You know that app that will amalgamate pieces of your fb status updates? It spat these out for me, and I had the nerdosity to arrange them on a Saturday night. It’s kind of fun what that bot can do.

The wind picks come from somewhere.

C’est n’import quoi.

But when the marching band starts showing symptoms, I stare.

If everybody is both dead and ambulatory, you’re degradable flesh.

We could die! Clack.

How’d that happen?

That, folks, is a problem I believe most of us cannot draft, 

Because of the night.

This year, I’m languishing in games and cartoons.

This year, I feel like comic-strip profanity.


Coffee is bad when it looks like Beevis and Butthead.

Darth Vader’s front and your mean ole sunglass dude,

Mungo and Helga sing the blues:

After a fashion, you’re… sigh. A consequence of the moment.

I worry about our pants.

Alas, nobody messin’ with my coffee cup–

And I watch the characters’ faces when everything closes.

We pay, most of us.

Having gone to limit your own damnation,


We could see, but I caught fire.

Yes, this is to write in the universe.

I just wrote that, and put it on our Fridge.

I can have a flesh wound.

The Babylonians used food and potty breaks.

My mother-in-law likes lovings.

The AARP reports that one of the Sodomites insists he does France.

I just hope it settles into something.

We could see, but I caught fire.

Somehow sunshine is love.

I were a sacred grove.

I was evangelized in an ancient forest.

And yay for wisdom, grace and healing.

Mary, my sister and I do not survive long in the cold,

So after the angels, instead!

And all over the air.

(Originally posted November 16, 2013)

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