invaluable gropes in the wayward blitz of mankind, fishtypes, and periodontal furniture (read: leg-biter)
And lo! Logic be dammed (by beavers and husks); the periodontal maze can start by button pressing any ONE of the pics enclosed. Somehow somewhere, all tangents belly up to the counter and start demanding beer. That's logic for you... heh, heh.
Postscript: sometimes our good corporeal web host actually permits the original blog to be seen! It possesses all the good gravy as far as pix and momentary flutters go... burning the calories for a few years! Touch it!
Reentry Postscript: as the corporal's torpid methodology would have it, we're also doing a blog under the surname: "Apostrophe Beach; Echinoderm Brine". Click on the four eyed fishy below.
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From Leipzig to The Kingdom; adaptive pants in a pod!
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Duetscomes avec Jerome Porsperger!
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A wee tending with Sudden Infancy!
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Click me pict below to hear the hun of the loo!
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Recklessly unfettered, these dubious men laid waists with malicious pretensions:
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The water ways and spider cents had trios amok in their chiding bridemates, adding fours to fives and high sixes on low scent bridges. Best is Marc's grin gapes. Clapping with the loo? Skinny Vinny AND the lovely Dei X. Better times? Not elsewhere!
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A culpable hake went underway for the red herring spring. Can you believe it's April? Ahh spring. Nearly in, there, amongst, celibate no longer!
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I'd laid some thatch down in amongst the forestry agents when the snow was crisp. Another coating of marble would come and go, coating the mung with a bridge or two of clover or camel-coat, receding back into airline treasures and back to the fourth again: damn crazed March hare mesa table, pap's not able. Steadied on counter-levers, raised just so, eyes would anoint, appoint, fall, and re-Rome themselves. Ah, it's all a bastid temple we fret and fall for, popes and hoping all the way.
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A crescendo of welts and candied nanny-brodjies bent on Dutch housing and crests and homilies, this one hun felt the bends and finger-wiccans gone awry sanskrit and tandem oak brochure wisp-kindles (damned strait).
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Judgement days were behind us on this one. I found this good sense of prophesy from July '08 just the other night (heck: one gets bored and you-tubes themselves... echhh, that sound right?) ... and, er, a good grave to Davy n' all, the prophetics help carry on and trump winter's hangover-card (all spades, I tell you).
Trading spades for hearts, the residual follow-up antebellum was made mortal on Valentine's Day, this year (which would place us at 2009). See the difference? Bet your mom you do!
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Well? The written word had had its possessive day! Notwithstanding another bout of insurance politic (or gender indent), the cradles modeled and moped quite cheerily along in sundresses and circumstanzas and teutoneum drop-pout loam loess and prop-out condor-limbs, aching soft and charmin (TM) and walking quickly cos you have had or hid or cringed (at notions furthermore bearing) lo! Bad timing to have that LOWERCASE of bad gas. Chin up, soldier! Oh man, another day of captaining....
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Well? It's a crack, man.
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Wishing your basen so cool...
We just back from Polska... the chips are slowly settling in. Cheggout Eric an' me, in all our frosted leers right here! Likewise, there's the Wez to Wylacz hombre right on below, so low, low, low
And fuggit. Here's some 2008 "bestest" tubers. Diggit!
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And of course (and chorus), meanwhile the founders of forests (nearby) expressed their mightiest intentions:
More sass than your onager!
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Dearest Giddy Sludge and Heath.
A requiem for some tazers in your deep deep pockets! A challenge to pry your rapier botox flectum, a marriage disparage of yours and mine uncouthe and accoutrement meister breem! We'll bite the bit together, say you! tell the old mare to ride whoa-brides and bridle their own paps of wrapped-snappy hosiery, dragoons and goonkids all the ilk, dispensing with armageddon hops and chortles under skirts while we waste waylays and layline bearings at their (or his-her) most-glowing loaved child-at-work, tiding tweed tediums with flavor slacks, rectangle basters, low lying glowing frustrated pics of desnudes lusion hall lexicon local one eighties. Men of dumps and ladles of rote, girlish nides and well-do-over lapsing forebear after-cues, sissel-bound in copperish veneer rinses, the old blames and craned necks (portals approximax; apropos to pennies-on-tandemnic zaire); man the screams: SAND! HEFT! Left over to rasp the grape-ish moon, manned over left king total tease kaas and caesar creases, returning to test the rotunda meme: CHOLL! KEIFER! Wrent hisses and pie piss plenties, winces and wendies and will-do-me's and won'tcha gotcha can-can pee and ply in red tasted kneeds, wellspring hoff and planted plier joles and bowels jeering creoles and protestant proto-serum simplish plump. My merry Dear Giddy. Today we revolt and rescind. Tomorrow, we'll dine in fresh fresco, papel tare weights and shaman baubles babel wing proot. Let the dust settle. Let the nettles birches beast friezes and lope their own dires with chiaroscuros wrosted with welp wrestling tamper tads of gone-gropie billfold foak nodes. Damn them to hects, the lot! Make babes from brim and tease the tassels with well wrought hue! Jove, his jib was merry, like yours, hers, and my deepest deepling respite.
We'll task together, friend.
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An August thought, yes and as quick as a bunny. On and off again, you catch certain masked or unmasked frequencies. Here be they; they who are candidates less rotten than the current presiding... wee snips caught in the aire fresco and internet gibber. Monarchs should only come as milkweeds. To do's? Todo et total.
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On stated the milk brine solution. We packed the verb-filled auto with epithets and mom/wow signs and trekked west for a stint. Not too far, but west-enough. Stating stuff about fire, fluid, sound theories (something about asses and magnets), and well, yeah--cardboard, the ensuing silliness made serious shrouds around opinions pining half the demographic; that one part CAN produce its own milk, whereas the other CANNOT. Always tri-polar, this particular picture click will shoot for a third grid option.
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We-in-brief (and will add). Click the above diving fish, for here are snips with the posse and postscript deposits (and occasional despot) and fire flume and tune to rue the summer o'lay. Dig it!
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Of course, following into the late July spread, was a rash of statewide tornados! Click the pic for impossible glitch!
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Mitochondria you say?
A better asp than a monarch!
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And then there were all those inaccessible roads (w/ Eric Boros)
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And then walls were built, the invaders were held at bay, and the tides came crash crawling up the neck and gave the derby a good washing!
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It's funny. Most things are. The pre entry is an explosed wit; a dumpening of watch-too-much-ugh's (((( and goes ]]]] with the wise/ie's and why's... butcha cannot can (as in seal))) the lately amidst a temple of total totem idiots. SO? Eh. Shruggen CHagrIN. Twenty left teeth {{ I have ((( dentals tell otherwise/// ... one thing I did-fined with tasks and elbows was this ((( lashings of Aprllllll, end tow/end cow kowtow to the fact these have in June (a rebuke of the prior/// i i i i ... put end thus:: postivie (view or vie? (((( she lopes (dude, you should toe tally go for her--- great hips, afterall... it was a busy night (( chalk 5 for Beuys (boy there were plenty }}} and what it all sends down to /// eh? 999. Conduuit-sue, use, wisedome, belies: ;;;; are the local hopes. Funny thing? Well, (tzarasatrestare(((( YESNO.
Local hopes are really where the ends are all going to meet one day, and one would hate that day to be yesterday. I used to scoff. Now I don't.
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Inadvertent tree chastity
I never thought I'd bite the bait of the buzz of instant transmission of information. But I have been, albeit slowly, ergo the cellphone picture. It's not a transition from analog to digital or any of that crap. Don'tcha worry, I still make goofy structures and work with my hands (you ought to see this year's bean pole installation...). And yet, even with high speed this and that, and yes, the last man in the world to have one, it's funny to me that now I'm cell phoning myself pictures. Somehow I'm thinking it works the same way: not in opposition, but in tandem with all the processes and methods of perception, concept, and action. Being perpetually distracted helps too, and as I get older, I've learned to allow myself time to do this; really rolling with the distraction coincidentally has the beneficial ingredient of pulling my head out of the sand, thereby getting some good happy accidents happening. Which boils down to today. Shit man, the last thing I thought I'd do today was scramble up and down rocks on a rainy April afternoon. But you know? The sun eventually came out, the smells were good, I found a new trail (which I suspect was crafted by deer, not manmade), and even escaped a gaggle of babbling middle-aged geese and their schmuck-of-a-golden retriever ("she never growls at anyone" "must be my big mean cat"). The ospreys were out too, yelling and diving; and the inlet was an incredible green...
And the photo. I've been doing this for a few years while on my walks: twigging and laying contrasting layers (branches) to various gaps, holes, and crevices in rocks or trees. If you dig deep into the website, there are a few other examples of this. I don't know what the compulsion is to do this. It's been a busy month, and getting back to earth and spring from a winter spent scrutinizing and touring, I'm almost up for anything that involves motion, distraction, and assemblages for trees. So it's a start, or a middle, maybe? Taking notes from the mobile photo snatchers (and the aforementioned instant exchanges), this one arrived today after the rain on my way back home. My mobile is crappy, sure, but my art is too. The woods doesn't mind all that much though!
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Inadvertent Father Art
Spied from my kitchen window, Papa-huso's task and day's end resulted in these fine piles of wood chips and flakes; leftovers from a couple cords of wood (now stacked out of sight). Probably gone tomorrow, these wee pyramids remind the day of many subtle been's and temporary lodgings. All to provide kindling and heat later, and testimony to our daily putterings, labor, and routines for survival. A pinch of imagination calls 'em something, but it's all in passing.
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Nearing the Tide
yes yes yes yes yes yes yes there is a jealous yes set to sand not the friendliest of places, that ice will consume you and the sand can't feed a soul except for downed and drowned beards and shirts... but a flat-end place, tis... and walking for miles, you can see the world spread out her arms more and more, under the hush of holes and dried life, expunged of all face: just sullen terra, and you mutter slow lowing "oooeesh, oooeeesh" ... not a bit of imagination, just full-on candor.
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Treat your tats with wide leeches
I'd hear the days would go by faster than a lover bygone treaty on bourbon hornies and handler-handed leftist politics. The usual oat? Well, I suffered through the certain periodicals, movements, and surreptitious notes allocated by proper danks and bankholdings and putter-matrix man-a-logues gone weary drive with holds and hells and holding papoose deposings as candida-ham for all lumps to grease and spell sepia grinds with (or without) doubt. Whaddya listen to, mape? Good krill. Hay marines. Love a'bluster arquebusters and same olds, I tell 'em. Another story? Hang this in your woods. This don't mean no nada, I'm told. This shit-schiesse is properly deluded, so the vibes imply. Ah? It's another tethered tenfold housing mannerism. Polite company snubs within whispers and their own people nets, and that's fine; likewise matrons play the porpoise here as well, with its insides, nice guts, and yowlings that don't get you much place other n' anywhere particularly damp. But it's an osprey cry or a stomp within the muck-engine that satiates the need to bind creeds... the disputed dystopia seems to hold kindreds together, the longer I live. There, here: there's a stretch to extend a wicker finger to the detached sentiment of plodding through, be they corners, chasms, crevices, alleys, or sidewalks in broad sunlight. The overall coverall is a smelly mung dynasty with pretty punch boxes that keep one so constantly distracted that y' can't gesture even a penis in the upright... to do so would be to treat the tat with a wide leech, to give away something, or to claim that you cusp a different motive, motif. But I know. If you wanna know too, we can trade for it.
