Three days with nothing to do. To make a replica of a goat or a cow might be fun. A megafauna hunting tool from the American Paleolithic might be fun too. To put the artifact in the hands of fate is possible. While the length of my hand from wrist to fingertip is reaching upward toward the curve of a withering cloud.
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Display me, who is above reviewing. I seek the intangible tangle of haste. Morning stirs a gesture of withering motion as witness to my principles.
Here’s what I learned about pressurized prose yesterday. They’re something in the back of my mind that I imagine. Then I might loom over them with arms outstretched. At times I kick and scratch. But I would eventually scramble and blunder up dark paths.
That’s not how it might have been given. People haven’t taken it across the road or in a rough semicircle lately. Alarming sounds from gable to gable had been heard. I put my hand to the gravestone and was standing back as the truck plunged over the edge.
Artistic procedures to provoke debate about floridly dressed pet cats are really silly. My 7th grade art teacher said this pretty clearly. A great grunting and swishing could be heard in the prize hog's pen.
I have tried to revise my life; this form of activity, which defines me. Strauss’s idea was his call for a return to the ancients. My appeal is for a complete reconsideration of my philosophy. “We however, who used to think we understood it, have now become perplexed.” - Plato
On our vacation we decided to journey south and visit all the pertinent storage archives in Prague. These archives house saliva specimens from several rare and extinct species of the flying blue-nosed tree monkey. We are not anthropologists, biologists or lawyers – just an interested family. Most importantly, the specimens could assess the normative functions of color density in sugar substitutes.
<she- I don’t understand.’ her tone was clear and bold. <he- ‘I know you can’t comprehend it. And that’s why we went so crazy yesterday – like idiots trying to see with sightless eyes.’ <she- ‘But it was fun,’ she insisted, ‘having the relapse and blood transfusion?’ <he- ‘Oh, yes I loved it,’ I answered, but with a voice tethered to my fingernails.
Our daughter’s writing is distinguished by absolute integrity. She writes about about floating beer bottles and rubber-ware in the world’s oceans. These objects play out in the tension between civilization and nature. And she thinks we shouldn’t forget this for a minute.
She was very friendly, and told me all about the shaggy whiskers of the village schoolmaster. He has a plan for the blood-stained paper parcel he found in his mailbox this morning. He has really thought it through. And as I listened to her, I wondered how he might survive in a worldwide economic collapse. But I realized that in China, some farmers reside in the cradle of tragedy.
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Authorrunning the whole length of the horizon... Archives
August 2018
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