. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. This is no test. The word is PANGRAM which allows the dogs in the neighbourhood to do their thing in one scoop while the Grub Street guys search each nostril and venture a pet project to be a time squanderer. We assume foxes deserve better, so The Great Petition grows, chickens are turned out, farmers get paid to chill, youngsters set sail to catch tuna fish with nothing but a smile and a few errant chicks— Meanwhile, another generation will fret and complain and subdivide, leave the dead unburied, and crucify the clergy to justify brutality, and a world of hurt— The stuff of fiction, truths perhaps, entertainment then? Lines we must cross nevertheless; our exhausted mounts. The Rube will always flow in our hearts. Some other Romeo & Juliet must die so our vile iniquity might escape the mundane. The stage of our microscope. The projector becomes our soul. The Heart of Story—Judgement Day, our metal. Die Hard .
. Slept on an empty train, in and out of wayward stations, a disturbed journey for reasons I know not; I heard distant shooting in the moonlight, rapid bursts of staccato fire from the forests, a familia chaos way beyond the pile lying in a cosy semi-mortified state on its passing via Eden The Undertaker .
This is just a quick visit right this minute lots to do before dawn breaks proper All about it's business as usual one expects yet isolation has me on a leash, beggarly shabby and meek, so the perception goes — love keeps me broke nevertheless .
