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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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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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.
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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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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.
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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
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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.
