dcxli.
Row on row
on air. Life
is but a

drama: solid entreaties
turn the tide
from frantic to

inside out. 'How
to eat American
food wisely.' Pressure

to stop, pressure
to go on,
to go out

in something approximating
style. Nothing but
nothing but. An

immediate aftermath.

dcxl.
Lone flown online
launch. 'Some dozens'
down. And up

and away. And
about. 'You're looking
hot.' 'Thanks. So

are you.' Invited
evidence (explorer cannot
display wreckage). Screen

implodes without a
second move. See
yourselves, ourselves, of

late extreme.

dcxxxix.
Go to sleep
with rockets. Systematic
laughs online. Un-

pack the nonsense
meter. Float over
the lines. Words

are not fit
to bear arms,
to bear young,

to be on.
This weather will
admit of no

delay. We say
no way. We
say nothing of

import, or impact.
The grace of
matter rising.

What elegant
beasts. The doll,
the child, the

doll. While we
occupy a spot
behind the screen,

behind the world.
It's all a
matter of time,

a time of
matter, a foregone
conclusion, a sappy

ending. What we
have. A 'perennially
threatened decline'. A

present of no
future tolerance. A
coughing up of

final quarter.

dcxxxviii.
Wit where wit
is not to
be believed. What

a general let-
down. 'People can
be so disappointing,

can't they?' So
what lady. The
fist breaks down.

Luck unbearable. Suffering
right. To do
wrong. From a

safe distance (from
a sanctimonious perspective).

dcxxxvii.
The most delicious
object on the
menu. Another hot

load. As empty
as any pudding.
What really happened:

twelve experts examining
the relevant. And
turning nothing up.

Glowing orange. Feeling
great. The first
great hot favourite

'of all'.

dcxxxvi.
For those who
resent the vacuum
packed. For those

who like their
level play, who
wish the rubble

could clear itself.
For those who
want their shuttle

to fire rockets,
those ardent for
some reticent gory

denouement. Macro impacts:
micro amazement. Those
who sit around

and chew the
cud, who sing
wrongdoing, string themselves

upperward, wrongheaded blunderers.
For those all
cowed: all these

who count for
nothing
good.

dcxxxv.
Spoil the child
and spare a
rod. A floating

armature attracts a
floating vote. News
about news indeed.

'Stronger physical action'
promised. Getting up
to find the

remote. Wizened old
man knows earth.
Is capable of

hitting Alaska, 'real
and severe'. 'Overly
apocalyptic' discussions go

on unabated. A
baited fish diet
for compliments.

dcxxxiv.
A question not
worth uttering. A
great no show

worth waiting for.
A face-lift for
a million. How

to look good
flaccid. Keen to
thank the now

miserable host, looking
forward to appearing
again. As those

to be here
meant war.