S.B.T. 117

Intrigued by subject object abject inject eject matter, an instinctive creative urge glows and turns counterclockwise gaining brightness pulsing spattering sparks and spirals of faeiriedust trailing in soft space to become material, under sighs i mean signs a platform podium or a pencil with a steel string guitar.

the closing of the rose by tipota

Generated randomly, following a heartbeat schedule, words travelled by lodestar alighting at the sound of their own name “Winchester!”called out by a conductor near the stationstop. In such doings names became substance for they had a destination and carried third to fourth genre rations to fill foodbanks or you could say that by end of the third day something happened either of four ways, north south east and west tho there might be any number of stops between 3 and 11. Say is this that? “three days before, three days after” ie take it easy.

The newborn has a new name, and we need fresh underwear, talcum and a silk tie or scarf and fine outerwear so we can emerge ready for any kind of weather.
On public radio this afternoon, a lively discussion airing regarding snark versus wit. The title of the book is ‘Snark, It’s Mean, It’s Personal, and It’s Ruining Our Conversations’ - they r interviewing the author. He is antisnarkist it seems hmmmm followed by effervescent political speculalalations and news juice. Creative persons are struggling to define things, sort sift and plunk. Time, the magic carpet pulled rather yanked rather dorothied out from under Alladdin hanging by his knuckles clamped around the fringe tassles, whipping about new jersey roller coaster style. “Oh no! There goes the lantern!” he cries flipping over canyon.

The Rose is folding her petals. “We found it an extremely difficult thing to do” the spokesdoctor said, “these are extraordinary times.” he shifted uncomfortably nostrils flaring. This is Arkham I mean Brandeis University. Ivywhelmed member of the fundomental Boston brain trust in Boston (qualitative backward leaps=redundance), home of the Red Sox and the culture of highest eduvacation. (Bette Midler singing ‘the Rose’ trails off to neverland


Turkish coffee please, and a slice of la French Revolution. No, that slice there, the tart, with the peach on top, the one covered with glory granules, fresh flutes dipped in drummers with the guillotine garnish.

or as the captain might say, some ‘Lo yo yo stuff’

i wish i hadnt

xxx