silly_attempt_at_bridging paste! Silly attempt at bridging I Pounds of peanut butter pressed airtight into the grill of an old Rolls Royce. The lovely appraiser walks by him “nice work, you have a bright future” and continues, flicking a quarter in the air. He brought a dog. He stuffs peanut butter in its mouth and the beagle enjoys it, loves it, craves it urinates a muffled howl on the city sidewalk which elicits nods from all the wise suited people that you wouldn’t expect to be amused. This is the state of the neologistocracy in high heat and lappy smacky marvel. The highbrow architectures sliding deep into the veins spatterhumping the colloquial till all its coal-colored candles be devoid a negatory. But the beagle just thinks of Snausages. Again she squats her urethra and worships the monument and this really isn’t a battle no it’s more of a conquest with respect for all sides Breathe in either of the ethers, or all of them at once, till suffocation tosses the giant goldfish onto the wooden deck flapping, “let me die, put me back, let me die, put me back, splinter, ooh a new type of tide…” In the fish pond the reflection of the beagle and its owner, peanut butter and Rare diamonds in his hands and a pursed grin set afire with a blowtorch. Now, you have to know more about the makers of the pond, the contractors, the history of the house and the travels that got him there before you can make any valid assumptions. It’s like that for a lot of things. II Miles away, more uphill, the recurring pendulum of swoop between two full grown oaks is a blackbird diving and repeatedly missing the worm, which wavers, half-buried a white flag in arthrohand. The worm is behaving properly. The blackbird is frustrated. It should change its method: order some Chinese? GPS? Recall avian instinct? Pray? Enjoy sunset from its air vantage? Caw caw caw caw caw caw caw? caw caw? caw! CAW! 021201 ... farmfish if i was a worm, i'd never be behavin' properly. but i be a fish, and that be makin' all thee difference in this world. 021202 what's it to you? who go blather from