Well Played, Psych Exam

Do not use your house; it is full of librarians and rabbits. Small objects such as these small toys are looking for items you can sell. Electronic products, however, tend to lead to higher prices. Stroll near the kitchen and underground parking will be available for pick-up. For example, eBay, it's a garage sale, but it can be very cold. Or the site that contains the icon to be displayed. I often like living in the past. Modern neuroscience, meet ancient Greek theater.

Human Ancestors

Don't forget the hospital administrators! Bloodlust is making blocky geometric animal pipe culture. Having never been changed by stellar data, at least at some sperm should be kicking in soon.

We like explosions.

We like explosions.

We like explosions.

We like explosions.

Also we are very proud of the broadband link

We had to use all of this wood and plaster to build the child's new home. We need to realize the immense problems of this achievement and expand into a lucrative career. It should be a source of huge flows of hot money, mixed with complimentary food in hot rooms; comfort and luxuries that we enjoy are unique. Once that happens, we will become as unpopular as the product of our craft. Think of all of the hand-less citizens. They should be left to freeze to death during depressive erotic adventures. We all know the common practice that gave us the boundaries of ethics. It's like a new music. We hope that our goal is to provide a technique of obvious risk, and charm.

Common Photo Liquid

We do it in a wild place that cares. We have eyes to identify some hard stuff in this place, as we at last establish a platform for those who are here to hit the group.

All of us still can score. This is a cool jivey desperate vibe, we are in the cut. But in most moments we can not shake; it may sound, but none of us can even enter this Jazz. Cool Cats, with us and down under us, which has become here, tying straight, so that we could communicate.

Places will not buy this text we dig here, but it can never suppress these posts made here. This is for us, in cats that have to pick up those who are still paying. Blues is that cats goofed here flew so crazy right now. Man!

What you really need to be here with my eyes in this wild concert, which remains required than those of distant DOA, you get a little higher. That strike, which really was and turned his installation, we accept state directly that show these cats started the area, this group under God, shall blow new sound crazy, and the hot combo hipsters, tight pants, hipsters and no need to cut this scene.

My Awesome Remapped Practices

The selfish orchestral wraiths, chattering hallucinations adrift in a sea of dim figments, live for untouched experiences.

Everyone has to consider basic personal tactics for bribing the precious digital society of ghosts who insist on having their own glowing money which can be exchanged for effective, and therefore meaningless, coupons which can then be exchanged for little squares. This scene shall frantically light up everyone. Existence embodies shame in the middle of a movie theater.

White Blood

In my city, a chain of brake lights heralds the departure of our sad fathers. With wounds under their three-piece suits, they consider the losses they suffered and the cold mornings to come. The sky melts blue into gray, just as their heroes have been exposed as frauds. Their women are ours now, and we teach them marketable new skills.

Licking a Tambourine

We hope that our goal is one blatant and fascinating technical risk. We have to shred all of the substantial knowledge to give you the frontiers of musical being. Thoughts of every contemporary taste should sit abandoned, fulfilling the more adventurous commercialism. You acquire each unpopular composition from it. Be combined with something preconceived and far back at the very outset of recorded thought; the unique music is popular. We have our need to achieve and expand instead. It has taken all this to do it.

Whack the Floor With Me

I am the delightful Chancellor of Something. Revolutionary mental professionals crave their own delightful skills, but I think experience suggests a number of incredible abilities the non-expert routinely understands. Hard-nosed scientists recommend the best flesh.

I have remarkably unique and quirky students.

Perception bites the giant puzzle.

Our pioneering research base shows that the theory of evolution could explain part of the vision that many of our key findings reflect. Psychologists and neuroscientists will want to appreciate this narrative of everyone. All signs of evolution and perception can assure you of the scientists' type of matter .

An Award-winning Forensic Holiday Purchase

Many criminals are arguing that dangerous cardigans are staples of cable television. The First Lady is not dangerous, but she violates the terms of wardrobe politics and the rule of colorful holiday budget fraud.

A person who captivated the President's wife by saying intelligent love terms shouldn't agree with the personal views of Jackie O, Nancy Reagan, or Michelle Obama. His family is afraid of a real-life poised woman. Her advice is based on very different, excessively serious consequences exempt from the style-savvy economy of country. Now, her voice is like sugar poured into skim milk. He should suffer.

Jam Out to Songs Like This

This likeable laid back exchange student earned ten pretzels he named “The Awesome California Affair." His blond father bleached a bicycle and dishes. He associated selling his pretzels with profound soft hair. The lifestyle with trademark food and a cart began his international appreciation for money washing. Abroad, in Chantilly, France, Pretzel Guy gained enough spiky three-wheeled love to study six years of cuisine. The guy built it there.

Claw in Room Crap

I'm licking my own face incessantly tonight. The trumpets carry a sullen patriotism out among the silver maples of the park, and the picnic shelters, and the bare flagpoles. My coat, the one with the small ovals, provides sufficient protection from the gradually intensifying precipitation. I am applying saliva to the skin of my face with my tongue, the one you knew. Now, I doubt you can allow its presence in your defiled memory.

Utterly Impersonal

The manager of business affairs paid for the morphed aesthetic of time. Since the praying studio was chosen, corporate interference and brilliant melodrama were a source of really cool sounds. The famous professional golfer forced the wife of the online picture artist to produce three or four unwittingly confident face constraints. In small doses it's as good as an ounce of feeling ever gets.

This is the band of the future, I'm going to produce them in Tokyo this winter.

Coochie Snorcher

Some women woke up upon a real bed before finding knots of wood and woolen android sweaters tucked under the colorful mattresses. They all heard healthy little bird-like animals. They were fist-sized and most evil. One of the women touched a tomcat and discovered the illness of the patterned liquid.

the details specific to a given text are considered more significant than the qualities it shares with other texts

Samuel Foodman Headkisser, the famous director of alternative goth furry ninja pornographic film The Loose Caboose was found lifeless and bruised in an ugly mobile home the color of yucky spinach. His hilariously mangled anus smiled at coroner Anne LaMott as she smoked an enormous marijuana cigarette to cope with the horror of defiled footwear and gross blood piles.

As the coroner busied herself with wrapping her head around the shockingly horrific corpse of the icon of the anthro community, Sheriff Jerry Sandusky busied himself with a tricky fortune cookie wrapper. Finally deputy Tagg Romney used his rusty toenail clippers to open the ridiculously difficult cellophane, and Sheriff Sandusky greedily devoured the tacky Chinese foodstuff inside. The fortune read "Give the coroner a noogie," so he put LaMott in a severely painful headlock and used his knuckles to remove a kilo of hair from her excessively moisturized scalp. Eventually, deputy Tagg Romney had enough shenanigans and beat the sheriff senseless with a revolting frozen ball of warthog shit until it thawed and the interior of the mobile home was the most repulsive interior of a thing anyone ever imagined.

A Truly Dedicated Showman

Fill up the nice vehicles and the brothers will be happy to ride in them. They will hide money, odd candy, bullets, and toy cows in the glove box. Then someone will cry and my prayers will become less human, more fish-like, full of a strident electricity. The brothers will feel the faces of a hundred dead lovers pressing against their chests, abdomens, and asses. One brother will die with something inappropriate in his body, indicating fulfillment of a certain vengeance.

The Youngest Museum Curator in the Country

Dr. Chang, Dr. A. W. Chang, Dr. Squyres, and another Dr. Chang manufactured by far the largest privately held piece of Chinese land in May of 2049. The family of A. W. Chang provided the special advanced ground transportation research in 2036. After 2040, Earth received the highly unequivocal financial data manufactured for political reasons.

The Squyres family quickly established dozens of original computing objects in 2027.Tin 2004, the children on the the red planet stated that the largest humans in Sweden may be worth hundreds of death artifacts. The first sour pharmaceuticals were strewn over the surface of the dominant space facility on Earth in the year 2024.

As for the origin of quantum text merit engines, the committee cannot even begin to estimate how much of the current family presented evidence of the assets formerly known as space. Dr. Chang discovered the first permanent civilization.

Open Us We Say To You

I know that tomorrow I will meet someone. I think he keeps a crow tooth in his armpit. He has my Vertical Horizon compact disc. His nephew the hard Mormon man can smell women but cannot feed them some food. I made that up. But I want my compact disc tomorrow. I will get it from the guy who has the thing in his armpit. I told you about him earlier, he also has a necklace of black market corals.

The Medicine Can Rip You

Wait for the leaves. They explain a lot. They come from trees and taste like the voice of the sun. They can make memories that do not burn. They make thoughts like bad ice. They make imagined faces like birdhouses.

You Get Goosebumps

Blood-curdling thoughts of high-octane empathic alpha male sensation-seekers have told the ladies downstairs beautiful shrill stories about zero observant personality researchers. Smooth mind-body triggers aesthetic prickles the thrilled discordant university murderers. North Carolina is intense. Anything jarring or out of place ruffles humble thinkers' emotions.

Aromatherapy

Uncooked beet spray makes it simple to relax in a bath. Officers glare at you through the serenity of the window, redolent of essential oils and fennel. The geraniums are in their rubber soles. Tall and well-built, they look great in their jeans. They bite back grins.

Linguine Jumpstart

Place your guests into individual bowls. Sprinkle with excited holiday vitamins. Our gift to each other is a powerful extract. It's the season for rejuvenating viruses and salt slices. We hide some sauce in our softened scrotums, which we enjoy!

Instant Benefit

Ask for a kiss! Walk faster! Use cinnamon to stay calm! When you're ready for bed... Repeat yourself! When you're doing housework... Zap your leisurely breasts with happy supplements of dancing! Smile! Smile until you need stitches!

That Melts Quick, Really

Help the flat pony get its crack cocaine. Then we can watch the majestic TV movie about fragrant mothers.

Submit Your Baby Photos Professional Edition

As an independent software vendor, the skill of sensing nothing in large circles is so hard to learn. I don't have a shitload of excellent advice. I guess you could explain that the whole insulting process is very much a satisfactory negotiation with proponents of affirmation. Along with the technical skill, you have to teach that prearranged attitude, as well. Supernatural influences are not lacking when selecting footwear for use during poorly constructed conversations.

Various American Culprits

I think the producers just decided that the liberal hip-hop stud was flawed but entertaining, overqualified, awkwardly decent, and rarely bulldozed. Inspired by the sprightliest gunplay through space and time, adorable alcohol-addled partners cultivated a portal to so many worthwhile thrills and giggles. We saw hazardous moments. We staggered through holographic aspirations. We confronted countless decaying siblings, gathered vital energies, and went on a rampage in a heavily modified musculo–skeletal object.

hot smoke and oral sex

Remove and discard the seeds of our current legal intrigue. It's supposed to make you laugh. Plus, it's guaranteed to make middle-aged customers feel embarrassed and self-conscious as the banks and lending institutions continue to wage their war against special guest artists on modern rock radio. They are for our french-mexican friends. It's an assault.

The new pro-bono team of attorneys are capable of intense violence fantasies. It's an easy basis for social interaction. These legal issues have stirred up the most fucking intense hornet's nest of buried adolescence. My body even shifted into crisis mode.

wet slut, meet the horse

Now the scoreboard says these kinds of fraudulent practices are practically the norm; this is what it's like to be in the hands of a great storyteller. As a dark preamble to the terror to come, the receptionist was hovering around with malice, which would not have been possible without her neurologically damaged voice. She is somehow able to guess that there is a zombie behind the car, on the porch of the mansion. Her more outrageous claims have turned out to be true, so I’m inclined to believe everything she says. WYSIWYG.

The Affirmative Position

My mother was raised to speak out against the predictably official doubters, such an important premature judgment at a time when dissenters launch a more traditionally beautiful blog. She definitely continues her typically craven attempt to give too many interviews. A few others cast dark enchantments despite the fact that the most vocal reaction is not the best choice. Still, our cherished actress is spinning straight-up high-octane truthsauce via her light-skinned mother's YouTube channel. Wig and all.

A Thinly-Veiled Social Commentary

A set of believable characters were collected by the first state geologist of Indiana, David Dale Owen, in Missouri. The characters talk like real people. A hero has to continually think of ways to actively and creatively market current political controversy and tense political situations.

Your protagonist wore a blue, silk blouse on her date and ran her fingers through her spiked hair before putting in her nose ring and she also misses her mom. She ran her index finger down the page, the green nail polish clashing eerily with the orange paper. Those quirks impact the outcome of the current state of affairs. An easy and inexpensive way to write a book online is through a blog service.

Portentously Gloomy or Horrifying

One of the main concerns we've had in regards to establishing trading posts along the margins of the known realms is that the continued emergence of politically conservative sailors has reduced the quality, quantity, and perceived value of manly virtue. By recruiting men of the old tribes to fight against this new class of insensate sea animal, architects of international markets intend to introduce standards of actual manhood to an institutional framework sorely in need of them.

A collateral benefit, it is argued, would be a renewed focus on hardcore fucking, which until now remains a vague concept, ill-defined and subject to the ephemeral whims of market participants, no matter how noble the intentions. It is a matter of contention to several dozen individuals and small businesses.

Return of the Soft Cactus Monster

We noticed that the trend lately has been to apply the nastiest kinds of verbal insults to the strongest among us, but the problem is that what various parties truly deserve in actuality can't be determined. Response from traditional seats of power has been inconsistent, but my fellow writers and I are heartened by these notable efforts:

• The eyewear industry really became willing to follow a nightly routine, looking for alternatives to your satisfaction.
• The average fashionista retains a little extra spaciousness, maybe a buttery sense of comfort when planning to hit the sack.
• Your family and friends are optimized for the consumption of heavily processed foods, prayer and meditation, and the most obnoxious displays of nudity imaginable.

My fellow writers and I shall reside silently apart from you folks. I have an idea about next week. Ponytails aren’t just for someone with a heart-shaped face and a prominent jaw.

Real-life Sequences

Skeleton Mages are very interested in precious textiles.

I learned that from a neurotic, bookish woman in the rental bungalow. Her corpulent son, graced with lips like noisome grease tubes, founded the renowned website about bird wrestling I have frequented for many years.

I have signed a lucrative contract with him and shall be providing music to his upcoming film, a distinctive sonic and lyrical universe. I feel like it fuses dancefloor bass with twelve genetically identical lines of harmonica and highly creative songwriting skills.

A Man's Sporting Garment

You are a lucky man my friend, and most likely the acknowledged master of bonus missions. I'm fairly certain that you have a program to allow you a sense of dignified wistful justice amongst the skeletons! I'll fess up that I haven't been to a pure liberal establishment library since my crush started following me back before the days of meals in brown boxes.

Flat Comb

Shallows in the night fill the heart with the lingering irritation of hope.

Every father slips into this rut of job placement exercises and whorehouse trips. None of the mothers have enough money to party. All of the daughters take care of lots of sick animals. Up to seventy percent of sons die fast from automobile collisions and of the remaining thirty percent, five percent are fighters with brass balls, five percent are laughing warrior monks who like technology, five percent are laughing warrior monks who hate technology, five percent are redneck hustlers, five percent are cool chefs who moonlight as catalog models, one percent are roughneck weapon lovers, one percent are simplistic journalists with no interest in monogamy, one percent are theorists of anal mythologies, one percent are grumpy soldiers, and one percent refuse to acknowledge the need for covering their penises with the garments most appropriate for that particular task.

We have mostly researched sons, basically.

Everybody is Having Sex, and Nobody is Vomiting

Does anyone have a wig or fake mustache or leopard print anything I can borrow today for a music video I'm shooting? Though it shares many features with today's gliding fish, this song moves with swollen grace, like the monsters in the stories we've learned to tell children. Our music, the music we make, is something like a floating fabric upon which sentimental thoughts are actualized. We become one with the mind of those curse-bearing children, we become something colder, more precise, more filled with the potentials we cherish in the modern republic. Every song is concealed in violence. Every single one!

Put That Guy Inside Some Boxes

According to accounts, many believers spend their time praising chairs and a paint color. Many people receive feedback on the spiritual schemes that lead to a free opportunity to ask archangels about the obstacle course of God’s exterior and interior presence. For example, if you must work on fighting patterns, avoid setting up new assignments elsewhere in the realm. Submit a huge evil photo of water to the head archangel, honor the form that appears.

You selected a heaven you just won’t want to color. Archangels also spend time in the kitchen, choosing to get cut. Identify a particular drink for your God.

It's Not Pink and Floral

You can change the look of your entire synthetic criteria when they become all too formaliac and predictable. Consider the fact that verbal mirrors of more masculine warmth and softness are slightly user friendly. This means that you have to ensure that you keep swinging an adequate amount of liquids. Sure, I'll take care of that right away.

Gripes aside, what a great controller.

You can make and receive cryptic messages such that emit from your basement. That makes it easy to elegantly and easily comprehend words across the barriers of ethnic, sexual and religious backgrounds.

Robes worn by old folks are noted for their fuzzy softness, warmth, and durability, and they can be dyed or printed. The only downside is that they will get you there looking clean and hairless.

TV Enforcement Character

The surviving cop wants to formulate an escape plan after a trip to the Sheriff doesn't pan out. He’s been talking to the robbers who catch serial killers. The Queen goes into immediate lock-down mode while the tormented murderous rat responds to the robbery and actually kills one of the other hostages and those gunmen.

The new enemy is finally showing dismay when it turns out that the Mayans realized just how far the troubled biker was willing to go to get the answer that has defined the final confirmation of what he's long suspected.

This might be the risky deal, the failure episode, a trio of tricky questions. There is no end for him at this point that still involves breathing, and if he's going to go out, better he do so semi-quickly. I don't mind the mild immorality.

Cranberry Grabber

Show the world your fanciest face. Blow away some whale people with strong melodies. Give love to homosexual grocery clerks. Throw parties for wormy little athletes and miners of ores and executive pets with snazzy disco moves.

The Starch Landfall

At least my kids like to use all of the easy ingredients; my husband and I just do not taste like great lunches. If I eat once a week, I heat up so quick on the warm stove and close another fridge and put the thermos in it at once. One daughter asks for the only tomato and takes it to school. My other daughter is too great in size to enjoy a 32 oz soup meal. This is still for her.

The selenodont artiodactyls of the Uinta Eocene

It's fancy anniversary dinner time for Janet and me. We sit in our second favorite gastropub. It was supposed to be secluded from wayward eyes, hidden under the impression of an old government restricted military base that had been abandoned during the second world war.

I think I'm eating rich white hetero alien eggs. I tell that to the waiter. He rolls his eyes. His armor is a living, sentient, and enchanted armor.

"God bless the real psychos in the vibrating shoes," I tell good old Janet. She trails around with her troupe of ‘fiends’, who are invisible but always on the verge of becoming flesh. The throb in her skull and right shoulder gave insight into a tangible injury, but she couldn't remember how she obtained such a thing. The drugs are probably screwing with her perception again.

Marriage is a special kind of agony. It requires the cooperation of numerous landowners across vast areas. The story itself is deliberately ambiguous.

Puffed Protein

The main male character is a billionaire (not a millionaire but a billionaire) who speaks fluent French. He has a Bachelor of Arts degree from San Jose State University with minor degrees in military science, history, and military history. Between 1994 and 1997 he was involved in a real estate investment partnership in Ohio and Massachusetts.

His interests include archaeological research on sites in Mongolia, and as a pilot he owns and flies an original World War II "recon bird." The Government no longer provides security, such as the police, either locally or nationally. He is currently active in this area and for the security of his family and ongoing business, wishes to remain anonymous. This does tend to make it more difficult to discern the key concepts.

Spirituality Means Absolutely God Damned Nothing To Me

The amphibian, it seems, has become lost in its thoughts. This world is defined by wet skin and cold patience, slow industry and empty anticipation. In a way, the amphibian is a hustler. There is searing light above and enveloping darkness below, and until that moment of obliteration comfort is an amphibian delusion. The amphibian and fabric of motion are estranged. In families, we share the amphibian fantasy.

Chay Chay

This was almost awful.

The score for the movie was really top notch. Everyone was happy when they heard it. I read on some blogs that some of the trumpets were stolen. They were the ones that sound like falling crows. They are featured heavily in the grand theme of the hero. Then there was the scene with the dinosaur, which brought us to our feet.

Being a gifted writer, Todd begins to write stories - gay stories - about another boy he's secretly crushing on. Will he reconnect with his siblings or ever overcome his aversion to finding true love? He must make a choice: be what everyone else wants him to be or strike out and be his own man. High school can be some of the best years of life—and some of the toughest.

Dirty Shirt

The group took me to the big bathroom. Even the more multiple-thumbed than I got started. Not meaning to gloat (too much), but I'm glad I ponied up and bought the premium soap kit. As it is, it is just a lot of fun and a great hidden treasure in an awesome career. It's also an excellent choice for larger strips of citrus zest or ginger. My front doors are steel plated hurricane doors. Furthermore, the illustrations are very inspirational. They are just for babies who are lousy, lame, stupid, and overrated. That's just not hyperbole, that's a messed up kid.

This Study May Be Remarkable

They modeled a job, but it's more than done. Positive economic disasters could not include the materials and non-quantitative corruption they apply to the model. Factors such as wildly optimistic pandemics, large-scale currency flows, population sources, and military concepts look like severe social emissions have digested conflict energy.

If these pages of futurist stresses and feedback are taken into account, do the things this audience deserves - such as debt or mathematically absorbed text crises - clearly address the wider perspective? The Earth's a model of negative limits. Growth can be added to that book by explaining one view.

What would 284 loops of natural authors be like?

Excitement really starts this completely

I hope that healthy bear does it just like a stupid movie. No one gives you ridiculous energy. If let out, follow the bear and be just plain literal. Things shouldn't survive out there. For the first few seasons, you attempted to play alone, safe and trying to conserve your steps. Surely the good end up dead.

Brain Heart Million

Inside a physical time, you're connecting your limitations with the dollars.

Where is that impossible knife? Our quickest electricity questions where the strong gotta find the answer, dancing into the formulas when it cuts like a world of energy minds.

You're running. You got creative equations. You push it deeper. You're burning into your life algorithms.

The Nail and Waffle

Against the old filigreed statements of loyalty, our national director is full of hungers like the hunger for tuna and the hunger for new hair and the hunger for waiting until the woman comes to him. He is fresh and papery. That's a really amazing guy I think.

I can't wait much longer myself because it's not all the wandering urges and plain speaking that I was born into, instead I have this independent spiritual regime I stick to that keeps me loud and radiating like the greatest neutron star.

I got sick. I walked to the national director's house and begged for some money. I got the money from someone and it bought me some tickets for the food contest. I won the food contest and I sold the food to some rotten individuals who didn't deserve it because they were exotic animal smugglers who fed the stuff I sold them to some tigers and parrots and an anteater. I didn't know anteaters ate bologna but apparently, yeah.

I don't know what's going to happen now. Our national director switched to pleated slacks and a lot of us plan on doing it too, but we'll wait a little bit so it's not like we're on the bandwagon, because it's not a good thing to have that reputation. People think you're sucky if you do it, so you hold off and then after the initial wave of the fad has subsided you slip into the menswear outlet and pick up some pleated slacks slyly and wear them to Bennigan's or the place with the big onion.

DO NOT TRY TO EAT SOUP WITH THIS SPOON!

Would not have all energy from the big bang passed by billions of years ago if the universe expanded from a singular central point? Is it possible that some species of spiders are SO small that you miss them altogether? That is tribal shit man! I got it as a present from my brother-in-law as a pirate DVD.

The gestural control was a nice surprise; I didn't know it had that capacity. Who is the long haired person at the beginning? Now here's a guy we wish we could take credit for. Learn how polymers hook together with the included activities. Cornstarch is used to make gravy. It's not edible on its own.

Very sweet and ambitious

There is no sugar in the meat or cheese. I couldn't stop laughing, after I spent that whole day crying. You seem to be angry. Do you have a large rusted item in your rear?

I would get a boner except for the old guy with the measuring tape. I eat a good portion of it each day on a trough-sized plate at dinner.

And, notice when the driver of the car gets in to start he is wearing a helmet, then half way through no helmet. This will especially happen if you have an old bitch like mine was. I guess I'm the anomaly in your hypothesis.

Flinging Puzzle Molybdenum Porridge Molybdenum

The soaking sensation on your scalp is because of the song we sung yesterday. It was a hot tune I thought and I'm glad we did it, and I'm even happier that we ate the big cake afterwards. I'm less thrilled about what is happening to my body now. My nerve cells are growing super-big and poking out of my skin.

It's not happiness that's happening to me. It's something more like the wounded sound of cold wood. That's why I left the garage and you are alone with the rags and dusty glass.

In a week, I will be surprised because I am enjoying the thing that is happening to me and I will be a transformed object with knowledge of the opposite. With new flesh and the kind of money one spends on nothing, I'll walk away, into slow silence.

Find me.

The Shawshank Whatever

Farmville was invented by two guys in a hammock. One hammock they share. That's okay. It was pretty strong and it's not like it was hung on a crappy pair of trees. The trees were these big beech trees that get so pretty in the autumn. So pretty. It's a good thing to pick a pleasant afternoon and wistfully reminisce about the kinds of things people wore in the past, or musical types of things one may have heard, or the way little kids are growing because of all of these exploding cells in their bodies and the thoughts they have are particularly mad.

So, one of the Farmville dudes was consorting with a truly hideous troll-faced woman who controlled a lot of things in town, like different ways people got their water or the sorts of wheelbarrows that were allowed or acceptable plaids. But the woman was also fucking a scary ghost and whenever the Farmville dude met her for his own fuckings, she smelled like ghost semen and ghost sweat as well as...

...this is kinda difficult to say...

...ghost farts.

But this was all about learning from experiences in life, so it's not like there was any weird drama or strife involved. The Farmville dude was on to these spectral dalliances, and when confronted with his mild accusations, the monstrously gross woman said that she had a lot of lust for phantoms that she had a hard time reining in. When Farmville dude truly pondered that, he understood that the fact that she would constantly fuck that horrid ghost wasn't a reflection on Farmville guy himself but rather it was just something that had to be done. Farmville guy understood that she wasn't really cheating on him when she was fucking the nasty ghost any more than she was cheating on him by eating bagels.

As you can tell, this was a really super-valuable experience for one half of the Farmville brain trust, and by sharing this story with others, he has improved the general sense of welfare among people.

VR

Ìn that room there we can get a drink called Smooth Orange, and it is good on a day when you've got less plans than usual or your ambitions are lower than smelly shit. Because when you drink the Smooth Orange the face you have becomes like gassy water and the clothes you think you own are revealed, essentially, to totally own you.

It's kind of heavy stuff. I keep the Smooth Orange in a ninety dollar thermal protection cup I got from the store in the mall where some peoples' spouses work. Good things to drink out of are important, and it's like one way you should not hesitate to spend the big money. You'll see someone who seems too much like a falling thing and you'll give them the Smooth Orange and then you'll help them feel everything about death, and understand its casual bliss. I like to do it in stiff denim.

Wilderness Worlds Against National Debt

I saw a family values video where this proud preacher was hollering something like a hoot owl, so what? Anyways he was giving green papers to a woman with good hair and glasses, not just any green papers, it was a paper with faces of bearded gentlemen on it. Either way he got a workout from that. Gees its a wonder someone did not come up with sexercise equipment, getting both a sexual and physical workout.

This belief and comfort in self leaves him unencumbered by many of the rules and regulations that most men, especially men in this country feel obligated to obey. Happily, for all concerned, by which I mean all humanity, this younger generation has already begun to rewrite many of those rules.

I love using my motorbike but it takes a while to warm up. As in it's cold when I first start using it. What's a quick way to warm it? I normally just put it under me or set it between my legs but that takes to long. I live in Wisconsin btw.

Cloud Candle

The sky is a lichen color and a breath of dry tinsel. The sky is a bed of scales and a pool of silent smoke. The sky is heavy pewter and hides from our boat.

Wet your feet in what is under you.

When you take your fingertips back from the sandstone, rub them together to feel what they have taken away. You will find that your fingerprints have been softened. This is what you have given. The certainty of your form is diminished.

Briny Wings

They're wilting, these parents. Their eyebrows fade from their faces and their inflexible bodies. They are as much a part of this residential structure as the tar of the roof and the nests of animals in places we do not look. When they were children themselves, these parents knew of wordless urgings in genital depths, early hints of that reproductive imperative that would result in you, me, and our siblings.

It manifested itself in obscure ways in the twilight time before puberty claimed these gray parents. It lived in words shouted at a tree. In the ghost imparted into a plush toy. It was a soiled ribbon pulled tight around another child's neck.

I am essentially the game of a child, cruel in confusion.

Crowbar Teeth

Dad is a robber. Full eye contact, fist to sternum, feet on the ground robber. He brings good new stuff home to us and if we break it he doesn't show us rage the way other fathers do. He smiles and hugs us and robs something else new and good. He feeds us. He teaches us the names and songs of birds.

At a family gathering of no small importance, dad gave an impassioned monologue to his collected relations. "It ain't stealing if it's honest. Bashing a man in the face and taking the things he carries is an honest thing to do. It is transaction. Maybe you call me a thug. I will wear that garment. Like all other garments I wear, it is one I procured through no small amount of skullduggery. This food you are eating, the utensils which transport it to your mouths, the napkins, the tablecloths, the chairs you sit upon: all of this has been obtained by me in the most honest way I know, by violent force.

You may say 'I don't relish sitting on another man's chair!' To you, I say: if that other man truly wanted that chair, he would have been prepared to keep it. When I rang his doorbell and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and kicked him around his yard, he would have given me twice what he got. As I tossed his chairs into the back of my Isuzu, he would have tripped me, punched me, smashed my knees, anything to stop me from taking his chairs.

But he didn't. As he lay in the grass nursing his wounds, he agreed: this was a fair price."

Everyone knew all of this, but allowed him his time to speak. That wasn't all he said. He said a lot more. But we all wanted that soup and didn't care if a woman was shoved into a garbage can so we could have it.

ESPN Star Cricket

U.S. Licensed Pharmacies employ a stunning diversity of marketing strategies. We've taken note of these and with relish we present this handy guide to those which have met the most success in today's high-octane, media-rich social landscape.

Two friends converse, both seen in profile. They exchange a platonic kiss. One friend lies down, leaving the frame. The remaining friend turns toward the viewer, revealing that one of his eye sockets is sprouting with a thick growth of pubic hair.

A single plucked crow left on the doorstep of every citizen of a given municipality. When a citizen dissects his or her bird and disarticulate its skeleton, a fun word game is revealed: each bone has been etched with a word or phrase, and when placed in the correct order, they reveal an engrossing narrative which extols the virtue of a pharmaceutical which may be of particular interest to the recipient.

A hill where there was none before.

A social media campaign which saddens and confuses the aged members of the pharmaceutical marketing community, who feel that the world is leaving them behind in a mad rush to the obscene obliteration of identity looming on the horizon.

Hip hop legend Dougie Fresh and acclaimed actor David Hyde Pierce star in the buddy cop series Two Terrific Cops, which features copious product placement of pharmaceuticals. It's a proven winner.

Treated condoms as a delivery vector for exciting new pharmaceutical products.

We'll see increasing profits for a while, methinks.

Homeopathic Probiotics

Three people sit in the back seat of a late model sedan with their own special hats on their heads and their own favorite screenplay excerpts memorized. The car's antenna is adorned with the discarded tail of something mammalian, which none of the protagonists in this narrative have been trained to identify. Nobody blames them. I mean, what relevance does it have? They're total wilderness newbs and not all that into critters.

Trust me, the three individuals in this sedan have been vetted. None clutch to illicit secrets. None are eaten by guilt over past offences. None are obsessed with genitalia to an untoward degree. They're just fine, salt of the Earth type folks. We can like them and not be all suspicious.

There was an additional passenger, but I had that one removed. It looked at the sedan and remarked, "the design pattern has serious consequences not only for consumers and the environment, but also for the automotive industry as a whole," and I just told it to get out and walk away, and heeded not its woeful protests.

So, we'll have to find one more. I'll put up a few flyers and run an ad on Craigslist. Then we'll have a new one, one ready for being uplifted with the colours of glory we'll apply to its neck with the pigments we've collected during our travels.

Wall of Wind

I affix the name of a color to a single guttural syllable. It becomes something strong with scent of juniper and pinyon, built by the subliminal industry of ants.

My body stands as a stupid and humble thing, unsure whether I exist before verbal communication or after the death of language.

Hot Pink Bleach

It got humid in the closed room where the carpet glows, too humid for Apple's popular iPod media player. Grody Bob was out picking up hot pizza from our favorite local pie joint, so I had nothin' for no one to do, least of all myself. The paper was spinning all the same old sob stories and quaint anecdotes, all crammed between bleating adverts. I loosened my leather belt and slicked back my hair. I imagined the musical stylings of a jazz musician I know.

That was when I realized that my fingers were bleeding.

The editor-in-chief writes, "Hold onto your hot cola. Keep what you own inside your own radiant soul. Smile grimly upon thine seed and impart unto them thusly the Sublime Importance of holding onto one's own hot cola."

I dunno works for me

Don't Give the Confused Lord Anything

What are we selling? Why are these cables around our necks? Who put that black box on the desk? Where is that friend I knew?

I can see the screen, and a bottle of juice as well. It's all on my desktop. I use straws because I hate lifting the bottle to my lips. This way, I can just lean towards the bottle and grasp the straw's tip in my lips and suck the juice into my mouth. Sometimes I don't quite grasp the straw. I bump into it with my lips and it spins around. I call it "the straw problem" and it never fails to elicit a chuckle from Dawna Kaylee Stritt, a woman who sits at the next desk over.

I learned about preservatives from Dawna Kaylee Stritt and was horrified so that's why I drink the juice I drink. I'm not trying to impress her; she's married to her second husband, her face is unattractive, and her political views are frankly revolting. There is no reason to impress a woman like that.

How long will this pain last?

Exterminated Well

I keep things pretty well secret from most people, like I don't say if I'm going to wear a tie, or I don't say like "such and such is my favorite color." That's not in my character. Full disclosure is for chumps! But I do tell folks that I'm a sucker for that kind of music that basically sounds like an angry person at a carnival. That's cool music.

Leather on Fire

Swollen with the food you ate by the wall, you called me on the cell phone. You described your mouth's inside to me and the saliva was a runny ink. You wanted it thick as glue to shoot like bullets that harden in midair. You said you could spit at me and crack my skull. My neck jerks, my eyes bleed, my head opens and thousands of Agnostid trilobites pour out into the sunlight and immediately die.

Path to Citizenship

I go away for a sweet numbness and listen to the rising and falling cheers of some gathering somewhere below me. This topography comes blowing out of me and manifests itself on this city. All of it is somewhat less than my sickness of cynicism feels capable of allowing. Cynical, cynical, cynical tight little mass like frozen black blood, digested hair, bone flavored paper wad and clay. Ears floating on oily water. Just ears.

Put a Label on Your Experience

My finest aspiration as a child, a boy, was to be a lake monster. Not in the sea where such ugliness seems to ooze from hadean chimneys super frequently. Not in the sea but in a lake, in a small spot of water near a town, fringed with fine conifers and full of pristine little pebbles which would tickle my monsterbelly, which would skip from child hands on the surface above me, leaving momentary silver blemishes.

I would pick one child to befriend, one needy boy or girl with darkness on their brows and hunger and empty shoes. Having watched and waited, I would pick one sad moment when the child's world was like a sack of molasses and I would rise above the cool water and the eye contact would bond us.

And there would be adventures, naturally. There would be dopey sheriff's deputies to foil. Wicked land developers to battle. Bait shop owners to confuse. Victories and heavy auras of champion energy. One day, boosted with confidence and a powerful sense of self-worth, my friend would walk away from the lake forever to enrich the world with whatever the hell it was they wanted to do with their adult lives.

I loved talking about these dreams to the children at school. I rendered them in finger paint, in poster paint, in crayon, in marker, in colored pencils. When they put the kibosh on my dreams, I argued that they were wrong; in their mind they were the experts, but I wasn't happy to accept their cynical bloviating. I noted with bitterness that fairly frequently, they tended to have a habit of translating something weird into something somewhat less splendid.

That's a problem. That's a dealbreaker.

Shall We Flourish?

I make quesadillas. It is a service I provide. I've purchased the latest stovetop from a reputable manufacturer. The same goes for my skillet and the rest of my utensils, which probably doesn't interest you. Why should it? Once you taste the quesadilla I serve you, your questions about my process will be irrelevant. You'll feel a profound gratitude for my abilities and generosity.

I will, however, regale you with the story of how I obtained the unique apparel I while preparing the victuals upon which you are presently feasting. This is convenient, as it relieves you of feeling obligations of conversational reciprocation, i.e. saying stuff to me, too.

Upon Senator Hill, a lovely Lesbian Woman who drives a Dodge Ram has taken up the pastime of leathercraft. After seeing her wares at a local arts festival - of which I am a perennial attendee - I set my mind to the purchase of comfortable britches, a belt, a tunic, a jacket, and a heavy apron to protect the rest of the ensemble from the messiest of the foodstuffs with which I must contend. I've commissioned a cap as well, but this final element is not yet complete, and to be perfectly frank, I grow impatient with the excuses I hear, week in and week out.

I just really love quesadillas.

Egg One

Roll down the face. Tumble headlong down the slope of that greasy nose. Hold tight the precious eyelash in your pink fist. Feel your foot smack a balmed lip. Strike the bearded chin.

When you land in the giant's soft lap, don't hesitate to still your mind and catch your breath. Scramble down his pants. Don't lose the eyelash. If the giant's cat harasses you, there is a bazooka hidden behind a potted plant. Shoot the cat in the face and run. Actually, shoot it anyway, harassment or no. I hate that giant's cat. Hurting it will distract the giant.

Don't lose that fucking eyelash! I need it.

Succor For Tormented Fathers

There was a long night of fog and light during the final days of our sickness. In the damp heat, you slept like a sloth in the jungle time, the diffuse light rippling across your mossy integument like star fingers. I watched the fabric of my fashionable slacks undulate with cnidarian logic. I watched the telephone’s cold weight on the pressed wood bedside table, silent next to the swollen circular trace of some other person’s ice water. Like a whimsical ichnologist, I imagined the water’s entry into the patient’s body, to be greedily claimed by its cells, to quiet its sensation of thirst, and to be eventually excreted, completely alienated from the ephemeral form the glass had lent it. I knew that some small trace of that water had found its way to me. In the wild haze around us I watched you in your bed, secretly alive.

Ha Ha, I Wrote the Poem

That dog is gone. No doubt it got chased away from the house by friendly women with hot paychecks in their pockets. Those are the women who don't carry purses. And you know, that's okay. They don't have to carry purses. They like that fast-moving feeling you get with running with a sweaty brow and teeth full of fierce visions. So they don't need heavy purses. They sink battleships, and as previously noted, they occasionally chase dogs away from houses.

When I was in a funk, I sold purses on the boulevard. I knew three brothers with different knives and big antelope colored faces. I never fought anyone and I never let people insult each other. By that, I mean that I spoke up and registered my disapproval when I heard one person insult another person. That's the best you can do. You can't stop people from insulting each other. You can't stop some friendly ladies full of ancient worries from chasing these dogs away, either. You just wish it wouldn't happen so much.

Faux Pas Dudes

Lying on the car with the young woman, I was obliged to speak poetically. This is one of those things a young woman kind of expects. Even if she thinks her fella is a real dim bulb, every young woman has been given a thought by her mama that a poetic soul is in every man, and it is up to she, like a sort of psychic key card, to activate it.

I said, "young woman, I think of the pleasures of holding my breath underwater when I see your comely visage. It is my habit, when swimming in a person's pool, to hover weightlessly, curled into the fetal position, submerged where I only hear the throbbing sound of the filter pump. Don't put a pool near an oak tree because of the acorns."

That young woman wasn't too impressed, but didn't turn me away when I offered her smooches, heavy petting, and a nap. So I hope that she might oblige me with something really frisky next time!

Astute readers who are knowledgeable about my biography may look askance at this story. I was raised by two homo papas. Well, I still got to learn a lot about what young women are raised to believe. I learned it from their fag hag. Her name was Chrystol.

Snow Kone

I yelled at the boys "don't slip on the slippery leaves," but they ignored me and didn't fall down. It was stupid of them to run down a rainy hillside on a mid-October afternoon, but they did it anyway and they didn't slip. They were laughing. I wanted to beat up the happy boys.

I am a smart guy who can understand that my impulse was weird. I was angry at them for engaging in potentially dangerous behavior. I didn't want them to hurt themselves. But I wanted to hurt them.

I discovered that in my heart I want to be the only one to hurt people.

Mango Lassi Enema

It is crowded, and the only thing on my mind is new ambition. Free of cares, I desire so strongly to be the face on the comedy movie poster. Above me, a collection of words honed by a diverse assemblage of young, underpaid writers. Behind me, a radial gradient in a primary color, because it's what we do now. Below me, a roster of prideful men and women who, years later, will cut the eyes out of their own copies and beg their domestic partners to forcefully engage them in coitus.

Millions of Kisses and Good Wishes

I find a site to sell electronic products. Their products are original quality with very low price. Their products fill all demands, honorably and with zero issues to speak of. In a manner of speaking, their products are perfection for all people to appreciate. Maybe it is fit for your business, as well.

Drawer Cream

I have got to give the apology tomorrow. Tonight, I'm figuring out the best way to dress. My great dilemma is that my apology suit has a bad stain in a hilarious place, which would put the sincerity of my apology in danger of not being conveyed in full. Concocting an apology suit on the fly is not one of my strong suits, no pun intended!

I must acknowledge that I know you aren't terribly concerned with my choice of garments for this apology delivery. You are concerned with the apology itself, for the mere mention of apology inspires the imagination to concoct a multitude of scenarios, from banal disagreements turned sour to tawdry occurences which will forever stain the offended party's view of me, no matter how gracious my apology may be.*

This apology, delivered in whatever collection of garments I settle on at some point tonight, is intended for a blogger of no small influence. It seems that I, in a moment of revelry, pissed and shit upon the hood of her automobile. Now your imagination can rest, and you can sleep invigorated by the knowledge that I've done something gross to a blogger and it's crazier and worse than anything you've ever done to a blogger; Lord knows that you don't owe a blogger an apology.

*I assure you, it shall be gracious as fuck.

Grown, Blown, and Flown

Last night, we were capable hosts: preparers of enjoyable victuals, owners of obedient animals, bearers of appropriately moistened lips for the greetings and farewells it was our duty to dispense. It is one of the great collective joys of our people, hospitality. Solemnly, we set about these activities, the whispered compliments, the silent appraisals of hairstyles, the surreptitious accountings of those places where sex organs impress themselves upon garments. The slaughtering of feed stock is veiled by skilled dismemberment, traditional methods of preparation, lovely garnishes of lurid green. As we chew, gentle discourse keeps at bay our shared knowledge the great chain of commerce leading back to the moment when the strong robot finger pierced the skull of whatever mammalian herbivore lies on our plates. It's important not to use paper plates, because the blood and melted fat would fucking destroy this heirloom tablecloth.

My Goodness and Warmth

I wear the colors of a whining monarch, His most fervid protector and
holder of his trust. I change His damp linens and when He slays an
angel I am the one who salts its white body and see it entombed. For
these reasons, He considers me His beloved servant, prideswollen at
the sight of me in the distance, adorned in His good colors and
bearing His standard.

He is pathetic and it endears Him to me further. His knotty red
knuckles and quivering eyes are mine to serve and I cry for Him when I
scrub the garments it is mine to wear. Others claim to serve strong
monarchs with tight fists and unmovable hearts in their chests. I wear
my colors because they are mine to wear and I know that these others
are bad liars, bad liars who serve rulers as weak and unworthy as mine
and in their lying eyes I see the same loathing and love that fill
mine. He will be staring into those eyes as he dies in my arms and my
death will be in weeping.

Cocking

I haven't got the time today to listen to problems from all of the people. The way it looks now, I won't have time for several months, and by that time the problems will be new problems and some of them will be gone and some will be worse and I still will strain for empathy. I haven't seen evidence of it.

That's why I wear this jacket with its screwy zipper, and these glasses with their incorrect lenses, and these briefs which pain my testes, and this hat with its obviously misspelled word. I offer this of myself to those who I cannot care for, and it is payment enough. Their pity, unwarranted though it may be, offers a validation which far outweighs any effect my imaginary empathy might have.

So suck on that, haters, and please: when you inform me of the mustard stain on this jacket with its screwy zipper, be tentative and patronizing. Hold me in your fat eyelids.

Chard, Lemons, Iceberg Lettuce, and Meat Fat

Here is the shameful little one: the primary blue piglet with a cocktail sword and email account password in his fake-looking pocket. He's drawn check marks in permanent marker all over his canvas sneakers. He secretly loves the smell of a cigar. His dreams are swamps.

The reason we're walking away in this silence is obvious, is it not? As obvious as the dry yellow grass. The little telephone I carry in my pocket starts making a racket and to a distant observer--our piglet, let's say--I begin inexplicably smacking my hip. I whisper "I'm embarrased it's orange." But you hear, "Time for ass, it's on."

Now I'm in a pickle, attempting to explain the unlikely sexual congress that transpired in my recent past. I cannot reconcile the easy lapse of inhibition as our encounter occurred with the disciplined way that I normally conduct myself. LOL

Shallow Guy Eating Chips

There's something lonely living here. Everyone feels it, including all of the teachers.

I know about the teachers and the things they believe because I have a hiding place in their lounge. Ever since my early student days, the teacher's lounge gripped me with fascination that couldn't be fully realized in glimpses through the cracked door. I found reasons to stay at school as long as possible: extracurricular enrichments and playing the volunteer. I became the child ghost of the waxed linoleum.

Mrs. Linkage had me assist her with the decorations for Mr. Tolbin's retirement party. As I hung crepe paper owls and twists of tiny incandescent bulbs about the room, my breath was thick and fruity in my chest and my eyes felt heavy with tears. I also felt Mrs. Linkage's gaze upon my deliberate child arms. She felt such happiness in my presence. I was an awed child, calmly appreciative of these teachers, a small walker with gentle footsteps. There was a natural goodness in me that she never recognized in her own children.

None of this is conjecture; my aforementioned hiding place made me privy to such things. In my old age, the ache in my knees is the legacy of my crouching teacher's lounge hours.

The Ice Melting on the Hood

There are things to cling to, like the clean pebbles in the pockets of
my jackets. I have too many jackets. In the last two years, I've only
worn one of them, on less than a dozen days altogether. It makes more
sense to wear sleeves long or carry a sweater. Also, most days there
are only a few minutes in the naked outside for which a jacket might
be preferred, and those minutes are only slightly more terrible
without one. So the closet stays closed, and the jackets and the
pebbles are forgotten, dumbly clinged to with hands that aren't mine.

It occurs to me that the path to work has become wild with thorns and
tough little vines, pleading calls from birds in unseen shadows.
Sometimes the scabs and pale scars on my sun-darkened arms startle me.
I'm not getting used to them and the people I know ask if I've tried
this lotion or that salve. I don't prefer to do that, though. The same
as how I squeeze my head in red hands rather than swallow something
benign from a plastic bottle. The only things I actually treasure are
irrationalities, anyway. The way spitting makes me feel in control,
the way spitting fingernail splinters makes me feel like some kind of
victor, the way a terrible mug of coffee validates this whole
enterprise.

The New Mormon Boy

In the convention center, Genevieve Reed and Steven Hart Brindell compare expensive new DSLR cameras. The woman's hummingbird mouth speaks soft, moldy words. The drowsy-eyed man has trouble following her; her voice cannot compete with the constant rattle of pitchmen and projected animation.

Mr. Hart Brindell has been in similar situations countless times: situations in which he is unable to fully comprehend the verbal information he is receiving. His mind, given to automythologizing, has decided that some party is actively working to block critical information from him. Fearful of succumbing to paranoid delusion, he has taken care to formulate a plausible hypothesis.

He has assigned blame to time travelers who need to prevent him from making certain cognitive links that will add up to an idea that creates a reality they oppose. Desperate to maintain a sense of decorum, Mr. Hart Brindell refuses to voice this hypothesis to others, or seek assistance of any kind. After all, who is to say that these future-folk are wrong? And who is to say that they couldn't have simply killed him? He has taken this as a show of good faith, and though he is an affirmed atheist, decided that if there is to be an invisible force influencing his actions from a distance, this one is acceptable. It is this ability to compartmentalize his paranoia that allows him to seduce a woman like Genevieve Reed, to involve himself in sex stuff with her, and to father several children with her.

Unfortunately for the future-folk who so boldly meddle in the affairs of the past, one of Mr. Hart Brindell's descendants will do some really rotten shit and make a mess of things anyway.

Sean Michaels Became a Professional Wrestler When He Grew Up

I am compelled, on occasion, to disturb those ladies with whom I engage in the sex acts. "The sex acts" used to be my favorite term for naked times with women, until I heard famed cable television opinion generator Bill O'Reilly say "sex stuff" while interviewing the Insane Clown Posse. So, sometimes when I'm doing sex stuff with women, I'll say something jarring. For instance, I might say one of the following phrases.

A. "I dreamed of a spider last night."
B. "This is like hockey."
C. "I love this."

I know that option C seems tame. It might even be welcomed by my vaginally blessed counterpart, given she's one of those who enjoys verbal communication while doing sex stuff.

To clarify: I'll say something innocuous, but say it in an unsettling way. For instance, in the voice of a cackling witch, Quickdraw McGraw, or a sports talk radio host. I don't know why. I usually don't like these women enough to care, and maybe it will give them a wacky thing to tell "their girls."

I don't even enjoy sex stuff.

Among White Time

The boxes were empty now. We admitted triumph, finally able to see through the coronal discharges of our flesh casings, and spoke words of satisfaction to each other. The air was prickly with glee, subtle as fine mesh.

The vehicle on the slab was warm when we reached it. You knew how to operate the radio, and I asked you to do it. The pleasure you felt was obvious, though you attempted subterfuge.

Against the sky's diffuse glare, I felt my awareness descend gently. And you spoke seven sentences, seven perfect sentences imparting some shaded emotion. I felt your body's approach and I allowed it. I was willing. And I didn't disagree when you opened my trousers and called what you saw a callow amphibian.

Welt

The family I remember might now dwell inside a plastic bag on the floor. One smells its moistness as one approaches it, and regards closer investigation with a measure of repulsed respect. Most of us can understand that feeling. The peculiarity of a holiday meal in a dark place comes close.

The dark place is under this theme park, under the shuttered amusements and rusting thrills. It is under the concrete and its accumulated layers of sweat, sugar, saliva, and bird feces. This list of substances feels like a specific description of the stratum between our meal and the empty park above, but as we chew our meager ration, we ponder the indescribable, immeasurable mass of substances accumulating above us. It cannot be without weight.

One of the dinner guests crunches ice loudly and irritates the nervy interior of a tooth. As his or her neighbor silently despises this habit, the offending party momentarily comes to terms with the dreadfulness of the accumulating waste of more than birds and men.

Pain is its own kingdom and the purest ecstacy; it is the orgasm denied summation.

Funny Calcium Carbonate

Beautiful follicles, bear your peppers in that place of a keen description. Your body in this locomotive is entirely lovelorn. It cannot.

Your delicate goal is closer here, by a shampooed mole outside the false trousers. You offer to appreciate your shirt, seldom smelling of personality but defined especially with its ears. Put to that, the dove's bleating and dried head atop that nowness, or that acquired machismo which when listened to is woven like strands of your voice. Those reported to that to fart between your thin kin and the peculiar window mimic our ruse.

Unfortunately Yes

But I don't have a choice. I'm hoping. Yes. Can we giggle together? Is he okay? I'll be there soon.

I will be there soon. For the infant we have, I will bring some food. I will bring processed fruit. I will bring salt. I will bring melted ice.

I am copied. I am pasted. I know fax machines and I am good to go.

I'll be there soon, with no choice, but hopeful.

Half of Some Rice

In the workshop, poets hold a singular sky quietly. Call this the crushing elegy of a haunting blissout. Two. Sharing the finest indie-folk ideas, 14 lone wolves elevate both fire and space. A craft for two. Phantoms of, of, of the last decade lay together in Texas.

Friendly songwriters aimed their tunes together, searing the running tape. Two. Enough dark talents come under this craft to, to, to... to will collaboration and folk performance. Each one leaving the poet’s surroundings. In creativity. Seem to become each other’s match. In between night and Jason Molina.

Through the Pages

I feel creeping feminine nature
The feeling like ivy
Something like clouds
The other side of a secret
That is on the garden idea
I also prefer a stone
With scene of greenery
Wall, door
But not too wonderful

With Vinegar

What is that thing on the counter? I didn't put it there. I doubt you put it there (it would be uncharacteristic). So what is it anyway?

And why does it matter? Why do I care? There it is (it ain't taking up much space). It's just a thing there. It's got distinguishing qualities such as color, shape, size, odor, digestibility, number of vibrations per second, buoyancy, blindness, gravitational pull, time it's been there, time it will be there, and hidden love. So I don't care that it's sitting there. That's not it at all.

It's just that in this place we (I) love to maintain an accurate accounting of objects, gasses, and whatnot. We keep mirrors on the walls so we can be sure of our own presence here, signified by our ability to reflect light. I (we) also choose this as the place where we tend our tamed bodies and partake of foreign nutritional items.

And then there is the sex we do and the mental accounting we keep. One day it will be our last day. One day there will be nothing before us but the numbers and dollars and calories we've accumulated. And that thing. That thing will be among them.

That's all. Come.

Cephalopod Swashbuckler

These words speak to our fantasies, those we share in the darkness hidden by kitchen appliances. The fuzzy shadow behind the range. The rough-hewn gray-red behind the refrigerator. The cool cowardice beneath the toaster. Our hands sit naked atop our laps. Our tongues are suspended between our jaws. As if palming a tack.

In these tasselled lawnchair moments, varieties of anger concocted over hours of stiff labor settle like tin shavings in the bottom of a jar of glycerin. Let the houseplants sit wanting as static mimics the moonvoice. Let the glue dry to crust. I really mean that last part.

We don't need glue now.

Periods Correspond

These religions is the mystery

Who has parched this land under this mountain?

The nature of the cult is secrecy

Who gathered the unchosen heresy?

New faith concluding the narrative fountain

These religions is the mystery

Cradling scraps of garments to chests, fiercely

Who felt with their tongues energy undaunted?

The nature of the cult is secrecy

Who undertakes the promise of our sincerity?

We all shall be revealed to the crowd and taunted

These religions is the mystery

To be newly arrived is to gain one's longevity

Who knows the desperation for hands to be counted?

The nature of the cult is secrecy

Who has overtaken me with such parsimony?

Bleeding from gashes, hobbled and hounded

These religions is the mystery

The nature of the cult is secrecy

Perfect Stick

One blue-mouthed woman, silently waiting

Waiting for words to fulfill her intent

Flesh inside flesh, insistent creating

Dying, the coward's voice is fading

Wisps of sugar vapor, toward ears are bent

One blue-mouthed woman, silently waiting

Television is investigating

Emissaries to the brothels are sent

Flesh inside flesh, insistent creating

Our emissaries, giddily braiding

Their languages together, bleached and bent

One blue-mouthed woman, silently waiting

The cowards and emissaries shading

Their flesh under skin stretched tight into tents

Flesh inside flesh, insistent creating

Here we engage in more fruitless mating

Displaying these organs, purple and rent,

One blue-mouthed woman, silently waiting

Flesh inside flesh, insistent creating

Watching the Program with Children

I am a dude,
A rich broth of contradictory thoughts
When I am nude

Parents are rude,
Demand confirmation of what was taught
I am a dude

Humble and crude,
Devouring the lunch meats (which I have bought),
When I am nude

Shielding this brood
Teaching my body things others will not,
I am a dude

Eating more food,
Opened and bloodied when it has been caught,
When I am nude

Endlessly shrewd
Owning the property which I have sought
I am a dude,
When I am nude

The Singer Oriented

Our companion mammals are made of noise

And swaggering we walk to the kindness we know

Filled with the dimness of muscular joys

Hands filled with hands filled with these broken toys

Created as bodies for the ones put below

Our companion mammals are made of noise

Hands for the labor of milking this noise

Sheathed in plastic, sweating, cold as reflected glow

Filled with the dimness of muscular joys

A golden seepage encircles these boys

Creates an eternity to know and unknow

Our companion mammals are made of noise

Swaggering with kindness, words soft and coy

Summoned back to the places where ash blackly blows

Filled with the dimness of muscular joys

Children will sleep clutching these broken toys

Lidded eyes perceiving the residual glow

Our companion mammals are made of noise,

Filled with the dimness of muscular joys

Under Blown Leaves

The earthworms give us red bracelets. The goldfinches give us new flavors for unsatisfied tongues. The origami elk gives us a virgin's wisdom. The somersaulting children of immigrants give us anger to wield. The earthworms give us red bracelets.

Sandstone and limestone.

Cumulus and cirrus.

Scissors and tweezers.

Steel and aluminum.

Lizard hips and bird hips.

If you can know these things you can grasp the difference between, between, between Muddy Waters and JL Hooker. You can wander free of memory and labor.

The mallard gives us a clean thirst.

In Hair, Words

Don't tell no one, not one other or each other, not one another, not a man or a woman you see. Don't tell no one of my presence or the sounds my body makes. My voice ain't not a thing at to see or hear no more than rocks and food are things to be noticed or matter.

Don't tell no one. Don't tell no one. It's not a thing right to do. Don't. Do one more thing when I hide behind you. Behind my back I'll hold this rabbit skull and behind your back you'll hold me so don't tell no one that nothing is behind your back.

Back behind the shed in the wheelbarrow we flipped upside down before winter, in that wheelbarrow I made tracings so if you betray me don't tell no one but that would hear you about the tracings and I can forgive betrayal and I can feel your heart beating under the palm of my hand and I have the rabbit skull in my other hand. It's clean.

It is Our Only Way to Imagine a Tongue

Crows are little things in the sky and the gold in the ladies' pockets feels cool and happy. We have time here to let thoughts play quietly like slow water, lingering on subjects like the kinds of scissors we've used or the way airline tickets have changed since childhood. We have time for subjects that feel like nonsense and beauty and ultimate meaning all at the same time. Our bodies click and the shelves of our homes moan with the weight they bear, the weight of accumulated sentiments. The weight of our prosperity.

Use the Word "Agenda" in the Title If You Ever Write a Thriller

Business schools are loud places with bookstores, coffee shops, and plenty of restrooms. The toilet paper is generally required to be two-ply but some states have different regulations. I've seen women wear just about every color of necklace at business school, including blue and white. I have also seen an exterminator spraying for pests at a business school.

There is usually a gas station near a business school. Sometimes public officials visit a business school. Typically, a mayor of a city is a business school graduate, which uniquely qualifies him or her for the task of cutting the ribbon at the grand opening ceremony of a new business school which signifies his or her dedication to improving the standard of living in his or her city. After the ceremony, the mayor might attend a luncheon with the business school's board members. Sometimes a local student who has received a scholarship will also be there. This is a convenient photo-op for the mayor and the student.

The student's family might frame the photo, place it in a scrapbook, or simply file it away with memorabilia of the student's other accomplishments. Doing this is of little consequence, ultimately.

This has been a general description of a common event in modern America. Specifically, there was one time when the mayor and the student engaged in a torrid affair involving sexual intercourse of a deviant nature well-suited to colorful verbal descriptions. You may assume that this situation brought a generous amount of infamy upon the lives of the principals. This actually wasn't the case; instead, the minds of the entire population of the small Midwestern town in which the affair occurred were opened to the mutually beneficial possibilities of fiercely raunchy actions between lovers of very different ages.