Sunday, August 20, 2006
Editing Underground News
I have lost the connotation
peeling away a stray sniper casing.
Radioactive residue left on a desk
covered in a temple of manila folders.
The derivative is quite possibly
the end point of all.
Hezbollah more hesbiblah!
Tear the press up,
rip up the ink stains from my finger tips.
Printing not finger painting
mind this inane utterly ornate job.
Tell me of your Latin lover,
or include instructions of a technique
for pelvic grinding.
I spank you spank we all spank.
Water cooler hi-jinx the office is a plethora of stimuli.
Hip-check at the door.
Lozenge the throat before public speaking
I prefer herbal green tea with a splash of soy.
Stick it in and push harder.
In and out gently not rough
goddamit my nipples are sensitive.
Can you blog me now?
Holden where art though?
Always double duce, Aaron.
Your portfolio comes off as amateurish;
you seem to have an immense enjoyment
from detailing intimate sexual acts.
The balls slammed down on her desk,
steel stress relievers, a of waterfall sweat.
Perverse a news den not a locker room.
More like a hut of some sorts
with the walls covered in paper mache
and no smoke stacks as of yet.
*******
The amplified bass of enjoining desks, the carpet is dirty stained coffee residue. Discussions of the aesthetic values of independent media sources. All outlets appeared to be full. Niney and Perry spent most of the day contorting the layout laid out the foundation nicely. Happy hour hours away the relaxing movement of steady constant seconds being spent varyingly. My business Mr. Bernstein is to concoct a meaning. I was lost in the streaming rum and cokes & whiskey sours spilled over lunch, come back to me in about an hour. The sobriety of an hour was fresh and new. Blue current steams over clouds the atmosphere was connected over a wire. We all have vices (is that not true Coleridge) cocktail chat. The accusation of another bird on the wire. Ketchup and piss stains left on the rug. Damn dirty freelancers barking up the tree for more integrity clean up after yourselves than talk to me about equal rights. Always with the agenda the barking of propaganda. Red or Black or Yellow why does the shade matter just the font. Pay close to the font, the font says things not expressed into words. In some ways it stands on its own defiant or in perfect harmony. Back to the old ball and chain gang. The journalistic minor league lewd in existence watch out for lifers. Back to the issue at hand, keep your eye on the cartoon (the editorial). Holden was too idealistic. Jack could not handle the deeper issues at hand. The smoldering presses roaring at any split wine or blood. Feed the Romans they could say towards the underbelly. Conspire a mutinous assault on the editor spare no assistant in the way.
Feebleness takes the breath away. Gimme what you got.
peeling away a stray sniper casing.
Radioactive residue left on a desk
covered in a temple of manila folders.
The derivative is quite possibly
the end point of all.
Hezbollah more hesbiblah!
Tear the press up,
rip up the ink stains from my finger tips.
Printing not finger painting
mind this inane utterly ornate job.
Tell me of your Latin lover,
or include instructions of a technique
for pelvic grinding.
I spank you spank we all spank.
Water cooler hi-jinx the office is a plethora of stimuli.
Hip-check at the door.
Lozenge the throat before public speaking
I prefer herbal green tea with a splash of soy.
Stick it in and push harder.
In and out gently not rough
goddamit my nipples are sensitive.
Can you blog me now?
Holden where art though?
Always double duce, Aaron.
Your portfolio comes off as amateurish;
you seem to have an immense enjoyment
from detailing intimate sexual acts.
The balls slammed down on her desk,
steel stress relievers, a of waterfall sweat.
Perverse a news den not a locker room.
More like a hut of some sorts
with the walls covered in paper mache
and no smoke stacks as of yet.
*******
The amplified bass of enjoining desks, the carpet is dirty stained coffee residue. Discussions of the aesthetic values of independent media sources. All outlets appeared to be full. Niney and Perry spent most of the day contorting the layout laid out the foundation nicely. Happy hour hours away the relaxing movement of steady constant seconds being spent varyingly. My business Mr. Bernstein is to concoct a meaning. I was lost in the streaming rum and cokes & whiskey sours spilled over lunch, come back to me in about an hour. The sobriety of an hour was fresh and new. Blue current steams over clouds the atmosphere was connected over a wire. We all have vices (is that not true Coleridge) cocktail chat. The accusation of another bird on the wire. Ketchup and piss stains left on the rug. Damn dirty freelancers barking up the tree for more integrity clean up after yourselves than talk to me about equal rights. Always with the agenda the barking of propaganda. Red or Black or Yellow why does the shade matter just the font. Pay close to the font, the font says things not expressed into words. In some ways it stands on its own defiant or in perfect harmony. Back to the old ball and chain gang. The journalistic minor league lewd in existence watch out for lifers. Back to the issue at hand, keep your eye on the cartoon (the editorial). Holden was too idealistic. Jack could not handle the deeper issues at hand. The smoldering presses roaring at any split wine or blood. Feed the Romans they could say towards the underbelly. Conspire a mutinous assault on the editor spare no assistant in the way.
Feebleness takes the breath away. Gimme what you got.
# posted by Bobby Bobson : 2:40 PM
