Either a troo kvlt black metal record or, more certainly, a boring-as-fuck (a stupid phrase because, well, no, fucking can be boring, anything can be boring especially Serious Things but not aw yiss = vintage Motörhead & assorted other aw yisses like exciting fucking [wot?], Harry Clarke Blue, & 2d4 of the last twenty-two offline lines I wrote) ivory tower monograph, but I'd drop the Marxism you know you want it Mr. & Mrs. Elbow Patch (Giles always excepted) I don't because really who fucking cares about Byzantine counterpoint that has nothing to do with the Byzantines I don't, A Marxist Poetics of Don't, then add charcoal drawings of dead Ed Wood characters, first edition Monster Manual dawn of Megiddo shit, Turkey Jones dropping Bradshaw on his gourd, some gourds, still life with clementines not oranges because being a nail biter I can peel the former, a jack-o-lantern, about a girl, Ar(t)s amatoria subtilior nouveau brut & Donovan, meadows steeped in pretty flowers, beware zombie pretzeldents in a speech bubble above zombie Vincent Price, the funk of 40,000 years no way civilization will last that long pshaw, & you, smiling, because wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee a bunch of madeleines in the madness betcha can't guess just one oh I'm kidding or not now diagram this sentence I'm late I'm late for a very important fugue state, Nod, I never remember my dreams.
Monday, February 20, 2012
The syntax of the corpse
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11 comments:
zombie Vincent Price
I miss his horror movies, they are tame now but they still have a style that goes beyond the moronic slasher films.
now diagram this sentence
I'm workin' on it!
~
dialectical materialism = Byzantine counterpoint?
hmmmm... how about Romantic counterpoint?
". . . anything can be boring especially Serious Things"
Uh, being the victim of an armed robbery is many things, but boring isn't one of them. Ditto for teaching a sweetheart or spouse to drive, and stop, on slicked-down snow and ice.
BB, oh yeah, gimme Hammer over most of the crap these days. Price, Cushing, Lee, gravitas, man.
if, you want that gold star, don't you?
jim, my eyes! They burn! Pass that Mendelssohn.
SWA, now you know darn well precisely which Serious Things I'm talking about and those ain't them.
In other words, those Serious Things are COMPLETELY DIFFERENT than those other Serious Things.
Eee gads and what do I hear now at the local clubs and friday night hang outs?.....techno. If I wanted to hear that I'd listen to my washing machine. Far more exciting.
duchess, verily art not Mesopotamian Fisticuffs completely different from Transylvanian?
demeur, which is why you go to clubs that play Motörhead.
I tried to diagram that sentence but I couldn't find the predicate nominative.
I came over to see what witty rejoinder you'd left for my droll comment only to find blogger has lost it. Oh well, sometimes I feel as if I've done that too. It was something about you not needing to dream since you seem quite content to float down the stream of consciousness.
tom, that like some like grammar thing?
susan, few things are more difficult, more dangerous than hunting down the creatures that live in the bloggers, eating our comments.
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