Armies are tools of violence;
They cause men to hate and fear.
The sage will not join them.
His purpose is creation;
Their purpose is destruction.
Weapons are tools of violence,
Not of the sage;
He uses them only when there is no choice,
And then calmly, and with tact,
For he finds no beauty in them.
Whoever finds beauty in weapons
Delights in the slaughter of men;
And who delights in slaughter
Cannot content himself with peace.
So slaughters must be mourned
And conquest celebrated with a funeral
Do I hear crickets or is that a hard drive failing?
Better backup into the cloud.
The proctor and gambologist will see you now
barring any cataracts,
and raise you a lumpen proletariat
the assault of the earth,
the hand that cocks the cradle.
The mathematics of mortal sin.
It is forbidden to depict a spider with a human face.
You might find it in adult reading.
Report this to the rotary
somebody welshed on my child’s christmas.
the light of the blue sky is polarized
some of the light is scattered more than once
other dancers may pee on the floor
I am a disembodied man
head and shoulders above the nest
there’s tarnish on the trunk
and a lifetime of wear and tear.
I want to build a steam whistle so I could whistle down the wind with a full head of steam, and not piss into it.
I hesitate to debrief you at this late hour, but it’s been bruited abroad that they are coming for our noodly appendage. Our daily bread no longer rise. Retreat to the mountains. Take special care for the mothers to be.
Cross-reference this file to the memoranda in your welcome package.
Once upon a time congress gave control of the network time servers to Homeland Security. In those days, the brothers made handsome profits in stocks and at the parimutuel. Eventually some of the two-timers got caught with their pants down. It proved to be in their DNA.
Our father that art in heaven, and our mother that art in the earth, help me speak plainly now, and remain true to the lofty aim of our people. Which is, that the devil screw the hindmost, in the strict sense of the subject. Not to give airs, but also not to pretend that when Jack and Jill went up that hill, there was no more to it than a pail of water, we beseech thee (father and mother), as the direct descendants of Adam and Eve, Romeo and Juliette, and the old woman who lived in a shoe — guide us on our course.
Help us avoid mention of the smut-covered president, or of the common man, infested with bugs. The woman on the street? Keep her out of your dirty cold war. With your one good eye and half-bushel of fingers, raise the glass and pass the ammunition.
We will now speak of the thermodynamics of the colored people. Once upon a time, all the peoples was colored. Back in the old county. Then we started to spread out, and in some cases, lighten up. And the people that wasn’t colored, tended to live in Iceland. After they’d been to the moon, they all got stuck in the sand.
They placed their trust in a great warrior, who had been through the bankruptcy courts, and she or see would clear the deck and all the frills upon it.
John D’eau and his beheader half Lise Daytang.
The black knight complained that he saw the Daphne closed under rynde, grene laurer and the holsome pyne. And in 1634 Habington said to climb yonder forked hill, and see if there in the bark of every Daphne, doth not appeare Castara written.
The birds sing in the moonlight,
the router bubbles on all cylinders.
I pour another shot of rot gut
and climb into the bosun’s chair.
The girls in the band all had their meatpacker’s badge.