Friday, December 25, 2009

662. UBERTEXT 21

UBERTEXT 21
You are annulled. You are finished.
Without category, secretive as dead ice,
wet as coal, black as a lie, divisive as any
integer can be. That lion on the transept
overpost looking down - it roars like a sheepish
chicken, a coiled rake, an ocelot in derivation of
the premungular ascopantier, the wide one in the alley.
-
I have come home twice, each time incorrectly
knocking on another's door. Both times the same
person answered : he was wearing a gendarme's cape
and held a timepiece and a wallet. One ticking, one
empty, both stolen from someone else. In his best fake
French, he managed to say : 'I can do that, you know.'
Those ancient philosophers were all alike, think you not?
-
Sally in the alley, with Frank O'Malley.
Two sources of food kept the cavemen alive:
boiled hippopotamus steak and the loins of
each other. 'I'd rather eat you than eat your mother.'
Really, that's just the manner in which they used to talk.

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