My Arm Automates Odder Atomic Particulars

 

            Those Elephants’ hay highly flung mountings keep heightening their various and veracious radium strengths that put up my arms and cause our gypsums flights.  All these possess a third of me to connect my elements because of those waves of grey.  I can’t correct nothing.  My third mountain revelry enhanced my three dense pastes.  Since that dense, to you, is a home run, to me, why didn’t you just let your electrons furnish along with your bosses’ magnetisms?  My elegance flourishes as my electrodialysis flowers electionates.

            If you need some oxygen, I could let my left leg glow green and that will chlorophyll the cholesterol in which the sun beamed into distinct carbon dioxide.  So now, watch out for that carbon monoxide that plays with it.  You sure don’t know their places when you watch their plays, no matter what the ply says.

            And all the time those fish go to swim with ions that got two flies, so metal sentimental as my natron says bye. Dancing Neutrino, Dancing Neutrino, won’t you comets axis your flashing  magnetos with silicon?  Magma water with lithium plugs spark those radiation Formosa on sound peppers that thrust sedimentary to me.  Metal Aluminum to you.

            I want to know, What about that seven seas of seized!  What size is it? All that Antimony Macrimony causes a vast crack of said of  “me”s.  Had you sled over the horizon?  I think that was why I was mis sled.  And really missiled.  Do you miss that dose of the one you killed most?  Did you watch Pandora’s Box?  When did she Box anyway?  I would have watched it!  Long Live Rock Eggroll.  Put another test tube in it.

            But I hadn’t had a car dent in carbonic nations years.  My boss told me to program the draftsmen’s work so, while we tell them they  are great, the company could fire them within a year and anyone who complains that the houses and landing areas aren’t what they asked for will be told that Magnetic Intelligence is much better than some changes made in order, and odor, for a breathing pig to can a hole whole bowl.

            Fabulous as it seems, a sesame street stream of silicon seams cement the sedimentals of incidents that were included in the increpidents.  Serpent pants, oh certain stans of sudden loaded succulents.  Stains to you and strains to me.  I think and you blink and we all kick for space sticks kinks.  Omni hominy help me mow, celestials all come out for dough.

            I’m putting myself to become more reputable.  You’re puking my selfish to beacon more refusable.  Talk about refuse! I should have been strict.  I should not be restricted.  My mind and my heart have been redistricted.  Again and again, I am restinking.  But I am definitely not the King of Stinking.  King Kong or Hong Kong, just hear my Dong.  I am another Dong Kehotay.

            I don’t beat people up, physically.  Some do it physicsly.  I never was one who was fisty cuffly.  You just think I am psychically.  I sure am festively.  Sew my ears go jingle jangle jingle, as my jungle goes roaring gibbonly along.  Oh, Santa Sells his Silver Bells as I may have done some mutant things that is why I mutely tell.

            On a bike this way and a spike that way as the flight sights lights away as you spleen your genes your married way.  Who you shoe with booze as I boo hue coos with my rue stew some more few. 

            As my optical bio cons slide into platinum decopperation waves of toxites engaging the aluminum dust to attack my arm skin.

            You do your fray.  I like the Magnetic fields and elements interacting in non-understood ways, while understating these interactions that helps complain the magnetic properties of different maternal.  Moving charges create magnetic fields: Electric current and the insistent magnetic moments of eligible particles, like electrons, generate magnetic fields.  Charging fields from electromagnetic waves.   Chasing electric and magnetic fields that are coupled, forming electromagnetic waves (like light), with transport energy.

            All I astrided to was the arrangement of atoms in a crystal lattice in order to affect the magnetic properties of a matrimonial. Matter makes mudder.  Mudder hear and muter there.  I just get my temperatures to influence the assignments of electron in their bins. Materials who like iron sure do love their ferromagnetism above tired Curie temperature.

            That causes me to unpair elections with vet magnitude monuments.  However, if there were unpaused elements or unbilled subshells, my magnetic moments may not have completely cancelled, resulting in a net magnetic moment for the atom.  My, my, my.  Those types of magnalium materials keep on interacting between the abdominal magnetic moments of elements in geologic mines digging their overall magnetic behavior,

            A paramagnetic here. A material that align with an applied magnetic field, there.  Aluminum.  Oxygen.  Ferromagnetic costs us again.   Those materials that exhibit strong magnetisms and can be discriminately magnetized.  One calls the other ”iron.”  The other calls the otter  “cobalt.”  And it is just a  nickel sea in a nickel stew.

            I keep getting antiferromagnetic feelings because a manually Werewolve’s neighboring electron spin points in opposite directions.   Insulting in a zero net magnetic moment, we all get

Ferocious magnetics similar to ferromagnetic materials but with a less robust magnetic moment.

            Oh, just coal and titanium things on my arm while you’re providing meat with exhaling carbon dioxide from my irradiated lungs.  If you can’t hear me, I can’t breathe youth since all this lead pilled up thinks it is  keeping me in work instead of resting.  You might be resisting.  I am being wrist arrested, asleep as we all are.  So, snow me a river and I’ll bark a river out of you.  Hue Burt and Lew Smert are both of me typing away at the telephone’s computer system.  Suspicion, systemic, cement tricks.  How do you walk if you do not talk because of me.

            Oh, just this legume of unmerited secure space will face my farce in sparce. Sew there your hair.   

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Time Is Like The Celestial Light For The Marked Man

 

            It was time to Meet the Paper.  But I had to meet under the pants.  That was a Butt Crack.  And Bed Sheet.  The left Marks.  Those Marks!  Oh Brothers!

            But can’t you figure it?  Look out for that Fig Newton.  He really was a Big Neutron.  I’d say he was Issac Newton. And that  Atom Ant sure Acts Like You Can’t!  Was he Atomic or Adam, Ick!?  I’ll just let you Picknick or be a Sick Stick.  Snicker now or Snicker ever.  I just won’t Snicker Never!  Just remember this, that when you go to the yellow solar star, Don’t fly that, Universe!

            Think about it!  Is this The Planet of The Apes?   Or is it The Ape of the Planets?

Wait for A Slap in the face or that Solar Lapsed into Space.  So Far, So Good!  How far will atoms send their neutrons in order to normalize the protonic disfuming of waves with their own width of electronmobile wall focuses? 

                        A long time ago, at least thirty minutes, there strode a man who was just like anu other:  in his state of mind, his health, and the appearance of dance when taking a stance,  is outside of the fact that he was twisted, wrinkled, tuberculoid, minus one lung and kidney, and downright ready to give up and die, halfway down the street going, mowing, Moheekoning until he stopped by a foreboding body.  Stepped on by a formulating buddy.

            This darkened Spectra told Ralph (the wanderer): “Stop!”

            Ralph, with such elegance and all that other literary style of prose and so forth asked: “Why?”

            Bells rang, lights flashed, the world was destroyed and raised again within the time it took to rip up this page and throw it out for the useless piece that it is.  Out of the dawn of a new day, from the rays of the sun shining behind that cloud we heard this voice boom out: “I am the world knowledge of all and every.  Past and Present join in their never-ending search for that which won’t be within me.  I am, in short, The Public.  I am the worm you must follow…”

            And Ralph most graciously explained: “Well, look man, I find all this interesting and exciting, but I got to go to the john.”

            Searching, crawling, fighting, biting through this world of ours Ralph goes forward.  Turned bad at every bound, he moves and is sent back.  He is.  And thus, he asks an insult to every menial creature that deserves desserts in the deserts of their waves the same as it with that constant creation and uncreation of the Cosmos.  Unicorn Hear, Umbrella Foam there.  Then it happened.  The pillars cracked.  The ceiling fell.

                        That Bob’s Office is a good Bohemian bar.  It is a small, humble place, not quite what you would first expect from the coat of arms on the sign outside.  The same sign is usually read as a good natured saying such as “Hurry Back, We Miss Your Dough.”  It is humble like I said yet with an air of class to it, or at least not an air of cheapness.  The floor space in the lounge is about the size of the Candlelight Bar in Dekalb, in a rectangular shape.  The bar itself is a concentric rectangle to the lounge.  The floor is covered with a dark red brown carpet.  The bar has a counter top of dark mahogany like wood, real polished wood.  The walls have wood paneling and are adorned with actual football helmets from the American and National divisions, each helmet individually framed.

            The atmosphere is dark, with a small amount of light diffusing from the jukebox in the far left-hand corner (as you face the bar when coming in).  Light also barely makes its way across the place from a revolving gold painted clock hung from the ceiling which if you watch its four sides turn around, you can either see what time it is or a good-looking mature blonde telling you with her smile that Schlitz will bring you two together.

            As you walk in, Gene Svoboda, the man behind the bar (this is a good Bohemian Bar), will greet you in his calm and somewhat friendly Eastern European accent.  He looks like an aged Bela Lugosi with his wrinkled brow and thick black hair.

            The music you can hear will range from “That Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy From Company B” (The original, not the Beth Midler version) to “The Sound Of Music” with an occasional Beatle’s tune thrown in to satisfy the younger patrons.

            Many people gather here after working at night, as did myself, since I worked from 4pm to midnight.  The Office would stay open until three in the morning.  I would go with some people from work and meet people I had worked with in summers previous (I worked the evening shifts for a few summers) and occasionally I would meet someone I had not seen in five or six years.  It’s that kind of place.

            The prices are, to put it mildly, reasonable.  You can get a beer for 30 cents and a mixed drink for a dollar.  After you have frequented the place a few times, Gene will get to know you (which seems amazing since most nights there is standing room only—if you’re lucky) and you can almost drink yourself into a stupor and find later that Gene only charged you for the first drink.

            And you keep coming back to the only place open after work where you can sit and talk about what you would do in South East Asia, and how, if only you had your break in the arts…  and other idyllic aspirations (anything but how work is).  You bring your friends with you.  They like it there and keep coming back, bringing their friends.  And you realize why the bar is surrounded, three people thick in an aisle space meant for one person while you cannot hear the jukebox singing “To Dream The Impossible Dream,” because Sue, who you just met sitting next to you, is telling you that she once was in a Broadway production before she started working on a punch press at Amphenol Borg, twenty-three years ago. ‘

 

            And there he was, Smoking a cigarette—playing cards, glasses—long wiry stiff dark brown hair.  Glasses (wire rim), bodily build is thin and fairly short.  He seems helpful to his friends; he is teaching them a card game.  He is wearing a tan short sleeved shirt and dark brown Levies.  A black fu man chu on his face which fits his serious expression as fits his wire rims which help hide his eyes—the impression of the serious pro ready to lend a helpful but unemotionally tied hand.  The fu man chu aides his dry but still slightly existing half smile.  Folds his hands and rests his chin on them as his head is supported by his elbows on the table.  Bushy eyebrows giving more support to the experienced unattached aide.  Hardly touches his cigarette.  Lights it.  Takes a light puff and puts it down and fidgets his hand of cards while giving suggestions to the group.  The appearance of autumn dryness in the midst of a patch of young sprouting spring bushes.  He scratches his head now and then and holds his head up with first his right and then his left hand.  He stares intently, or at least gives the impression of it, already knowing his full game, its outcome, and answers to questions yet to be asked.  Bodily movement is near nil, yet his hands keep fidgeting and so do his words.

            He’s been around here a lot and he tried hard at his games when he played them.  He always learned how to do what ever came in front of him, and looked for games to learn that were not obvious.  “Learn it and learn it well” is important to him.  We must be exacting to the point where we apparently do it with ease.  Things did not come easy to him, so he observed with intensity from all angles—now he knows how to teach because he knows what things are important for learning.

            His fidgeting seems like an outlet for his apparent cool knowledge of what he is doing—he doesn’t faulter in his work, but outside of the actual playing field, his hands can manifest many extraneous movements.  He knows his games so well that they lose their importance because of his ease from his vast knowledge of them.  He does not need to try anymore.  His knowledge of everything causes everything to lose challenge and importance to him.  He is to be pitied because it has now forced him into just teaching others senseless card games during which he may find an excitable hard working pupil who will follow in his footsteps only to, one day, find himself looking for pupils of his own to set on that path.  

 

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A Weird World A Wildly Be

 

Recently a group of women that included singer Katy Perry and broadcast journalist Gayle King became now the latest civilians to have boarded a commercial spacecraft for a quick trip beyond Earth's atmosphere.  The physical material was owned and operated by billionaire Jeff Bezos and his private space company.

On that crew was a civil rights activist, Amanda Nguyen.  They included former NASA rocket scientist Aisha Bowe.  There was also filmmaker Kerianne Flynn and Lauren Sánchez, an Emmy Award-winning journalist who is also Bezos' fiancée.

Jeff Bezos named their vehicle after astronaut Alan Shepard, the second human and first American who travelled into Space.  Above the recent ship’s door was read three letters.  They ended with an “S.”  It might have meant to be a three letter swear word to get to the people watching it on TV or their hand held phones.  Maybe it was ABS, “Alan Bartlett Shepard.”  Or it might have been “RSS.”  “ Rotating Service Structure.”  Anyway, several points had gotten across.

More and more in space, we are noting Rats Stars.  And to themselves they keep saying, “ConGrats” which really means “Come On and Go Rats.”  It is sure Common for them to Go Bats.

That asteroid hit me and made my place of work a refuge for toads.  I became a toad stool.  I’m now a Pine Cone Stalactite.  I’ve got pulsed in the rain.  I was baked up whole by a Medical Knight.  And you just drank your champaign. 

I bought you fur for your anchor. And you just froze in the frost.  Then to the shore while all the tunas snored as their bass concerted them with whip and score, another anchor encored as it entered in trods.  There went your Atom Bones as My Aunt Passed more of your team parts fore while still in store and with stiff itching sores inching up the bored as they’re floored for some lore.  And for rent, that phone you called to lead you to the assembled with butter ball and signaled sugar syringed cycles cycloning  all those weavers with accompanying leaf beepers who keep championing the blames of those toy trains that cross those lanes right into my high crane of your lion’s mane who sleeps in vane weather or not with his bloody vein view sung in romaine Roman romanced Ceasar seizers in their pants to dance their weight to France with a glance while I stance and pant and pant another plant witch was planned by that panda.  It was my plan for me to get pained with you.  By your panty hose with your pantry host buying probably ghosts in the muddily most.  Buy vowels for my bowels from those flying owls with their repeated scowls.  An ascot hears for my pose here as I posted too late, that is my faith, being hit in the head by some glowing slate skated by the bower who is much too late as my brain gets a freight made of Ignatius granite of switch some becomes gneiss.  Slam, scam, scanned to that scabby swamp.  You omni cultures keep making barns cut up out of stomached guts in the dented huts.  Frugal, Fridged, Forgotten Poems.  It’s sublime for this ounce to spun with cones.

 

I must tell myself to Get up before the sun.  Get on the run at one.  Once A lot of things you do is an ounce and a half For the crew at two.  You see that Everything means more and more When we open that door at four.  I’ll just have to pour some more.  And I am now really alive since There is no jive at five that Makes us Sublime at Nine.

 

I joined a neighborhood baseball team sponsored by Mothers For Drunk Driving.

They have several teams: 

 

 

1.         The Sober Sox

2.         The No Rum Just Cola Cubs

3.         The No Buzzards

 

Gee Raff

You Raff

Gruff Raff

Me Raff will may be start astronomical quiz

            Quizzared me red

And Quizzard me blue

Just call me sick

As sick as the flue                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

 

Blind Death

 

            Wait, or go blindly to death.  People claim they care but the ones that really care are in the same boat as I am.  Most of the rest just want to give orders.  I never wanted to give orders because I saw too many dimensions about what is needed and what could be done.  Giving orders without knowledge truly gives disorder.

            If I know something I do gladly give orders to others who want to provide it.  I usually end up providing it myself, the others I work with to provide something also provide learning for me since I and they know there are many ways to truly discover what is needed.

            Eve of the storm.  Quiet, hot, suffocating.  I feel ready to give up.  I look outside.  A full moon.  I stare, hypnotized for an hour and a half.  My breath is forced steady.  That full moon is bright.  Almost white.  An echo is etched into my eye.  When my vision slips to the dark starless sky, a blue ghost moon trails.  But I’m steadied again and it is now white with craters on huge round arenas with rims of mountains.  And it is yellow tinged.  Now corn yellow.  Now dead orange.  That moon is dried dust red, chamelying to blood rust red to brown down to black and it is gone.  No stars.  No sky.  Just hot heaving vapors to breathe.  Sky and moon there are no more.  No sky.  Just the storm.  Lightning provides my only illumination.  Lightning provides my only sight.  Wet, swamped, and down.

 

New Dimension or Until Ubermania

 

            I became now self understandably tall.  I became smaller than a microbe.  I am spread out; my hands feel the Earth.  My right foot is kicked by Pluto.  My left knee throbs with Saturn and my heart aches for the Sun which is my forbidding love.  The Sun tells me to love her and orders me vanquished.  That Sun thrives on my unfulfilled want.

            Near the end Ralphy Boy scoops my abrasives and attractions in line coordinated rays of his line of machines.  He gets my blood.  He attracts my skin.  His magnetism flattens my senses until I can think and reason where I am.

            I see him.  I see Ralphy Boy.  And I see that he is controlled.  I question, is he a copy of a copy of an approximation of Ralphy Boy trying to view and recreate me?  Me for life or me on a shelf or me in a memory, a looking back to try to think that he did good, to try to warm his soul to a happy friendship?  Is he trying to approximate himself?

 

            The nano bots created a woman like the girl on the train.

            Am I on the train?  It seems like I am.  I get to know her but she knows about Ralphy Boy and I know that I did not even know Ralphy Boy at this point.

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Laughed Chants To Rants

 

I had just heard that Dennis The Menace died.  Well, I am named Dennis and I am a lot worse of a Menace.  Look at my name.  Spell it backwards.  Are you saying I am ‘Sinned’?  Well, one of my Menaces is that I claim to be Alive.  That is such a Lie coming from Me!  By the way, do you want donuts?  You got to give me your dough, and if you do you sure are nuts.

So come on now!  Don’t be that ghost in the movie you love most.  You act like Gargantuan. You just eat up the host.  I’d say you can devour all in Monterey.  You will crunch them like toast.  But the ghosts of your neighs would only go Boooo.

So now, do you have peace of mind?  Or was your pizza mined?  To me, this sci fi sure defies.  And that judge can’t see, no Law being done.  Yes, that’s why we are told, to carry a gun.  Well, all our guns keep going  in and out.  I wish they were off and off.  But your guns keep going off and off.  I feel like I’ll shout, “Let’s shoot them right out!”

            You Stobor  sure are Useless.  Quit your AI Aiming.  It is so Alarming.  I didn’t get to sleep the night and your Alarm is going off already.  How am I going to get to be a Knight if I can’t sleep?

            You Ounces sure Ouches as they Once Said in Oz.

            That hero of yours sure is a Digit.  Good Old DJT sure is the Middle Digit. He sure thinks he is a Don Juan Trump.  He just Trumpets that he is a John, and he sure smells like it.  Any thing he does, I sure don’t dig it.

            My Consultant is the Resultant of your Insultant.  And that is an Insultamania.  There sure is Many of Yous.  So, Meanie, that it is Over Use of my Abuse.   I guess the outcome is Let’s Get Fistual.  According and Recording and Accordioning to the Verses in ‘Let’s Get Physics Al.’  Which that is Versus ‘Let’s Get Fist Kicks, AI.’ And you sure are a Witch.  You think you are Psycho Logical but you are more Psychic Loco and you are all over on your Bicycle, forcing me into your Buy Cycle.

            You went on a trip which I had to Finance.  That was when you tried to Find France.  And all you had were Fine Ants.  So, I’m the one that got Fined  for your Stance when I Was a distance from your Finned Dance.

            My life is sure getting Closed – near byed as your mouth Flowed – ‘Shut Up’ as you had not Clothed – cotton covered with nuts said nothing covered.  And you said you were Clothed – wearing jeans.  But your teeny tiny Clocked lost its timed.  Timid Times for all.  Making us all get Cloaked by a Dracu Lad when we followed all those Dracul Led on his Icy Dracul Sled sinking down by all that Dracu Lead.  And that is Lead instead of Silver.  So, when you said, ‘Hi Ho Silver’ did you really mean that You Owe from your Pilfers?

            I guess life is one more Gastroenteritis, because you think your Gas Throws Intelligent to Us.  Everywhere you shout ‘ Batman’ and ‘Superman’ but there is just the Barman with his Dust Pan.  And we sure got Robbings.

            You think you are a Nosferatu, but your Nose Sure Damns Us.  Speaking of big Noses, ever wonder Who Wins In Hog Wars?  I remember when you were told, “You’ll have to leave that behind” and you thought you were told, “You’ll have to leave your Buttocks behind you.”

            More and more, it is just Acts Of Violence that are music to your ears, and so sick to my ears,  so you think they are  Acts Of Violins.  They were sure right when they said, “Tomb is where his Dart Hits.”

            What time of the year is this anyway? We are well past  May the Fifth be With Shoes.  And once again  May the Sick still Whip You.  Over and Over May the Forged still Charge You.  So, I guess we are not  on the May Flower, anymore.  I guess our May Flowed Over.

            You told me that my wife was pretty mean.  You think you are petty, but you are really mean.  But to her that is not pretty, and you are constantly mean to her, to me, or to anybody. What does  mean mean to you?

            Is it time to Exit or did you just Text It?  I keep on hearing, ‘Ich bein Ein Chicagoan.’

Well, I am a Chicago resident in this German neighborhood.  But my saying is, “I AASA.” Which means “International Astrology Ad Space Abomination.” So, you called me Geo!  Are you calling me that for George?  Or am I the guy came from Earth?  Gravity.  Gravity.  Was I on the Eiffel Tower or had I Fell Toward Her or I Feel Towels?  You took over my respect, the result, that Leaning Tower of Peach Fuzz!

            Our Lives have sure gotten Ridiculous.  Or should we try to find the Riddle Clue?  Us? 

We certainly ain’t Rodent Cute!  Us!  Life is more and more filled and controlled by Magic.  Or is that MAGA? We sure got so much more Magma!  Our Govern Meant keeps doing their Priest Age Digit taping on.  We feel more and more there are Pre Star Digress Stallions.  They keep saying, “Press Do Digest. Stay Son.”  And it really is a Prostrate Digress Sale On.

            You can tell that I have passed on.  And my Ghost is still Blurred.  That president is the one.  The one he loves most.  We won’t be living.  And he is the Ghost.  His life is so silly.  And he’s in for his Twos.  And that Ghost that we’ve gotten sure acts like he’s boozed.

 

                        I wonder:

How can I keep hanging on

When my life is dead and gone?

           

I felt like laughing so I tried harder to make this funnier, I hope you found it funny.  If you did I would like to hear your comments.  If you didn’t I would like to hear your suggestions.

 

 

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