Your radical cataloguing & pre-eruptive storage conditions remind me of the South Aegean volcanic arc. Your eyelids, conjunctival, and your orbital tumors were and still are OK with me. Intergovernmental mismanagement was our out-of-sync progeny. You never understood my advanced in-situ techniques for hybrid living. The popular Balkan culturestorks of your childhood still fly against a blue sky. Do butterflies bite at your triple bottom line? Motivation science is the future, skin upon the midnight clear.
You are the fabric of quilted culture, a pointer to other worlds. Your working-class blues became the law of state immunity. The memory of you tranquilizes all of us in the best possible way. Me and Being and Nothingness: subtitled Creative Home Decorating. Gastrointestinal nursing is the highest mark of honor. I went, I saw, I listened to you, and now I’m sailing barges in the solar age. I’m half-way home. Remember our shared lines.
You made such adorable sock dolls with real advances in vertical cavity surface. I felt like 40 tons of trouble, accreting the continent’s collections, always on call. You were the answer to my secular prayer. All you demanded was cherub stained-glass orchards & antique cats. My regional initiatives fell flat like your backyard mosaics. The bottom was the top, so it was all pure bottom, and the front of it was like before women had wings beneath the naked sun. Reaching past the wire I found the second spring. Smoke was on the mountain. You crossed your heart like a dragon with clay feet. I saw it all from behind you through a mirror on the near wall. We were always back to back.
Consuming fictions brought me to this implementation gap. Your hands were like monkey paws, a constant mystery of similitude and difference. Tell me again how a metaphor becomes a metonym. When the center is on fire is when I’m most at peace. My secret vice, nuts and bolts, tales with a twist. It’s like the Amish and the media; they love each other behind closed doors. Visual rhetoric is not genomic imprinting; it gets to the core of X. Yes, I want to change the realities of work and family before it’s too late. Beyond the light, I have one hot target: coaching college athletics. I’ve been told it’s a haunting experience. You are a bright scarf of hours drying in the sun.
The adventures of Petrarch I will truly never know, but how can I forget you with your youthful fancies and the teachings of the White Lilly? Touching God is something I never want to do again. I felt so out of place. Like an aviation dictionary in nine languages or a flower given to my daughter, like a golden dress in a dark arbor, everywhere I looked I saw an abridgement of quotation calendars and the cold storage of herrings. It was like a social conspiracy; we met in other years. The doctrine of your faith disputes that there once was a woman pope, but this fact cannot be disputed.
Mass loss from stars and the evolution of stellar clusters indicate to me that we need to know what the term “hetero-normative constraint” means on the street. Clinical radiology makes some links obvious. The trinity of wisdom, intention, and management is rescuing the enlightenment from itself. Second thoughts on political methodology are like concrete plasticity, emotional intelligence, sustainable fashion. Why now practice building bridges? I was happy to never meet your parents, to fall into the family trap again, the
ur-truth game. Blood relations: revenge in the cultures of the lowland.
Teaching the violent past in a diorama of polar scenes. This is how I remember you: historic railway stations, a long “ummm”, a short history of film, and the gateway to 1993. I never understood what you meant by “tissue.” It always felt polemical like a middle range theory or an unwelcome rural transformation. I was a Hollywood stunt girl, or so you told me. We were America, or so I tell myself. I slide with the slow readers, my cousins and friends. Special atmospheric themes, such as heaviness, remind me of how I used to be. In your house, in that particular room, forced into that endurance, that was a time like no other. It was a picnic enchantment of the shadows, I was and still am a sparrow in paradise.
You want self-continuity? Try a year in deep clinical cognitive neuroscience. Your creative therapy was my ammonia moon. Put radio on the witness stand. Radio is blameless. Are you a lamp or a mirror? I am a lamp and a mirror. The lover’s voice transmits hush, the penguin who knew too much, ketamine dreams. It’s good to talk: elements of tone, stress, and intonation, consequences of consciousness. Speech surrogates are like airport expansions; Beauty is no big deal, I hate the word. Did you sign the bodyguard contract? How did it come to this?
Vitamin B must be good, but I wouldn’t know directly. You showed me dimensions of multicultural dietary counseling I never knew existed. What I thought was the wrong end of the rope turned out to be maybe the wrong end of the rope. Thank you for making this clear to me. All things being un-equal, time for me is about animal subjects, fluids and electrolytes. The spirit moves in old fields: California grasslands, when the shadbush blooms, strangers in the breakwater, molecular machines, grand pianos, the peacock and the mermaid, the strange new world of scientific pluralism. Satisfiability testing? Someday I’ll find me.
Who am I to say ‘Merica is going off, going off big whimperrybangereey? Like I give a big fuck about nations. You have to sleep before you wake up. The friendly hours say “Sweetheart goodbye, gold can’t buy love.” These homeless puppies in the night’s soft silence are not caught in passion’s dragnet. In the heart of the hills, in the Mohawk Valley, I’ve still got my health. The pebbles on the beach are random abstract memories of self-concept. Will you be a mountain or a beach? I will be in between, but more like a beach than a mountain.
No kissing allowed in this court of law. That’s what the sergeant at arms whispered to us as we began to address the magistrate. Celery. Ritualism and Rome. Back yonder, the palace martyr, the pilot’s evacuation, on the face of the waters, the blue cockade, country operas, a critical supplement, suddenly a tree. Because your name is Flora, you are the harmonics of moss & coastal plankton. It’s a home-school-work connection.
Forecast: roots, leafy plants, strict wildness, decaffeinated corpses, confused polytheism, advancing legal education. I’ll have what they’re having: trouble, how many more years of quantum understanding, the material culture of children’s play, witness to the truth? Temptation and torment in the present. Thermal warmth: stop and think about the magnolia tree. The flesh does not endure. Description requires context; forensic psychotherapy moreso. You are opal and crimson.
I miss not missing you. Viewfinders are singing through the darkness of this irremediably sad line. The horizontal coupling of an old colonial family is alive on someone’s lips. It’s a gothicky image, strong and weak, pottery in the making, trade cookery, the side door, machine translation, the real world of fairies, dancing bees, tomorrow’s homemakers, the Appian Way, the married life. Let me tell you, at the carnival it’s sharing day; the girl wide web; an Easter basket on Star Mountain; the third shore; bone replacement; rebate or bait.
I remember nothing from our Youngstown chapter except wistfulness.
I remember nothing from our Youngstown chapter except wistfulness.
Paranoid obstructions, c’est moi. Sorry about that. Unimportant letters my Japanese princess never returns. The road to relevance is an insect masquerade; so little for the mind. Quebec’s revolutionary politics are admirable, always have been. I don’t think fluids can be compressed. Good food can be gluten-free. Mystics of our time prefer doctrine to devotion. Helen is still in Egypt. The story of pollination should be better known. Did you ever write your Poodle manual? The private life of orchids is to the rainforest what the public life of date palms is to the desert. Chameleon camouflage equals capital transfer, but the equation never balances.