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.
Friday, October 7, 2011
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.