Mercurial Rising

Bluster of the simmer code// arranged-mister- perfuming harbor-harbormaster, vigor, vignette, vinaigrette, and VOICELESS aggregate

Pejoratively pejorative deprecatory//tersely trimmed: rations built by polyps scantily besperpled all about. Strewn the streets in voided locks

Bluster of fluff and the unsubstantiated cavalry of somersaulting tambourines.

His daughter was a merchant.  She wished to be an actress.  She dreamed in fairy tales- worlds furthest away from a chastising, cigar-wielding boss of a man.  His daughter, dressed to Sunday’s best, skipped the service talk, jogged around the holy block, dress flocking to the wind, upskirt sentimentality, pickets picked for curls.

To the boys in the corner shade, she searched until they no longer could evade.  She earned the sum.  She sold the goods and now a merkin she would own, to guard her pretty.  (All the result of a dumb magazine story, where “you ain’t getting nowhere in Hollywood until you got the goods, and if you got the goods-then you’d be best advised to guard them good.”  Well she thought, I’m a merchant as much as anyone else, I got the goods.  But to defend- well that she could not pretend.

Tautologies- again and again, over and over

The Diagrams of Venn are missing a few relationships- they can’t account for those unknown.

Oh no, the vang broke- snap, snappity, snap

The ambrosia was made especially for you

But there’s still dessert

Barely able to take another bite

Everything was so delicious

Like seltzer

She settles me

She makes the ordinary beautiful

Fork to plate-fork to mouth

I can’t stop watching her

My eyes can’t focus elsewhere

Eye to eye again

How does God choose his blessings?

Times like these I wonder

 Cheeks redden both

                                             Eyes meet steady long

Perfection meets me at the door

Pressure Pitched

Gang nasty and the bard of bricks
Littered lanes of cardboard motels
or were they mausoleums?

Pacified northwestern time fringed
Zapped by the contextual pop-ups
clustering closed
Delete.  Delete.  Delete.

Bases loaded.  .355 lifetime hitter at the plate.
Tie game. bottom of the 8th.
Heart of the lineup due up top
If only this last bat could fall
I'd be the hero
well at least I wouldn't be the goat
perspiration blisters
Head to hair
Sweeping beads of sweat to mound
Pausing, pausing- they won't run
Catchers signing ones and threes
But I can't even see
as my mind is singing verse, thought upon thought-

" who's on deck, buster, he's never hit off me, he's 2-33 lifetime batting with bases loaded,"

" If they take him out who's left off the bench"

Statistics flow like streams alive- one upon the other carousing the breadth of choice-

"It's the grandest of all stages- would it be crazy to walk him, that would give them a one run lead, but I know I can get the next guy- is it a gamble- yes, is it a calculated risk- perhaps"

A bird flutters amongst the darkening skies
Into the grayest cloud he disappears
and the drops suddenly appear
As the public address announcer tells the fans
I sigh a breath of relief
As I know the tarps will roll out soon

Theology of Sin

Broad strokes invade the subtlest

Placidity, with an entourage of corrosive

inhibitions, the boon of tranquility-swathed

picaresque.

Dashed by despondency and ire, inveracity

Grooms its toiled prepossession-brokering legerdemain

through generalities voiced in hearsay and

hegemony.

Salacious seeds ferment ensconced.

Suckling-in, nestled-upon, the undefiled teat

of ablution, that sees its wellspring dry in

retrocession.

A residuum of salubrious crumbs, the delicacy

for obsidian aphrodisia, effuses. Contravention’s valiance,

amidst vituperrious flood, ultimately wanes, in slumping 

abnegation.

Retaliation

Our most inspired Peaks,

Hold but a fraction of power,

Compared to the possessions and

Characteristics wept for, in our most

Fractured states.

Do unto others as you’d have done unto yourself

Eye for eye

Tooth for tooth

Fillings and contacts all

Turn the horn

Drink it dry

If evil hath been done unto your person-

Evil then, can be wished

upon imposing devils

Carousing within your staid

Auger with snake-like shine

Spinning blades 

Into the sewage of your chest

Habitattered

She earned a few bad habits along the line,

Like the gentle gnawing

Upon the rims of glasses

Chipping enamel base inches deep

Often occasionally breaks off a piece

Placing teeth on ice.

Farmed out the favorite scene

Broke jaw from emulating her scream

Battle.

Sometimes I like to write as if I was a telegraph operator during times of peril.  Typically it’s a war-time recreation.  Dash.  Dash.  Dash.  And so forth…Would be fun.   Kind of like speaking.  In tongues..  A variance in interpretation…  Yet really only one connection…One line of thought…one message…Process or Ignore.

How often are the children instructed to brutalize their neighbors?

Are parents teaching little man and darling girl, about the benefits gained from bullying all those little poindexters, Urkels and Earls?

Is society to blame?

Oh, who gives a damn about freedom of speech anyway-not when censorship contains so much promise?

-Tell that to the parent of a victim, innocent bearing but one crime- birth in the wrong school district- Touché

Yeah, I think it would cool, returning to some postcard scene.  Flyboy’s beware I’ve played Last Starfighter tens of times before!

Back in the day.  I’d find people and tell them how their legacies panned out.  I’d locate all those misfits and those ahead of their times, those living in duress- and explain all the monumental changes that exist in the modern age.  I’d find Rosy and tell her she’d fit in great today.  I’d grab a coke and tell the soda jerk- that the formula changes, then changes back, then changes again, then changes again- but not quite where it originally was, then changes back to the failed formula, only to revert it’s taste once more, but offering a bit of a different packaging and placing classic underneath it’s logo. 

I’d love to go to Vegas.  When it was all sand.  I’d grab a few and blow them to the wind. 

Marketing Campaigns

Marketing Campaigns

Evil charmed a CLEO with it’s:

Building Hate…One Ire at a time

Campaign

Blindness caught a whirlwind of media attention for its:

Visions you just don’t see everyday

Not for profit promotional plea

Pain, promoted itself well with the spin heard round the world:

For the agony that aches each day….Pain is free

Not surprisingly, Weakness failed, when first airing its PSA:

Feebly crawling toward futility

Indecision idled, it wasn’t sure, but thought perhaps their program

Advice for the decidedly undecided

Could potentially offer something some may or may not decide upon

Other notables:

Failure: Victory’s lost are losses gained

Hope:  Dreaming above reality

Confusion: The Vaguest of The Vague: Hazy Descriptions of Possible Possibilities

Deceit:  1.   Truthfully fabricating since…

             2.  Deception: Available in Every Language

 Well, I missed my first day posting yesterday.  Between this and that I just couldn't get on-line yesterday.  I'm going to make up for it later on.  I have a few posts going up today but just looked at the clock, so I'll have to post this one, which is just some fun I was jotting down.  I'll post the others later and then try to catch up on two days of reading, hopefully this thing I have today won't take that long.