Friday, January 28, 2011

The Pent Umbrage of the Tempy, Part XXX

Youhad huddled so often in your life. Even at your most active, you had huddled. Against flame, 'gainst fire, 'gainst the warmth of bodies you didn' know,youhuddled.

Night was there, glowering, growling, sanctioned against sanctuary, against warmth, though the night, cold,you'dlearned before learning, was no impediment to warmth, as your best warmth had been won as warmth of the night.

Youwere in youroffice, thinking of something other than huddling, when you hunkered down, against the grill of the night, that perfectly templated screen between you and the rest of the building, where you would smoke your cigar, placid, placent, community-replacent, starched, night-smeared, ugly, attenuated, eteloiated, like a nictoplasmed, gentle nicotine who has a spark of what or who or when, then so that it was implicated--eyah yeah whompa dompa loompha spnge zebra plume.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Oh I don't know though I don't have a fix or I don't have a know or I don't have a fix or I don't have a show and I don't have a now or a know or a show or a fixed scintillation of an arrogant fixation, though.

Monday, January 24, 2011

The Pent Umbrage of the Tempy, Part XXVII

You had walked these streets alone, the mistletoe of stars and glory and vacant windows all blending in to something much less than the substance of letters or words which, though not rendered into a broth or a healing pleasure, nonetheless was of some strange worth, your ectoplasm had said as much. You would not yield to any music which wasn’t given to the new, to the placid, to the pleasure of the familiar, No! To the fertile, which though stinking of a familiar ectoplasm was not an eco-flazza-mamamia-ectocidal, though you very much had thought, very thoughtful, very mindful.