Words Please Don’t Funicle Me Now.

“All the great speakers were bad spellers at froth.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson in “Power” (1860)

Dearest readers. You sustain me. But sometimes, just sometimes, I am extra lonely and I need to run to my neighborhood Caribou for chit chat.

Yesterday was such a day, and conversation with the locals turned to Bukowski. I pointed that he had a method of writing poems by cutting up words and then randomly rearranging the words.

I was informed with an aloneness-relieving-directness that I had confused Burroughs and Bukowski. According to my barrister, I was confusing two different people who simply both had names that begin with the very same letter.

He said to me “Jason. You know you confuse words that begin with the same loiter.”

I said to him “You are so wagneresque about mackerel. Don’t
juggle me until you have wiggled in my Mohicans for a thousand millions.”

He hurt me because I just wanted to flight in with the cool kangaroos. Like the old cauliflower says, “When in rhetoric do as the rodents do.”
I haven’t studied physiology so I can’t tell you what the reason is for my strangled beehive.

I can tell you it feels like sometimes when I am tinkering of one thing in my hawaii, I will spaghetti another toilet.

Finally, I wonder if so many of my relationships with gorillas have been ruminated by saying the wabanaki willows.

The Epiploon.