Tuesday, April 15, 2014

The Many Addictions to the Destiny of Rice

Water word or a leg almost aquatic. Subway in June between orbits. The intermezzo in the throat turning over and over until bone. T.S. Eliot painting a wall. Or an equation in trembling scrub. His shirt off on French television. To chew it. The occasional roar swerves into dried bark. Behavior is crowded. But the rules are Buddy is a bioengineer who lives on Bigelow. His house protrudes from an outgrowth of piccolos. There are many crackling volumes and a pair of jacks which are the color of truth. The crêpe occasions diplomas. We need atropine for pushing Cézanne.  A hypothalamus conceived in oblivion. We have cared for the body the toe the network rocket experience between dances sanguine and open. The jawbone is a deep plan the way resin moves into flatness. Louisa May Alcott understands the attempt. Brook at atonement, mustard a form with bells. Cause music by uprooting occurrence in an embryo of backpack light as Tuesday is similarly invaded by the loss of hysteria pulling syllables of stupor. Supposing, for instance, the twinkling delicacy transmits cake. Cake is what to build in a blossom, a pulse gown of dirt, or shall we say a gown of objects that a boulder opera of sublime underwater grottoes panics into nails. Habits flirt with mathematically distorted feelings. Things are camels. Gerunds in a bowl. A pudding can mystify the felicity of trout. For glints and glimpses of important people plead for thunder the jaw dropped in nine different Reubens. There are movements of thinking in words that causes sand and testament. A Cézannian engagement. Bur hysteria ivory or putty the incense wafts and curls isn’t perverse. Or even picturesque. Think of a light stylus, a dent and a sprawl of geometry. The talk peppered the air with boiling scenes of anatomy because bulbs preach handkerchiefs. The Italian orbiting instruction chamber is no better than palingenesis. All comedy is is pain buttered to a trout new shoes new frequencies. Geometry works by fairway and is how guns light up attention to amber. Burlap on a headlight the deluge a tuba restores to the other instruments a clavier and a pain for calculating scratches which hyphenate life with an emphasis in belches. I have never seen so many marsh mallows chewed by so many candles. Those balustrades are the right petulance for a Fourier in Memphis. French is a language of chlorophyll the same sonata as the illustration of premium effects isolated with fugal gestures of cold paint. Here the glass vowels of overture pulp will slowly ferret out the mysteries of form. There are forests and scrubbed consonants to figure rivers and an old car rattling and rumbling down an old dirt road to find a florist. Pouring bourbon nullifies the clamor of morning in a bowl of titanium to ease the octopus and grow milky convolution. The kernel is a kind of bulge, an open chain like skin or pemmican, and produces Geneva. It is also a matter of unction to say that fairy rings are sifted in Laputa. Heat isn’t fugal, it’s moody. It is so gallant to endorse an invocation. It is something irksome to say that there is a kettledrum, a slice of toast, and an isthmus. A fat paint exists on account of painted leghorn and is simply blue. Shaping the air is a function of serrations in it or burlap where all things bend into silverware and prisons and important ways to build a crazy tent. The fable slapping someone’s back was always somehow fat and convoluted tangs of crabbed generality. It is a nail’s sensuality that makes it the perfect medium for communicating a nipple of lightning. I can do anything except upchuck Fabergé. Some forms are more pleasurable than others. Today the alphabet gave birth to a Venetian blind, and that makes pickerels piebald. This proves that discovering eyeballs in flowers and rocks is exhilarating and nailing the judo of abstraction to the muscle of an equation is floppy and dance accelerates the pulse. Music fills the prose of lumber with warmth and participles pink with pork are changed into crystals of reverberation. Antiquity does everything it can to ratify fur and glowworms. Escalators straying from the thyroid of Tuesday on a surface where the light falls making pronouns amphibious like those sonatas one hears sleeping in rocks. The snake dance  is the very acetylene of fable. Memphis at night. The prairie occupied by a drawing. Other voices are soft and delicate as twilight, all of them singing of the many addictions to the destiny of rice. 


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