Fevers are kept away by the flesh of deer, as I have said, those indeed which return at fixed intervals by the salted right eye of a wolf worn as an amulet, if we are to believe the Magi. There is a kind of fever called “amphemerinos.” It is said that he is freed from this who drinks three drops of blood from an ass’s ear in two heminae of water. For quartans the Magi prescribe the excrement of a cat with the claw of a horned owl worn as an amulet, and to prevent a relapse the amulet should not be removed before the seventh periodic return. Who pray could have made this discovery? What sort of combination is this? Why was an owl’s claw chosen rather than anything else? Some more moderate people have prescribed the salted liver of a cat killed when the moon is on the wane, to be taken in wine before the access of a quartan. The Magi also apply to the toes and fingers ox or cow dung reduced to ash and sprinkled with children’s urine. They use the heart of a hare as an amulet, and give hare’s rennet before each access. There is also given with honey fresh goat’s cheese with the whey carefully pressed out. A remedy for melancholia is calf’s dung boiled down in wine. The right eye of a frog hung round the neck in a piece of undyed cloth cures ophthalmia in the right eye; the left eye similarly tied cures ophthalmia in the left. But if the frog’s eyes are gouged out when the moon is in conjunction, and worn similarly by the patient, enclosed in an egg-shell, it will also cure albugo. The rest of the flesh, if applied, quickly takes away bruises. An amulet of crabs’ eyes also, worn on the neck, is said to cure ophthalmia.
I reckon only one in a million would get my gist if I even had one, and of those only one in a million will shake my shadracks. By this reckoning it was about ted william years ago when I was last seen at Kominsky Park.
It’s no crime to be so scarce, according to the unabridged version of the declaration of independence. And the all-men-are-created-equal clause is sure to please the slaves. Say what you will and pass the munitions, my friend of the military. Remember the ammo! Viva Zapata!
If I should die before I wake, I pray the lord my soul to take.
Empty my cache and purge my RAM, so I can be all that I am.
Cash my cheque at the penny arcade, in wooden nickels at the going trade.
Across the river of no return, chuck my ashes in a grecian urn.
When I settle in yonder star, then I’ll know just who you are.
Mirth is worth it worth its wait in bosons, as birth is worse for where. War pays threepence in weeds. This the one they call Jesus is said to have said when pretending to be dead.
Turned out it was a fatal flaw in his transmission, his unassuming tendency to balk up in the crux, to go beyond the primordial in all his trappings, to go so far as to to wash the feet of the followers.
Every night in bed he thinks of her assets, trying to mesmerize her feet. She was the slightest boned woman in a hundred miles. He had the proof in the photos. One hundred proof.
HMS Beagle in the Straits of Magellan at Monte Sarmiento.
Nellis Air Force Base near Las Vegas was a scene of mayhem yesterday after several of the nuclear weapons stored there exploded during Exercise Call Trump. The stock market responded with the biggest one-day gain since Fidel Castro died.
The bombs were tactical micro-nuke B61s, earth-penetrating devices known as “bunker busters.” Designed to destroy underground military facilities such as command bunkers, ballistic missile silos, and foxholes, the force of the B61’s explosive energy is directed downward. It was developed and deployed in violation of international treaties. The U.S. is expected to replace its land-mine program with personalized versions of the B61.
Development of the B61 is supported by the Recording Industry Association of America, which plans to use it in its war against file sharing and internet access for civilians. Last week, the RIAA hosted a secret meeting in Washington with the heads of major labels, plus members of the US senate who were consigned to the peanut gallery. The keynote was by RIAA head Hillary Clinton. Drop in profits can be attributed to “the new generation of sapping services”, she said, and promised that her organisation would pursue the middle and lower classes who are the primary culprits.
Meanwhile, tracer bullets and explosions lit up the sky over Afghanistan again last night as a second wave of U.S. heavy bombers, carrier-based fighter-bombers, and Tomahawk cruise missiles rained destruction on the schools, hospitals, and playgrounds known to be have been visited by a member of the Taliban or one of their relations in the last century. “It’s the only way to rub them out,” said a spokesperson for Boeing Lockheed Douglas, who spoke on conditions of anonymity, ’till death do us part.
My unravelling was the result of a slowly acting poison: to no my bettors, to avoid the passive voice in the future, to unravel the knots on the Beagle. We have descended with the apes for a couple million years, but just realized it yesterday, my fellow amoebas twice removed, my protoplasmic cousins, my mitocondrial mothers. Have your ears tingled to the whisper of god? Then, my child, wash your ears with a depilating soap. The sooner the bettor, five cents on the dollar. Before the joker gets a hardon. Radon, xenon, and
The bongo girls had worked their position to the point that money in the bank was worth next to nothing. Cash was no escape from their cauldron. Cash is a bug. And when there’s a short circuit in your bug underpants, god help you Henry Kissinger, and all you ilk.
Smoking the piece porridge pipe at treaty number seven we joust bout got blown outa da water. It happen last winter. Not enough antifreeze in the gladiator. A glad hand, and up you and yours.
Just trying to poke a hole in your impressible logic. Hooded ounces, said Buffon, cling to the driven hind during the the last turn of the screw. The carpenter nailed his brick of mormolite duing these drying times. A jobber’s douzen of bases balked from here to eternity.
This has been a panty raid. Jeepers creepers, pardon my french, my fellow friend of freedom. And pass the twig of prosperity to Saint Eskimo. Exximo. Let me get this strait, you get the next.
Jesus had no nest, he had no nid to reside. He had all of the fertile crescent on the upside of his head and looked down on the rest of the world.
If I could just make one child smile, I would dig a hole to middle earth and bury a hoard of hobbits. If I could just spring yon mouse out of his trap which I set, I would sing hossanahsin triplicate to the appropriate authorities. If I could save the life of one riscotted mosquito, I would make a pilgrimage to the peaks of the Hindu Kush. If I ever receive the medal of honor, I will give thanks to the president and all their bankers. Backers. Back benchers. Back to the landers. Lantern bearers. Mummblers of the omlet in search of the horninest man. Our own Genghis Kahn. Check your genes at the gate to gain root.
Ignore the preceding transpositions. We have fired our spell checkers. Witches in cheap clothing. From the sally ann.
The aboriginies claim to have captured lady gaga and will trade her to the pygmies if we don’t — hold on a second this just in — the assassins have completed their mission in the Hindu Cushion. Blanket casualties on all sides.
Let sleeping dogs lie, and kill the messengers.