Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Honey Grants.

P: ek pases me choras?
W: oukoun hupoloipon to barathron soi gignetai?

So funny, so utterly funny to actually
meet one of the poolsharks in one of their
dimly lit halls, to find that they really did care
enough to win every time...

You'd think there's only one answer to most math problems,
but a shark, has to pick a certain type of problem, present it
in a certain way, a whole host of involved precautions
so as to let the shark

be the shark.

Things like that are just so funny, because
when you can actually catch a whiff of human ego, or is it even
ego anymore, more like rapt futility encoding palpable designedness,
but its smallness is still so paralyzingly silly, the lengths that people
will go to:

A fucked-up rancor cosies the debilitated zeppelin
to the latte' over the desired torta. Its securest 'Oh my!',
my purest kneeling visor of Port, signals such a preciously
amorous unstoppable mango-colored foot.

Governess, I hope you will pose more in our continuing region.
Your chiral chest is like that other chiral chest, your nibbling
of my ebbing taunt is some kind of diverse torment, though
exactly how ivy has gotten in here.. (I'll never know..) :)

Your vintage finesse must quell infinity, certainly,
and your patience is the otium in which all
of life oceans.

pain is the shark.

If my left foot were a prickly pear
I know that you would be so good
as to suck it.

suck it.

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Irrony Observes The Earthing.