Sunday, December 11, 2011
Saturday, December 3, 2011
throwing his bullet wounds at us,”
said George Harrison. Could
you do the same, Absolute Reader?
Turning verbs to use nouns in the picture, and the end zone falters with completion. The idea in life makes a great prop. Charity cannot exist, but new Red Sox manager Bobby Valentine period. We must discuss the efforts of those counted for more than one. And
God said, “I will provide a train station.”
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Monday, November 14, 2011
The greatest popular person in the world died today. Repeat: this person was young, with exceptionally pleasant features forced of radial tires.
Each star in the empyrean sighed for lack of this locus of popularity. Humdrum took on new meaning, but meaning did not.
Meaning is a wave of popularity toward the sigh of exceptional stars. These stars are good-looking reminders of all that is possible, tho distant from any address. Tears flowed to the heart of the Milky Way, because the popular person stood tall and well-dressed, like sentimental eagles drinking Bud Light while evoking timeless mythic pediments.
The greatest of popular signs grew milky with waves of stars over easy oceans of just plain folk stalking the best. We remain ardent, tho the popular person can no longer contribute. We have to look in magazines again, for the source and severing. Levers used for leverage feel average.
Again the popular trout, the popular doorknob, the popular brand of sweetened, flavoured, frozen water, again they all combine in the tall and timeless person who died popular. I like in Penn State forever, said Joe Paterno, underlined carefully.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
I have no time for tractors, says the melting ice of persona. Pansies insist on springtime, but time marches with elephants. There, an elephant full of referent. The quality of articles of confederation seizes one (singularly). What is a constitution, by the way, any way? Asserted some colour beyond the aroma pouf noise? Magna Carats contain many words. Children signify advance, despite how stupid they are. Children of King John laid a trap, and the clinging advanced into greatness as brother Richard swept the field of stray life. He bought a mobile home. It was called capture. It rolled into a future full of crab cakes. Crab cakes = starfish: invasion-prone.
Are you a telephone anymore, royal exertion?
The next paragraph becomes a stanza, and writing says poetry. You who read must die, trying.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
A prompting tower in the distance, remembers the sea. The sea itself, itself. Braveheart, in the classic visible zone, savours the moment, applied to swaying. Pilgrim Monument, swaying moment. The wind above the sand of Cape Cod invents a town called Provincetown. Angry Scots sever English heads free. Pilgrims stop a moment, deciding to begin. Pilgrims require artifice, obviously. Sentences require verb. Verbs without nouns stop short of a picture. Remember that the tower in Provincetown stands as high as you thought. It stands on a hill, add that figure. It requires memory to see the tower; monuments live outside. Time is a function demonstrating the passage of time. We never stop, even when Braveheart cries freedom, or dead Englishman. Ben Franklin killed George III, it was not pretty. He cried freedom, pretty, but avail. Time has frozen in the time taken to say FREEDOM. People await. A sentence begins with a capital letter. The world begins anew. Provincetown begins with Braveheart slaying tyranny. You remember the rhythm of saying so. You occupied your mind, again.
Friday, October 7, 2011
In the past, a future existed. Its terms firmed around old things. New things brought taste. Taste steers ships. Ships even out, making news when they are terrific. These status reports prepare us for intervals of success. Death makes a nice boundary, after which bookstand information blends into a bison that influences the past. Finally a bison on a hillside, or the rumble of many. This advantage of need, it curves the world to self-satisfied distinction.
True Thomas the Rhymer, amidst violin plea, feels the time. Edges belong to interest. Steve Jobs in life writ letters of commerce, in cattle runs of categories. We were well suited, no kidding. We read the vindication. They saw neither sun nor moon, but heard the roaring of the sea. Violin is a playground. Do you see yon narrow narrow road, the road to righteousness? We’ve been Palin in the field. The carnal equivalent to righteousness is ______: words, factions, barter, stemming from. Come along with me, general attitude, field days as spells of vibrancy within the logic of a growing concern. The dead in Afghanistan sustain the truth of being dead. Class function data base.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
It was a time to delapidate. Rental of fobs had plummeted. Official tweaking began in the night, when readers of Wordsworth were relishing the final stanza. Page 703, they found, included more than could have been expected.
This vice grip, then, promulgates a new Wall Street. It had to, we were ready to party. Experts in reality shows have seen an uptrend in diligent self-reference, added to a nearness to crowds. People do not talk so much about orangeade now, as if change we always good.
Extra fobs were discovered in strange places, and this economic godsend helped implement a resurgence of wide suspenders. The striped tie, too, saw expansion to new markets, such as trees. Trees have always been big in suspense, and it is fun to see the transience of their endless lives.
Page 704 of this Wordsworth collection predicted settlement of an unnatural colour. Hunger remains its own species. The drama of delineating the last appeal while underlining the best potshots in the Constitution seems to expand with the dynamic colours of fall. Recovery will equip us all with patents and credulousness.
Wordsworth saw the French Revolution as a single startled colour, then insisted grey majesty. Can you blame him. We try to explain to a rock, it doesn't happen.
The running sky poised history on a drop of rain. This infinite particle prompted a delicate kernel of corn to receive, thru lofting visions. Autumn in New England includes corn, pumpkins, apples, and craning. Skateboards make assuring noise as sunlight crowds the vagaries. Time vanishes. John Adams listens to Abigail, in a time whirl scattering dicta. Days become more days, and the Constitution is writ. We wondered what the meaning of the day could be, when Federalist met the local domain. Nobody dried as the rain began to fall. Empathy sorts the people. Will we curve in the history of some flat practical land, or will we satisfy desperate ignorance with a trace of prominence? The scud of clouds includes a moving time. Look at the film. Children have been lost, frittered to resistance. This seems like Monday. A balcony promotes a king, but look. The tea party blamed the workers slyly. You know where your government leaks. Sputter language, when you can. It seems less than likely that a beer will follow the opening of words. People rent their time to off chance and askance. Do you remember that the Boston Massacre advertised? Do you remember that football includes time? Do you remember the bus tolling its variety by acceleration? This is the palace of ridiculous. Its force delegates frenzy to the sad solon panzer. Rommel died dead because we love Hitler thru till. It was too much to make poetry, again.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
The doctor rounded the corner, saw a patient. This is my lucky day, said the doctor. America is light with fulcrums and remedially reading. Ducks call off the attack while swans swing to the rhythm of the water upon which they float. Today is a desperate practicum, said one doctor, with the appropriate dictionary reference highlighted. The others agreed. We write a tendency, said the lead doctor. Other doctors joined in, temperately contained and radiating from certain facts. If this were my government, mused one doctor, and left the comment unfinished. A sudden call from Insurance Company, night time again,
Saturday, September 10, 2011
This world war you were talking about, did it really contain Nazis? Were feet bigger then, stepping into the stadium and stressing abstruse mental regimen for the people rather than perfectly obvious? Were Nazis ecstatic as they rounded the corner into Poland? Were the woods alive with the glamourous meeting of Russian and German Armies? When the colourful line on the map declaring partition of Vietnam became a real wall and exclusion, did we just dream the interplay of political entities?Was President Johnson ascendant at any time? Did the clouds over the popular vote entail each voter? Were lives like ours possible then? Can we live our lives now? Was resistance the same laughing matter as Sarah Palin? Can we consult someone in authority. Who is so colourful as to ignore autumn? What's the meaning of meaning, when we are looking at maps?Are the people the people? Can we share the same planet? Have we authority? Is the ground cold as death? Was the napalm an excuse for a deflowered state of mind? What chant includes our articles of confederation?
The wind is in the words in the trees.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
The planet’s fight rolls like weather. When we see weather in the clouds, we loop into the fence of clouds itself. Lowell’s disappointment with class distinctions follows. Tournaments are for countless stories. Boys and girls collapse in those verbs affecting nouns.
Summer will end in a flash of Republicans in stern vest catching fire. This is a Youtube moment. The Kardashian Mysteries mean stonemasons have attached history to the horizon of Kimberly, Kourtney, and Khloe, at the price of agitation. Your fashion style awaits.
Summer will end and Ozzy Osborne will frag. The drummer becomes a passé campus.
Questions stick on actions. Deep Purple versus Pink Floyd: which one brings crusts of bread? I tell you in deep rasp that pittance means much to the pittance-less. Edmund Burke stands up to say, stand down. No wait, he was William Pitt, and he said, move sideways. He had no lead guitarist.
With Duane Allman, a real and dead lead guitarist, stunning makes. His was a 27 for years, a quick call, and then a day of Robert Johnson dying posts on weird walls. Days of electric trick us. Who has more agitation than electric anything? Wars of certainty complain of the people inside. We try to merge guitarists. Duane is the hemp smell and suddenly. Gone is an attitude.
Writing becomes a favour, with people in mind. Something extracts from ritual, like Cornwallis placing nay in one vital vote. Another Cornwallis, be becomes. He stretched from the original find a defeat of concept, with provocation ploughed under the urgent machine.
Kim sips orange juice while Khloe sips tea. Kourtney is the one who isn’t Kim or Khloe. Each sister has two eyeballs, and one sight. We’d like to lead you, stray, they say.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Soft fronds in the dire dirt, logging traces in the body. Soup passes misery for the school of aching. Politics slips posse into possession. Extended version of the same thing goes all directional. You heard the clip clop of hooves, pictured everything in the basic nothing. So did I. The guitarist on the stage relies on a mirror into which every spirited retort can be redounded. This is a specious sport. Activists have hardened. The neutral basis of caring surmounts intent. Those rats scurrying have their dinner to attend. Weeks and postures go by, serious in the din. When we leave this flood zone, we expect a better place. After midnight, we're gonna chug-a-lug and shout. In minutes, hours will go by, then days, then history itself into blank places formed by assertion. The body of the words is dead, but that does not make them any less said.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Called Crispus Attucks office on Sunday and was told by Edmund Burke that Sam Adams, beermaker and rabble rouser, and John Adams, Esq. and Sam Adams, beermaker and rabble rouser, would look at the tax problem and stains today.
Called today and spoke with Sam Adams, beermaker and rabble rouser, and John Adams, Esq. Edmund Burke said that someone would be over Tuesday. JOSEPH WARREN wanted to be sure that this was an inspection, and not just cosmetic cleaning. JOSEPH WARREN wants the rug lifted and inspected because we are all complaining of symptoms from tax problem. Sam Adams, beermaker and rabble rouser, and John Adams, Esq. was on a conference call. Later, she was gone.
Paul Revere received a call from Sam Adams, beermaker and rabble rouser, and John Adams, Esq. saying an inspection would happen tomorrow. It does not sound like they want to address the tax problem, just the rug stain.
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Title (A Devastating New Unthinkable Target)
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The last book by Dan Brown surfaced.
Not the last theory of broken integrity, just Dan Brown, with shoes in
Hold onto that bag, Dan, now that you have written the book.
The century is new, full of books by Dan Brown.
He made a million words look like a book.
He is the essence of Tom Hanks.
The war may soon be over.
This is a novel by Dan Brown, with childish emphasis.
And then the sea rises because of Al Gore, and the facts remain insane.
This is where Dan.
We could not prove only that words come in packs, but that stories change
Then the process accepts the poem as a sidecar in an immense factory of
So Dan Brown grew up with exactly the right explanation.
And it came to a million words or so, who is counting, which could be captured,
Frame by frame.
And we are happy with the logistics of such spray, writing thru the day.
My friends are exceptional and go to lengths.
Their sense of Dan B
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Rowan includes a movie deal and 6 packs.
After a while the message is clear.
You type as fast as you think, trying to catch up with Dan Brown.
How crazy must that hominid be?
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Monday, August 1, 2011
The exhaustive moment provides wobbly things. Blue skies were noted at certain times, with a green aura from trees of considerable standing. When it comes to detergent, any powder or thick liquid will do. The shaman grows tired with effort and embracing.
Earlier would be a shrub, proud in its distinct gravity of barrier or landscape placement. Eager as can be, with radiant sun effect causing photosynthetic response, shrub grows almost tall. Shaman can foretell rooftops, extreme clouds, and cleaning the lint filter. The shrub describes there.
Soap remains grand, with disparate smells. Socks ever test the journey. Plaid will surprise you.
Epileptic shaman rolls on Laundromat floor, howls for sky with diamonds. Like that, the sock of the moment transfigures. And we are serious
going to lengths about the middle of the road. Too many pieces of the puzzle fell to the floor. Rendered as exasperation then made into resolve, so the puzzle creates a dynamic time which becomes constancy for moments at a time.
Still, when the washer stops dramatically, the shaman’s perch always shakes. Moderate and careless drier continues to hum. Perception is in the eye of the percept, or when will likely stories remain the same?
Shaman with well-folded and springtime freshness.
Baudelaire sits on a rooftop and names a cloud Chantez. So organized, the brisk tonnage of water vapour performs a momentary interruption of quiet. Baudelaire shows his teeth, calls it a smile.
Rimbaud dumps recalcitrant letters in blue ink on whitish paper. His skill becomes a deadly verbal puttering among locus, colours, showdown, and strait. We laughed at inception, but then we stuttered.
Verlaine’s laughable mansard roof barely covers the locution. Can you be more specific or spoiled, Sir? Your tax rate is only special for a moment.
Everything French has been done.
Lorine Niedecker took hold of the boy. Torque. Celia was often Louis, Louis was Paul. Clouds as big as explaining doddered to an afternoon. The stagnant lake learns to burp.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Dear Ape in the Beginning,
I found the flower you spoke of. It sits in the kitchen like three paths into a busy forest. Each track remains bent by the last senator to give adman preference to the total askance. The senator’s version will remain “tickled”.
Before we could clean up the reverie, a fearsome wave of no chance bucked over the horizon. It left us politically coarse, with a bridge to callow. Congressional haircuts moved a-pace. The scene shifts as do the senators. Congressional reps fall for poison.
Were you planning to leave on a junket to hotspots early this morn or were you spotting the effort of sunrise nowadays? Moon sightings have been vague and unending. Blame the handicapped marsh. I have to know three things by midday, and the clock is running.
If you ever leave the beginning, could you give me a call. My number is a lot like 7, but I cannot slice the data further.
Meanwhile, I verge on greatness, tho with coffee stains on my papers. Everything otherwise looks proper for association. Please reply stat.
Best regards like awesome,
Monday, June 20, 2011
Orc stutters with act of food group. Parsimonious human populace obliged to practice fetching. Orc bothers to submerge, brood in underwater, feed not eat, and then intelligent, almost. Human on land becomes a miser, in sunshine upon rightness. Half play of politics means a city that has a flattened surface. Degrees mean something in the heft of hierarchy, to the point that the point becomes invasive. Orc is killer, notably and in books, on the wide-ranging seas and farrago. Left to chance, a text becomes opinion where one lives. Human endeavour works for manufacture. Government works for stands upon which the sight of the later day can be seen by some. Orc holds breath, human does not.
Bach’s full throat, by which means plenty in the dilation, sorts thru hampers full of noting. Cares alive. No trace of organism resides in the expansion promulgated by a little bit banging ignition into beyond our minds. Something written down somehow becomes exacting. How does spaceship Orc retain its rights when harbouring Human cannot refrain from the still life of Glenn Beck? Cheers were made to flow backwards.
Every Republican is a hamster. As a reward for enjoying the cage, the cage treats the hamster like the swish of sweet fire in forest outposts known for iniquity. The Democrat, by way of margin, includes semi hemi demi quaver refrain, tiny towards the centre until filled with the same rebuke that rebuked water’s wetness. Fire claims fire as a natural range of fire. Thus and in stilted language, Republican argues Democrat in vice versa. Otherwise, friends, the chance might happen. Did one say every Democrat is a hamster, or a universe on its own grows long?
Baby Spice is 900 years old. She is crusades in and of herself. Scary Spice growls terrible stockyards, and your church called. Ginger Spice documents clerical errors with clandestine ripening, and/or gossip. Sporty Spice simply debriefs. Posh Spice is exactly what’s left, reducing Sarah Palin Spice to elbows, John Kerry Spice to blanched green beans, and both retain armament till the end of the Afghan war. Just kidding, Human Spice, we will never part.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Sometimes, in plain English. warloads with throats cut nicely. The lead dragon ship worshipped the appropriate blood. Then, positron factions of Afghanistan stood on tom toms and danced cadence to blow up. Ambitious!
Forces want to blow up. In this sentence, Oasis appears as a provocation of that day when the beginning of an endless song ridiculed the option of MTV. We were rivals of animate,
In the late aptitude, guns flying thru forests of rebate (tax sitch); made belligerents seize a faulty tour bus. Memories were fazed.
Justice stuck caulked diodes to rummy tour guides. Fustian replied to Sarah Palin with envelopes. We soon were soup.
Nonce words create a carpet on which plopping sounds could be recorded. This was a distant planet, crusty like the Palin brain. It could have been us.
English returned to normal, with carriages churning out more duped amazement. We have been brunt for years of tired immigrants.
Chalk makes dust on the board, chalk equals words. The words remodel the expressive Palin. Dimes are just as cheap.
SOMETIMES, WHEN I'M NOT BEING USED,
I LIKE TO GO TO MY HAPPY PLACE.
That’s not enough to make you decide that your 90-minute commute really isn't so.
After doing the research and walking through the deceptive Easter Friday
which is still your Thursday, I'm happy to interpret the geeks.
At first glance, they are not the most endearing animals,
please do not include any contact information.
The best way to contact me is through the comment form.
(Al, your blog posts were really interesting, thank you.)
They are not treated as pets at all, they don't even name the birds.
They are not treated as pets at all, they don't even name the birds.
I'm gonna end up working in a lumber yard for the rest of my life.
Brian, I haven't done this, yet, but my research tells me it's doable.
I saw that you had a religion blog, grab the button for yourself.
I'm very happy with my new hunting rifle.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
If you divide minty freshness by 12 inert poems, you have to ask why. When you season talk of mending fences with stunned walls and Joseph Massey in Arcata, you reel from pressure overheard by gulls. Gulls represent stations.
In the miasma construed from noonday muttering, you get to include dour in your faceoff. Vocabulary includes what we don’t say, Dr.
Later than noon inquest strops a razor but if cone, the function of twist in space, is emblem on a target field, simple words concrete.
Nothing dabbles as likely as 9:16 pm. Whose talking. Whose.
The trundle bed arrives [post haste. Lickerish beatitudes form certain clang on borscht, culled from leaves of early drays. Marvels scud like pistons fed with welkin. We are not blind.
The dressage of spate matters likely days for instance. The temperature is a keen 12 cents above zero, modicum time. We are prepared to bear our wheatgrass, your villains cooled by contraries.
The onus remembers the topography inherent in relaxing across the street from the bathtub. Peerage equals haystack, tho Monet dived by zero. We all should flock to the throng named nebula. It has askance.
Scorching fits scotch as a daybed. Then is a worm full of apples. When the great apples of youth, called empire, release their proxy, midsummer sits on a weasel. We are the usual case. Brahms was a benefit.
Arguable horizon sends steeds of bumptious pragmatism to the foot of My Monadnock. William James is at the door. The door itself is a carriage. The carriage employs varied roots. Summer contains the lot.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
When you are with me, rains are pencils, and that’s didactic. Tornados mark classes. We arrange the flexing toward alone yet quake of the certain lost measure. It’s a mountain, that stepway large and holding sky ideas. We are carried centers, clusters, cooling matter in the forest throng. There will be a day, because all days have that measure. No one consumes the rational path but bends and wiggles mild and proper expulsion from the card of garden. Names made terrific for the crusty season, spent on tours thru clutter, spoke, and rumour idol. This is the bond, tho more arises, skies arise, the tornado seems like Harvey, the rabbit of Jimmy Stewart. Hello, and smackerel, this chance of time in year. We were ready for this. We ride to ready this.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
High rapture provides increased opportunities to mate with high rapture partners. This increases distant survival potential and social contributions of your other children distant same age. Distant child is said to have short rapture achieved level status. Rapture is an agile business evidence of rapture reduction in studies since 1984. Scott Lang distant second Ant-Man attracted to teammate Iron Lad (Nathaniel Richards), who soon left distant group, adopted distant codename "Rapture" and assisted distant Young Avengers against proportionate short rapture conditions. Distant Rapture of Anton Chekhov occupies relatively a central position in distant anthropometric research estimation of rapture of and individual from distant amputated Rapture of Things in Russian Thought. Distant focus of my work involved distant prediction of adult (age 18) rapture in children. What is distant rapture of limitations for felonies in Michigan? They don't have distant rapture to do it.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
The days carry roseate hue, a full program, and a pond feted by willows. In the resultant dream, a carriage clatters to a halt. Beams of central characters stalk the moment once the horses stop. A wrench of fever pitch turns into Fu Manchu. We have been betting on allies.
The damp wind circulates in the same world as you and me. We are readers and writers of timely effect. A downturn in economy prefigures an upturn in galactic envy. Everything gets to go away but we stand here.
Season freshens with idyllic rivers. Willows fray the water with droop. Starlings bother to gather. Blue jays quake a feverish. Once a mourning dove did not flee immediately.
A poem in all this is a poem, in all this. No adjustments needed, just a spray of the latest air, rain from a virid forest, and cheap talk from a mountain. Political groups have no character.
Now the march toward a victim of the last emphasis. We might listen, the river might flood.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
The wind of the final continent blows open the porch door. The oddity of porches suffices in ventricle pause. A gust up the highpoint of spring, then honest flood scope from newly revived river gods fits the inherited process. Goddesses align with non-goddesses in politic credence. We are talking about so many things at once.
The final continent scored a big one, which made a great lesson for the 3rd graders trapped in conditional response. The 4th graders felt shirty. 5th graders were almost rare in the gleam of their imposed glister. 6th graders traded a point on the map for a numeral in the appropriate column.
7th, 8th, and 9th grade are exactly the same. Bring on the taxidermists!
10th grade means minimalist. 11th grade consoles the plaque left by the class of never after. 12th grade becomes the final porch before the final continent. And
so you were saying that the excellent death of the roused ingrate constitutes a plorable fence for further non-discussion. And the corpse sent packed and packing, looming among fishes of all order, sensitizes the minimum to the grandeur of max out.
Plumes are for the birds.
Initial consonants prepare the word for the endorsement of sound. Each language stops when iota is done.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
We made a doorknob out of a princess once, illuminating a specious precious sentence bespoke by authority. Yes, Bin Laden, the wellstone of numerical response systems, died the death of orange colours filtering thru the virid empathy of oak leaves. In these days of adding substance to non-substance for the sake of newscasts and angular movement, the subtle backstroke of offering solemn assassination to the wholesome gods of retributive net fund fulminates in dire adjectives applied to homely nouns. Vestiges rally into a picture that could be complete, in the same way that a river can.
Think of the difference one could make if one did not add up.
Think of the relief of mansions in the Arcady of affirmation.
Think of essence as the beginning of a long line of thinking.
When thinking is done, a sentence finishes. One sentence suffices as idea. Several ideas fill a paragraph. The real statement needs an offered structure and aloof. Osama Bin Laden is dead, in the sea, crammed into martyr, piled high with able extant, mildly freighted in terms of buoyancy, stilled by human life, spread thru human life, caulked in the main of human life.
Death follows locally. The princess of the early doorknob shows the assurance of use. Thus martyrs, heroes, and the athlete beyond. Awe car in the day, and the networked night. We have trammels to untrammel, liberty to assail, and ports of call calling.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Obey Fu Manchu or every living thing will die.
This is the settlement.
There were people here, before the first people.
Certainly the vista proposed an assertion.
Magnetism, a breed of magic.
They sailed salubrity, in an effort to sustain civilization.
The Stamp Act meant so much.
History produces a pile.
Sentences fit paragraphs, oftentimes.
The center of a word is its meaning?
The center of a paragraph is its meaning.
Many words mean paragraphs.
Fu Manchu was a production.
Sax Rohmer was a production.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
(A Concord Mass)
The bridge over the raging Concord River startles thoughts into secular bomb bays. When the British in final et cetera, rushed into the history cloistered by a single book, the graveyard and burying grounds of town grew morbid. Much present tense remains but the past situates in the inner daffodil bulb. No one speaks English, exactly. They die on hills, and remain buried, more or less. The less part includes free parking at certain highly-regarded places. This is an excuse for love or grandeur, which means Hessians running back to Boston’s safety under fire were written quite nicely. The season is poetics.
2) Pouring rain comes consummate cause, and the rush of a very fine river. Willow trees grow on you, which makes you what? Lurk is a better pronoun for most people.
3) The topic sentence belongs somewhere where it will be noticed.
4) Bomb bays fill with bombs, lush blooming ones, Vietnam ready and quite, quite, as loose as quite the thing.
5) They talk of liberty, and purpose, and big yellow house. And towns with fenders, and feather beds, dire feather beds. And sponsoring of rare people, slavery right out, one god for all right in, dinner in the spare air of freedom. They talk that talk, near the place where Concord’s grape grew, near where grape juice betrayed the need for no grape juice. The British were insular, the colonists continental. They stood on the ridge with the gravestones finely tuned, and surveyed the possibility of skirmishing the locals.
6) If you could have any grammar, what would it be?
7) Yes padre the British said, with the last cigarette in hand.
8) This history is expressly popular, for the people standing on the burying ground.
9) The Catholic Church on the green has been replaced by a door.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Yet, the group consisted of bro
Solo career in the '70s. Older brothers George Viral Osmond, Jr. (Viral) and were born deaf and “did nothing, ever." From 1971 to
solo hits, has led many to assume he was the group's lead. But 1976, he had 12 top-40 hits, including 5 in the top 10.
Donny's popularity, and his numerous Osmond, Marie Osmond, and Jimmy Osmond—plus Donny and Marie had begun recording duets and had hits
And producing for 5 technically separate artists: The Osmond’s Merrill was the lead singer and
By now the family was touring, recording, creating, and producing for 5 technically separate artists: The Osmond’s, Donny 1976, he had 12 top-40 hits,
Odes assume he was the group's lead. But Merrill was the lead singer and vow from 1971 to
, Donny Osmond, Marie Osmond, and Jimmy Osmond—plus Donny and Marie had begun recording duets with "I'm Leaving It Up to You" and "Morning Side of the Mountain". Through all the stress and pressures created by these many efforts, the family hung together ice of the
Osmond’s. Donny's emergence as a solo star, and the recuing lading 5 in
As a solo star, and the record-company's desire to appeal to the teen-girl audience, often thrust Donny out in front of the group.
By now the family was touring, recording; appeal to the teen-girl audience, often thrust Donny out in front of the Faith and career. In that other form, the top 10 numerous solo hits, has led many trod-company's desire to
Created by these many efforts, the family hung together. "Inside the Osmond’s" depicts the family mottoes as being "It careers of Donny and Osmond’s. Donny's emergence red."
And hits with "I'm Leaving It up to you" and "Morning Side of the Mountain" Through all the stress and pressures creating,
. "Inside the Osmond’s" being "It doesn't matter who's out front, as long as it's an Osmond" and "Family, nod voice as Use of the Marie, the success of the show, and the operation of the his numerous solo hits, has led many to assume he was the group's doesn't matter who's out front, as long as mind" and "Family, faith, and career. In that order."
To originally per although they
You wren cocked when The Byres fluted 8 Miles High. An easy disaster, telling shift from not shift, all spun. Jimi Hendrix visitation and collapse, dead pool for Jimmy Page. Buffets cannot preclude the urgency of les fleurs, tamper with tree tips. Twelve strings of a gesture guitar, a backwards merriment with David Crosby set to slop over, the quick and easy way to learn. Raga got together. John Lennon shot a mimic in Central Park, history, plastic things, a blot on the ‘scutcheon. “Your lions are fighting with chairs.”
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Hobos relinquish as ditches. Times change, bears die offensively, and ditches remain. The human potentate decrees that time slices things. Not for us even, but news of Republicans. A course of action settles the ditch. The ditch frequents surveys of pain, but does not count. We are poured into tight situations, the special concrete of our vision, and peddle biological remorse. As homeless as a door folded into coinciding planes until the offering of one sluggish being seems enough for the taxable porch. Speed endures, ponds space out, books dilate, frogs frequent maps, and hobos dock in the dark while raining scores rock. Indent your every paragraph, in the proud excuse for position.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
This morning, the legs of Jimmy Page lift three inches into the air. The air itself reminds us that water left our tears alone. Seas became a virtue of cessation, if we were so lucky. Cessation is the spot-on word for what Fu Manchu in his novelistic approach sought for perchance.
Jimmy Page now delivers a proper escalator to the next floor. This is the definition of some year on record. People were people back then, not memories or assertions. The Mamas and the Papas were invited to be terrific. They were rented, but the imprint remained. We will have to ask later, when later arrives.
Hours later, in monstrance, the scope assumes that Jimmy Page must have risen 2 more inches. Five inches of certifiable altitude in a world that denies the nearest mountain. Jimmy Page scoffs at alliteration, he can make any noise possible.
Hijackers felt distraught (historical note) at the ambiguous idea of liberty. Does that mean chocolate sauce? And how much exactly, prosecutor of exactly this very? The Mamas and the Papas sing “Monday Monday”, although they are dead.
When you were dead, did you love the 90s? Kurt Copay lost the adjustment and it was unhappy. Madonna of the 80s hung in there, 3 points and versatile entanglement. She has aspirated her name and exact longitude sans latitude. We need room for quibble. The group assigns. We love you, M, and the segment of the century you held dear.
Relating to Jim Morrison’s mouthful of vomit, do we have pure direction or simply a card on which someone wrote pasquinade? Bob Dylan lost a balloon named Bob Dylan Lost a Balloon. His asking price startled the left bank of waiting too long.
Jimmy Page postures guitar at knee level for the sublime off track betting of possible bag. Good, we will meet at 6 inches above sea level. Death has visited with proximate care. It’s now our turn to fulfill the ambivalent structure that leaves us in time.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Creation limps to see the sea. It’s a lot of trouble. Verbs work, okay, and nouns mean something solid. Then adjective colours the spaces between and around solid. Adverbs declaim the speed, tho our presidential discoveries may not know this. I heard a preposition once, going towards, I think (a tree was involved). In Lowell, Massachusetts, literary punctuation mark, and historical byway, there were attempts at language. Mainly some factories, a river, and canals. We hear these instant things, furrows of effort, and Charles Ives looks at Aaron Copland. Less saturated is the sentence, when you carefully place the period at the end. The end must be indicated because ideas are formal institutions. Like slavery, and stuttering function of the griping class. Creation begins to see paragraphs, rewards of effort. Stanzas are paragraphs, make no mistake, just as the moon circles aimlessly while clouds obscure the facts. In Lowell, steeples fulfill the promise of skyline for a while. The tenor of some rot and buildings works into dismal demonstration of economic means severed by a few human beams. Their light wasn’t little more than. Under that bridge rushes important water over stony riverbed, with eager power developed from how that mass in motion translates into the firm belief in system. Electrify me, says Lowell, staunch for the bucket filled to a brim described by our betters. Someone plugs in the refrigerator and Budweiser fills the temporary home. Meanwhile, creation limps to the sea, like a plain book or a bowl of porridge set adrift with mentioning. This casting about, with words featured in every remark (almost), constitutes a property of which we are an element.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Fancy that the Concord River spreads a milling water thru the trees and now and then, increasing worthwhile shoes. The strategy of the Shawsheen embellishes small flood plains where people stiffen. Further west, remember, the Sudbury and the Assabet flirt with numbers then meet the Concord. The Concord, turned north for pleasure and empowered by the will of cycled response, finds the Merrimack and willing. The sea could be the only rejoinder.
In other ways the land stores human production and beginning. The mills of Lowell make great possible planets for aliens. Original awesome works down to abrupt stoppage, like union dues, only spoiling for fight. A folk song of three verses will contain everything needed to expel that mendicancy.
Trees start with oak, then diversify to apple. Oranges are unheard of, palms repeat blurry phrases about time. Maples testify rashly, like we care. Everything else is contained in something else.
Fox stay back, coyote feed. That porcupine you met is a skunk. That skunk you met is the neighbour’s cat. That neighbour’s cat you met is their young son Todd.
After soccer practice there is after soccer practice.
In these days of buckets, victims of haze process religion and other. Dates reveal other dates, confounded by duplicates and fidget. Reasoning supplies iffy contours on the well-brewed and inviting map. Why are the positions on this map coloured orange? This is your season, taxpayer, make the rules. Then rustle of papers, or cattle, and object becomes abject. What were the times doing to the endless stream of positions remaining? Strategies and pork. Now gum on the shoes, called Libya, becomes one more new long training session. We were expecting John Berryman to rise from the floor once more.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Feeling definite? The family sloop, towards inhaling horizon. Testament strikes bandwidth along definitions of protocol. Moonbeams are reaction. You accepted the nature of a paragraph, once proclaimed as a neat four sentences. And a poem purchases elegiac tone in a favoured scheme of rhythm and rhyme. Then Led Zeppelin formed a pill, radiant as an ampersand. Rocks thrown on baby wish, pieces of the last guitar, nuclear fright.
Monday, March 14, 2011
A reward in simple testament secures a veiny process. Streets fill with the essence of people. They contain the essential outrage, lightly fortified by personal view. Did they know that Hitler survives in history books? Common knowledge, like the birth of kites in paper and string heaven. Some mansion that could be! A breeze of green requirement flushes across the field awaiting sunflower seed. In time, the gall of which, real flowers will stand, like eager evidence of the next fad. Trial and error makes the new warder. Error snips alternate routes. You are my President, Mister or Ms Whosis.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Furthermore, this Mr. John Locke, calling into question tsunami and water generally, how people can really. We have adapted to a television, at least. A syntax of possible impulse and possible impulse in reply. Identify a period of soothing, faked up with rhetorical questions. Then the long green seizing, not particular. Only this Mr. John Locke knew, with a subject such as slavery, that a chronicle stutters evenly, a rhythm for possession. Mr. John Locke could capitalize any word he wished. Such was the Age. Now we bend, just like tectonic plates. Now we go toward seashores with nervous eying. Now we read the first sentence of a paragraph, and allude to the rest. We hold demi-tasse to be self-evident, as in paraprosdokian. We steep tea in pots as a gesture toward completion. Mr. John Locke might be keen for malmsey or sack, or the refinement of tobacco as he lifts the lid of the latest book, distant skirling providing a background. Within the chambers of the book a space of average, excepting the spectacular word. Now we march ahead, like sugar into molasses.
John Locke, himself, was an intricate plot schemed up by name on request. Motivated slush booms notions of government and people are crying. Crying because the earth cracks and we can only stand. Crying on top of crying because thinking is a presence. Crying on Wednesday, which always always follows Tuesday. John Locke was a delible upbeat, you were waiting. We send people elsewhere then look again, there was something. John Locke was a book impeded by jerking effort, as unsatisfactory people settle where they've been pushed. Excellence is exhausting, not contagious. This has been the preface of the World.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Penchant shines bright in the hayfield where we remember space thru agitation. We see the rain in hearty plash, scoping rumoured rivers to extent. Dreams clang on simple bells, the whirled. Definitions fill in askance. Two fairly intelligent young gentlemen, one brutal and ruthless killer get great rates on home equity lines. Someone is butchering the darlings of Society, and not even Queen Victoria is the “canary in the coal mine”.
The scandal of opposition died down, and the stone-carver himself, though the town-folk continued to eye a sociologist who studies fads.
The area is so dirty that merchants report the tourists are looking into their own chaotic world of million. Lawmakers in the State House have given bipartisan blessing to a few ideas for new tax exemptions this year, despite a budget shortfall that is widely brought together by a misdelivered package. And you may laugh, because you did not do your merely this and nothing more.
Conventional wisdom has it that President Obama has visited Ohio. A creamy yogurt artisanally made scarce for young people goes without saying.
The clerk looked down his long Gallic nose bulging with job openings . If seeing ever really was a reason for believing, it surely was not in New York around 1900. Non-old Americans do not typically believe in euthanasia for advertisers on the state of their budgets.
A great many would agree with Pudd'nhead Wilson: settle any wage garnishment quickly to avoid it crimping in the middle of reading Self-Reliance. The Indonesian government seems to be a bit nervous about Broadway musicals and rainy days. Running in circles is the easiest way to lose track of a hopeless fangirl for Kuroshitsuji and Supernatural.
A theater critic who was notorious for his titanically touring on a riverboat near Dandong left in a hurry. He voted eugenically. He spoke panzer divisions. He sorted his crack pipes. He loped across the veldt with his miasma. He produced nonsense in New Hampshire. He cleared the ratiocinations for further rage. He consulted the booby hatch. He broached dismal.
These are the rays of pending. Rustle of documents that declare certain frames. We vote with our wand.
Jostled snort of entertained opinion. Flapped a wing with willows bending to the water. The water sighs, alleviates and change. A flood closes zone of reach. Radiated stay back, colossally. We have no up where to go.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
There years were, and as reference, kindly for news. A light in a window one day, clouds in a day with pastures. Shiny instruments paused like roses. We were loved by the time we took. Years of ice and sooner fell in waves before us. You remember, we were kids. We were tried and true, with roses, plummy bright roses. Lights rose from ashes, baskets in a haze. You were tired, I was worse. Plumes of water rose from battered rocks in the edge of something storm. Naturally we remained. Chords on a piano remember tasks of given. Something paused like roses as the green came loose and grand. Someone plays the drums, outright,. As far as dance conditions, and we say our words, the moment rests. Not the beat, of course, but the pasture land between. Holding hands is a careful sentence. Every sentence bounds to further stated. We were kids, and such is as we stay. Piper at dawn shocks my brain. We are kids.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Clangour as a distant reading. The verbs shift over for poems, scat. Time bounces stoat franchise, tempering peen. The furls of flags gravely garner gulf. The sea sucks, says Sammy Davis Jr, as far as alive. Millions seem dislodged in a Huffington Post agronomy. Living testament shirks strategy, gains parlance in rash schnapps. You have peered at Klondike bars, my friend, said Hosni Mubarak. We stand back, my stand in, Yeti, and me. Stark scotch optical verve loses a mayhem plan. Egyptians quarter and tie. The Red Sox simplify. So who is your engine, Reader? Believe negative franchise as a global housewarming. These equations furl, loosen loam, libate. Grass as green as paint, as memorable as paint, as purim serrano as paint. Meanwhile, Prester John the testicle. I don’t even know what Egypt looks like, affirms stray energy pulses from Star Trek starring Gary Burghoff as captain of the. Timely negation. We ran to the piddling, and the storm against all Storm Kings, the fierce reliance on adjectives, the Interstate 95 of all close encounters of the Ford Fairlane kind. My name is mouse, said Rat, standing erect in the Capitol of exactly the sentence. You knew that the British would leave New York sometime, leaving Washington a presidency that predicted Ronald Reagan. You tease me, said Gary Burghoff said Gary Burghoff said Gary Burghoff, supremely in rerun. Bagpipes skreel on a positive note, left dockside, and a cat clambers about the boardwalk.
Friday, February 11, 2011
As egyptian president, I have been a book. I have been a library. A liquid assertion compels the age-old Nile in study, with whiffs of news called electricity. The people stand on chairs. Each chair commits a prognosis in which daisies arise in the mind’s eye, when the mind’s eye reaches Colorado. No egypt exists without president. The present is not enough. The egyptian present moves on curtailed vibrations. Like a dog in years, or a basket asking for help, the days muddle for completion. The complete egyptian president can talk. So can the many others. So can the guarding pattern of other nations. I have been egyptian president, on long walks thru hall after hall. I have spoken up for the presence of statements, of places to speak, of canvas upon which to paint, of stones to do the talking. The clock ticks conservatively. I ask for haymakers now, the will to live like molasses. Proper nouns list towards verbs. Smack can be both.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Prime numbers react to acids vented from archetype. Dream in which spelling counts, then night of long knives. Logically speaking, not so soothing, when the adding is done. They were children like reaction, attending Phish concert number 17101. The set list was hot, and every instrument in the band made sound. In fit vagary, ocean spun calculated tang for the bums in luxury. Resistance means universal health care, poured on the shores of taxation. This reveals why people stagger. Trees mean something until winter, then the wood is easy burning. So are children, in the back seat of each city. So are spellbound denting of pillows, as the head falls for slumber in an age. The guitarist of importance scratches chords from elegy. Or whatever, child in time.
Mr Roper turned to Joseph Goebbels and said, Mandibles redress the carcass. A laugh and instead for Herr Goebbels, who ballooned and full moon. The matter of coffee, in the reigning time, or lack of said beverage, in the reign of time. National Socialism and Fascism share a dislike of a comfortable and pleasant life, copied Mr Roper then pasted. From here to the planet of time, where it reigns, sweats Goebbels, this being sorted out in verity. Truculence manifests in coffee shortages, of which Herr Goebbels takes note. The simplicity is as of chardonnay, or blank looks when confronted by conservative anchovies. Situations inhere because we have tasted coffee and exacted strict regulations. Slave labour was a boon, and boons are good, we note in controvertible passage, freed. A boon of free labour and the midnight shattering glass become stranding units. Mr Roper intolerates with a passion, which is just as Herr Goebbels would have it. Listen, we have to feed children, believability, said Mr Roper. He stood next to Jack Tripper and it was not simple. Simple becomes a matter of regulation, and places to go when going needs. Herr Goebbels looked for a way for usefulness. It was core simple. Few towns remained. The starving to death part was overly, couldn't you tell? The main beam stutters in time, with a branch of government. We now have Mr Roper and Jack Tripper and Herr Goebbels the moebius strip. Just this, likely as plain noise.
Dragons eat panty hose. Meanwhile, drastic flab of piety inoculates the nose of Sarah Palin. Scansion of said nose props cordite for the next school bombing. Fluffy justice reading funds maze of stated union. Say you grind up Glen Beck, as foreplay. This is My Little Pony in action. Popular cases of vocabulary survive the best case scenario of Goebbels' talk. We say Crest is the best dentifrice, knowing death will do some good. We see the point in knobs. Panty hose trees bloom in spring, in time for residuals. Dragons like residuals. Residuals bond the common offer with implemented harm. Dragons are so human, with history on their side. Human is the best part of slave labour, and the guts to say ouch. Human summits a pulse of industrial urge. Granules of Glen Beck survive for seasoning. Fake plastic makes ground Glen gravid. These are tears of effort.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
The flicker of the tents in masking arrangements around Paris.
Then a situation concerning the Seine, how nets seem like destinations, and finality brooms thru the hallway.
Lasting Hitler smiles phone call, it was the last straw. We said to Poland one say, Arise from the slap of snow on your face.
Lariat Hitler conked his head on belligerent stone. Heads up there.
Pouncing Hitler was equable, for the scuff of alpine weather reports news on a day.
Practical Hitler was story full forest.
Situational Hitler stayed prime number steady. And such a cask line jot the colourless thing that trailed behind until it was ahead.
Assertive program munitions branch.
Joust fossil lay about.
Doctor didactic death.
Not so much that the picture changes into the same picture, again a picture, again a storied picture stating claims of weaving thru stated claims of weaving. Repeat weaving, broom.
The friend of your favourite Hitler reclaims the stamen of the forest flower. Marketing Goebbels marketing, then a solace for the end of timing. End of Goebbels marketing the end of Hitler timing. We said dead birds on great congestion; they said the alien that we know the name of. Hitler’s just is a version, and soared your many like we know.
train to Auschwitz
Plucking as form.
Plucking as belligerent form.
Hitler hash of all the splaying. Pared to prefer, as sudden works. It was Hitler works, it was Hitler works.
Today is differed dust,
Technique will, such as the collection of debutantes inside Sarah Plain head. The left foot eats the right foot, instantly converts leg into maintain. Force few nonsense sends victor for suds. The soothing flood means mordancy on points. Slaying a thing is conviction.
Knights of process consume randiness as a launch party. The book will appear tin every state, including dead. Pulped for a purpose, we brains touch connections in fashioned oddity. Something OT talk about runs against something said.
Sarah Poison played in water. One day, one fashion of day. The finish resumed in a chain of words, each one made from liens and steering. The cover controls the convection.