Hold on, till I rearrange my weekend, although how you escaped me in the first place I'll never know. I'll need to wash my t-shirt too - the stress!
It was attritional in patches, but once their spirit left them, early enough too, it was there to be taken. They should not have the guts to come to ours and front up, but they are dangerous still. A second yesterday may have sealed the deal.
My mind's not on it, there's too much happening. As I eagerly refresh hoping for a result, my thoughts turn to those single rogue magpies that haunted my tardy morning's journey. Begone vile beasts and curse me no more.
You are now the proud owner of what exactly?
Thursday 26 February 2009
Wednesday 25 February 2009
Repel Lent
You are my brush. The floor is my canvas. I have learnt the forms and now must sweep you, this way, then that, to create beauty.
I am there to exhibit you, to show you off, but also to lead and control you.
You are there to follow me, to feel free on the paths I lead you down, to move as I direct.
We are balanced, a constant circle that knows no beginning nor end and that must proceed with care and grace and, not least, elegance.
I flipped them all. Each arced high into the fluorescent night and returned safely to its hot home. Then they were slathered and encrusted, prior to being consumed.
I stared at your one giant eye and you fed me tales of fantastic places, after a fashion, before I went once more to dream and begin the nightmare anew.
You're still there, although they say it won't be long. At least they have afforded you dignity and privacy this time, much like I suggested all those months ago. I hope you feel peace and no fear, for there is nothing to be afraid of. The ones left behind will feel all the pain.
I am there to exhibit you, to show you off, but also to lead and control you.
You are there to follow me, to feel free on the paths I lead you down, to move as I direct.
We are balanced, a constant circle that knows no beginning nor end and that must proceed with care and grace and, not least, elegance.
I flipped them all. Each arced high into the fluorescent night and returned safely to its hot home. Then they were slathered and encrusted, prior to being consumed.
I stared at your one giant eye and you fed me tales of fantastic places, after a fashion, before I went once more to dream and begin the nightmare anew.
You're still there, although they say it won't be long. At least they have afforded you dignity and privacy this time, much like I suggested all those months ago. I hope you feel peace and no fear, for there is nothing to be afraid of. The ones left behind will feel all the pain.
Tuesday 24 February 2009
Thought Full
When you remember something, are you remembering the event itself or the last time you remembered it??
Pass Ion
Today is the greatest of all the holidays. It is the only one that involves no gift giving of any kind, scalding hot implements, and thick gooey batter.
I'm a mean pancake flipping machine, and let it be known that only a flipped pancake contains the true measure of taste, those that are spatula-turned taste flat and limp compared to the joy that exudes from a pancake that has defied gravity.
My toppings of choice are traditional, some butter, sugar, and lemon juice. I normally avoid lemons, the only other ingestion I make of them being as part of an occasional rock shandy, but there is something magic about the combination of a lemony tang with the sweet greasiness of the butter and the savoury lightness of the pancake.
My batter was made last night in a flurry of activity after I came home from the slog - it is highly recommended that it be allowed to settle for at least 30 minutes before use - the more old-school and prepared among us go for the overnight.
It will be late by the time I get my chops around one at all, for I must dance this eve, but pancakes and highlights after a delightful Tango seem like a pleasant reward for my Tuesday efforts.
I'm a mean pancake flipping machine, and let it be known that only a flipped pancake contains the true measure of taste, those that are spatula-turned taste flat and limp compared to the joy that exudes from a pancake that has defied gravity.
My toppings of choice are traditional, some butter, sugar, and lemon juice. I normally avoid lemons, the only other ingestion I make of them being as part of an occasional rock shandy, but there is something magic about the combination of a lemony tang with the sweet greasiness of the butter and the savoury lightness of the pancake.
My batter was made last night in a flurry of activity after I came home from the slog - it is highly recommended that it be allowed to settle for at least 30 minutes before use - the more old-school and prepared among us go for the overnight.
It will be late by the time I get my chops around one at all, for I must dance this eve, but pancakes and highlights after a delightful Tango seem like a pleasant reward for my Tuesday efforts.
Monday 23 February 2009
Read Just
The work is drying up.
23 out of 278 is decent, but not prize-winning.
Don't make me relive my so-called illness, it's difficult enough to stay in character, let's just leave the past behind us.
Will I feel it when you pass? Will I know? I'm pretty sure the last time someone that close to me went on I knew it before the call came in. Was that because we were closer, or will it happen this time too?
23 out of 278 is decent, but not prize-winning.
Don't make me relive my so-called illness, it's difficult enough to stay in character, let's just leave the past behind us.
Will I feel it when you pass? Will I know? I'm pretty sure the last time someone that close to me went on I knew it before the call came in. Was that because we were closer, or will it happen this time too?
Wednesday 18 February 2009
Palin Drome
Severed from the synthesis of synthesis theses.
Striking smooth and straight for eighty.
Finding the right recipe for aural perfection is more difficult when one knows not how to cook with sounds.
A day one stew cooked slow is equivalent to a quickly boiled day three.
Striking smooth and straight for eighty.
Finding the right recipe for aural perfection is more difficult when one knows not how to cook with sounds.
A day one stew cooked slow is equivalent to a quickly boiled day three.
Monday 16 February 2009
Con Text
Lies from above hold more water than mine.
My doings come second, naturally. They are of little consequence.
Just don't bother.
My doings come second, naturally. They are of little consequence.
Just don't bother.
Friday 13 February 2009
Whizz, er?
Pandora: "She's upset becuase her mum got caught making monkey and her dad went ape: Bananas!"
She says she's useless, but she's a riot.
GO PANDA!!!
She says she's useless, but she's a riot.
GO PANDA!!!
Thursday 12 February 2009
A Musing
Would being kept in a darkened room really inhibit stimuli to the brain?
Would not that fine organ run wild with panic and fierce imaginings if kept enclosed in black silence for ten minutes or so?
A finer way to limit cognition would surely be to sit a patient on a bus through town, which would guarantee the certainty of mind-numbness. Such a humming, humid atmosphere has a deadening effect, as do the vacant stares of those empty vessels, clinging hard to their dreams as they drift through this plane, stunted and shunted aside. The everlasting crawl through the city's choked arteries, riddled with car cholesterol, kills desire and vanquishes all inspiration. The grey skies and hanging mists suck the light from all lives. Those tragic adverts on the side of the street with all the penetration of a eunuch go unnocticed as the frozen grey matters slip by, unmoved.
That should be the baseline, they don't come deader than that.
Would not that fine organ run wild with panic and fierce imaginings if kept enclosed in black silence for ten minutes or so?
A finer way to limit cognition would surely be to sit a patient on a bus through town, which would guarantee the certainty of mind-numbness. Such a humming, humid atmosphere has a deadening effect, as do the vacant stares of those empty vessels, clinging hard to their dreams as they drift through this plane, stunted and shunted aside. The everlasting crawl through the city's choked arteries, riddled with car cholesterol, kills desire and vanquishes all inspiration. The grey skies and hanging mists suck the light from all lives. Those tragic adverts on the side of the street with all the penetration of a eunuch go unnocticed as the frozen grey matters slip by, unmoved.
That should be the baseline, they don't come deader than that.
Am I Cable?
Embrace Finns bearing gifts: Play bad. Win.
A quick slap of the pan thins one out for even heat distribution and maximum rarity.
Play with your monopoly money and pray it doesn't become real.
We'll transform your rhythms into a singularity before we attempt to add to them.
The Admiral seemed to be an actor.
A quick slap of the pan thins one out for even heat distribution and maximum rarity.
Play with your monopoly money and pray it doesn't become real.
We'll transform your rhythms into a singularity before we attempt to add to them.
The Admiral seemed to be an actor.
Wednesday 11 February 2009
Re: View
My lead was sloppy. No poise, no grace, poor balance. Turn your shoulders without moving your hips.
It's funny how the one without power was the bravest of them all.
Our rivals went down to a superior entity. As superior beings, can we deal with the inferior?
It's funny how the one without power was the bravest of them all.
Our rivals went down to a superior entity. As superior beings, can we deal with the inferior?
Tuesday 10 February 2009
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