this more have general managed Roger
forsake in I also
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Thursday, July 23, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
Collaborative texts, July 19/09
Barbarians vs. Cowboys
The lake of mud quivered slightly as she emerged, slowly and obliquely angled. Her bonnet remained hopeless but fear gripped the throng of onlookers and hippies sat in the back in a haze of goats' hair. The sack remained motionless, humming slightly for the return of England and other outmoded extravagances. Questioning whether it was possible to put both legs in one compartment, Lady Anthracite blinked and fluttered in the fog. "It's all a sham!", she moaned as the mysterious lights slowly moved under her smock. Scarlet flowerpots fell from a tremendous height only to ascend rapidly again mere seconds before crashing. Protective magic might serve to hide those unsightly folds of flesh worn by the Barbarian tribes but around here the cowboys have got it all wrapped up!
The Bearded One!
Feathers and paint were the sole components of his elaborate and ornate vehicle. The wheels were aristocratic planets that creaked in a vaguely tuneful way as they turned the butterfly wings. Older men scuttled across the ocean floor like crabs while the young ones employed inflatable roses to float to the oily surface. Loose or tight, molded infants appeared in the wings, their plastic faces gleaming under shapeless garments or microscopic organisms. Magpies grew more formal and transparent as evening descended. A crippled mathematician disintegrated into a picturesque fog. The mechanisms were inspected carefully and cleaned of any errant hares and toads but witchcraft still seemed the more viable option under the circumstances. Oak or willow poppies clattered noisily in the driveway where earlier civilizations once provided bugs with floatation devices. Queen Elizabeth now appeared from under a rock. "Behold, the Bearded One!", she exclaimed while extraordinary discretion kept her from revealing her magnificently lathered apparition.
- S.Higgins, W.A.Davison, July 19, 2009
The lake of mud quivered slightly as she emerged, slowly and obliquely angled. Her bonnet remained hopeless but fear gripped the throng of onlookers and hippies sat in the back in a haze of goats' hair. The sack remained motionless, humming slightly for the return of England and other outmoded extravagances. Questioning whether it was possible to put both legs in one compartment, Lady Anthracite blinked and fluttered in the fog. "It's all a sham!", she moaned as the mysterious lights slowly moved under her smock. Scarlet flowerpots fell from a tremendous height only to ascend rapidly again mere seconds before crashing. Protective magic might serve to hide those unsightly folds of flesh worn by the Barbarian tribes but around here the cowboys have got it all wrapped up!
The Bearded One!
Feathers and paint were the sole components of his elaborate and ornate vehicle. The wheels were aristocratic planets that creaked in a vaguely tuneful way as they turned the butterfly wings. Older men scuttled across the ocean floor like crabs while the young ones employed inflatable roses to float to the oily surface. Loose or tight, molded infants appeared in the wings, their plastic faces gleaming under shapeless garments or microscopic organisms. Magpies grew more formal and transparent as evening descended. A crippled mathematician disintegrated into a picturesque fog. The mechanisms were inspected carefully and cleaned of any errant hares and toads but witchcraft still seemed the more viable option under the circumstances. Oak or willow poppies clattered noisily in the driveway where earlier civilizations once provided bugs with floatation devices. Queen Elizabeth now appeared from under a rock. "Behold, the Bearded One!", she exclaimed while extraordinary discretion kept her from revealing her magnificently lathered apparition.
- S.Higgins, W.A.Davison, July 19, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
proprietorial
lurk sky scar scrape tied love
hence traditions allow you to live
gestures of scrambled perception handkerchiefs
undo you do stand will voodoo rhythm
time is your cell
measures most what lives their hell
ways of paths borrow street names as orientations
come back from past plastic ports
open to connect more than one part trial
fail as individual is the scheme
humbled sliced self esteem metorial memorial rhetorical
hence traditions allow you to live
gestures of scrambled perception handkerchiefs
undo you do stand will voodoo rhythm
time is your cell
measures most what lives their hell
ways of paths borrow street names as orientations
come back from past plastic ports
open to connect more than one part trial
fail as individual is the scheme
humbled sliced self esteem metorial memorial rhetorical
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