Both eloquent beautiful ladies are non-blondes!
file: white on black lyrics file 2]: Get well soon Mick Jagger!
JP LO;}H file 3]: I am working blues
Your poetic intellectualism is astounding. I wish to proffer valid comment. Now however I am listening to WNPR: U.S.A., N. Korea, S. Korea and glancing up at the muted CNBC screen. Also, I'm pacing with black coffee, cigarettes, and every time I pause in front of my Wounded Warrior Project poster I whimper. Superficially, though, I suspect the all-holy 'Choice' has something paramount to do with one's own birthing; i.e. what 'level'of PSTD upon birthing one endures....also, the soulful W. H. Gass's
Life Sentences, 'Kinds of Killing' certainly provides concerted consternation. Further, I am paging over Norman O. Brown's Love's Body for efficient reply--so as not to be disingenuous with your 'evocative' and meaningful essay.
Also, for some reason I am again beginning to suspect that forums such as this are simply hedonistic advertising ballast for moguls--by that I mean that 'they' pick you up at birth and see what can be done with you--what 'value' can be stolen for monetary gain. Sure, it's more than an ethical conundrum. And theoretically (I may be back, maybe not--Mrs. Hart is straining her back, rearranging our panic room, overfeeding our zebra fish; read: passive-aggressive, unintentionally disruptive) theoretically the 'decision' (to be or not) may relye on the profound statement (which falls on the deaf ears) this perfect aphorism by Dag Hammerskojd, whom if I remember correctly being older than the trees I am, Dag said: '[sic] it never ceases to amaze me--man's inhumanity to man...'
file: Luck of the draw! file 2}: so much depends on a red wheelbarrow filled with rain water next to the white shed...I only ask: Is the cure near, the end of fear? file 3]: Goldman Sachs is your friend!
file 4]: IF
4a}: If— by Rudyard Kipling - Poems | Academy of American Poets
file 5]: *grain of salt on that Margarita LO;}
yes I know, rotate the view, we don't live in an Agnew's zoo, Tippecanoe, and Tyler too as I'd hurriedly needed to rethink my Shifter Strategy now open at 6:30 and (Bless my Soul) Merica's 'following fan boys' from cross town arrived, 4,5,6, no 7 of the ol' boys lined up out there what with Melissa 'n Merica in ski caps and (maybe I'm crazy) barefooted!
Ken Kesey could handle a morning such as dis but (I swear that one guy is David Gregory with dyed blonde hair in a Hunter S. Thompson what'sit called 'Deer Hummer's' hat, and some overly muscled guy from Warsaw, defined tributarian forearms wearing a Davy Crockett coonskin cap.
Screw Drivers, bright syrupy cherries and twenty-dollar bills, moderate sound going on with Begin, the Beguine or some such. & the newspaper kid with a silver Red Bull.
$5 bucks tippin' 'round the Eagle Eye: like big Jack between my index and middle finger I fly the bill right at the kid as he warms up his red grin. 2nd old-timer Wurlitzer up: February made me shiver -- with every paper I'd deliver - . .- -deliver
....quartino-unquote....grille "Only hamburgers this early, gentleman," I'm yelling, thinking if I wanted to work this hard, if Marietta's moma mia's luck had been better, why O why would I be fryin' onions this gosh/damn/badda-blam early.
Ours is not to reason why, just enjoy the Eagle Eye.
"Is the Cathedral still doing the twelve-o'clock high mass, Jerry?" "No. I'm Terry." "Terry? Medium rare yet, hey?
"O yeah, no problem. My brother & me are only 16 months a part.
I don't know. Kinda a roaming-romeo-Na-zodrovie Catholic, if you know what I mean."
The workman said, between gulps from his schooner.
Melissa please take a moment over here, hon. I gotta freshen up.
She was more than sexy in her stringy cutoffs, her toenails 'fire hydrant red', that beautiful smile of hers and 'yoga-doe-ba' loose smock of hers the color of a tequila sunrise.
Some Girls covered a lot of them; not Milwaukee Blondes. Or Indian/Black goddesses, or newscasters with the mostest. Mick said he didn't have enough, um, energy, for the duration, and now, with the heart procedure, is stuck with tame.
Milked, fleeced, bled, Slaughtered, quartered...in that as ordered, signals pirated, body’s left alone and ideas snatched, hatched...and us left to create for pennies, or nothing. Ask Hendrix if he’s happy with his management. Right...I am low bidder on all contracts, expert at kick backs, caddy shacks and flap jacks. Low bidder! No profit! No jets, old cars, the doublewide wide...nothing to steal but my ideals, which are not contagious, and published under aliases. My Yankee Hankee got me not one penny in royalty, or a knighthood. Macaroni ! Micks chick died quick, silk scarf and all. Cold fanged anger? Or just another burn? The spatula chimes on the flat top, eggs flip flop, at Frank’s deli and bakery...on Main Street, no exile.
Always a pleasure 'say' thrill when a coupla' three old school marathon typists show up and say hiddy-hi, Maui Surfer and Robert B. Jones!
When my ship comes in (before it rolls away again) we'll continue to focus on the ideal and make it real. It's the thANG with audio-visual ubiquitous connectivity...you know that too frequent 'bad news' on the doorstep...those 'thick reads' and the what ifs of gerrymeandering....And when there's call to celebration --------------------------------------->GOOD NEWS WEEK. Those cuter than Dickens children no taller than daffodils learning that hide and seek. This type of word abadonza---no raisin in the Rissling...the plausibility of erudite candidate interaction and quip repartee like President Clinton's town halls with Phil Donovan...gotta get citizen off the sidelines. Alert alert Paris is burning. In the springtime...
JPH Jones Island, WI LO ;}
should read Robert B. JAMES...
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