oh love,
the great what. love sees wars, even, in the elemental press towards
exacting a place from the edge of nowhere. discussion doesn't diminish
the fret of finding more oil in the garden, we just wonder why our vote
always kills.
This bit made me think of Helen Cixous for some reason.
can't remember the phrase.. damn..
lq
----- Original Message -----
From: "Allen Bramhall" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
To: <[email protected]>
Sent: Sunday, August 06, 2006 5:41 AM
Subject: ninjas in the expansion joints
we rose in the great gust of gifted good morning. we ran the slope to
its downward friction, smack dab into all that we left. that was the
point all along, evidence (the tracks of our shoes) to the contrary.
stories always head to some plain of typical reaction. not to say that
we posed, good friends. we just read too much. ninjas on the roofs of
everywhere, cracked and blighty with all they've had to tell: these
essences of implosion constitute an accepted governing. smudges in
primary documents cover the estimates of the ruling class. it will only
take time to disagree, and love still lasts longer. Last Language
executes a question by wondering if all that sand was worth the fight.
amazed, you might be, dear Reader in your association, to learn of
battles mentioned in newspapers and other sites of presentation. did you
think the Kennedy Camelot helped you out of bed? you were loving way
before that. I saw that very fact in a particular cloud that came to me,
possibly just recently. way before the Philippine nugget bore its
registered fruit, way before those insinuations of practice thru out the
organizing system of economic contempt, the ball had rolled and rolled.
too many people trip on the wording, haha, laughs Excellent English.
Tundra sweats a bundle with the effort of the lower clime. Yeti looks
freak out in the city that we share. we've expanded easily, to subways,
parks and all the implements. this gestures toward the closing number,
like a bell in the gloaming. we love, in situations of desperate
cooling, while the land cracks up good and solid. Everest snow will
muscle down on our apt phrases, just as the champion army stops for a
bunch of water to enliven future situational ways. how far, wondered
Excellent English aloud (where the problem world exists in dots and
dashes), will the information go? no one knows but the creek rises. a
creek! I cry. my god, I am given to yell for the flourish of rocks worn
smooth by the water's delight. why do I say delight in a gravitational
imperative? because plain things surround darkened excesses. so we came
to a bridge over a river, a dynamic landscape in every respect. the
river looked cool and precious. the view gave us an image of integrity
divided by the ratio of our attention. we crossed in a pathetic equation
of interest and the spark made softer by the dilation of love. oh love,
the great what. love sees wars, even, in the elemental press towards
exacting a place from the edge of nowhere. discussion doesn't diminish
the fret of finding more oil in the garden, we just wonder why our vote
always kills. we're at the same loose ends as always, as Reader frankly
can distill. Yeti, our distinguished colleague and less than upbeat
Wookie, yowls something strange without benefit of a word. made plangent
by the test, we all agree. the story takes its toll, as you, rare
Reader, perfectly know.
