THE TOURISTS LEADING THE TOUR
"IT'S FUNNY THAT BEING AN ARTIST, BEING ON THE CUTTING EDGE OF ANY AESTHETIC DISCIPLINE, BEING A VISUAL ANARCHIST OF SORTS WOULD REQUIRE JUST AS MUCH TRAINING IN LAW AS IT DOES IN ART. POSSIBLY MORE," THOUGHT GUY.
HIS FINAL OPINION WOULD HAVE TO WAIT FOR THE TRIBUNAL OF GALACTIC ARTISANS' DECISION.
YUP. TOGA.
AND YUP, THEY DRESSED THE PART. NO ONE COULD BE SURE EXACTLY WHY THEY DRESSED THE WAY THEY DID, BUT IT PROBABLY HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH FIFTIES SCI-FI MOVIES AND FILMS ABOUT THE GREEKS, THE ROMANS AND/OR JESUS CHRIST. MAYBE THEY DIDN'T WANT TO SURPRISE US ON OUR FIRST ENCOUNTER, SO DRESSED UP IN ACC
On the (hand) outs
(The {i(d}e)s of wonts)
They may not believe in divine prov{i(d}e)nce
But may as well live in a little floating Canadian paradise.
Mind us thick with syrupy coagulants.
A basically blissful prancing pride of may pole parasites.
Grounded to the roles they play like veterans
Memories repressed from years of fictional violence.
The dream wars over but for the reenactments.
Harms way is only to properly plant false ev{i(d}e)nce.
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Like when the gray juices start to spurt and spray
When the signals get cross
And crackle a
In Cars Serrated
by: a puny Detroiter named Steve
In cars serrated
Our may or may nots
Are driven by favors and forged-get-me-nots.
Bored and lonely lots paved with the messed up intentions
Of the worst inventors of the very worst inventions.
Demo crazy indebted
For freedom to try or try not
To blink an eye like it or not being a robot-
iconoclast vertebrate posed to display the air of guns
Of the air wry vents of the air rogue guts.
Self-fulfilled Prophets by racingspoons, literature
Literature
Self-fulfilled Prophets
Self-fulfilled prophets are few and far between.
It's what no one really says, but what everybody means.
We are but open pockets of some worn out pairs of genes
Caught in the machi-nations where united we have fallen.
And apart we shall careen.
Outsourced to the soil, better fertilizer than friend
Mother-may-I-mangle-?'s now the blushing widow of the grind.
Halt or top the royal tee by leaving less to comprehend.
So would say the stag-nation like always narrowly defined.
Why(,)'d there ever be more to intend (?)(.)
Out of context the free maket's taken to what works.
And no sentence can be set if the sin tax never finds its marks.
Gray Matter Zoo, part 1 of the Teaching Gash by racingspoons, literature
Literature
Gray Matter Zoo, part 1 of the Teaching Gash
The Gray Matter Zoo
by: Stephen Huczek
On August 26, 2004 a whole bunch of overdressed monkeys stood at the entrance of a zoo. Or should I say chimpanzees. Well, anyway you look at it, all of them were sweating from head to toe except for two near the back of the line. These two relatively hairless chimps were named Walter and Michael Gash. They werent out to impress anyone.
Walter and Michael each wore shorts and a t-shirt. They were explosions of green and yellow tie dyed cotton. Torrents of blue stonewashed denim in a river of black and white wool.
Gray Matter Zoo parts 3 and 4 by racingspoons, literature
Literature
Gray Matter Zoo parts 3 and 4
The Gray Matter Zoo (contd)
by: Stephen Huczek
Between exhibits Melvin would, however, shake a great many hands in the interest of business. In all fairness he was spreading a message of peace and love and Christian charity as he did so. Even if he did incidentally partake in some of that Christian charity.
At each Teaching Over Parenting field trip deals were made left and right. Literally and figuratively. There were a few career Democrats and Republicans receiving kickbacks here and there, making promises, breaking promises, and spreading money around. Girl scouts
Gray Matter Zoo part 5 by racingspoons, literature
Literature
Gray Matter Zoo part 5
The Gray Matter Zoo (contd)
by: Stephen Huczek
Clouds were gathering above as Walter led his son to a picnic table positioned below the ceiling of the hot dog stand. Mr. Gash chose one in the far corner just to be safe. Soon people piled in all around them. Crumbs and globs of mustard flung this way and that as the crowd devoured their lunches, each eating at his or her own pace. Each scrunching together here and there as needed to accommodate those seeking shelter without patronage.
The Gashes were stuck there for a while, left to daydream and sing quietly to themselves. The thing was, neither cared that much about getting