Friday, April 04, 2008

flotation gondola

The improbable chalice is just that: improbable, but more to the point it is unprovable and numerous with assertions that the container of the liquid contains nothing of note: it is the end of the sea, the tempest in a teapot that charges the dynamic castellan of the chancellery typefaces, of the major mechanical mysteries of existence like a droll altostratus cloud seething in the pre-storm and then becoming just another queasy and transquotidian lamination of the neutrino-jazz elephantiasis functor cleaning depot at the edges of the metropolitan areas, just another jiva of the surreal brick-moment awaiting the thin babbling rivers of sussurrant orthogonal onions in a great giant locked sea of here-minor.

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