.

I know how hard it is in Latian verse
To tell the dark discoveries of the Greeks,
Chiefly because our pauper-speech must find
Strange terms to fit the strangeness of the thing;
Yet worth of thine and the expected joy
Of thy sweet friendship do persuade me on
To bear all toil and wake the clear nights through,
Seeking with what of words and what of song
I may at last most gloriously uncloud
For thee the light beyond, wherewith to view
The core of being at the centre hid.
-Lucretius

extensions in nine

my come-we-stay comes in 24 hours but i cannot wish for time to roll faster fearing the yelling, go-slows and bribery i'll be involved in tomorrow. i have a piece of paper upon which months ago was spilled a stout beer whose borders i traced with a fountain pen when it dried. the paper is titled Studies on voice through verbal... and it looks intimidating. it has a business card paper-clipped to the corner and other documents are scattered around. this is so anyone who passes by will understand the magnitude of my work.

among the many areas needing future updates are the names of animals. some only have pidgin translations like bush baby and bush dog, while others only have long descriptions that do no serve for much like tùtù (it is a very lazy bird. it does no build its own nest. we do not eat. if you eat it then the time a man passes by your house and you are sitting in the house you jump and shake and your heart is beating. the igbos eat it. it is like a carving, it only sits still. it kills snakes, and reserves the corpse until maggots grow then eats but those maggots. it sees a snake and sits so waiting... or even better kEsangaa: you go enter the bush and take your palm to tap. you fell the tree and set your jug down to return the next day. you return and you see that bush animal. it has taken until! it is drunk, only sleeping on the ground. it has big eyes. small like bush baby.

de ze mwe a tie nkap

two great pieces of communist propaganda:


But one after another, in conversations with Sergeant Kipp or Sergeant Wheeler, the men said they could not say how many shots they had fired. Two said they were unsure whether they had even fired at all, including a detective who investigators later learned had fired 31 shots, emptying his 9-millimeter Sig Sauer pistol, reloading and emptying it again during the frenzied barrage. New York Times

this short story is about beloved playa bagdad. Narconews

si tienes un hondo penar

i was reminded of the time that guillermo and i were on our way out to the parking lot and celeste stopped us and we had an argument but it was conceded that yes, that would be considered an unfair advantage and i lost by two chicken wings. we were sitting at the table waiting for them to tell us that we could go and start eating the sushi.
-did you see that guy?
-i thought it was a woman
-the way he wears old clothes
-looking like a junky
-but he pulls it off nicely
-those are the japanese
i brought a book to read in case i wanted to take a break between two plates of sushi but i only spilled soy sauce on it. i think it is good for the book because the book will show it off to other books and say it went to the japanese restaurant. the roman epigramist martial wrote a couplet from the perspective of a book case, warning its owner not to put undesirable books lest it harbor cockroaches and bookworms.

then i was in an @ conference. i walked in and the chair told me i was just in time for the closing ceremony. two days earlier i had come for the opening ceremony, done a roll call for untied states then left. we held hands and took three minutes to reflect on how what we learned in Jump In 2006 would be in the future remembered by us as a special time when @ cameroon made a turn around not to say that they were in the wrong direction but they need to turn around from a good direction to a better direction. i hugged everyone and exchanged addresses and we remembered all the good times we had. i even mentioned someone's name to someone else and said that the former wanted me to make sure i greeted him on her behalf.

on monday i tried to describe the plot of the faulkner story spotted horses in nnwe to one of my friends. after the part where they broke out of the barn and refused to eat corn and ran through the streets trampling and destroying he asked me if i was talking about a slave auction. apparently a mistake with the tone made what i thought was "in the morning a man came into the town with a large group of horses to sell them" to be "in the morning a man of many years came to the town to sell his lifetime"

senex veser qui semper nos adiuvabat

yet knowing your father as long as i have, (always as an old man) I know that he could outsmart, even seduce the devil. one time I was traveling with him. we were returning from a death celebration. they had killed two pigs. there I drank beer from a large cow's horn, which I have not used since because the only other person with such a large drinking horn is crazy. if we hadn't been descending, I would have left him behind since I walk fast. He was in good humor. he was saying that at his own funeral he would see to it that they would kill only corn-fed pigs and they would boil the meat the right amount of time, so that it would be well done and still tender. (mind you) it started to rain. we opened our umbrellas and two large hunks of boiled pork fell to the ground. your father had carried away a nice reserve of the meat, as much as he criticized it. he winked at me and picked up the two pieces of meat, offering one to me. i cut the dirty parts off with my cutlass. the rest of the way we had our mouths full. he was a good man. you understand my tendency to eulogize him; he died yesterday.