August 30, 2008

Urban Logics, Page 53.

Now the audience, it's a bunch of air-heads mostly, yer basic zero-space posse, and they're going wild at the stage battle. The bouncers have to move in, hatchet-faced bastards one and all, especially when the poet blows up the plastic horse. Oh yeah, I'm telling you, spews all this crazy mixed-up word-oil at the horse, sets fire to the language and the whole fucking horse. Total glow finish. Horseshit, the place was maniac city.

Posted by dean at 04:39 AM

August 27, 2008

. . .

Posted by dean at 03:41 AM

August 24, 2008

Urban Logics, Page 28.

Lank and petrol-eyed children play
in bouquets of rust formation.
Sodden flowers,
wired to the cross.

Posted by dean at 04:23 AM

August 20, 2008

The Legend : "Melt The Guns".

Parallels?
Who needs parallels?
We've got all the cynicism we need.

Posted by dean at 01:10 AM

August 19, 2008

Solar Sickbed, Page 90.

I must stress here that the professor, putting his more lately manifested megalomania for a moment to one side, was a fierce rationalist and firm materialist, intensely logical in all his ways. Thus he regarded the occurrence of peculiar phenomena not as an evidence of supernature, but, more properly, as evidence of nature incompletely comprehended.

Posted by dean at 02:52 AM

August 17, 2008

'Captain, Is That Land?'

'Shore is.'

Posted by dean at 04:48 AM

August 14, 2008

. . .

Posted by dean at 12:53 AM

August 10, 2008

Hormonal Futzed Loaves, Page 114.

'All you need fear, my boy, is old age. When your golden youth has decayed we shall quickly part company -- but you needn't look forward to it; we'll discover the fact ourselves, and notify you.'

Posted by dean at 05:32 AM

August 04, 2008

Hormonal Futzed Loaves, Page 37.

'Now, that is very interesting history,' said Jack, well pleased; 'and I understand it perfectly -- all but the explanation.'

Posted by dean at 04:37 AM

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