Friday, June 10, 2011

Screw the Monastic Impulse

There were no visible stars before we fell to sleep. The dog balked at the day-old chicken thighs covered in ketchup. Perhaps that was why I woke up tired, sore and angry at the presence of others. Yet still, part of me says screw the monastic impulse.

Complicated systems beg designer notes. Balloons floated overhead, making us think of sad children in the city. Scratches on the chessboard denote passion. You is my favorite pronoun.

A photographer whose favorite subject is herself. Why is it so hard to let the poor eat? Like everyone else, I am waiting for the miracle. These sentences bear me up like netting.

Tom Cruise does in fact do his own stunts. He got bored easily, which made studying the bible a fruitless endeavor. The new man bores me. We followed the deer in a generally southern direction, up a hill, as the light fell.

More code please. Yet more notes on the relationship between symbol and theme. The hoe, the seedling, the Chinese calendar. I'm all about you.

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