let us want linear narratives - by the current standard of: narratives - let us all want parallel linearalities and then: on some odd occasion: forced to mesh-into focus point - when we were somehow young and england was a place at a time when the handover of hong kong happened - what subsequently happened: custard and fudge brain crayon squiggly: attached to a fridge: with a magnet...
here's to: i'm out to lunch... toying with poker and... altruism... solipsism, "atheism" and albinos for autism... rather: nothing will elevate this circus -
oculus per oculus - eye for an eye... skin for stretch... belts and leather... and i hope: non-kosher shoes... whitey brightey almost the: "almighty"... but god! chugging along with all these bachelor lepers -
i want to earn honour as a yack herder in mongolia - chequers: not chess - because i need to go back to m'ah rootz... my caucasian - caspian sea - mongrel mongol and of turkic or hOOn!
talent: "talent": a hot topic for the imagery of phallus - a talent for a porceil girl of toy-kyo... with a rabbit sized bouquet of fleshy pwetty pwetty pet-als!
or... that it once happened... the steve colberT show... the blind stevie minor... keeping up appearances... a mrs. bucket that stressed! it's: mrs. bou-kay... i.e. bouquet... beau! literally! beau-*****-full!
stefan col-bear - stephen coal-b'err... it's tragic... a mrs. buckeT sort of tragic... it's not as much fun when... there might be people who joke around "illiteracy" of those who didn't used the proper orthography... that english isn't stress-laden with orthography - but can be deviated with and back into: to speak is one thing: to write: another...
mrs. bouquet / alias bucket - or a stephen colberT... alias: col-ber... coal-bear... coe-bare... it's like elevating a status symbol: yeah... i too wish i had a surname like: VIN-D'SOR... or win-win-d'sour... or windsor...
windy, sir? it's not like there will ever be: something to play with in english that might arrive at: suspense! it's the bare enlisted minimum - i too have reached my cul de sac of ingenuity - perhaps i invented a light-bulb - perhaps i have confronted a river with a bridge - there's no second "eureka": there's only a devolved "word salad": or an attempt at a Prokofiev linear - even with all the flurry of decapitated sounds running around like... decapitated "sounds"...
i still come to the conclusion: this was never going to be a language that could be extracted and used in a formal manner... paint me a practical picture: preferably a schematic used in engineering: when looking at a Kandinsky...
now look at these words: there's a rigidity of spelling - a kept grammar? well... to know blue is to also... settle for the hue that might tease either green or yell-ow...
but is it a venture: prim formal? i hope to find grave and bed come 11pm... and my legs come 6am tomorrow... and at least 3 hours of walking... till the point that my underwear will rub so much on my inner-thighs that i will have to smear savlon cream on what will become oyster flesh tenderness from all the rubbing...
go full commando or wear a thong? it's impossible to walk these parts naked...
statures of man being childless - this full-embodiment of a self-to-act-upon: that there's nothing selfess about the endeavour of clogging the thoughtlessness of aether and the frictionless eternal dynamism of heliocentrism -
sum up! there's that call for verbiage! people often want, instructions - the verb that does the verb and some other bidding... i have yet to read a philosophy book that allowed itself: grammatical peacocking - that grammar is somehow only ever pure instruction: it can never be deviated from:
lesson no. 1: how you speak is: the passable grammar lesson you will ever hear... get fudge: thrown into the deep end and told to: tread water... head above the floating mantel piece! ****** don't stink it up with drowning!
ergo: the great yawning sea... and all the ghosts and myriads and sentinetls and gargantuan: failed... prodigies that come with it: adding of course... a looting of spanish armanda or some... **** u-boat tricklet...
god... when evil was fun... when evil was tinged with: a german plight of competition with the french and the english and the spanish and the russians: this strange: by god... this very strange inferiority complex... you simply can't stage a formidable presence with all that technological advances on a whim: when shuffling along with some decanting'ant: k?
of the little people that england has somehow incubated: where's my bombast?! where's my: i'm here, i'm now... i'm thoroughly fire-proof! where is that... maybe not allowing myself a presence nibbling at crumbs from the tablature of London... go back to Edinburgh? get lost in Vales? yes... way over "there": in way way over in les country... a go-get-to-Lesley brittle...
- which wasn't much of a sunday... a tired body a welcoming bed: the part of life where every 34 year old might finally settle for: get busy dying - or vegetating or... basking in the suns of former glories -
these ample three-sometimes-four worded junctions for all the biped beasts that: prance or dance or run spectacular migrations of fake: in their marathons -
i have truly managed to assert that: the world can happen by myself - beside... on some distant reservoir of thirsty new lives and: vitality pomps - for their vitality i have a submergence into a vitriol i dare not exercise - that's of course: they have been incubated by a lie... any lie in the framework of the already unshakeable complex of pedagogy - it would have been better to have... beside crushing me... not given me this leisure of education... to stand organic and proper... to appeal to the thespian monotony of customer service roles where: the customer is always right...
it was foolish to educate a man beyond the age of 16... all the guys who dropped out of school come 16 are now either mortgage shackled... definitely with wife and most certainly with child in tow... i'm hardly my own making...
tone death: blair - again... is it a solipsistic statement, that... famous mea culpa? it's my fault for most certainly it is... but at what point did other people stop existing... at what point can i blame fortune on myself? this sunday was depressing because... i made a bet... on 8 football matches... a bet on a win... and a bet on... both teams scoring... 16 matches to choose from... but this is why i abhor gambling... it's this stupendous suspency akin to reading a thriller... which i have never... but you get the idea should such results as: 6 - 1 tottenham hostpurs vs. man united / 7 - 2 aston villa vs. liverpool... ever... degrade your least chosen of avenues of "hope"...
- somehow a "little known" nuance... albion is a chalk-faced grinning monstrosity of lime, scaling up to no ends meet: and meat... of course... the kosher furore surrounding the omnivorous tacticians of: one rice patty per village: sq. a dozen heads...
i too want linear pursuits of language! hey! over 'ere! i want to take it upon myself to be native and be get-given the wings of flight! looks like i'm nowhere going... looks like i'm going nowhere: but i'm still somehow: a here... in this heliocentric ferriswheel post-scientific darwinism this: pop cull-the-truants! i am somehow hier... herr sir-farce-a-****-to-borrow... and a lot...
to have to escape the russians and the polacks and the germans and all these subsequently not-listed cretins of the european pervesion... of: self-mutilating yodle yo... barracks up-right and standing... congregating around the mafia proposal of the: vain-ticky-tic-toc-bataclan...
dog collars of priest simply ooze: satisfaction with: a missing status of believbility... but do not fret! the hougenots are the last rats to bail... of a sinking ship... and there's all this night's worth to want to exploit with the burdens of sleep!
that we are pulverised dead-end-knottings... insomnia provoked... it's no matter... the people without attache verbiage... with strict cohesive conducts are all ablaze... i want these skimmies for detailing scoop of fat over fat: leaving little of beliebvable bone to be a miscarriage of... ahem... "reality";
i have been accused of missing an ego a clog in the jargon of the: "ex machina": a reality without a deity is almost like... a flaking of a skin... that must be associated with an invitation to possessing a self.