Sink power. Sorry reputation for failure to arse-lick. Inverse advertising as revolutionary talking ratio. Horrible History in the midst of Political Logic! Class!! Sunwarmed fig leaves. Alan barking up the prong tree. Moshi purtaining the sax sound of smackers. Tree-lined fur-coat gristle mania. Paul Morley, patron saint of a flat world, where your fear of the mass made you one-dimensional, a paper man, a rapier scam. With your silly tail aloft inside a brown jacket. Postoning the intricate moment of social imagination instead of leaving gaps to let the real world in. Screen as lacework held before a brilliant sun. Frenetic justifications in the small hours. Go to work on an ego. Speak dwarfish idiolect. Tremble before the Central Scrutinizer, whip oestrogen into baby batter. Tremulous horse spray. Yusuke Akai. Brisbane guitar string somersault. Best at the brief waggon. Hotel Whatsit explodes. Infolded with diuretic excrement. Your secret semen suitcase. Harbinger of clinical examination. Image shut on a Facebook. A swarm of spies to make a pallid life more … itchy interesting! Hot weals on the fundament. A blush on the dead composer’s cheek. Peachy dawn with Mahler string section. Cinematic telegraphese (but with no explicable referent). Fishbones in the recital mouth. Tidal wave up the rectal creek. Shit paddles on a pleasure boat. Grateful flash hidden in the hearth. Slice of bottom from the slain Saracen. Thus serenade the sleep tank. Empeach the guardians. Talk directly to the squidself! HAZ CHEM with jagged stripe of warning wasp, spike eyeball with earful, spoken tripe in salami veils. Has vista, will party. Sturmwolke. Wolfbane. Beard henna. ammarxists.org/words-for-performance-with-alan-mordecai/
Posted on: Fri, 27 Jun 2014 00:50:44 +0000
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