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Showing posts from August 15, 2010

Feelin’ Bad, the Days of Spooky Tooth

Pocket-sized research grant records patient leaning in some bygone age. Proper agrarian sensibility astounds every member of The Cure. On a good day. The Monkees were panelists. Paul Simon gestured towards slouching distant constellations, Art Garfunkel no help when the patterns became clear. And then Kenny Rogers took drugs with flower children tasting tasty with the condition his condiment is in. Sasquatch invalidated by the time I get to Phoenix. Record your loss here.

This Is Serious Money

When Sarah Palin became a rash, true twins unearthed like distance and we want to know more. Sarah’s forest figures in the fingers of slipping past dawn were raw ripping of calico. These planets should know within our lifetime. So lucky, with Russia ready to move in, the degree in which Sarah Palin could write one word after another. Dogs have proven that dinner is yummy like a doctor. Depend on Sarah as a plum based on previous plums. We cannot forget the seat prevailing in the swift clouds around Mt Everest. A unique pattern of crunchy yet withered forgery faced Sarah for a tennis court minute. Sarah’s opulent progeny, built by Vincent van Gogh, leaves hundreds of collectors questioning expertise. It’s ok van Gogh style: test tubes will always have babies.

First Tattoo

The apple falls because it is plump. The bit of leaf floating in the pool reacts to change. We were restless. The Doors were on television describing arcs of colour for the first time. You were a piano bench, as I recall, and I was a town in Massachusetts. Both of us saw time fly.