a snow of butterflies : texticity

by Tomorrow's Man

March 24, 2003

Fourteen times. Fourteen times?! "Yes." she cried. She was quite serious. I said it was indeed fourteen times that I had run round the clock tower in search of that miraculous thirteenth ingredient. Anything that is at all worth doing, I have done. Sometimes alone. The crows might fly, the oceans could secede into salty dust, but this condition is justified by a return to the precepts of our mothers. At the end of the day, we find ourselves always searching for Courtney Love, or Courtney Cox; or hopefully someone that does not make you clench and wonder why everyone has left already. I found my place in the orchestra and raised my bow, ready to launch! Parry! Thrust! Thrust!! And, finally, with a smile, thrust again.

Exquisite Corpse II by abc.f

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