant on some counterintuitive board and the ball bounced so high in the sun, warmth and gritty biscuits, for the champ, ma, for the champ.

Retail failed, Mr. Jones. It balled up a hop snappy chipmunk paradigm skip jump dumpy frame codswallow macaroon bigger stand catchable knick-splitter with the hair-do from planet Cod. That’s the guy they should catch, if the clues strewn, and feather-haired beauty forestalling inevitable duty, as you have it, honor-bound and leather-scented, a status once more and about face nibble hook nincy nincy nincy arbitrater and the damned. And I told her she thought Chip was the middle one, given the Prayer of Manasseh.

The Likelihood of Cosmic Reprieve

The question of linear straightforwardness or some kind of curved return has been partly solved in the acknowledged elastic nature of universe/multiverse and return elasticity supporting a closed circular model. The idea that time as created codified and petrified could be adjusted to suit such a model accepts a common idea of time as traveling A to B instead of the more like A to A, making the question one not of reprieval but retrieval.

Rush's Working Man Found Unemployed in Albuequerque

Or turns left at Greenland. Or comes out of the rabbit hole far from Pismo Beach. Kirlean worlds delicate to the touch, frail reality cream pies fly in the face of upturned conduct policy and conventional feardom tactics. Present yourself forehead high, and reap the sowing of the singers this light hum denigrating bad vibe congress gather white porcelain legging man tapenade.

Picture Reggie; he was one now he’s millions, poring on like some false king with a thought kingdom nearly overturned, and then tens millions, oh the humanity, hundreds millions then, just our shore alone, to a big billion, and more billions, and now a misleading figure like 6,872,775,960 when it’s really more like 11,532,455,710, give or take 12 at this moment.

Beholden to the Agrarian Calendar

Time is dim, lad, make forth to a new plateau governed beyond the 2,009 that are counted. Then giving clear credence to the additional 4,706, and more still the 5,769 more, all despite overlap, giving back a sum of 12,484, or known as 19, or 1. Such is life that simp culture disallows the digit processing necessary for numeric comprehension and the filial grasp, which already yields enough intelligence sans the usual ill tidings and that should be enough to last a year if we have it.

Tourmaline Wishes and Caviar Schemes

If you made it this far you know about the roundhouse arrival of Cartesian physics and the innate import of relics from the east and a volume of precise language lost to the stars and the misled gray-matter masses and the begetting of Proud Mary and those visages found on the odd lint screen, tree trunk or cheese sandwich. For to heed the material wishes of every sacred queen is to forget the fairy feller’s master-stroke.

Ambulent dreams of precious metal debuttante and fishing for stale loaves and Madonna of the Sanskrit plava and pushing through the thin wall of mediocre vanity to a return-value of the crosspoints found in the collective ordinate and absissa. Dysfunctional relative values in the null schemata leaves room for clearer assessment among the detritus of those pathetic family lies.

Forsooth to Pick a Plane and Exist with it Running

Now you’re delving into your wiggle-tooth theatrics and bare-knuckle diatribes and cocked-handle platitudes and misshapen speeches and twisty themed how-d’ya-dos and folderolde riddles and titillating tirades and not-so-on-the-level accusations and revolting reproaches and castigating condemnations and dyspeptic disses. Dammit! Hold your brows tight and wade into the draining waters of yeartime, these temporal forces leaking from tomorrow’s ears. Semper fi, sons of playas.

Gone with the Heaving Breath of Mercurial Monads

What’s on tap, shizzlesnit? It rains some more, and the hours drain counterclockwise, and HEY MAN WRAP IT UP they say to fold in walnuts but there’s less time to bake this thing than ever before. As I scribble knowing data that must be prescribed before the last hour this is the heat melt psychodramatic Babylon that 2008 forgot. Yor, timid specie, giggle gaggle gobble this turkey down and wash it with Shiraz Kool Aid and the cumber. Nibblepick saucy fry olivetail macadamn granted wishstick pixy dander buck. The holy thou trowel search takes place in the dirt, and that’s jus’ the way it iz.

The Festive Prefigurement of Harvey Densemeyer

Run. To. The. Light. We. Must. Comply. With. Our. Own. Wishes. Get out of the way of yourself, Lunadoggie. Ripened know with some underlying, pick up your rake, dig, cohesive being snatch Gabriel essence and willing St. Germain. Valid most to those who need it least, hearten and rally and belly up to the Wordsharden Bar and have a mead with your master. Dole liberally and keep accounts with the building matriarch. Channel through chewing sensitive document shred a la papier-mâché to apple soot. Barbers deluxe cut comes in 12 hours and then fights on to transgress and multimogrify the existing fabric rubric to the cube, blockhead.

Simply Top Notch on the Golden Crotch Circuit

Then there’s the slipping of the directive, info drawn deep into light through cosmosis and three competing channels of awareness. Dense cocoa scent displaces frosty lemon sun powder, dry wheeze. Leisure tract derivatives are captured inches from the neu soul curtain. Lie trusted on horizontal imaginations your sheet wrapped ego with the last day anointing like the suns of Kalea Weawea and pecking like robins at the starfish of this commandant and reveling in the make-believe buckets of just wise notion and outré, or at the very least atypical and uncustomary.

Fermented Gooseberry Placadacia Root Gong!

Wallop the orderly and file out in garish overture, bleat ads sharp clear halfback terpsichore mound candies, simp nocturne elemental mish-mash neuro-moxy typical back sash hyperbole nickel tong melon rind harbor lush grand scale telltale particulars, unaccustomed as they you we (I you was) were to buttress the sinew of these steel-nerve by-and-bys and deepen reverse course. All you knew, they told you about a harvest of nits, and nibbles once to create a tear at the edge of the known multiverse.

Nate Changeling and the Unfortunately Lasting Lunch

Yes. And yes again. It is yes around the table, don’t you know this? These are not optional contingency plan modules. These are active and absolute particulate quorum protocol directives, not to be commuted or transmuted to this or any other fringe throng special planetary unit. More and beyond, inure, season and sustain the foreboding presence and immerse to activate parts to necessitate. These are the only available projections of this data and cannot be acquired save for snippets taken for unscrupulous search engine purpose. Nifty Swit and the Landlubber, we’ll cross that bridge and free the gravitational draw of what once was so floaty.

Kempt Forces Jewels Abandon Rule by Horse

The counting down is nigh, this night, comes, we see it for 34 hours and 10 minutes or even less, by coastal standards FORTIFY superimposed time shift to occur within the eight-hour range of all states united, minding synchronous Yellowstone earthquake sequence. Pick up last remnants those elements left for trash to incinerate I AM LEAVING THE PREFIGUREMENTS DORICE and fax your last message to colleagues FORTIFY and friends with mail philosophy intent and all possible threads to bring with on this next journey leg. I am all for telling you FORTIFY that this is the time of the age when attentive demoralizing must be cast off to ignore and shill advocates left for absolute and dead.

Owl in Money For the Alimony

Just take a sip of peche lambic, and Constantine and green-growing rushes, and doodlebug newt particular hamstrung whetstone bean ardlenaut I make for the hills and I leaned and then learned to dwell a foot below the nonbelievers. Compartmentalized nincompoops with qubit cubicles and fair cascade hair and sassy sash ass frame meadow linens. Climbing down the hill now. Safe passage to my own reeling sense of venturous capital gain, I watch and willow as safe haven sheath reigns far kingdom of the main ax, that which scholars might call Perthoos, the Axe of No No. Slipped snugly into cabin pressure suits and I will tell you the day.

Touched a Few and Once Did Sit

This old engine driver, the smile, and a forgivable if not questionable experience. Docks fish-a-looza this is my time for swine and best not pick your battle with the wrong cattle because lifted up this seam shows nothing but a burst portion of inner stuffing and hold up on the cranberry mold because that’s another twentyfold. By this I mean to say all prescient and pseudo-prescient pseudography must transgress into tall grasses and glimpse truth not as speck or speculative but pure knowing without fear, guilt, sacrifice or the lash. Ward species exist on pure interdimension energy lines guiding and gently pulling the reins of this and every other perceived existence. Port authority to the Universe Bob Goening had it on good intention that the saws palmetto share info with organic forms, transmuting secrets through relevant plant lines. To not believe this is to sit on the shiv and call it a sitz.

Anon and His Friend the Knowable

The mysteries, you say? Far toward the front, push your way up you sap-hound well-wishers, and BURY YOUR FACE in the CAKE OF ALL-KNOWING. This frosting tempts your tickler and news of revelatory glee and glory spreads across the dingy face of every happy supplicant. ‘Tweren’t wurth your fraggin’ giggles and rejected by the system before the full 72 hours but you know what? That’s not earth’s problem anymore. The less the more, so to speak. Stylized coops of ordered elegance replace the domicile. The smooth white lines and chilly curl of the Frusen Glädjé. Trick liqueur and virtue engendered is the ultimate happystance.

Wifflepit Benson-Hoyt

We would call the fellow weerd, and we’d be right. Then the mentals happened. Far-worn sheeth metal haberdash of salt electrolyte my fire. Ferry mons happenin’ a curt window of ditz mallow drama. Surest soot and such when a tatter comb or throwing knife was lodged amid the Kronos a time man, taken to pieces by soft cake and genteel deliberation. I am talking directly to you Maurice, stop the systematic dissemblage and suck on the gestalt of the whole chalupa.

Aaaaahhh, Like a Sun Man

In the hours twining, waning, settle in for what’s left of sark animal repose, and nifty kits, twined and gleaming, a new shtick for every kid who’s had the heart to not kick the other kid and cause a bix scene, and more animal magnets and jet lag and some airport gift or other and bursting at the seams, with cotton and stuffing and grit and shut-mouth promises. There wasn’t a work-around, or a griddle fit for failure, and the cookies was slim, but like the others you’ll make do in the less-rock harbor of your big-sea dreams.

Wandering toward a little bit, some regal crest of unknown tonnage makes way to center square with the gusto of Lynde and the frightening alacrity of Aiken, and leaves behind a scent, some plumage, and the idea of a friendlier now. Orgle the Muckmonger wants to seize your tiny ship, awash down with sips of Pibb, and gutted up on the shores of Gitcheegoomie Hootchie Koo.

Washy Harp Heaven

I am seeing the loam loom logic and preparing verbatim the wordy pulp that radiates and pulses in regular beams to the valid nature of my presence. I am relying on flesh and digits to tap qwerty from corner to corner and naybob the noosesayers and the spirits of the unkempt. When this world sees Wally.

Fork left, center straight, a la mode. That’s tapped, move on, they sweep each quadrant with dull inaudible tones from dedicated satellites of DirectV and Dishes Network to beam misfo into inquiring brains. So wish and hold thought and between words mindful thought and belly laughs will distract just follow the manual.

And I was not hogging the machine.

Trite Peanut Shrimps

They won’t stop me, today or any other day, as I corner the post and take the flurry to the virtual street. Hallway banter bug elevate mediate prevaricate accentuate monificate and rental prop baguette normal tonation ever-willed and iron-lunged and stretcher nominal palladin, scape up bon hurlant and meantime with the jacky-bo.

Turn once toward the glisten, popped, punctuated, skipped like a stone on the molten surface of your dying sun, light terrific and Kali yoga and rungs sawn through. There’s a garb comment for every draper and to follow sense down the rabid hole is to foam at the function and press for utmost discrimination.

Glimpsing Intimation Overtones

He just goes crazy, and she’s about the worse for wear for the tenth effin’ time, and I remember the rolls, plinking, making noises I could not or would not make on the piano, but from time to time yes, it was worth a bleeding rap to all knuckles to make the sound of a C chord.

Vibration is the heart of this, the buzz cosmic fluid living all things tiny and tall, and reappropriate and stretch the resources and the fabric of finite until it draws together again, once and forever a friend of the fierce but loving void, the black whole embrace and ol’ collider.

Tapped though not up to the task, I leave it to be parsed by the best and word wonder that some better part of those most important snips are successfully transported via webglob and sticky web understanding to the viewer in part or whole so that to carry on with new knowing.

And still so more, but time skint, word economy, space considerations, lash etiquette, no safe word, reticulate mongrel, old-time maneuvers to confront a new-fangled and thoroughly foggy now, parse the tips, lovely things, tip-toe to the outer reaches of Campbell’s astral clues.

A Better Lasting Finish for Your Corporeal Chair

I see you think of it as a dive, and a slow arc that leaves no unwashed episode unturned. But I urge you to consider it a lemony film, reels of citric action adventure in which soul protagonist takes a shine to tabletop moral structure bound by an x-axis while y-axis ethics are yet undiscovered. If the championship team is manned by fools, is the trophy not tarnished with idiocy? If beegle bardo bishopsnat cops a top, does that necessarily mean harbur hocca heem? Ours is the generation of lime and handi-coat. To glad-hand the never-wurms is to capitulate as the ex-being.

Polish Off the Vegans

Know more about foodstuffs, or the fate of the Dern patriarch and the Huey, Dewey and Louie robots will surround your mandibular. And Dewey lost that election. The garb of the street should be chiffon, and an airy breeze present for each balmy mendicant and associate fan farm kinetics. Nebudnezzar the Joke got less respect in that day than Danger Mouse, but the humor’s relevance was lost on the lynching party. Hoopin’ noby aftermath and clarity crystal vision being a staring through or joint aberration apparition with twists in claw skullduggery and ship-shape orifice cog.

Rolling Outages of Intended Spiritual Consequence

When we gathered, it was understood. Why do you now not understand? Why can you not see the resulting dark, a chasm of deep personal choice, a dearth of conscience in an anti- (or con) science world? We saw Stein’s money as comedy, and now as dunces go he’s creation’s finest. What do you not feel sinking in, seeping into the cortex as you “read”? Let’s call you Synapse Jones. Now Jonesy say, “Synapse is some big leafy verbiage, Sarge. Where’d da nexus go?” And Sarge, well he’s not so well. He’s not even there, really. He might have been once, but tourniquet and partial habilitation and such and now no. Puff the neurotransmitter.

Chip Shots, Chipwich and the Last Testimony of Chip

Forces of true nature growled with a truculent ferocity no ship unturned the burning maggot self-reliant poppy dolls grieve nomad and supplicate awash with sense of blunder wondrous troops to ferry forth in delicates, wading thin wafer chipper dick. Fudgulent! Saps is saps and you can’t keystone around the Mersey talking false furrific puddle accents and expect the quash to take effect. Step up to this shredded jicama dilemma and pounding knowledge volumes to rightfully take aback what they shorn you of.

Next Up Hapless Noodles Won Ton Marinara

Boy, when I’m telling you wort matters, that’s genuous. Flick this, minxy puppet. Your diner dipping divas and VH1 typos and caught-red-footed Thom McAn’s and the breathe-heavy penny loafs and the rock solid Genovese and pip pip pip and who’s-yer-mummy excavations and rapier artifact whalebone and generously tip the turtle Tip and Tad’s steak knives in the swallowed-up valley of the ambergris and before yo and before yo-yo and the rising up like eukaryotic microorganisms but they just can’t kill the yeast.

Aft Wednesday and the Hobnob Chronicles

Then sudden steam fills the third Trista nose apparatus, forcing hot water pockets with odd ease and tranquility. Nothing bears fruit, so Dr. Frocktus Lemm brought information to bear about transworld, also known as trans-being realities, formed pro forma on the skin-encapsulated ego like a rainbow sheath or mock-deific matériel.

Half-Brethren to the Sun Dog Ba'art

Wherein this was, and 'twas ever thus, we saw the evisceration for more than feeble toadman exercise, but an offering to the novus and the comfirming gesture of a goat deity gone mad. That this starched soothsayer, this pallid shell of the myth spun awry, this awestruck cadre of the Boitano faithful would. Opry scrapbox, they take for granter that once there were rubes, now exponential rubes, hey everybody, lookit the rubes! Giggle, google, the big thing you heard about in your mom’s dingy kitchen, and the lifeline, the gone-damned lifeline of a blood trail dirty with soot and respect. World without men.

Deliciously Served

Burping epaulets, clues to the scheme, hope for those chillin’ on an infrared beam. Once Topol had a better idea of the topography his thesp skills crispened. Watch “Faneuil Falls” two or three times and gargle on the majesty that is Topol. Michael Winner and Yul Brynner served kips to coddle magistrate concerns, but lippy lippy kip high-shift fenders green gram guignol and fervent chipper cataran mosschool formula anchor mint captive shorn ability Tavi Tiki Riki mersh rabbit sing-along. Tyrant misfit Hubble-bound hobbled crown jewel hands clock tower princes keeping view barefoot savant plans afoot modern mind acute wholly active matrix man ohs ohs binary perspex shotglass minuet for the time being this, the being of time perhaps your best bet is fresh fruit or day-old cracker bread or hammer tips, surrounded as THE BEST ONES ARE and I have pushed this through for months they would allow binding truth HUMDINGER FLOSS attrition accusation acknowledgement assessment fulfillment brethren barn and in relative Euclidian space supplicate.

Jungian Providence and Rose Water Sorbet

Above cloud, light perfect, and Neil Diamond, molasses torture and prickle pear saucier. Light reigns and a gentle monarchy brought passivity to ferocity and pacifism to ten-grain fascism. Pete brought the Bisquick and Sherry brought the angst, Hank brought the sherry and Basquiat brought a big bag of peet. Sufi tofu boffo B.O. Mine yellow the coat of many brothers and where time’s constant was the steady stream the shifters of morrow held all new comers in contempt. The retro-consideration of guiding star polemics has brought shame upon the distant summer manger, bringing all a sense of fearful and a big bowl of doom flakes. Relax, you’re soaking in it.

Impetus, the Surly Catalyst

As sure as the North Star rose in June year one there are few days left and so much to get done we have to love and live and laugh and breathe and scurry in the sun it isn’t fun but must be done as cooler climes are on the run and if in time it seems undone you can still count yourself as one and if your fellow man you shun you betta git yerself a gun for when the battle has been won over a bean thought to be mung and the last scrap of a bun then the burden of a ton leaves glossolalia on your tongue.

Conspicuous Nonsuspicion

Were the era reversed, those same taggers and epithets and Poet McTeagle wallaby wanna-bes and bellow machine men and would-be Van Goghs and highest hosannas holies and decorated sub-generals and underlings of distinction and ladies in torn red and proletariat horse show and featherlings white and frosted goggle-wearers and protectors of the crown and down-trodden trod down and pizza-flipping scions and doughy middletown nobodies and fuzzy logic blockheads and hammered silver neophytes and rustic county bumpkins and dissection-destined street cats and pithy talky tubesters and round-the-cooler babblers and stuck zippers and stale-breath kippers would have said the same damn thing.

The Last Viking Raga

And soothing was the voice of The Beast, lulling Ninas into the dark chasm of the manufactured night. Bolo ties and sassafras, bowling green and rolling grass, rhythm keeping time with disparate rhyme, and suddenly, shuddered, the sheer Venetian truth of the blind leading the blind. Be fair, Haley’s comment as per existence portal beat as furthering agenda time conspicuous has norms of fealty brought first to region chair and then up the ladder through backdoor company swank, lifted, cleft, cleaved, with Kirk Douglas grimace, “Take your magic elsewhere!” Eschew wrapper as to gum is to wartime rubber.

Haruspicy and the Common Cat

Warm and flowing, these signs of fine tuning and fleeting carburetor gasps, your power heaps copious signs of dementia, upon, upon the teeming masses, except the ones with glasses, these choice cuts I make so that future sight may be served, with a dish of warm milk.

That Little Gem From the Hellfire Café

Wildly understood but less often quoted, Shirley’s hill of hemp met pre-dawn to cherry-pick a goat ringer, all absolved. Bound tightly in the pretense of the harbingers, we drift and bob without thought, leavened heads, left for dead, and thought unworthy of the sundry. My Max of Maxmillion gave a speech in the parlor about how Sweyn had swindled the turn-of-the-century boys out of their penny candy, so Disneyland’s Main Street merely upped the ante and increased the price of the candy, shifting the cent trade to the arcade.

Faded banter from a former corres-pundit, breathing heaving and thus receiving a tattered last ritual homestead, sanctified on the Winds of the Dakotas and being the last of its kind to escape the eye of Google Maps, shifting sands of thyme and rose quarry, smooth stone sentience and the pachyderm principle upon which raw memory is founded. Chapter or verse, this passage in which our hero, having found the golden marrow but left dead for silver bone, rises in permutateous blistering alchemy and turns antimony into gun metal gray hope.

New Magazine

I am starting a new magazine called Frown Shanty Humanitarian Quarterly and it will feature indignities blown up to 135%, and helpful tips on care in the jungles, and specious arguments on the rights of primates or the bonobos squeaky-clean reputations, and floor plans to create your own humanitarian shams, and recipes for light desserts, and to assist in this jaunty full-color 144-page extravaganza I’m calling out for the help and assistance of Dullard661, CaramelKarma, Fashunknut and PapsDressin. And the first issues hit the stands in 06/09 and we’ll have the launch on top of that building in New York with the penthouse.

When Horst Was My Muddah

Traversing opposites the morose schoolmarm feeds lilting nothings through the porous sponge oblongata of legions of child automatons, words to writhe and contort lumpy grayish matter hemispheres circular logic board member sizing up Koestler’s “summing up.” Tip the pump they say and the flow became more affordable, I read all about it and will drive right out of here when it gets to 77 cents. Times three that budget will take me a scooter-length away from this dafthouse. Ortheum. Ortheum. Ortheum. Return your buck.

Fervent gestures of broad conjecture perturbed the jester, bringing the blankly barbaric humor to plain mean-spirited. The jokes for some bring missed opportune back to face the wrath of graciousness, where former Go-Go’s Schock value in an interview bungalow on the outskirts, or the time with Carlisle and Valentine at the Palladium, hailed vacation-worthy by Travel & Leisure, cement any leads or frayed knots that might have pole-shimmied for a lurid and lucrative (or lucrid) past. Each cornerstone is likened to the rum-runners of small cottage philosophy; sotted and soiled, crumbled bleu cheese carnage, and the sow, sans lash.

Veiled Ouroboros Vs. The Blessed Sacrament

When up top, down below. When left below, wear lifts. When scooted left, spout Rush. When nudged right, Colmes poem. When thrust far, arrive near. When coaxed near, pan far. Got boots, scoff sandals. Doff sandals, das boot. When approached with red, counter green. When swallowed by blue, orange you glad for upheaval. And when usurped by purple, don’t be yeller.

Shreemp dinner for four, modern banter pallette, we confused honor for dolorous dip depth dyspeptic pawner, a return on investment parlayed into a consistent whole of reason, logic and trite theorem. The original systems adhere to a line of curvature so encumbered with the mass of through-finite time that obsolescence was a given from the start. But have a heart, ye stalwart mulligan, this populace swept up in a crud cake of greed bears nil resemblance to ethereal ideal. Whoop whoop, there’s woe in them Jimmycakes!

Substrate Theory for Mock Eel Pie

As directly as I can take upon my own thought strands so as to convey this linear detail, I have understood this to be intergalactically absorbing via cosmosis--the monochromatic light from an infinite medium without polarized components, bearing the nature of shiitake in the thin-film growth of its folds and corn starch and ginger for surface-bound reactions brimming large with hot peanut oil and the reconstituted texture of forged Anguilla. Bake for 15 minutes at 425°F until pastry puffs up brown, then 45 minutes at 350°F.

Coltish Machinations of the Lord

They brought me up at six, diligent soldiers of the low gun nation, an early suppose with minimum repose, dubbed early morn, and I knocked at the pearly score until the clams finally lost, and one citizen mollusk brought back to lustre with spit and grease and a few precious ounces of shine juice.

Get out the word, Dutch. Bring prithy and Gwynny or haphazard the effin’ fool who steals the sand guinea dollar shatter dream pocket nightward, keels back to find puka shell memory and a strand of buy-none get-none bond royalties. Capsize dolt ethics, pocket skyward taught medial skill set mendicant bonescape, or the saints, starching gin, while mobile Maurys stand attentive with the sordid scoop.

Orzo rice folly and Ouzo dreams, your slight and gauzy ballyhoo, blink thrice and tell me the image is in sync with the vision and/or/if the viewer. If not, curry up the guts to squint. That slit window is your chance to flatten earth, to retrograde from 3D to the transcendental dimensionless, where the only coordinate is a single immeasurable pinpoint of existence. Wet Speed and Waffle Toss, next three concurrent Thursdays.

Commerce Bleeds Like a Thick Syrupy Bronze

Deep encoded in the little seeping brains the germ of a germ in diminutive sprout terms the smallest of small but hardly theoretical, a first cause style pro-thrust in being that locomotes the heliotropic chain of which I bear witness as a current link. In finer form MikkaKat tends garden and MikeMaynurd tells tales of monk chivalry. HarHaarHaruka spins gold from mustard gone to seed and Lescow and CupolaJoe hark the herald angels bee sting.

You’ll find no solace for the cold corrosive now. Yet each passing noggin brings new perimeter statistics to the bean-counters of yore, yar, I be pirate? Drill down to the wording of the content and you’ll clearly see that the pretext outweighs the message and the imbalance can be weighed in metric tonnage. Foster these concerns, the absolute, the façade, the regal dressings of a ripe faux reality. And then, schism.

Sustenance, Albeit for Vermin

Near-radical crux-mongers brought the conversation to a point on the axis not unlike reams of dark material shredded like nesting for the big hombre crows. Deleterious nuts and factor in the hoopla and you’ve got a stretch of presuppose as long as the government is width. In the happy stances circumspect we breathe anew your concepts of wonder, spew on those systems that smite us, and bring top-side solutions to each and every hoary product.

Put it on display, and the trollop doth follow, pure in breed and honest vacant in supplicancy to the very man mallow allowed. Breech up, Pablo. This is the system, that one you ran for, you sighed for, you sized up the man for, and whatfor, Dumbledore? Sheet. Four-ply. Nature scene. And the eventual return of the Dominator. That’s all part of the negotiation that was made originally from four to six starforts in cross-communication via filament wire. Boston’s allies planted the most relevant information in kegs around the time of the Tea Party which remain to be revealed like Joseph Smith in the desert. And then you’ll eat three kinds of pie.

Lennon on Yeti

Circumstances in true shite, we’re blocking the money from the big guns by rocking clockwise on an axis of leyline mentality stretching three-quarters to the cosmos. Partial to a depth known mostly to mid-degree bricklayers (22 to 33 degrees), one comes to provide and guide in traditions yielding dominant results and not hurting a Sioux. Young muffin brain, your hubris will buy you no raisins. In cinnamon repose we powder-dust laurels of love upon Liverpudlian breast, as grows so too does dark, but ultimately bathes in light once again.

Bashist sphere and neo-glo folds into many more triangulated properties, brought to bear on the spectral vista etched upon the tooth of this Third Grand Parallel. Orwell’s “Myanmar Days” is precursor top purser immerser to this cursor and left none-the-worser. Pipe ship peccadillo chicken race and due and diligent research be DONE MY FRIEND be done and none left for the pickin’. Ham stretch a canvas, Bob, and be quicken my one remain the day a labyrinth of such delicate complexity as to incite spontaneous nirvana. It’s easy.

Approximate Weight in Layers

Wherein the principles of dissection provide such cross-sections as for the examination in remedial study of pig, shark, even cat, would someone please have the decency to render a system that would more accurately calculate our human weight in terms of the layer, not cake, nor red velvet, cross pieces like Biesty and such with cows in the New York art museums. Flavinoid tip of the waggy-dog hat to the blossom top rant that cleft the flower enigma, chipped dry by the powers that once would cherish it.

To redress, embrace, retrace, and ultimately project, we must first form a vertical hierarchy allowing for film and TARE discrepancies in layer weight. Thinly-sliced and packed with genetic information, crimes will unfairly be measured by the weight of the whole sample and not just the DNA weight, adding to lengthy jail times. I have told this to half a dozen of the country’s top people, and they misrepresent their presentation of this information to the nation’s capital. But if they know it, and I know they do because I told them, why aren’t they telling me as a citizen about it? Because I already know it? Wetzelclog and LittleWerbBoy will tell you the same.

At the Lawrence Juber Invitational

Members only got up that morning, and the rest had a siesta in Tatooine’s dual suns. They tore about and found the originals in a stockpile of lard, greasy sums of sweat extracted for a poor dog left behind in the nuptials. We tugged our collars and tore the branding from our shirts to generate a truly arbitrary neutrality, giving ballast and lambasting Gibbons, naturalist Euell and the Ballard of sci-fi, J.G.

Oh, he’s a fine one, alright—a factor of friction whose abrasiveness knows no viscosity, whose measures work in direct opposition to metrics, whose very essence teams with breem and carp. You mark that. I’m telling you now strange wonder to mark that. Remember the so-called “fine hooch” at the hoosegow.

Better Than New

Six to eight tentacles, waving synchronous, latent ambient sentient systems, with the flag waving, and marching on, this is the worthy vision of tomorrow’s mortals. Breached upon like toast to beans in farthing’s England, these heroically inured drones mix plaster to the tune of “Garden Party” or “One Tin Soldier.”

Structure Marred by Rebel Molecules

Stricture, that is those fibrous optics governed by elements of the electrically neutral, though covalence and convalescence tell tales of brave dimethyl Homeric radiant rods and cones nee components (wudda jerkfish?) and fated jewel encrusted dip a double pip a heart and spade. Condensing bound states and resonances, to presto boil and upon us lives the figment. Behold, then, the picometre sandwich, with most generous slices of Avogadro’s avocado.

Scientia, the knowledge, Sophia, wisdom, Soolaimon, the wings of a flea. Learned Man of the Marshlands, be in thy name a sprig of fact-laden mint, chewed, ruminated, burst fresh-like with the scent of knowing. Mute new year of promise, that is all, the one true figment of Newton’s imagination, elation, the happiness dwells and gives off the good grinny grin power.

Round, Predictable, and Ultimately Kelvin-Compliant

Thermodynamic dipstick weatherbeater shallow tepid unhomogenized willy pick. Wherefore art thou billion man march on the square hypotenuse tension tensile prehensile willy base. Half of the participants saw their scores dwindle to the pandering base and the rest are affected by genetic crystal structure. To allow that the true schemata of the SI base units might otherwise render those color temperatures at violet or in the event of clarity crystal, this is the objective of primal science yoga. To relate this spectrum to the 1st Baron is to know a more absolute thermometric scale temperate to electromagnetic and otherwise colored-in circles. That is to say that I offer forth the evolved pancake, a doughy curvature that is concave and complex and brings a measure of elasticity to the current rigidity of anti-physics. Ride the horse, Longfellow!

Walk, and Then Be Thy Legs

So someone said what happened and I said I got let out. That’s all there is; there is regrets but things done is done. I don’t abide by no getalong ethic of inter-relativity if it does not befit my person and some to do so. Caught level pickle doozy postulate mac-hacker lippy fresh hock-handed and everfresh.

Falafels of Grave Importance

Here are the top 10 band names for shipmates.

S.S. O’Toole
Phantom Brigade
Pigstick Half-Mast
Jibboom Daddies
Zula Time Zero
King Plank and the Orphan Kevels
Fetid Depth Charge
Ahoy the Anchor Goon
Scrimshaw Sally
Oakum Boyz

Copernican Pressure, Euclidian Release

A consecration of ashes on a certified fool’s golden pillow. A phlanx of angry antler men who adopt the very traits they set out to destroy. A wee-willen, twice-besmirched elf giving his all for the feeble caws of the wayward magpie. Are these the symbols of the maddening? They saved us here at Olive View, but the fires came so strong. In short: buy Bill Clinton a nice teak cabinet and be done with it.

Toffler's Future Out of Stock

Picture this: You’re a Level 1 Trimulac and the Farsi half of your cover has gone up in subtle, signaled smoke. Ten to 12 of your erstwhile wombats have infiltrated the last of your graham cracker houses and the crumbs are fetching ridiculously high shilling-to-dolla ratios on eBay U.K. Can you, would you walk away from all this for an ill-gotten NBA expansion team in a depressed Chinese agricultural province? I think not, and if you say yes then you manifest the wily bite of the hungry Argentinian bad seed. Unguent! We took the Porsche from the “Ferngully” guy to the Hollywood Athletic Club. That went.

Entry #34

And then this day, a pre-sub-minor Solara, where once thought to occur on 1/11/92, then shifts to 11/11/2009 (11). In point of fact once the direction is affected by perceived reader/mendicants and oft-shored malleable merchant class foundling, the work becomes as transparent as milky limestone surprise. Woody can? The fathers twill unravels as the light spreads, like Lite Brite in bonkers, then as you’ve seen Hasbro conquers. Nothing to be done for the little man, brighten up Tony for now I call you Reggie. There’s no underestimation of the music video, if the captions speak rightly, and humor done wisely, like the yellowed pages of yoke, er yore. Is this message clear? Who’s the wiser, Spitz or Pfizer? Keep yer worthless stock and make a soup. There were those who labored and bathed in the market carrying straws like Snoopy’s gobdamned Sopwith Camel and the bed was made and plans were laid but to little avail like a shirt with no tail and we all rode that rail to the station, Victoria. Likewise was a realistic and cannily rendered demagogue of rich perspex who wandered diligent into a field of emblematic vagary. Cosmos regulatory check. Bits off, bits off, brushing chips and binaries 01001000 01100001 01101101 01110100 01110010 01100001 01101101 01101011 and pushing southward towards West Liberty, O. Filibusters of time condone a specific vector graphic that is to say triangulation, polygons, some complicit blend of curved geometry bordering on the sacred. To all youse back-down types who dip a toe then leave the water no wetness of flashy flesh or bone shall forgive us now for wasting the prawn. And to see you’re really only very small enthralled he called and dolled it up with what was otherwise for all intensive porpoises and to the apparent appearances of every slick mammal there a dolphin in disguise. And dis, guys, is how truth eventually happens, accuracy, actuality, authenticity, credibility and a heavy teaspoon of volatile veracity. Pigeonhole! Marked are your days as the bearer of the narrow!

Forced Apathy Revenue Sharing

The subject of economics is treated peripherally as play money to the turn-of-the-century board game in transcendent time. A sound economy requires a deaf ear and blind eye, so told three dairy mendicants in their collection of the milk. As one who genuflected to the trade, hear this, Bartertime is nigh, and one makes the best of her or his time before 2009 initiating his neighbor. The guts to leave the temple, overturning tables, “I don’t want this!” That was the drill.

And did I say 2009? Cuz NAY, it wuz Nowtime. Basque in the shunshine. All shifting sands come to rest in berms of stone, and in kind flow south-southwestward to the place salmon fisherman Ian Anderson calls The Wood. Lester’s carburetor demographic shifted to Tiffany’s spheres and that magazine went under. I hear Crawdaddy cold-shifted to it-style webdom but bread pudding yields no proof without the bread. And that’s a bakery that finds itself in short supply, oh yeasty beasties. Consider the plight of the goat, and the scope of its e-scape.

Promissory Statuesque

Steak, they bring it smoky chips aflame, and partake of this fleshly bits of animality like Dawson’s fair catch up on Cripple Creek. Message, as understood, appears most often on NBC, but the best detail is found on ABC, where some see 1-2-3, and distinct patterns meant to portray cosmogony via drama and comedy. Note too ABC is most watched but perhaps least understood. That there would be a book to detail this meant too much danger to too many, so hosting a singular glob with filter such as this would disseminate, i.e. spread, canvas, compass, within the confines of Perspius Perspective, and beyond that MAN WOULD YOU JUST BACK OFF. It’s in here, I promise, the fragmentary matter has committed to the return of cohesive whole, and the New New Kings of Leon.

Y. DeCarlo V. DeLillo V. Palillo V. Papillon

At least three signals mentioned the promise of science expository and lack thereof (it was DoonRobbie, Dahlquest and MoonsOverMihammy) and that is true, no zen balance, no Jack Palance, so it goes, Nick Lowe. And here it says that truth chilled is nonetheless refreshing, but shunned peoples are cold and group people are warmer, and your governor was Mr. Freeze. Popdelia is conditional but operational, and all relevant submissions to the state have been irradiated. Some distract more than others, and the particulars of cognitive dissonance are few. Not my chosen field, but the clarity is apparent, apparent clarity, and Carmen Miranda stirs an aptitude in men that is kept under tight and doleful secret in Arizona’s so-called “belly bunkers.”

Disclosure: this tiny projector on the wrist casts bright truth up to 62” diagonal on the subway walls and tenement halls with minimal discoloration. But for my in-studio requests, I’ve dropped my harmonica, Albert. On point, science does not swallow RFK in the EPA, his autism stance waning on its theoretical vine, but then again, Valerie Perrine. Everybody has their faults, mine’s in California, systemic pandemic epidemic Lee Remick. When you least expect it, expect it, in the form of a rubber hose Horshack.

Evidence of Me, Elsewhere

Who’s eatin’ the Chubby Bar? A delicious concoction of trans saturated corn starch and wood, the Chubby gets a rise out of yer. Es Barney gives more comedy per minute than Sam Salmon having the tramples show. It’s to get better now, I am soon to feature more with the help of my friend Randy G. (who I of course call Reggie), he the buyer of my MG, GT and 300Z, and he promised to help me add photo and audio and documents and adverts. That is to say, the validation you seek and ye shall finders keepers losers we the people in order to form a more perfect circle of acquaintances and friends, have another, turn a phrase? Wellesley slapped my beard right off so SAIL ON WELLESLEY and take your misguided shambles of a Shangri-La with you. Referring Three Dog Night, add spinning wheel, Journey, Grateful Dead, Ezekiel et. al., see PMRC v. Zappa.

Proffer

Proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer proffer.

Cerlean Rangers of the Calcified Mummy Wrap

Today I am weighted with the heaviness of my own folly. Had these cables, routers and relays been imbued with light and not fright, the messages might have been heard. But by now it almost seems obvious not to be true. Dissect it, reconstruct it, and use it, but first you must find it. It won’t be long, and I tell you this because in the deep, one must reach to be felt. Valid Jimbo, thy runners are nigh, and hardly long enough. Then you bring rumor of giant-tentacled insects? Not cool. Invasive. Look at Haiti. Or when Ben Stiller got testy at the MTV Movie Awards the year Faye Dunaway gave the award for best sandwich. Melt down Macca’s MTV Breathing Legend Award and make another set of thematic tokens for Beatles Monopoly. After all, Wonder Woman was Diana Something, not Diane von Furstenberg. The jobless 6.5%, Olly Stone and Roman Polanski, the Shroud of Turin, these are all predatory prelude antidote to “Donkey Xote.” And that I defy anyone to deny. Do you hear me, SalivatingDilapidus?

A Hogshead of Real Fire

Slip in quietly, little Muck Muck, for the jewels of the phantom can only be disturbed by the squeals of the Mogwai. From the sequel of “The Time Machine,” which through its own temporal-folding premise came out before “The Time Machine” itself and before H.G. Wells was born but after Orson Welles shilled the wine and peas. WE know of a little hamlet where Oscar Meyer, Orson Bean, the Olsen Twins and Meyer Lansky dwell, and the backgammon is finer than a warm dollop of Muamba Nsusu.

Don’t give me that goody goody fish shiite; tabernacle tambourine tourmaline toasted cracker fraud nebbish rubbish and I’M GOING TO SAY THIS NOW, that a lot of the people and that’s including FroogBurgers are beginning to PISS ME OFF so you need to STOP THOSE THOUGHTS that get down and kiss the ground and hope one of us has the GUTS to step through this infinite transom and BREAK US OUT OF HERE. I’m not a beggar and I’m not about to break ranks with the limbo cognoscenti but I’m really close to undoing it here. Forewarned.

A rarified earth part three—dish it if you must, but accuracy in the Akashic system relies on rail schedules with less than 5% error and real television listings from the revivified TV Guide. There needs to be a system, man. Keri Russell as Eve. Antonio Banderas as Dali. Jack Black as Gulliver. They, you, me, we, te, must know that even with a revised daylight savings time schematic we are not to be ignored. Surreptitious so delicious meretricious dirty dishes.

Argybardfest

Wainscot horsehead mallard, this maladroit shackle of modern manhood that thrusts and parries as the half-spout nibbler finds bold new thresholds of bog and goober. Whence the arriva derci arrival of Italian mod was the mode, modus, an extension of “Waterworld” has become manifest. In the “Bourne Contingency,” the Matt Damon character has made other plans. Four score and three scamper, some men help and some men hamper, got a smoke you need a tamper, Yogi is a happy camper. Forsooth, where lives a shiv they named her Liv.

I Feel Pretty (Reticent)

I feel reticent
Oh so reticent
I feel reticent, and petulant, and fried
And my reticence
Has me cowering in fear tonight

Nimbletown Reels From Sod Demographic Intention

Secondly, I am not crazy, and it has been proved. The IQ has been clocked at 150 and if anything this level of intelligence is clearly above my own head, wrapped in silver glitter and loosed upon the unsuspecting contingent of populace platter and that’s the Daily Special. Pop rop top-a-dop doo diddly won, won tonnage frommage from the mage and say halo to gold energy. And this will not be understood for some time, and obligations as such require diligent postings but for the day seventh. And oh, pop the rocket, for where there is souffle, there is surely rotten egg. And by this I mean to say there was a shining light in this town of greatness when first I eyed upon it, but then came a heavy, something once pristine now vexed and hexed and foul and mean, rotted, from the inside, even after the clean-up type of thing.

In the commercial where Al Franken was the Stuart Smiley of the right I cued up Triumvirat’s “The Burning Sword of Capula” backwards at 78 and saw the Anti-Ba’al. I also heard about Michael Crichton and remember the original “Andromeda Strain.” I also wait for the “High School Musical” hit to become “College Drama.” I also rain tears of real remorse for the death of “King of the Hill,” remembering the real Garland, Texas and the alley behind the Kraft plant. Here’s your long shot, lone scavenger—harbinger mariner positor ferrier. Shims be living large in the hollowed-out cavity of the young cur, cusp and cuspy Sir Cuthburt. Absent-minded oft-reminded duly-kinded leather-binded coffee-grinded lucky-finded maverick sauce.

New Magazine

I am starting a new magazine called Blend Schism Conspiracy it will include information about blend schisms and how they effect conspiracy theories, notions really, and sublimate the sublimators, and publish interviews of when Graham Nash was at Music Plus Video, this was some time ago of course, and we will have articles about where the schisms lie, and who will sew them up, reap and sow. And I’m gunna need Butterbean43, ROTFLMDO and WelchBetGrapeJars to help on this project. And the other issues will include all the information as it relates to these things, individual schism, sipping happily from a cash milk cow, the first cover subject, Ralph's World or Ne-Yo. And the first issue will be out 04/09 and I can’t make the advanced copies without a publisher so who asked.

What Yonder Wind Do Blow

Now you feel it, the breeze, soft, driven, slow and glad, ala le new linguistic. It changes, this is the tempo, baa baa baa, rhymically acute and lyrically moot. This time will be different because the electorate expectorate projects as it protects, amid the shod and shrap-nel that gathers like the metaphorical steely knives that just can’t seem to kill the beast, and Barbarella’s gravity-defying turn ends up with “33 Variations” for Jane Fonda in 2009, Appomattox approximately 32 more than the fork is willing to poke.

In states where capital resides in capitol, discs by Beatles, Katy Perry, Coldplay, Varsity Fan Club and Johnny Otis (The Capitol Years) are the most beneficial. That’s an informal poll, but seems accurate. Maybe when Anthony Edwards is done whoopin’ it up on “ER” again he can scoot over to the set of sequined sequel “The Surer Thing” and make appearances. Dumping Shonda Rhimes with surgical precision is not a gray area, and even Bruce Springsteen to the rescue MUST AGREE that this just prolongs the inevitable beverage problem.

With Magneto-Like Insouciance

The elders are going to be able to show you the insidious nature of this whole scheme, and I’m not ashamed to say that. You are us, this connection fusing an unexplored bond between the once-called “we” and the young ’uns that nextelder (né: nexus) can never penetrate. In the first story Neil Finn from Crowded House told me thus: “I was the one who actually pushed the button” and later “get your arrangement together” and at the time we knew that to be valid Kiwi shoe polish wisdom. Now there’s this push for monkfish jazz and tuna piano and more channels than pipeline. And Doucy says what? Check whet yo’self, suh! And be gone with yer druthers.

Pollywog Gaseous Clay Miner, Friend-O

Two of the particular readers B-RollFrank and Guzzies have taken it to task to insult and de-evolute many of those principles which I find dear. Such transgression with or without aggression now or never does not benefit the times. When Anne Rice brought Jesus to the party those vamps didn’t see it coming! But easily more important, does Ian Fleming know about “Quantum of Solace”? Dominate agitate instigate litigate yodelate Nairobi evergreens wallow sullen over fallen Lysistrata Aeschylus. Panky! Washed-up half-flower of nebulous causes, prey for U.S.

Bless Us All With His Oratory Prowess

Ben Jonson had it right.

Eddie Cochran Eric Clapton Elvis Costello and EC Comics

Wisenaut. We accept a certain decorum from a forum of our peers, yet scoff and doff a cap of spittle to the elder years. Waning, waxing, you name it, I am here to disseminate as necessary in no-frills fashion as dictated by the spheres of the heavens.

I suspect the last time 26.4 million people watched an ad was “Where’s the Beef?” Inside their own little worlds, this means something, but Jon Hamm on “30 Rock”? That’s a glockenspiel that rings to its own archer, my friends. And by this I mean to say the current shift in media junkie gestalt results in the over-reportage and under-achievage so readily and so handily, dainty ’n’ new like doppel Dali’s daisy.

Hoof it!

Polyglot Nü Heaven Annual

They say in those reviews I read “Day in day out Forkmode is spreads his brand of intelikshuel jelly but is he saying something?” I am, and saying it obtuse in the style of a V-neck if you can just look through your own preconditioned determinants vis a vis reading between the lines or breathing between the ether. I have evidence and I have heard the sound of success’s soul screaming skyward and I talk to the best of them, and a cohesive whole is in sight for everyone.

Let me tell you this, you cannot MARGINALIZE THE FACT THAT I AM THE MAN. I scoff at the Jonas Brothers new movie unless there is a role for Elvis Costello. I quickly file news of Joaquin Phoenix’s inpending retirement in the Usher bin with a flick of the wrist. I chastise Jennifer Aniston for again wrapping herself shamelessly in Mayer’s web. There’s twice as many chips in this half-baked cookie and those Cardiff dames is skimmin’ by the bushel. Ha’penny, ha’penny, whole. You know something about directionals that I don’t, lest we engage the Perspius Perspective.

Tittle, Y.A.

Pillowshanks grabbed studiously, then retracted a statement as shrill as the driven show. I am loyal to a certain transparency--Kodak AND Kodiak--and the reality here is a sharp distant to Chuck Woolery’s tomfoolery. This business digests and spits like some tinseltown duodenum, and packing double-barrel insult to injury (i.e. “in jury,” judgment) is the mindful NBC “Chuck” passing Nicole Richie as thesp instead of just a pest. Hello? Is it me you’re looking for? Trachea malodorous malcontent auspicious jejunum lenient farthing happenstance nook.

Don’t worry little mindscape; Dubya’s only looking for the remnants of the Kyoko Protocol in the snow. Again, the raw truth rears itself with One Day as a Lion, lambs be damned. ESA might revive E3 but could just as easily kill it. The Tropicana can’t have its casino back but here, please accept this complimentary orange juice. Jen Aniston stunt-casting insures “30 Rock” is dragged down by the stone, Floyd-style. Palatino and Brecht do not mix, even if Sigourney Weaver is involved.

Hava Tampa Hava Nagila Gila V. Gojira

It is harder to blog on a day like today, with the air whistling out of the sails of what was left of the devil’s music. On the outside, things look rosy, but on the inside, guttywog torn asundah. The music is din, the cogs creaky, and the corporatization complete. The evil rock absorbed, assimilated and absolved, now served like soft yogurt in outlets mainstream mainlining on our sacred manna. So this is love?

Flock of Chekhov's Seagulls

Poor, poor mendicant! Topical cigar panel wicker Roman Tuesday ballustrade substrate reasoned polyglot whistle-stop back-digger fallen pollen Hoosier-hucking almost-didn’t marked different retro-distant oligarchal frosted maple simulate prevaricate expectorate administrate. Those words in a tossed salad gonna pay you back a five-fold.

Droppin' Rhymes Like Svengali Drop Bisquit

Baffled truly, like a Renaissance rat in a race to the Finnish, and by this I mean to say it hasn’t been easy to reveal in pieces parts the joie de Aqua Viva that concentrates like nanosubstrate in certain brain sectors, Jonesy. Jonesy’s drowning was a mishap folks, but there is direct lineage truthful details strung delicately like gossamer from the UK to the US, or the distance between Hartford, Sussex and Seattle, Washington, divided by the 9,042 days between July 3, 1969 and April 5, 1994. BJ’s 9,987 beat KC’s 9,906 by 81. That is to say that Will Ferrell’s W. brought welcome respite, Denny’s return to “Grey’s” has no bearing on the subject, and Jennifer Hudson is too much to bear today.

T-Red Pixelated

I’m tired, yes, but no prompting can make me take those pills if I don’t want to. The creation lies in the propulsion, and the propulsion is secreted in a nether-region of the brain that must not be adjusted via synthetics, there were some kind of pants related to synthetics, or a synthetic pant leg, perhaps made special for the odd-limbed wearer, for the purpose of being dapper, and fearn’t the pixilated pixie. You said or suggested strongly (yes I am talking to you MoiHelmut) I clearly didn’t read my own posts but I do, every word as it is written and there’s no place for derision in the revisions, but there are certainly clues throughout, and that’s what I brought it here for, as if to say this may be fragments but let’s look at the whole chunk. Lemming fields, lemming fields, lemming fields, lemming fields.

Straight Up

People written in and asked me for true that I have written such books and articles for such entities as to have things that are good and truly out in the world and I say to you yes that’s the truth. I have seen my share of wonders and threads talked to the stars and have picture and recordings and will start putting in here when the feeble deeds have it. But I'll tell you this I’ve met people I never thought I would meet, on the phone and in the streets, in tabs and sometimes sheets, as sure as you can’t run quickly from a fellow named Adolpho. And once in Cincinnati. I even wrote the entry for Paula Abdul once, for a cool Grant.

Funk Revelation #49

The powers-that-buzz-in tell me (shell me) that the James Gang rode again in a concert tour in 2006. Oh really? What about the Eagles then, because I know they played out but didn’t see it. But the James Gang, that’s a pie-faced lie designed to get me to come out of here and it ain’t working. And then I suppose Can is reunited too? Or Bubble Puppy or whatever that band is. And by this I mean to say we have moved forward, into a morass of thick-tar fo’shnizzle that sings a solemn tune of no-pence comeuppance turning beauty into the azure drip of some ersatz neoprine scene. Buck unkempt ideology and grip fantastic those shards of reason built to shred the waving nylon walls of deceit. And Shrineology—the “ology” of shrines.

Froot-tootin’ froot-tootin’! Magnum buck and mavericks, truly parted split like low seam and partly recoiled for three full measures.

Welcome To My Life, Tattoo

Tattoo was blasted to bits as the incoming subterfuge proved too much for his tiny frame. Along the way some commander had always told him to mind his shoes, and these jutted forthright like the feted birthright of a man too soon shambled. Equivocally or at least on time, each 33 1/3 revolution yields one more circular slice of the dominus pie. There are many spins which attribute to this, not the least of which are some of the so-called prog rock genre in that telling the story as the weaving of many baskets results in a finer interpretation of such discerning material by Kansas, Rush, Yes and all of its splinter parts and subjugations, and Howe. All I’m really saying here is that the Who knew; Horton Heat heard it; and Mark Heard sold it on a different level. How is this not obvious?

New Magazine

I am starting a new magazine called Conspiracy Theory and Cultural Review. It will cover theorists and icons and cultural bastions who espouse conspiracy over hegemony, or parsimony or whatever it is. With crossovers whenever possible, like Hedley Lamar on UFOs or Telly Savalas with the TRUTH about geodesic domes. Each guest contributor could come over prepared with her or his own fraudulent papers and “become” this entity as they wrote their contributions at my desk. I encourage my readers ElmoRedfire, TajMaballs and hoophead to take up the cause and clackety-clack it with the rich sell you’re all capable of. Lift off by 03/09, Holmes (sans Yoyo)!

Of Stossel, Streusel and First-Rights Refusal

I retain first rights and third rights on thoes writings as I write them and will negotiate for second rights in certain formats but cannot discuss electronic rights. Well, you know Entertainment Weakly self-referenced themselves as having drawn a comparison between Tina Fey and Sarah Palin when everyone with two eyes was already doing it. Smashing Pumpkins will play Guitar Hero World Tour on October 25 and turn into soup tureens on November 1. Stossel show was politically incorrect but networkially expedient. Streusel goes well with the Toledo Blade’s recipe for pumpkin oat cake. Finally, in the news Coke has first-rights refusal for Olympic torch and I have first-rights refusal of Coke over Dr Poplar.

The Grapes and the Tipsy Town Mouse

As the friend Aesop used to say, the gossip you desire is bound and categoried in tidy bundles like fresh snapping twigs. Now this Trishelle is back with the Hulk Hogan and the David Banner Meredith Baxter Birney Bill Bixby thing, and that costs the taxpayers something. The grapes brought us pictures of the aliens from “Alias: Star Trek” version and Syler looks pretty bada Look, I’m packin’ rats. ss with the pointy ears. SPOILER: SPOCK TURNS OUT TO BE SYLER. And is Anne Hathaway’s mystery man gay? AC/DC discovered that if you keep releasing the same album long enough, it may become a hit again a few decades later. And the tipsy town mouse again proves he’s doing something right as Rice University prepares to serve up a new cancer-fighting beer, now dats da wort. Again, I say, IT IS FUTILE TO ARGUE WITH THE UNINFORMED.

Ollywood Huffle

From a reader named OlmosToasted, and how he ever got here I do not rightly know:

So there’s Hollywood and Bollywood. What if…?

Pratfall movies = Follywood
Hick movies = Gollywood
Santa movies = Jollywood
Doom Goddess movies = Kaliwood
Lolita’s sucker = Lollywood
Laurel & Hardy = Ollywood
Willing Parrot movies = Pollywood
North Carolina movies = Raleighwood
Aand more and more.

Did I win anything?

He did not.

Max Payne Vs. Soul Train

You should see how they are, all riding up high under the sun without a hint of sweat. This kind of box office reflects the climate of times, a fictional character once-removed from a consoul (“Max Payne”) versus a real person caricatured (“W.”) and wo whadyaknow he’s also da POTUS right now and he lost this one. Apolitical, analytical, faux-umbilical. I am bound by transformational law to avoid prosciutto, by this I mean to say I will see “W.” for film noir and “Max Payne” as fois gras.

As for Don Cornelius, well let’s say it right here in 14 point or whatever they set you on. The house vibe gets a little crazy sometimes, and you’ve got to get yer fits while yer fit-gittin’s good, but not for physical. That’s for what it means to have soul, on the train, in the sunshine, when it gets good again, ‘cuz that’s where you want it, and by this I mean to say it when you’re riding that deep-down and dusky train of the soul made manifest with the manifunk.

Too Heavy to Hail Metallica

Listen, like the grandfather who bought the shiny rock for the young girlfriend with a check knowing the bank was empty but the weekend procured, the rock of a different kind, here talking about Metallica, is alive and well and rattling my senses to the core, drowning out voices, and generally too heavy to properly hail in the old Viking arms-over-your-head sense. But oh, the songs. When I saw them years ago the grated remains of Queensrike still permeated the stadium floor, but the symbols of justice loomed large over the flying fingers of James and Kirk. Hey, check that out. James Kirk.

By to Neal Hefti

Of all the accents you ever heard, what’s the first one you think of? Well the one that’s talking to your head, of course. I heard that accent loud and true when I heard that longtime composer of greatness Neal Hefti had passed away. The first record I ever got was a 45 size of the Batman Theme by Neal Hefti from 40 years ago and I still have it and he could have signed that thing too but I waited too long to ask and now it’s too late, and now the echoes in my head are of Neal Hefti and the Batman Theme with a little reverb on it. Neal Hefti.

Perspius Perspective

All the con men wanna tell ya that ya runnin’ with a fella that’d turn a purple yella like a kook. But I am not about that. I am about harvesting a return on the costly, causticly mendicanted thoughts that round out the brain of yourself and others, insomuch as we understand it from a Perspius Perspective.

Mendicant! I understand that the Bee Wize Company and any other company that may have been at fault in this could still be in play. But it is the media that field this play, and I guess you might say I’m trying to steal third in true essay form. Call me Jefe, a dusty honorific from my friend Graham.

Much of what is here rewrought went to the outlets you’d expect, but we lost the address to Argosy so those did not. In any event, I have known enough publicist chatties to know that for maximum expulsure your propellant must be dapper and just. Bear my propellant wisely, or shuffle off to hominem’s highway. Lé Stupé!