Skip to main content

Justin Bieber Peed

In times of peace we listen to music over the hills and drag carcasses to the train station. Music and carcasses win a fulfillment of the peacely penitence of time in our way. Shadows of fantastic skid to a knowing concern, for carcasses or the result of their presence. The sky means to be clear but never can finish its sentence.

There might be a volcano in store for Brockton, where trucks park without resistance. In the formal days when Worcester existed and trains would arrive with carcasses, the humans involved in feeling things loomed over the better things.

The hills were music in themselves. Not of themselves, just the satisfying rumble of plates that, because of God's grace, made homelands and seaports for us, and surprised us with volcanoes. This is a special God.

Special God brings peace, which is a situation of gravity determined by facts distinguished from inference. Inference is when someone thinks of something; implication covers when someone wants to make someone infer. Thus peace, it was someone's idea. O God of someone who had an idea, thank you for the tone poem!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Words

  From the thing itself, beyond seasoned aptness. Life is like living but blurred by you were listening. Aspect ratio telemetry in myriad languages smooth as rocks approaches time to look. Words piece together things or things find words. Endlessness is a choice, written big in words as shiny as geese. Words simply take the time in radiation and radical point. Stein wrote the heft of nothing special, start there or whatever. You can slowly adjust the franchise, commodity's inner workings. Subglacial quips, subliminal washouts, frantic azure in the breeze of frosty Friday: these special sparking hallways slyly enjoin. Maybe you read too much into reading too much. Further on is where you’ll stay.

Adam Sandler Has Totally Lost It. Okay?

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, f...

Today's Widespread Panic Concert, Sans Banjo

The banjo is dead. Those included in banjo are dead. Inclusion is dead. Death is dead banjo dead. Its banjo is dead. The name of its death is dead. Name is dead. Its political act is dead. It sound like banjo but dead. It no time to be banjo. You must remain a rope with language and dulcimer. Only dulcimer live. All banjo dead. You are banjo, Donald Trump. Hurry up Donald dead,  untimely to dead still dead like words. You and banjo both. You is dead and you too.