a foul expectation

The Chafing of 100 Millennials

When you awaken your dictionary is large—the days of abridgment have long passed.

You search for globes with a friendly eyebrow cormorant and press on.

You seek out varied terrain, and the enemy of trance, riding with fully loaded pageants—prospecting and westward.

You might try for a chain of mountains to the north—you seek out hired hands among the wolves.

You have a foul expectation of the liveryman who speaks in tongues and whispers to an invisible mate—a tumbril escapist with gold-fringed epaulets and a torn pannier for a hat.

You billet with a cardiovascular tactician that speaks of hernia surgeries and the resulting black scrotum. The mule driver speaks of shaving his nipples.

You’ve hired a team of champions and you’re off for the call of the northwest—a place of intractable weevils.

Oh, the pure joy of being alive another day in this millenium.

What I’m Reading:

Ela Minus Recommends:

  1. There is no failure.
  2. There is no success.
  3. There is only make.
  4. make.
  5. make.

— Ela Minus / The Creative Independent interview

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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