Birds of stone, their eggs are like hematite, turquoise, jasper, quartz, lapis lazuli. Each egg is a world, every morning I eat ten. Casanova, you should read his memoirs, could eat twelve at a time.
The flight went well. I am so happy to see you. Did you really think I were taller than this? Ha! ha! Now where should we go? I will have scrambled stones and bacon too, please, with a kiss.
The Sun rides a blue horse. The Moon is an egg in a silky dress. Stars are electric lights, baby, didn’t you know? Please hand me the green ketchup. Birds of stone fly underground, that makes them harder to shoot. Have you ever seen a tiger catch a bird? Tigers-eye. Agate. Malachite. In the word “scream”, there is the word “cream.” Casanova loved hoaxes. He invented the lotto. Can you remember the names of the twelve Apostles?
Twelve tourmalines together on a necklace smiled to me. I flew all the way on a rugby. Did you really not guess a kiss is better than this? I will have a French light, please. Tigers don’t cry. Amethyst, sugilite, chysocolla. Remember this song? Boys don’t cry
I live underground too. Yesterday, a friend and I examined a few old books he got from his grand-father who died recently. There were all of Molière’s plays, three volumes published in 1776, and I wish you could feel the paper, it hasn’t turned yellow, it’s really incredible quality paper. We read aloud Le Bourgeois gentilhomme created in 1670. Act IV, we couldn’t stop laughing, because the Turks are dancing and singing, “Hu la ba ba la chou ba la ba ba la da.”
I had a collection of gemstones when I was a child. I wonder what happened to it, and what of my stamps, and what happened to my electric kit, you know, with a set of colorful resistors, and black transistors, and little light bulbs, and wires, and sunbirds of stone.
The flight went well. I am so happy to see you. Did you really think I were taller than this? Ha! ha! Now where should we go? I will have scrambled stones and bacon too, please, with a kiss.
The Sun rides a blue horse. The Moon is an egg in a silky dress. Stars are electric lights, baby, didn’t you know? Please hand me the green ketchup. Birds of stone fly underground, that makes them harder to shoot. Have you ever seen a tiger catch a bird? Tigers-eye. Agate. Malachite. In the word “scream”, there is the word “cream.” Casanova loved hoaxes. He invented the lotto. Can you remember the names of the twelve Apostles?
Twelve tourmalines together on a necklace smiled to me. I flew all the way on a rugby. Did you really not guess a kiss is better than this? I will have a French light, please. Tigers don’t cry. Amethyst, sugilite, chysocolla. Remember this song? Boys don’t cry
I live underground too. Yesterday, a friend and I examined a few old books he got from his grand-father who died recently. There were all of Molière’s plays, three volumes published in 1776, and I wish you could feel the paper, it hasn’t turned yellow, it’s really incredible quality paper. We read aloud Le Bourgeois gentilhomme created in 1670. Act IV, we couldn’t stop laughing, because the Turks are dancing and singing, “Hu la ba ba la chou ba la ba ba la da.”
I had a collection of gemstones when I was a child. I wonder what happened to it, and what of my stamps, and what happened to my electric kit, you know, with a set of colorful resistors, and black transistors, and little light bulbs, and wires, and sunbirds of stone.
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[Picture: Self-portrait with a hat by reading_is_dangerous]
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