It was an obscure and wretched situation, in which his knees were pressed together to avoid skirts, but of which, soft suggestions were overflowing.
As she breathed, it did seem almost as though she was no longer the victim of her clothes.
And avoided further explanation under cover of the difficulties of language.
Sometimes he would breathe upon the glass of those instruments, and rub it with the cushiony part of his hand, of which the hard whorls of skin and fate were, by comparison, indelicate.
May we never walk when the road waits, famished.
Like flies you prove it. Like Rhamaddan you prove it.
From what cesspit was this object dragged that you set it against the select harvest of a faithful gleaner?
A shadow in the valley of the shadow of!
Truth my friend, is scum risen on the froth of wine.
A driver must have sensitive soles on his feet. Unlike his buttocks.
Rambling...is an absolute challenge to narrative...Mallarme, who experienced, of course, the temptations of elsewhere, spent his energy solely on producing this totality of language.
The real unvoiced fear is: will this protagonist survive confrontation with forces that exist within the dangerous area of transformation?
The most important thing, as far as I can tell, is knowing how to let go.
I am a bit afraid: still a fear of letting myself go for the next instant is unknown. Is the next instant made by me? Or does it make itself all by itself? It puts us together by way of the breath.
What kind of change is possible for the solitary figure surrounded by space?
has to elaborate out of her own entrails as she writes
NO in thunder
globules of anguish strung together on memory
From the middle of his iris beds I could clearly see the accused through his window. He had a bottle of Victoria Bitter and a meat pie for his dinner. I also live alone and know what it is to spend these hours of solitude when I would rather have a wife and baby and the smell of stew bubbling in the pot. But what civilised person can sit down to a meal like this and not pick up a book to read?
If you don't think before you sleep, you break your head
he spent two years in training and after he had qualified as a full dead man
a really human being
to see the mountain-creatures was not dangerous but to dance with them was the most-dangerous
The startling combination of colors and splendor not only transfigures the subject; it plunges him into a whirlwind and transforms him into a whirligig
may your tongue of deception be rotted in pestilence from the enigma of the Inviolate Word
inly blind
A multitude of camels shall cover you, the young camels of Midian and Ephah; all those from Sheba shall come.
swill...whisper
stupid as a movie star I was someone else's idea
As she breathed, it did seem almost as though she was no longer the victim of her clothes.
And avoided further explanation under cover of the difficulties of language.
Sometimes he would breathe upon the glass of those instruments, and rub it with the cushiony part of his hand, of which the hard whorls of skin and fate were, by comparison, indelicate.
May we never walk when the road waits, famished.
Like flies you prove it. Like Rhamaddan you prove it.
From what cesspit was this object dragged that you set it against the select harvest of a faithful gleaner?
A shadow in the valley of the shadow of!
Truth my friend, is scum risen on the froth of wine.
A driver must have sensitive soles on his feet. Unlike his buttocks.
Rambling...is an absolute challenge to narrative...Mallarme, who experienced, of course, the temptations of elsewhere, spent his energy solely on producing this totality of language.
The real unvoiced fear is: will this protagonist survive confrontation with forces that exist within the dangerous area of transformation?
The most important thing, as far as I can tell, is knowing how to let go.
I am a bit afraid: still a fear of letting myself go for the next instant is unknown. Is the next instant made by me? Or does it make itself all by itself? It puts us together by way of the breath.
What kind of change is possible for the solitary figure surrounded by space?
has to elaborate out of her own entrails as she writes
NO in thunder
globules of anguish strung together on memory
From the middle of his iris beds I could clearly see the accused through his window. He had a bottle of Victoria Bitter and a meat pie for his dinner. I also live alone and know what it is to spend these hours of solitude when I would rather have a wife and baby and the smell of stew bubbling in the pot. But what civilised person can sit down to a meal like this and not pick up a book to read?
If you don't think before you sleep, you break your head
he spent two years in training and after he had qualified as a full dead man
a really human being
to see the mountain-creatures was not dangerous but to dance with them was the most-dangerous
The startling combination of colors and splendor not only transfigures the subject; it plunges him into a whirlwind and transforms him into a whirligig
may your tongue of deception be rotted in pestilence from the enigma of the Inviolate Word
inly blind
A multitude of camels shall cover you, the young camels of Midian and Ephah; all those from Sheba shall come.
swill...whisper
stupid as a movie star I was someone else's idea
posted by Precocity at 6:59 AM
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