Friday, September 18, 2009

Pomp & Circumstacnes # 12 & 35, the Plural of Pomp

Rumours trickled as Steve Jobs landed on Mars. Shadows that night were strong and wavered alarmingly. Toads of wet nature filed remorse, pouring Steve into network. Season of mist and mellow room for little more startled Elgar and common sense. You could divine the nature of a practical sentence while we wait for more. These stars are not wholly natural.

You speak in the tongue of left out of, remarked sternly Steve in the front section. Even a verb could stop in its tracks, to hear him say so. Heft of dawn as imperious range of feeling. This is the mood when young Steve Jobs procured federation. Exact nature of this august equation went into books. Books filled the trunk, which caught fire.

Steve Jobs, in relation to Venus and Mars, among the celestial upbringing, dour in cause, slops up Vegan gravy. Well wishers equate nose with bother. Shadows grew in importance as people signed each others name. This name is now mine, said Steve Jobs. Billy Gates laughed. It is a strange courage you give me, man, said Gates the Giver. Then trumpets, then not.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

These Salsa Dancers Need Room

Even light is a considerable possum, pointy teeth and the exposed waiting till you go away. Dawn light was wider than brilliant, but all could discern a gravel road, which leads to pointing. Grasses are browner, a maple imports colour. When you rise, and it is dawn, and the day is perfect or prefect, then the blue inclusion of this poised sky realizes in us the maximum map. That equation blurs, stemming from precision in analysis, which bores the public, but stand here for a moment. Here is a cyclic endeavour, with sunset spread across a golden maximum. Grecian executed cumulus pump fully into a content-rich implication. Oh, said the poet.