the vigorous vorticity of vigorish

werdz sux

(no subject)
Picture a statue in your mind, made of, iunno, bronze. The statue is, iunno, of a woman blindfolded with flowing robes about her, standing erect. She ain't got shit in her right hand, well, iunno. You decide.

She's holding something in her left hand. Well, not holding but more carrying. An apparatus of sorts. It's sort of like a scale, but there are two weights linked to these chains on opposite sides of the apparatus.

She is holding this apparatus at the exact midpoint.

The earth turns.

i am black and i am neither long nor short but i have a measure. i have that which are called pistons within me but i do not have a caller. the butt end of me is both rounded and curved. i am pointed but i cannot say that i have a point. i am moved by my operator from place to place but i cannot say where i am. i operate at the discretion of my operator in a manner both slow and fast. at the present moment i am pointed N by NE. and my operator is asleep.

another creeps up behind him.
one who is similar to him but different.
the air is moved and are heard or not.

and then he wakes up.


The New Rain
Where the right eye of one man
  meets his reflection in another's
  contact can be said to have been made
  in that quiet moment where understanding occurs

Move by move they set their patterns
  With alternations of jabs, straights, feints and parries
  in choreographed fashion they dance

Commanding the black pieces
  he goes for the win
and as he plays
  he regards the position
       and the opposition
         and himself
         with eyes open
and as the button is pushed(?)
  conditional upon an action being taken
  minute amounts of it
    remain on his fingers
    or fly off into the air
    or become a part of him

(no subject)
So I used to own a TeeVee. I smashed it cuz it had shit coverage. Y'know, I wasn't paying the cable bill and shit. Just thought I'd let you all know.

I'm fine or at least I think that I'm fine given that, y'know, you never really know anything or sumshit.

(no subject)

I hate running. I think it's fucking gay. Just the monotonous dull pounding of feet into the ground again and again and again. It's gay. Like, back when I was doing my thing in a certain time and place and at a different point in my life I was required to run. And I hated it then too. At first.

People talk about the "runner's high." Physiologically it's simmple. Endorphins and shit and circulation and brain activation yada yada. I could talk about what I think is actually going on but instead I'll just tell you a story here:

A roll of paper towels with the paper removed lies on a table and it is long and round but not and there are lines which ??? are fucking on it otay. Before it came to be as it is now in real time space as I look at it now it was surrounded by neat little squares of paper which are commonly known as "paper towels." Well not surrounded but you get the idea and, incidentally, this object is referred to as a "paper towel roll." This paper towel roll as it was then did not come alone but with a companion. A fellow roll of paper towel which was similar to it but different. Y'know, no two things are exactly the same in every respect. Idiot. So, anyways, these two rolls of paper towels which you may now choose to have dance in your head or not were once encased by a sheet of plastic polyethalene whatever the fuck and were carried by someone, in this case, me, the writer of this post, to


I prefer dance.

(no subject)
The God
water is wet

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