Monthly Archives: August 2004

‘Discursive Nonsense II: Gypsy Tea-Bags’

Meandering thoughts posted on the AI Web board late at night; archived here for your chuckling pleasure.

‘Discursive Nonsense II: Gypsy Tea-Bags’

Detersive phosgene balloon entity envelops consciousness.
The tub is filled with Jello® and smells of turpentine.
My sexuality is everyone’s business, he said with a grin; ask me anything!
The signs are clear–there’s going to be trouble!
‘Knocked the wheel into outer space… threw him into the paddy-wagon… beat him…’
The water is green and brackish, evanescant horticultural miasma.
She said she was over eighteen, officer, I swear!
Madness is the stuff of earwax and sprinklers; my wife is ill again.
The computer demands a sacrifice!
I remember Sally Lunn’s buns–in business since 1680.
Frolic happy puppeteer in ice and bandages; sing prosodic bouquets.
‘Immanuel Kant was a real piss-ant who was very rarely stable…’
Nuclear power tastes orange train in plastic diaper bag keyboard tray.
The music was slow and ominous, roiling over us in waves of blue and white.
I love the way a woman’s hips sway as she walks.
Wooden models don’t look much like the real thing.
Electric light flicker flicker flicker on the corner table glow yellow and die.
Gypsies do not like tea-bags.
Compact Discs are too expensive; they should sell licenses and give away the media.
Apoplectic transfusion of rhythm and blues brings personal satisfaction.
Cursing in Yiddish is more effective; especially when talking to bees.
The dancers took ecstasy to stay awake–the rhythm spoke of Mars and impending War.
At night, there is only peace, and tranquility.
At night, there is only madness, and decay.
She is slipping again; control is going, the dreams are coming–pain!
Peter Murphy sings of heartfelt isolation over Turkish instrumental mayhem.
My journal is almost full; the pages are covered in mad scribblings, sign language.
Form and motion, chaos and corruption, indelible iniquity, and rhyme.
Caedite eos! Novit enim Dominus qui sunt eius.

‘Discursive Nonsense I: Music Is Ideas’

Meandering thoughts posted on the AI Web board late at night; archived here for your chuckling pleasure.

‘Discursive Nonsense I: Music Is Ideas’

The hand creme on the countertop is empty; the mirror is stained and cracked.
This election will be stolen just like the last.
Are you sure you want to move the read-only file ‘foo’?
I have a great big pile of photos and I’m sorting them out.
Ben & Jerry are burning in hell for making good iced cream.
‘If Hitler invaded hell I would make at least a favorable reference to the devil in the House of Commons.’
80 minutes remaining.
My confusion is apparent; the text is deconstructed; you’re all I have left.
Thomas Jefferson may have been an Aspergian but he was still a slave-owning son-of-a-bitch.
I want the GIMP to be as good as Adobe Photoshop; is that too much to ask?
It only costs 16 cents a minute to call Iceland, but I don’t know anyone in Iceland so I guess it doesn’t matter.
Like the Rascals said, I’ve been Lonely Too Long.
School starts on Monday; I must prepare the neutron bombs; call out the militia, there’s a war on!
My fedora is getting dusty; I should wear it to-morrow to work.
Two jets crashed in Russia to-day–a lot of people are dead.
Linux shell-scripting is fun if you have nothing better to do; I always have things to do; boredom is the first sign of senility.
I want to live forever, but only if I get to keep my books and my records.
‘I don’t know which will go first – rock ‘n’ roll or Christianity.’
I miss the Sainsburys Local and my 44p Evian and my Mars bar.
‘Free Willy’ was about a whale.
John Kerry is a corporate whore but at least he’s more ashamed of that than Bush is; I want to cast my vote for Jello Biafra.
I hate getting spam; I always think it’s important when the computer beeps at me… but it’s just another spam.
I am a vegetarian.
The average rainfall in the Amazon Basin is 80 inches.
Maurice Gibb is dead; out here on the perimeter there are no stars; this message will self-destruct in five seconds.
Black Sharpies smell very good, but only when they’re new.
Ich bin vom Sprechen nur auf englisch m¨de.
My bed is cold; I want to climb into it; it wants to climb into me.
Music is ideas.