Tag: marks impinging upon matter

Hooks & Crooks

Trees, trees in a forest. The bastes and the herds of the hempen plantum synergia. And then again a banana slips on by. Within the megalopolis of ut garret lookers and seekers after their salts. Owing to the mineral consistency of a piecemeal degree of damasked flora. A legend of vegetal moon endearing bloodlust in the exhaling of toxins. A remove from the grade and cline overhead and toppem on the side of blowing windem seer.

If you wait to see your way down the travail, if your guts extend to the moors of a soluble character in a tolling belle of the libertad. Tied and of no ill refute. A comparison between the long drawn meters of a changing patios. Laughing at the epochial cuniform stratum of telegraph wire and freedom post.

The bluejay of happenstance goes to its hedge and nuzzles a maiden of the secure pasturage. His gal, his girl, his welkin woman of the mayfair sessions. She is industrious, she is a glad walker of the irony and agape. An olden Greek love whereby chum is legion and blowhard is the whalers’ road and good awful lode.

With a spur and chicken cross. The icabod and the caparison. The driver and his monkey say how do. They have met with the stewards of the thoroughfare and they have galvanized their steel. If anything more troublesome comes down this road we will have to abandon ship and head off for the hinterland.

Make good on our prospects and buy a number of cheese sandwiches for the children. Appease the concurrent nations of the captioned garnishment of their stride. Give the daylight hours a cup full of blessings to make good cook of thematic pots. Tbe fulsome foodstuffs and the elixers of a sound pie.

Cogni

Peaceful, easy and full of sympathy. Nomen C cogitance in bloom. The valued expression of namesake. Given to the bedding down of horny deer on hilltop of a downtrodden grass. I could write her a letter of the diminutive type. Emboldened with sweet displays of incredulous wit forsooth. The nicks and foils of a blaspheme free truckload of the peach.

And yes the bond of infrequency has the bent of too many out of hand referrals unto the treasure and trove. Many glowering torpitudes making out like cuttahacks in the Hessian stream of a distant fugue. To take on ourselves the hawkish means of recognition in the fields of pasturage. With the tresses bound to all go enjoy the decent and arriving. I hope to see you all there with as much chutzpah and contest as could be found between a cricket and a racehorse.

To battle it out clodhopping their way around the ripened track. With touts and crafty schoolwork ruse. A cogitance in the nervy way that bellows can swiftly steal a fire from the blade. To engrave the phrase upon it’s broad. Left to crow’s singing charlatan mouthful and lifelong chum and carousels loving.

Maybe there is better less bitter way to come into the power of knowing. But very few people ever choose to give it a chance. They want concrete throes, pavements, and the host of indelible answers to go by.

Stop it! End the charade and the axe grinding and the folly of blasphemous the ruse. End it! To be your own better helper and friend. The good old fashioned reason to look down in order to look up. How so? Have you no confidante? Are you one more b-rate study in chumps or just a bad date? The world must know the difference between service and ugly minded people out to take every law advantage of the freedoms of their fellow man, and woman.

I do not merely see. I sense. And the control to acknowledge that to people of trust and not those we don’t is the difference between a tailspin and a long, slow curve. The thing is, most people,like it or not have very little time to pay attention to the natural flow of events here in this earthly circus. Not to mention that besides those who would just as soon we blow it out loud asses.

There is also that contingent of greedy eastwards who do not believe in freedom at all. Once discovered by the average Joe the fact is that that schmuck or duppy, which ever side of the argument they find themselves on, only has enough time to tell the lie. That great work of all malicious people everywhere.

I myself am of the mind that we all really need each other to an Earth’s short ton degree. Farther going there and much to becoming here but the truth that for the most part we are best left alone and to our devices. I know that recognition amongst the fallen and statistic. If fishing the pond of mankind is moving closer and closer to the cheating side of the slack. In their ethics and relations and how they choose to take part in the upbringing of others. Chillies. Chiel. Youngins.

That is enough for me. The world will at times still find her children are trying to throw a wrench into the works but that’s the fucking business. And like it or not the mass and that part of it that is black is giving peoples the business. The haunting line of freaks driving down the line behind the wheel of their own destruction.

Nothing necessarily truthful remains that can be said on this at present. I know the care of my namesake amongst the ways of my brethren as together our revolutions continue in the guises of a dear Lord and I know the blasphemous tide that often surrounds the Christ. Other than that there is the fine lot of life’s variety. Mystery plays it’s hand a guide and herald falling in love with someone to spend the glad days espoused and caring for the chillies come of that kind of care and foreboding.

Thank you very much. I will be here all week. Lol

UtChat

Children roaming streets playing with sticks and stones. The laughing old lady gathering her chips for another round of bridge before heading to table. The good life looked over by raging gyms and sandlot dollars. There must be a ride in a truck. The glossy yield must dramatically incalibrate. Must lick the palms of the icy eyes. Too many sharps and they are only to make us out for our skulls. The shaped anthema of the Mexican ranch.

To see the street for its dusty quarters. To come up with spiels in the dithyrambs. A stories glory horder. Lets go and take a quick equator trip on the liberty tide of open house service and see if we cannot make out the women and the cogent of the place like chiel sanctimones. The Billy frame and the psaltry bow of scythe at lee in the tinsel lair.

To be a good bit past the running ground of disporters. Caravaning on the Davie Jones typography strata and tableau show. A good high hog to bitty and camp out against the speech, quit and borne, right mariner of calmer seas.

So many black orders on the peace. Packs of people and dogs on the new morning wandering at pesky and yet profound galavants of the old school crowing. Fish, fucks, friends and difficulties remembering. How many daisy chains to go kicking down a little something getting home. Rehearsing my roll in a story. Not to always be taken for some jack fool but rather to go over the lands down way and dream of the high returning tide. Too much grass and the park reverts to the transient church serpents pride.

The vert is crow for fodder of cry. The shire and the foremost stumping of rye and foundling punk. Have you a moment for singular expedience. Or are you afraid of being put down. Some reason that shied away. Some bottom that turned away shunned by shame and future folly.

If it goes to show that we are Sun worshippers. Why stoop to make it rain. Just saying the local host of provenders must be supplicated rite lightly in the aspect of quintessential norms. Glad to see you good charler. Beneficent is the grange kind sisterhood brag. The bias is in redown. The judgment seat is out of candy. Collaring the doge leaves citizens at leave with the call to aptly turn over a new leaf. With the crazed blackeye of rubbish. Sad lot of the current meatpie.

Well to get over the fencepost. The splayed feet beneath the camper mountain. Only the damned need to know more. The fleet is out to pasture and the grand eloquence of the buttered bread condolences have eaten the flag to make potluck and pilfered treaty out to bustling gates. Railing and trouncing beasties for so much as a teaching of their own good appetites.

That a way the glad barons have graves to lay down in. To simply be alone and no longer try to estrange the bussing services from their bluebirds. It has to be going down for the frickin’ pale of it. False prophets for false fear. The burning down of the firewall. I knew the ground was there. It just wasn’t mine to burden it.

What Ease At Burdened Time 2002/11/13 Wednesday

Sight unseen departments of religion. A government with a lot in tow. Feed Thebian poor, treat the Ionian sick. Cure the ailing and relieve the woe. A man in a big house. A dog gone to a matt. A fireplace burning aglow. A warm and friendly cat. Doctors for the mind. A supplement to care. An occasional bier. Friends accompanied to the fair. Stress of the working day. A load on my back and mind. A partner to help out. A customer treated kind.

Here is today. And here is my life. I would include the good spirit. I would find myself a wife. How far am I in introversion. How easy would it be to hide my time. Where is the house of paper goods. May I continue in my time. Where am I subjected tu. What grand title have I met out purloined. I am more practical to the object. I feel it in my groin.

Over Field And Glen 1994/02/08

Run free with the wind in the fielded glen. Fast as a cloud with a few minutes over a valley to spend. Then rest beneath a few trees with hints of azure skies above the boughs. Or bathe in the cool of mountain streams during spring thaws. For such occurrences I bodily strive. Bound through nature’s eternal struggle with happenstance.

To keep my life I write, I sing. I fly as in a dream with birds on a wing. An augury of flight. Innocents of the night. With our lives like ritual and a foreboding sense of might. Where we will land to the predator there is given no clue. Simply a fact that this story continues later is true.

Iconoclastic Fete Stances 1996/08

On Autumn nights when the rye in the fields has been harvested and put into bundles. Merrily and with stealth comes the cather of hay into the rye. To garner away the faith of accumulated  clave ceps of purpura from off the stalks. The bundled stalks of rye.

Politicians would argue to keep the clave crow on the rye and let the seekers have their fill from the milled grain and suspiration throughout the year slowly drawn along. But the cather could refuse and go out to pick a many lot in order to brig back the letryses of the garland with him to make out well in doling the larder of his accomplices. The gud stamp of the dance set.

Occasionally when propositioned by gypsies’ and their ghost and when they had enough some was given away. At the want of the best specimen for ingestion. Simply they are were boding of the thrown chances in a lucred plight. The having of dances in the arms of iconoclastic fete stances.

The politicians realizing the light coming long before dawn. Stalwart in doubt as to the wind weaving of survival in their grain stores and stirs. Wondering without refrain and often shunned. From the interior country where the travelers were known for coming out with the laughingstock of the rogue and rambling, the revelers and a rake.

The fact that gypsies had their own sundries of a tailor and wine to speak of the vintner of bleaky sun aum mantra chant nourishment. Taken heartfelt to dreaming child gait and sweet reminiscences. With strange calender romances they would thus have their dances in private on mountain sides beneath the moon.

Demotic Incalibri

Humane reliques of the earth’s sovereign past. What hear you of these things in the modern theatre? Are the children as bereft of honest charge as the carbon copies? Will the exhumed gold and silver ever get back to rocking and rolling in the turn of the soya count. Dwindling remnant of bones. The contained. The remittent to the even flow of things being tied.

An inhibition to say 💭 things vulgar or not competent in the rhetorical schools foundling. A certain distaff of effective trepidation. How the long going frequency of knits and assuages makes out in the meticulous banter of birds. A gathering coming to the North and its dawn. Fastidious displays of leadership and non sequitur. Each indelible peace in the histories of a nation getting up off of its knees. To embrace the weak forces of nature and say 💭 that Mother belongs on the main. Giving respite to those whose call 📱 goes not unheard.

Commingling in the effervescence of ryman tropes and current metaphors. All glad the ship 🚢 is not sinking. All bayofully at scratch with their devils. Making way in the trades of the music. A grand and verbal contentment in the acclaim amongst the tables of roundabout friends. Each good fellow and glam doll rolling on the crest of the waves that beat on the shore outside.

A Summer house not much fit for Winter’s pasturing. Often the nearest occupant is a dusty ghost. Making out his day on the back of a couch. Meals, rest, and entertainment. Each portion of the day boiling up together into a fust of appetites. Those favorable memories in the mindful exchange of greetings between passerbys.

The quarry of asides deems hesitation break for the wing out upon the tarmac. Its green Sunshine refledged in each clover found to bear its four lucky leaves. A pile of salient drawn salts. The digs of a roving mendicant. Making out garret and grot to the season and the clement weather’s train. An obfuscate and trembling now couched citizen. Gregariously close to the vanity of the lady in her arts. She does not wish to sing alone. An entire choir of the angels making progress out upon the waves. Headed for that furthest ignoble shore. With seed and stamina the new land meets expectations and the olden horn is blown to remember those whose tread fell before this shift of carbon.

This sign of the spiritual throw. With the momentum of a loose flying goose the beautiful and the emblazoned in a rapping flag comes down to a mire of resorts and treats. Withal the blessed pension of a midlander keeping a verbal sentiment in time. For the wait is a look back over one’s shoulder and a barrier with out needing diverse concomitant to hold the hand of the cantor. If we can simply release the bear from the trap. If it were no emboldened goof that limited the exclusion into subsequent divestures. And so the glade is made glad in renewed wander through the dance. Stages in the phases and character roles of a tramping and well spoken crewe.

Fellow friends in an accustomed gate. The North end of the city proper. Where the organic food trucks come into the market space on the square. Near the warehouse that have been refurbished into living lofts and organized corpus of indemnity and the good book 📗 to crow by.

A better dursted landsman into his continence and sharing withal. Concurring streams in the operators style. A realization of a gone 🏠 despondancy in the rising Sun. With bluebirds singing of their happiest schtick about the shrubs and groves that turn from garden to plot. A liberty to wear a new t-shirt and turn the old one into a rag. The best handle on the jug keeps a cork in it. And the olde hound forgets the bitterness of her more frugal appetites. Lets on that she is no more a chaser of rabbits and their tails. Now she wanders behind the child to see him his way down to the schoolyard where the child will bid her take her leave and go. A saunter and a saserdotal memory for the each of them to go by.

Offal Care

Offer care at a level somewhere. Above awares, are the sublimns of any lesser importance than the sort? Of matter rooting in its form. Is it motion that brings arc to bow? Those lengthy gaited and hallow strides in the revolution of their quandary. The cross borne plots of matter. Through space in motion. From the gravity of a fallen leaf or water down a stream.

The moon askew in its round from the general hobnobbing of the planets. And then the sol in its fascinating wheel twinkling on and off. By verifying a round succor. But itself triambulating a course of 4 motions or rather 3 motions bearant upon a core vessel.

A keeper of sakes floundering like some new fish on the dockside. And further be the plane in any reaction of numerous flight. Gaiting in volumnicity and stratagem. For some period at a reckon with mindset. And relative conjuncture of paradigm. And orthodox mitering at rite with revelation.

Could the octave and its few scales bear upon representation of the universal colossus? What to praefect the learning aptitude. And settle any qualms against practice and well contained hypotheses. It is a duel tremens that airs the third. Dimey at a mention-duration. Long enough to pick a gait. Long enough to bow under and lay.

The ground strewn in its contesting bouts with revolution(entrofusion). To find some harmony in this epochal. Like ratios of the interning fate. The smallest besmidgeon and the longest tide between ebb and flow. It is some method of emotion at a virile stance with any affection or fertility.

The fuse of consciousness looks for new and different means. To accept or rather digest the influx of such matter with precept in one’s self. Wit’ the rationale at want in garner for report. Some pliable civilized cant with the theros of imaginings making mendicant the hallows or shaded side. Some relative use, some mythic livelihood that grips the conscience by the whole. And then receding as if it has brought a new sketch of the stars to its own focus and frame. At a mete with science, at a core for sure. Yes my indigenous side still hankers for the evolutionary stuff.

A diversity of intentions has the watern soul, in converse, in sure measure, and to smart with such dole of the indicative and thoughtful process allured. A cohesion of spirited trains in the mirthful respect for one and his cohorts. This acclamation in encouragement for the pathos of the mind. How seek it, I, with cant equippage at the outset in the paranormal array to lay against it. Meditative states of robustness and boundary. The eternity space of marques thrown near to capsize on the shore. A prince of the heathen starside village.

The reinforcement of historical credence drawn by not langouring, not smuggling the mishap of a fallen dawn. Does the baroque cavort upon a surface or is it more a wheel milling of the course in its figure and number. It would seem the motion enrapt of self and charmed by offspring. To look back estrailing on some dremarian conquest of the exhibitionary mien and liege. It is curious that a revolution enkind could be left here remaining in odd sorts of spiel. In odd parts of a fused wheel. Or spiral or snaking filibuster of its coil and mane. The freeweight accumulation of firth and bow.

A last handled paying of the homage to any mentos serendip that escape the beauty of the rose and its stone in a messianic attempt to bridge the gaits. With cross-reflex inter-temerities of an awry muscular flex. And the Saint of a lock and bar counting up his cultural whereabouts with his head like a man.

On more than one mission at once. A mark skanse his halidome. Raising in shape like a stand before the new days rising sun. A penchant for non-vehicular movements, read to all like a list that fate is no worse fare. For a better common good than one who’s tune seems strong enough, but fails in its distant recoil and falls too often like a limb to the wind or other such disparaging weathers.

Cantus Abilis

The shade, the winning link. The one that the presses chose to go by. Whether a lemon still belongs in the tree or is it now got for the white picket fence as well. Taking part in a long and ornately drawn series of parades. There in the flight zone of the aviary and the walker of clouds. With the amalgam and the parlor fan. The frequent restitution of query.

The choice to be dishonest. To what purpose and to what ends. The spectrum is rather broad. One could simply choose to look out for another. Then again one could actually be trying to frame a loose acquaintance in their own feats of death defying grace. The relation with God whereby prayer and supplication along with offering and petition are led up toward the alter of receiving the divine into the heart, the loins, and the mind.

Somewhere like the chakras. Less mottled though. Really giving to each other the plea of dissemination. In the step taking, in the free exercise, and with all the tenderness and care that a loving set of open arms could give you. With these precepts in the rational field of change. Whereby no trespass is survivable in its own unnecessarily divergent and nasty want of a constant state of quarrel.

The need to make it out to change comes upon us again. It asks for the familiar. That which is in its essence a turning of the ephemeral charge. Blues and sunshine yes, but with the impression that not all will stay the same. Day by day through much seeking and in making out no such feckless saltiness in the take on the universal and its broad ocean swaths. With the rivers and currents both breaking up on the shore.

Long on the road is the way of the kenning song. The certainty that a jackdoe or her friend the muledeer can light up the marquees and spotlights on this man’s new run on the long Broadway. Walking with the sides and asides of the bully tom boss lumber yards. Inimitable given to the pathos of the tourists and scapeys. A penchant for the abased tonality in the transmission of freeweight and dummy’s bell.

Continuum, inertia, and perpetua. The glad free former in a gladdened gait of highstepping. Along the wickets, along the thickets, in the pitch and keep of the very blossoms’ troe. Down lengths of animate forested path. Fortunate as the believer in her garden. Looking over the lost crop of apostates prudent at the death of their pig. Does he still need that ring in his nose? Must his ears remain on fire and will he ever see straight so much again?

I must be sure the laggard slaggard aces remember their five finger discounts. So much for the name of fire. A supposed fallow light where the tramps have to excuse the trees from burning, the animals from dying, and the human flesh from conceiting itself and say please let it all in. Slating up karma and reciprocity for devil worship. Earth body disease point lye. The inquisitive lie. That must break the bough from its wise, from its nature, from its instinct.

A broken West heisting its own satisfactory course. The ride pig and her hustle in the slave yards of the forgotten sonambulist ditch. Stray dogs barking, braying with mules, howling with the wolves at the moon in the mid of night.