journal and randomized writing

Trouble
Saddlebags set, they set out on the tackled horses.
Ernie is a new rider.  You think he trains animals,
cats or dogs, but he really trains horses to be
contrary.  It isn’t true but it is possible and random.
Although the cunning day isn’t set in stone yet,
the lumpy fat in the upper thighs is getting away from
our recollection when we need to pull it up from the archives.
Recordings have been purposed there with history and the wool over
eyes hasn’t been seen.  I saw a woman today from Albania, across the sea.  

Nuisance

Shipyard husband. She calls him my husband and
eagerly I call myself a hacker, hacking away a keys,
celebrating
change.
Arbitrary randomization is art; the
trouble with art is my lack of attention to sound.
Uriah wanted a pony; it doesn’t matter.
Respect is a seven letter word, and Rogerian
argument is all about respect.

Shunning their wives, they make a mockery of their own wives.
Escaping their homes they make a confinement for their families.
Calling for trumpets, they are calling for victory without war, that is a
cry for a record, that is a cry for one man’s complete adoration and devotion to
her.  I wanted that, but I didn’t really want that, but now
I do, or I imagine it for one brief or bloody moment.
A bucket will keep the drinking water for the horses fine, a pail for a dog, fine too.

She puts the bucket out for a child’s game, to throw it in the hole.
Eminently certain, he can take over the world the young mother sees
Christian in his day of glory, but his parents have died he says.
Christian is a representative of the city from which he was raised.
Hell’s bells are ringing and the people from cities are pretending they had
it so much worse from the country folk.  Now they dream of an
escape to the countryside, but no one goes there.  How can you drive a car
loquaciously having it out with the one other passenger in the sports car.
Laura didn’t really care about what his car actually was but she wanted the freedom
of going there to see him possibly, if it were possible and practical; there was a bucket fund.

so these are my notes, dry.  I don’t know where they are taking me, I feel
emotions and need to get them down, but the new ideas don’t come quick enough.  Last night he
coughed, my child.  But ten years ago, I wanted not to fail.  I really did want to win a game.
Charles is on the basketball court with another basketball player and one man stole the
other man’s girlfriend.  After the first frost the plants look dry withered; they are not dead.

Reviews

[Alfred Kukitz]

A Giant of a write lingering on several universes in a randomize event. Whoa!