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Resorted. Oil sink. In two columns one column. Lace on the tarmac. An extract, from the Vulgate I believe. Hoots Malone: this is his tale. Lunatic in a cormorant costume. Powerful scrolls. The lucid high five dive. The clicking-the-buckle three-peach-tree-town sonnet. Okay faisal. Construction. Soledad certain deutsche sequenza revuelta. Ode on a truism. Volcanic clouds. A séance, a cunning ditty. Of animalcula and haruspicy. Subtile Musicks. Buttsy. Beaucoup duck. Blink klip figurement, intricate and aflame. A cheese cottage triptych. In remembrance of "Beaucoup duck." Ha ha that's what we call paying the bills. Wise is he. Killer beans. The Maple Leaf Rag. He gave a tooth. Tract. Second class. |
Invocations, &c. Now, when the light of the sun is at its brightest, dancing with Euterpe on the beak of a crocodile or in an oxen-occupied dale, Damn! What a bad time for the maestro to go mad. He's been holed up in the Bibliothek trying to transcribe Beethoven's posthumous symphonies. He's on something like number nineteen, now. But it's bullshit, you know. He's pasting together melodies that were thrown aside, undesired, & calling them sequels to the bastard tenth. Enough cack! Get with the praxis. Intone, okay, just intone with me here, "Rise ... oh rise ... ye lucky ... dimes." Elks smiled and sheepdogs belly-ached as I (whilst dancing up Kansas in a roadblock task suit) divined sobriety. "Oh no, oh no!" I cried, "I'm being inflected by the rhythms of my past!" "Not to fear," said the chief elk. "Every sheepdog has his elephantitic forebear!" Wise words, coming from an elk. But as the others began to laugh I wondered whether I might've licked some trickle of phlegm myself. Mail doxowoxorg at yahoo dot org. Look here, homies: we have input the terms "quanto[,] four[,] crescendo[,] [and] people" into a electric-research internet portal site [link to aforementioned search, on one "google dot com", oh about halfway down the eighth or ninth page of results you shall find the following link] and came up with god only knows, but: you should, would you perform such a search, "wind up with" this site [link to doubly aforementioned site at one "canais dot sapo dot peetee", meaning Portugal] implying that the Portuguese have got their fingers in the Quanto Four Crescendo People pie. 11/29/00 to 05/01/01 |