it was an old market--- now there's a bit of charcoal remnant left of old wood. Further down a gulley: & a story ghasped in wives braille fashion of a teenage grandma girl who lived in the cleff between hillsides. I didn't hear too much of the how and reason why except that she was a skin-head, assuming neither most anyone else had any skin or flesh around or underneath their noggin.

She lived in a tent by the stream... mid '70.

Not much sign of any human life, though--- but way further the other way I found some suspicious knife/brass knuckle one-piece on the underneath of a highway bridge. It was rather crudely malignant to see there near all of the goldenrod and honeymustard. I always raise my eyebrow when I pass it, walking..

It seems like a thousand unleveled measures to pick it up. I saw a skunk run off with it one dewy morning.

What is it with the attraction to bring up skunks performing unbelievable traits.

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Oil spill cleared up.. well a decade or closely enough it fled and settled. Beaver-slick oil fur and down the stream. It's cleared up a lot since--- but occasionally silvery blur mud pockets brew to eyeglance.

Fit all these stories in to one bag: 'Trying, 'Trying! But they jumble around ripping at eachother with nail-rust certainty freeing from bags. Certain to remain a character each. Paper bags scrunched up, curled.

photos from this post Folder: 05/29/2011.'ll add more from this walk if 'on break' from typing typing typing.

This week is dedicated to clearing away from coffee and instead drinking tea. As a reward, the following thereafter will allow maybe 5 pitchers/day.

There's a character called Amskray I'm developing character-senses for. It took a long time to get the name. The character was there--- the habitat, tastes [all senses of fortune and destiny somehow predetermined for poor or fortunate Amskray.]

But the name; Coming up with name can either----

well, I won't say.

It's all a roulette-type thing, though, really.

"-Bastard Infinity-
Emperor pope demands a great number of little popes into battle with pope-headed lions in the Grand Colosseum.

Perpetual Pope machine
(The pope is really the Buddha anyway,
since everything is the Buddha.)

Gracious dexterity: A starving, rags-worn young Eldgar Sleavens Popelmoe faces pigeons-luck in the caste-system
and has to work a lifetime of slavelabor in the hellokitty factories.

All of these have something charming in common:
Each were a novella written by Amskray.
!Stacks! full of Pope books.
You became a fiend of Windhoek time

To know: To mow down a vice with great precision. Such foibles would never deter the flyby whim of Amskray.
To knock, and move down with a voice of generousity,

simply: 'Skray had stacks and stacks of books already passed and
printed by binders then cease and decised prevented further sale.

Simpler: Amskray was stuck with thousands of the Pope
novellas which, in legal terms, would not be permitted flat-foot means of sale. To insult the church meant repercussion, big-time.

Though underground pleasers, they were.
The Hangliding-Pope series was one of the best cult-sellers.* Therein papa Pepe-o Pope hang glides the stem of purgatory. Random bits and pieces of Julian Moore stay in mind while the
pope cascades and sweeps down upon to cleanse the filth and re-direct lost spirits. Usually dangling a cherry cluster cigar from between his
teeth, the Pope, somehow, has arms like popeye peeping out from his popedress. He uses those to snatch up any of the misguided, but,
on occasion or lack of worthy donation, would be wise to just drop them and say 'fuck'em,why bother?' and then fly off back in to the night sky,
delivering sacks of coal to float down to families along the way.

(*track records of sales cut snippeted. Amskray would wheel and deal these
books to small shops hidden under sleeves of other titles.) "

SDR_1680_OneDayTheSkyWillRainGifts

One way at a time: Pull from a file pile at random

04-01 Pegasys, local station: Potato-couchers surfing random may tune in accidentally to 45 minute edit. That's channel 13. It plays a few other times throughout the month.

That Energy of the wild: can be so beautiful and kind. Its the WILD that lets 'ye relax. Proper causes the tiger:Mad.

Captions to photos that are not shown:

nyc-10-2012

IMG_0603
Oh what rush of animals when frozen in moment taxicab resemble Byson
pouring in herd
She where a payphone (such species extinct--- removed by crane,gripping, ripping from the ground)
she stands whereabout dialing
Underlaying themes, room to breathe immediate backwards into the mouth of Central Park
graphs of light streak when the camera eye slows its pace
and meshing together, the yellows and reds opt each other backrubs
A lady of amnesty sits to one bench 30 yards away to the left
shifting and fidgeting
I stack feet upward and lean
sorting through things
drawing out souvenirs to leave before I vamoosh
to test the fate of fate itself!!!
Items to be trampled or trashed
Is it trashed!! Or to be picked up upon
by claws or beautiful fingertips
What more morose tinctures
mixing up and shaken, and shook
and compounds mix and lose separateness
and pour in to one another and become their own solid
losing traits and attributes of foremost distinction

IMG_0600

These torpedo launchers stay hunched together,
easily maneuverable as their wheels guide them

Interesting finds from between under the topside of the bellows of fridge-like places--Referring to these as the most bitter enthusiasms, I feel like a lackadaisical hailstorm can rain.
Yester year and yesteryester-year


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Vlotko would be an awful name for a child,
if you cared about your child.
Vlotko sounds more like a name for a water appliance...
or a water fountain.
The name 'Sloan' occurs again and again.
To see Rebecca.... as the brand name for a water heater...
would be more odd, I guess--- than seeing a name like
Vlotko as a label tag on some water heater front.
Or Stubrik (pronounced Stoo-brick)
would be an alright name
for a washing machine.

This hallway down an antique mall that suspiciously often smells
like cooked, burnt onion bagels...
at the end of a side panel on one of these hallwingways
there sits, usually lonely, and usually dirty, and bulky
and really quite grey, and plugged in to a wall underneath its rearside,
a drinking fountain with a company name... Stanley.
And the way it sounds when its water-pressing-button is pressed...
is like this chromatic, gear-induced uproar of attention realised..
an emotion of it being noticed..
but it sounds-out in such a stern and rusting way...
It sounds like a pregnant duck with a slinky within her gullet being
prodded in the belly bone by a wiley goose wielding a mallot..
but in an endearing way.

Imagine if an elevator---named Tina, made those sorts of sounds.
Then it would be suitable to just take the stairs.
an elevator named Tina who sounds like
a pregnant duck with a slinky within her gullet being
prodded in the belly bone by a wiley goose wielding a mallot
sounds more grossly affiliated with bad-luck sprayed all over the
sucker than---an elevator named Vlotko seeming that rickety.

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Notes: Holiday inn notepad

We call it the Dry Sea---
Wherever we go by walking on floor---
thinking, foremost,
of the possibilities--- that it could
become 'really wet here.'

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Between two warring countries
there was a nation stuck between them
a nation seldom heard of,
but existing, in a sense...
reminded of the---idea---that they exist, perhaps,
by the loud, clangering, booming noises
of those trotskian-like ample booers.
You see, Zerania chose no 'allegiance'
and pulled away from making any alliance
with either neighboring barbarianic hootenanian to either side.

Hammockers, lazy...dead-beats... swaying away in their hammocks all of the----
proprioternotusses connecting-energy devices
mostly unkempt and most certainly calm
Not entirely led by the one Roofus Smoofus
or anyone else for that matt/nner
Yet R. Smoofus was the first and so far the only one to have talked about this
confliction
stating
'it's really hard to get sleep with all these banging-ons banging on...
shut it up so I can get some nappin'n.

----===========--------

======----===========--------=

Notes: Holiday inn notepad

We call it the Dry Sea---
Wherever we go by walking on floor---
thinking, foremost,
of the possibilities--- that it could
become 'really wet here.'

----===========---------------==

More notes about border Ids:
In a way it's close to the ideal of a permission slip---
saying.. "Here, you can have 'em now for a while...
but this person is still under our leasing...
so you can get em drunk, and patch em up, but still remember
that this is ours! So upon return, make sure 'fellers under
proper working condition upon return!"
Then snickering commenses..
psshhttahahaha,
I still can't believe folks are still willing to...uhmm---
render --uhmm--- consent to travel under ownership.

----===========-----------------===

After attempting to peripherally convince the self that all regular
occurrences--- from swinging tree branches as seen through gaps in
window blinds, to mud puddle ripples sneezed by passing foot clobbers---
in these attempts to see the mysterious....
the otherly--- umm, or-- the fairies and gnomins and leprechones...
all these attentions to expected-signals had overlapped and considered
attentive-priority to the barroom leprechauns, gnomes, sprites
and miniature moonmen, and venus gals making jaunty faces...
but those knobs were turned a little out of focus.
The minute I did focus in upon all that mischievous good fun
---would be when the tree branch did indeed--so to say,
klomp me a good one. I looked up to see a squirrel,
but it was no squirrel... It could have been a spipple again---
in a squirrel suit... tossing around the limbs and vines,
to remind of those 'gravity' perplexions again.
It was sad, and shaming... to be throwing walnuts back,
at a mere squirrel.
-Unnamed
------------=-=====-==========-------

The great lame spirits.
"They act like animals---and the main reasoning----"
"Throws spears |breaking rounds|
Taking bird-statues---Jumping up and down...
until cinders and plastic crunches and iron oars
and incremental chalkscat melts"

Transit riders--- bus goers--- train captiveneers forefeit worries of slamming a thumb in
between the door-open and door-closed spaces.
However many every 365--- encounter slamming a finger in to a car door---
Well
transit riders---bus goers--train captiveneers adopt a constrast...
the risk of falling-out.

Whistle-whetting sounds of soupnoodles sloshing and straw-sucking sharp sounds
of Ss more so as ESSES sharply spike the fragile listener.

Shades of the undergrog.... Leapfrogging leaping bullshitting bullfrogs whisper lies loudly
and mother goddess in a frogdress releases captive pollywogs out through travel-cracks
through shuttle-car leakholes.

The greasy lamb spies
The grand loyal subs
the grainy looping circuits

anywhere but the pit of the stomach..
the greedy little sports kicked and wailed all the way in to the
galactic center, followed by singing pollywogs...
squeeaking, singing---unamorous along the way.
&
in dream---railroad spikes are dinged down, in hard slams, dozens each second
and parallel lines

Agreeing to find strict reasoning to be lenient as hell
some scent of topsy turvy over the shoulder resignment away from any of that cynical shit glazed in neoprene... suddenly, reporting the 'allowed-real' took less than second place to creating--or birthing-- or wooming-to the umm funner and fluent and more playful-real. Which wasn't so-realised is dense and rotten things like this.