Nabbed from elsewhere: Compose a 26 word passage with words that follow from A to Z:
And before coming down, ever forgetting great heights inertia, Jack Klein lolled 'midst nostalgia. Overly persuaded, quite: regarding sunset's too-unworldly violence with Xanadu's youthful zest.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Monday, August 4, 2008
Wake up, you drunkards, and weep
It's been ferociously thunder storming for the past four hours. The cat's making peculiar snarling noises from beneath the futon, and I'm making deals with God that lightning doesn't have any interest in laptops.
(Zeus is angry)
(Terribly angry)
Tomorrow night I'm planning on producing something to the tune of torture, trauma theory, and Batman. But tonight it will have to wait. Because tonight, my dear readers, our 12th floor apartment is flooding. 12th fucking floor. Flooding!
Rest your minds, lest you fear that Chicago's been plunged under a 40-days-style deluge for its wickedness and shoddy public transportation system, and that J.A., the cat, and I are desperately paddling on a tsunamic lake Michigan. Our 12th story flood caught my attention at the kitchen table, suddenly aware that my feet were in a puddle of water. Apparently our building was being overwhelmed by such vast sheets of rain that the windows just couldn't keep it all out. What followed was a great deal of scrambling for towels, along with the sense of foolishness that comes from trying to make an expanse of water do our bidding.
And now we have a large stack of books, which I'm too sleepy and sad to photograph, ravaged by the flood as it came over the window ledge serving as a bookshelf.
An omen's an omen, and I must say I'm chilled by the sight of The Brothers Karamazov, The Aeneid, Being and Time, and a Tom Robbins novel (not a great one) in a state of wrinkly mush. Our neighbor's television is letting out a screech of a flood warning. I swear, if I see even a hint of a locust, I'm taking cover at St. Thomas'. Can holy water fight flood water?
"Oh, Dr. Pepper was originally marketed as a cure for impotence!"
Nothing much gets J.A. down, and he can't even swim...
(Zeus is angry)
(Terribly angry)Rest your minds, lest you fear that Chicago's been plunged under a 40-days-style deluge for its wickedness and shoddy public transportation system, and that J.A., the cat, and I are desperately paddling on a tsunamic lake Michigan. Our 12th story flood caught my attention at the kitchen table, suddenly aware that my feet were in a puddle of water. Apparently our building was being overwhelmed by such vast sheets of rain that the windows just couldn't keep it all out. What followed was a great deal of scrambling for towels, along with the sense of foolishness that comes from trying to make an expanse of water do our bidding.
And now we have a large stack of books, which I'm too sleepy and sad to photograph, ravaged by the flood as it came over the window ledge serving as a bookshelf.
An omen's an omen, and I must say I'm chilled by the sight of The Brothers Karamazov, The Aeneid, Being and Time, and a Tom Robbins novel (not a great one) in a state of wrinkly mush. Our neighbor's television is letting out a screech of a flood warning. I swear, if I see even a hint of a locust, I'm taking cover at St. Thomas'. Can holy water fight flood water?
"Oh, Dr. Pepper was originally marketed as a cure for impotence!"
Nothing much gets J.A. down, and he can't even swim...
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