BEFORE THE INTERVIEW (Total stream of conscious, totally written (i.e. typed out) on the computer, both rarities for me. To be continued.) In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humor well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. - As You Like It, 3.2 Envoy of the hours wrapped in repetitions stately layers of derivative interpretations Knock on the mischievously verbose intro to my pallid presence and converge on a generic nights sublimity (peculiarly culled from a day of ink-impaled Xs) with a myriad of wadded vignettes iconizing your flamboyance in the ignorance of one who sleeps in candy shop closets Your day job demands an analytic kinship with a paper-exorcising butcher maybe more akin to shining than to sharpness and convinced the purest romance simmers in the darkest chapters of our philanthropic misfires Hours I adhere to in matters of indulgent measurements A minute is a clocks cheeky antidote to wishful thinking or a violent throwing of despondent foreign entities like shurikens of memories into the air before some wallowing hypothesis of hope by chance lingering around the house takes a hit Days are frightful as some circles have a way of being Hope and circles shun association like a hollow forest and a sound leaving wanderlust hypotheses to their cerebral vices and hypnotic viewings in the futile cinema they slip into unchaperoned Cassandras house / hapless entertainment teetering on told-you-so prophetic license How confining it must be to not tell lies when reverse psychology is not an option in the face of fickle colleagues as guilty of withholding fetishes of irony as the hypotheses Ive given living to with severed paper tongues and inky vocal chords Endeavour do you to debate the sweetness of my teeth? Or divine the underbelly of my querulous artistic tastes for an undigested lullaby? Youd be better served to practice swallowing Master of the masses dressed in frozen pupils on the verge of welding patinas of observation to my nondescript evaluations it is not that I have shaved myself shallow with inscrutabilitys scalpel for the welfare of inquisitive pundits seeking baking soda volcanoes in the musty tundras of a blue-collar couch I can nibble at the nuances of fetid syllables until my breath emits calligraphy No actually Im thankful that the record doesnt spin until your needle knocks upon my presence 01 ?? 15 - 01 18 15
Posted on: Tue, 20 Jan 2015 03:10:19 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015