Saturday, September 10, 2011

Question Air

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

Crazy Train Incorporated

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.