(no subject)
I think I might do something silly to pass the time and write anonymous post it notes, only I will do it in rhyme.
1. Although to you my dearest friend the parting of the nearest end, do not yourself from me defend, I no not why I the hate tend but to me would you lend me much and be a greater person such.
2. I borrow dibs I borrow gobs, from you I my head should surely lob, but just like every other Bob, just like the people in the mob, I come back sound I come back safe I come back like an ocean waif. And yes to you I gave it back, so please cut credit and cut some slack.
3. To take my sorry face and story, to be like Dicken's Mr. Lorry, is such a favor I ask not for more, it must be the grandest most awful chore and you I thank and you I sank or might so sink so watch out well.
4. For music makes the sounds emit, but also mine causes you have fit, so I apologize for being bad, I hope I did not make you sad, but may we ever more be glad, not like my dear old pop or dad, and may it not be a passing fad, but ever more just like the core of all we try lest we all die but kill not yet or else I may fret and forgive my gregarious ways or else all wait for other days, I know I can be the biggest pain but from you I have much to gain.
5. You think that should be more happy, maybe just like my dear old pappy, but guess what you may have it crappy, I hope I dont fail I hope I win, I hope I make out to what I could have been, though you be right about the fight the waiting hours days and months with nothing but the weakest hunch to go about the ways again and not be stuck within a fen, or be like fearful dying hens, but take the bull right by the horns though I may gain much greater scorn, though faith I must have or lest I die, without an arrow and sans an eye. But think never you know all you may for there are details that never seen the light of day so bad so vile so discordant with how I am with what I will be, as was said by Aristotle, take for yourself the greatest model.
6. Your writing makes us pale a lot, for compared to you we write our thoughts, in such plebeian matter thrice I am glad you to me are now more nice and of me most delighted.
7. Controlling killing sharing making plotting hurting caring taking for you are though but half the time and I used but half to make the rhyme. Talented you may be but hold you more the greater keys
8. The courage I may never have, the pen is much too shaky, but in your presence I should grow most definitely quakey. I see you as the old man, the man wise among other men. To aspire and to perspire and inspire. Go west young man and forever seek your fortune ther.
9. Lovely piece like Hemingway says, I marvel at your graceful your skill your texture your beauty your some, the way you walk in the way you come, the manner of speaking though perhaps a bit grating might never me keep from what I hope I am fating for me to soon do, or else I'll be blue, and cooped in my juices and to myself stew of what I might have had, might be bad, might be sad, but you could make the greatest glad. I guilt I am fearful I guilt I know not, I guilt that I can not execute my shot, and the gun misfires and the chance is dead, at the point the pistol should be at my head.
10. Screen act plot dialogue written out on film to be forced through the lens. I may embete but I thank you yet for being able to score though it be a chore I love it for I know what for and I thank thee for your giving me the chance to do it yet.
11. VC, PC, Nietzsche.
12. In what we share I know alot of all the sundry little plots of life anew of school of friends of making ends and go cheapness ends and whoa the French is it not fun just like a purple cumberbund and whoop de doo I lost my shoe and math again is what the fen and thank you for then being there and I dont hope and stick in hair or lost the care or did the bear but make or overdid anew although I sometimes lack my clue.
13. The unknown soldier dead and buried, burned and built and bred and married. For you came I know not how or why or what manner how but please be kind help me out and put the damnable fire out. The future it be dark and grim the oracle have spoke its truth but oh foorsooth and fear I cry within your arms I may then die. And so will march the light brigade but two by two or four by four it shant matter anymore the coming came the went away I left in hell to burn away. Cry the river they ask but it is not my task I can not feel or maybe I must or not I am confused the words are muddled and in no order comprehensible you see what I mean from it you may glean you get it but you dont you want me out so send my on my way but you I warn you never see me yet again you will lose forever it is so strange we so alike yet different fighting like animals in cage, iron barred cages, cold cages, but the cage of the heart and why and why and why I cry I cry my sleep the question why you ruined me forever or I ruined you one of us has fallen hit by piercing shot against you never did I plot the knives the swords the stainless the steel the wheel of infamy cursed our peal and what infamy and what pain and plague and cat and scratch and of yet think and think what you have shunted blunted hunted punted fronted. I love you like I love life and death in one and inseparable, the Unioun of the Lincoln the wizard of Oz, the Kaiser of Europe, the Leader of Mars. You may drive me insane but together in pain we leave the world riddle with holes without gain, though you be already mad or terribly glad or the greatest cad that was ever sad by dear old fellow to whom the things bellow and to whom I speak hello and good day but mean every word as flight as the old bird. One two three strikes your out in the old ball game. The old ball game is a time. It was a smashing good time, just like WWI and the Soviet Revolution and the discussion of Franco Prussian, and the Peleponesian the Greek the Russian Italian French German Polish Swedish Dutch and such. I swear to the skies in your name at your name with your name it is that which hurts the words the words the words oh how many you have flung. You are the dung and the Christ all at the same time. I am fearful at the hand of the Lord and Africanus. We could have been damned happy together. Hemingway. Maybe we can. Mark Baran
MEB
1. Although to you my dearest friend the parting of the nearest end, do not yourself from me defend, I no not why I the hate tend but to me would you lend me much and be a greater person such.
2. I borrow dibs I borrow gobs, from you I my head should surely lob, but just like every other Bob, just like the people in the mob, I come back sound I come back safe I come back like an ocean waif. And yes to you I gave it back, so please cut credit and cut some slack.
3. To take my sorry face and story, to be like Dicken's Mr. Lorry, is such a favor I ask not for more, it must be the grandest most awful chore and you I thank and you I sank or might so sink so watch out well.
4. For music makes the sounds emit, but also mine causes you have fit, so I apologize for being bad, I hope I did not make you sad, but may we ever more be glad, not like my dear old pop or dad, and may it not be a passing fad, but ever more just like the core of all we try lest we all die but kill not yet or else I may fret and forgive my gregarious ways or else all wait for other days, I know I can be the biggest pain but from you I have much to gain.
5. You think that should be more happy, maybe just like my dear old pappy, but guess what you may have it crappy, I hope I dont fail I hope I win, I hope I make out to what I could have been, though you be right about the fight the waiting hours days and months with nothing but the weakest hunch to go about the ways again and not be stuck within a fen, or be like fearful dying hens, but take the bull right by the horns though I may gain much greater scorn, though faith I must have or lest I die, without an arrow and sans an eye. But think never you know all you may for there are details that never seen the light of day so bad so vile so discordant with how I am with what I will be, as was said by Aristotle, take for yourself the greatest model.
6. Your writing makes us pale a lot, for compared to you we write our thoughts, in such plebeian matter thrice I am glad you to me are now more nice and of me most delighted.
7. Controlling killing sharing making plotting hurting caring taking for you are though but half the time and I used but half to make the rhyme. Talented you may be but hold you more the greater keys
8. The courage I may never have, the pen is much too shaky, but in your presence I should grow most definitely quakey. I see you as the old man, the man wise among other men. To aspire and to perspire and inspire. Go west young man and forever seek your fortune ther.
9. Lovely piece like Hemingway says, I marvel at your graceful your skill your texture your beauty your some, the way you walk in the way you come, the manner of speaking though perhaps a bit grating might never me keep from what I hope I am fating for me to soon do, or else I'll be blue, and cooped in my juices and to myself stew of what I might have had, might be bad, might be sad, but you could make the greatest glad. I guilt I am fearful I guilt I know not, I guilt that I can not execute my shot, and the gun misfires and the chance is dead, at the point the pistol should be at my head.
10. Screen act plot dialogue written out on film to be forced through the lens. I may embete but I thank you yet for being able to score though it be a chore I love it for I know what for and I thank thee for your giving me the chance to do it yet.
11. VC, PC, Nietzsche.
12. In what we share I know alot of all the sundry little plots of life anew of school of friends of making ends and go cheapness ends and whoa the French is it not fun just like a purple cumberbund and whoop de doo I lost my shoe and math again is what the fen and thank you for then being there and I dont hope and stick in hair or lost the care or did the bear but make or overdid anew although I sometimes lack my clue.
13. The unknown soldier dead and buried, burned and built and bred and married. For you came I know not how or why or what manner how but please be kind help me out and put the damnable fire out. The future it be dark and grim the oracle have spoke its truth but oh foorsooth and fear I cry within your arms I may then die. And so will march the light brigade but two by two or four by four it shant matter anymore the coming came the went away I left in hell to burn away. Cry the river they ask but it is not my task I can not feel or maybe I must or not I am confused the words are muddled and in no order comprehensible you see what I mean from it you may glean you get it but you dont you want me out so send my on my way but you I warn you never see me yet again you will lose forever it is so strange we so alike yet different fighting like animals in cage, iron barred cages, cold cages, but the cage of the heart and why and why and why I cry I cry my sleep the question why you ruined me forever or I ruined you one of us has fallen hit by piercing shot against you never did I plot the knives the swords the stainless the steel the wheel of infamy cursed our peal and what infamy and what pain and plague and cat and scratch and of yet think and think what you have shunted blunted hunted punted fronted. I love you like I love life and death in one and inseparable, the Unioun of the Lincoln the wizard of Oz, the Kaiser of Europe, the Leader of Mars. You may drive me insane but together in pain we leave the world riddle with holes without gain, though you be already mad or terribly glad or the greatest cad that was ever sad by dear old fellow to whom the things bellow and to whom I speak hello and good day but mean every word as flight as the old bird. One two three strikes your out in the old ball game. The old ball game is a time. It was a smashing good time, just like WWI and the Soviet Revolution and the discussion of Franco Prussian, and the Peleponesian the Greek the Russian Italian French German Polish Swedish Dutch and such. I swear to the skies in your name at your name with your name it is that which hurts the words the words the words oh how many you have flung. You are the dung and the Christ all at the same time. I am fearful at the hand of the Lord and Africanus. We could have been damned happy together. Hemingway. Maybe we can. Mark Baran
MEB