/A/ /M/A/G/N/I/F/I/C/E/N/T/ /P/L/A/C/E/ 

May 2014

A company's primed eyes
(with posed intuition)

A company's primed eyes leads to all avenues, closed soft metal,
illustrious straight edged revenue, lapses of colour splashed forth
from two doors down, their shed.

cromwell, whoever the hell he was.

ignore savants who save ants, and those who rant in just their
torn underwear, about file sharing, and whoever the hell he was.

a company, their clock face, invested in relishing the future with no
respect for employees or for their easel, splashed with paint, regarding
the water butt, buffed with shoe shine, by those vacumming the
spline of under employed mental arithmatic, the work of real men and
women, is to scorn children, guardianship withering to dried up bunion

yes i am pleased with my new hat, it comes with an oversized pinch
bearing, a radish-topped torpedo, neglected file sharing, torpedo file
shelling, stoning, torpedo stones the crowds, to the sound of seven
pounds of crow flesh being stung by nettles before a band of mincing
ferrets playing drinking games while listening to some form of music
unidentified by moist chocolate brownie cake.

numbers numbers numbers, flowing into my mouth like stencils of the
apocalypse, [delete]rant by numbers in the bustier of bruce[/delete]

come the summer, heads up displays splay huddled field mice to the goads
drunken football fans, stuttering like the glitched algorithms of
new-age hipster-racists. new age dumpster glaciers cool the fellowship
of religious mallard ducks operating clandestinely out in the marshes
amongst the early morning mist and sun, which, in due course, the
memory becomes coarse and calloused in meaning, and the triangulation
of tranquility tipple-topples tiredly tending toward tatters and
smatterings of smushy gush, with posed intuitions of nightly builds.

recent issues discussed at the 53rd annual torpid tin solarium
symposium - 2014, include, but are not limited to:

* the omnipotence of flatulence across the planetary crust
* the degrading aspect of linguistics on the future of metamorphosis
* the eloquence of daisy-field elastomer theory
* the imagination of rock salt
* the concurrency of the quintessential elements of rubber necking on
  the autobahn at speeds exceeding 75kph
* ten things tantamount to torture tested in theory, today and yesterday
* reason and enlightement as a testbed for defense against gladioli
  attack in ten million years time
* all sorts of other zany stuff

please contact the TTSS chairman* if you require any further information
or a seat at next years torpid tin solarium symposium. if you would
like to be a speaker please also contact the TTSS chairman explaining
why - in no less than ten billion characters - yesterday comes before

* please note that the TTSS chairman is non-contactable as he (or she)
  does not exist. the torpid tin solarium symposium does exist as an
  imaginary concept within a Chihuahua roaming Broadway having been
  abandonded by Bette Midler several days ago. The Chihuahua's name is
  "Revenue" and it is seriously suggested to contact "Revenue"** if you
  would seriously like a seat or to speak at the torpid tin solarium
  symposium next year (or yesterday, or several days ago).

** Please note you will need a telepathic connection with dogs, with,
   in particular, a specialism in the kinnetic flip-flop
   tracts of the Chihuahua thought process, if indeed you would like to
   sit*** or speak at the TTSS.

*** Please note none of this is real.



A page detailing new stuff and other random noise.

The journal is a general place for writing about what I am doing, or for making more official announcements concerning the things I do. It's also a place where I can write freely about my ideas, or just play with words and language.

DISCLAIMER: The opinions and attitudes of James W. Morris as expressed here in the past may or may not accurately reflect the opinions and attitudes of James W. Morris at present, moreover, they may never have.

this page last updated:29th April 2013 (C) 2003 - 2017 James W. Morris

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