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.