more typing without thinking

(415 words in 415 seconds)

Looking at the city with wide-eyed innocence, I am a child again. A truck goes by and it delights me. I frolic like a little girl. I am a little boy though; I don’t wear pink violets. I touch the frank mad goat in the yellow dew, the pigeon circumnavigates the yeast deacons in the French fried mess of coleslaw; so many food-words and never enough sustenance for the soul; we eat the stuff and it comes, it goes, it sucks the moment and that is why I can’t eat dew it glows from tops of oceans it delivers fresh waters to the salmon spawn, and so delight in the moment, take the train out of lands into new mountain regions where the economic system fosters competition like in modern Colorado. We’re here in the boat, sucking out trout and the milk is sour it loves to lactate at the rate at which I circumnavigate the hefty finder’s fees from the washroom of toadstools which umbrellas the entire eastern hemisphere which as you know is impossible.

Circumlocution in the West to enhance the receptivity of the East to the happenings the gloaming the half witted firewagons the yade-blown fructocentric larval stages the igloo from the Toronto and the Nuremburg rallies… and who is Reg Hartt anyway? his posters are all over the city he must be some kind of Warhol-loving indie fiend who can’t get published in Now Magazine and so he resorts to telephone poles which suckers the rest of us into respecting his audacity; it shocks us so we say “Reg Hartt is a man of the telephonic prowess and guerrilla advertising, he is unmatched by any in this area or within five degrees of latitude ie even unto the 49th parallel.” Having guns doesn’t make you tough, in fact it makes you wronger than you think. This world cannot turn as fast as I can type.

Polar earth is the weather that’s better and the fresh breeze that blows in from the north end of the city it could be worse this development. I have to eat the bacon and I love to tell people where I bought it, it was around the corner from Mr Muggles, the troubles he gave me were of the yellow kind, he was a coward and I will eat his bones before the moment passes. We qualify our friends with adjectives with words from the depths we don’t allow anything past the sieve oh no.

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