Jan 2019
.whiskey on ice is hardly a profanity,
even if it is an orthodox scotch...
who in their right
mind would sip amber?
neck on the guillotine...
but please: no lukewarm profanity
in what looks like a chip off
a chandelier...
a minute's delay on
the ice and...
neck on the guillotine...
so many stars! and the moon!
and: a sight of Antoinnete's lingerie!
******* it!
who the hell sips sweaty-hands
whiskey?
whiskey on ice...
to take the bite off...
esp. that -esque of Laphroaig;
takes the edge:
but doesn't blunt the slice...
no profanity around here...
lukewarm tea is bad:
but room-temp. whiskey is:
this is not a game of
hare & hound
with a chaser of beer to follow...
no... don't drink ***** in
England...
whiskey on ice isn't
a profanity:
there's no room for sipping
it: expecting what
becomes a kiss from a she-devil...
neck on the guillotine...
mind you...
didn't some drunk once say:
FOMO no GOGO?
no... i'm pretty sure he said
something along the lines:
don't to it for the money,
and certainly don't do it
expecting to bed women
like a gladiator...
(on writing)...
that was in the 20th century...
imagine:
that caravan on the beatnik
poets...
like
cabaret voltaire:
but with more momentum
and... well...
not diffused
by the 4 official languages
of Switzerland...
that was the 20th century...
hey... looks like i'm
both qua pseudo &
circa -esque
of Virgil:
and in the 21st
century i'd say:
don't do it for Pavlov...
don't do it for the numbers...
don't do it for...
whatever this
is, but isn't another person
and isn't your private
eyes communicating
to another pair of
private eyes...
just today i discovered
medium.com...
'become a member now for $5/month
to read this story and get unlimited access
to all of the best stories on Medium'...
but i also discovered
the builders and the butchers,
song, bringin' home
the rain (7 545 192 views)...
and...
that means what?
the song was published on...
the 13th of Feb. 2013!
what's 6 years late to 8 million views?
fun logo from the 1980s
on a vinyl record,
ozzy osbourne's bark at the moon:
cassette and bones:
HOME TAPING IS
KILLING MUSIC...
don't know about you:
but like a Nick Hornby novel
i remember making
a mix tape for a former girlfriend...
she said to me...
'you know, i was walking
down Oxford St. at 6am to work
at the Marks & Spencers
listening to your mix CD
and King Crimson's
Epitaph came on...
and... the streets were
deserted...'
NON-VERBATIM...
but i remember that
pirated music back then for
a higher purpose...
we didn't stash it in MPʒ
banks...
it was: flirting...
or whatever the case for
the cult of high fidelity
is about...
so why would i go
back to ol' papa vinyl?
the thing's ******* hypnotic...
and look, a magic trick:
no headphones...
plus a 2in1:
a vinyl & a frisbee...
problem being:
cats don't play frisbee...
****...
rather...
the art of the return...
to the concept of an album...
which isn't the same
as a concept album
(from the prog. rock days)...
i can just imagine
one torture technique...
not with children
and sweets...
i mean... adults...
or nearing adulthood children...
a psychology experiment:
not yet done...
a gramaphone,
a vinyl...
a mundane album...
and... one stand-out track...
not children and sweats
and delayed gratification...
what delayed gratification?
there's only one stand-out
track on the vinyl...
oh... you mean to get
a single version
of the vinyl?
drone strike:
repeat repeat...
it's like:
they started calling it acid
jazz...
how about:
ACID POP...
the song just erodes
the brain like
a highschool
algebra rubric or
a choreography (misnomer
& metaphor)
of historical dates
to state: us, unison, today,
and some we
and some them.
even if it is an orthodox scotch...
who in their right
mind would sip amber?
neck on the guillotine...
but please: no lukewarm profanity
in what looks like a chip off
a chandelier...
a minute's delay on
the ice and...
neck on the guillotine...
so many stars! and the moon!
and: a sight of Antoinnete's lingerie!
******* it!
who the hell sips sweaty-hands
whiskey?
whiskey on ice...
to take the bite off...
esp. that -esque of Laphroaig;
takes the edge:
but doesn't blunt the slice...
no profanity around here...
lukewarm tea is bad:
but room-temp. whiskey is:
this is not a game of
hare & hound
with a chaser of beer to follow...
no... don't drink ***** in
England...
whiskey on ice isn't
a profanity:
there's no room for sipping
it: expecting what
becomes a kiss from a she-devil...
neck on the guillotine...
mind you...
didn't some drunk once say:
FOMO no GOGO?
no... i'm pretty sure he said
something along the lines:
don't to it for the money,
and certainly don't do it
expecting to bed women
like a gladiator...
(on writing)...
that was in the 20th century...
imagine:
that caravan on the beatnik
poets...
like
cabaret voltaire:
but with more momentum
and... well...
not diffused
by the 4 official languages
of Switzerland...
that was the 20th century...
hey... looks like i'm
both qua pseudo &
circa -esque
of Virgil:
and in the 21st
century i'd say:
don't do it for Pavlov...
don't do it for the numbers...
don't do it for...
whatever this
is, but isn't another person
and isn't your private
eyes communicating
to another pair of
private eyes...
just today i discovered
medium.com...
'become a member now for $5/month
to read this story and get unlimited access
to all of the best stories on Medium'...
but i also discovered
the builders and the butchers,
song, bringin' home
the rain (7 545 192 views)...
and...
that means what?
the song was published on...
the 13th of Feb. 2013!
what's 6 years late to 8 million views?
fun logo from the 1980s
on a vinyl record,
ozzy osbourne's bark at the moon:
cassette and bones:
HOME TAPING IS
KILLING MUSIC...
don't know about you:
but like a Nick Hornby novel
i remember making
a mix tape for a former girlfriend...
she said to me...
'you know, i was walking
down Oxford St. at 6am to work
at the Marks & Spencers
listening to your mix CD
and King Crimson's
Epitaph came on...
and... the streets were
deserted...'
NON-VERBATIM...
but i remember that
pirated music back then for
a higher purpose...
we didn't stash it in MPʒ
banks...
it was: flirting...
or whatever the case for
the cult of high fidelity
is about...
so why would i go
back to ol' papa vinyl?
the thing's ******* hypnotic...
and look, a magic trick:
no headphones...
plus a 2in1:
a vinyl & a frisbee...
problem being:
cats don't play frisbee...
****...
rather...
the art of the return...
to the concept of an album...
which isn't the same
as a concept album
(from the prog. rock days)...
i can just imagine
one torture technique...
not with children
and sweets...
i mean... adults...
or nearing adulthood children...
a psychology experiment:
not yet done...
a gramaphone,
a vinyl...
a mundane album...
and... one stand-out track...
not children and sweats
and delayed gratification...
what delayed gratification?
there's only one stand-out
track on the vinyl...
oh... you mean to get
a single version
of the vinyl?
drone strike:
repeat repeat...
it's like:
they started calling it acid
jazz...
how about:
ACID POP...
the song just erodes
the brain like
a highschool
algebra rubric or
a choreography (misnomer
& metaphor)
of historical dates
to state: us, unison, today,
and some we
and some them.
