Redemption

You sunk.  I'll get you.  Down cyclopean steps into the sun ocean.  Privately agog, quite so, already mindful of the need for chopsticks to be weaponized.  Cantankerous ancient tortoise carapace to shield the Sea-Wolves' carnassials and green eyes.  Isolation asseveration, capacity to forfend calamity, lure of dank B.O.  Sirens of the Sea, drawn by my odorless pheromones carried by my stink, the townspeople chop tentacles.

The Daily Sentence

Flaming fingers: raise the bayonet, torch the ceiling, pierce the bulge, endure the rain, solve the cube, grow the turnip, trash the rocks, spring the grubs, enter the domains, kick the glass, wipe the mud, clear the way, slice the orange, eat the crow, chain the tongue, lash the eye, pull the craft.  —Aaron DeWeese

The Daily Sentence

A fig tree in every front yard:  some cursed with barrenness, some bearing fruit, some from which filculnean works are produced—all of them need to be dug about and dunged.    -Aaron DeWeese

The Daily Sentence, Stream of Consciousness

Words disappear, the herringbone closet—change exceeds boundaries flying with wheels under—the nethermost regions becoming uncomfortable—concise in contentment, complete in clockwork, autonomously clicking in the blink of an eye after seconds ticking about its dependent dependability:  ticking, tock, ticking—each alarmist propaganda or prophetic omen against the final hour—the hour before, and the hour before that hour, and the hour before that hour, and the hour before that hour, ad nearly infinitum, forgotten.

The Daily Sentence

Always at work around you, pursuing a perpetuating relationship, inviting you to become involved, speaking indirectly through shared knowledge, exhorting you to evolve, effecting a crisis of belief, resulting in required faith and action, adjusting, adapting to transformation, purification, stepping into co-laborship, experiencing, accomplishing.  -Aaron DeWeese

The Daily Sentence, Stream of Consciousness

Thumbing the matrix, pages of isolated contemporaries' minds, isolated recalcitrant tellurians - intrinsically demure, public flibbertiigibbets, sleepers at the wheel awaiting eternity — when does our everlasting initiate? — the Calvinists proclaim upon admission.  - Aaron DeWeese

The Daily Sentence

Mentally invisible, slow to speak, remaining in a silence which propagates itself — a terror or a music; and yet, the time comes for words carefully winnowed from the heart, chosen for their influence upon the soul, through which actions will draw.

The Daily Sentence (stream of consciousness)

Even brakes fail in the time of winter, once fell had new to; these used came back again, fell to the forest floor, gave birth as food, wormed, beetles, malarial mosquitoes, the headhunters, Amazonian river, boat of pipe-men, of coal, of roaches, hallucinogenic snuffer leopard peoples, occasional UFOs.

The Daily Sentence

Crawling the grey scale, eyes weak, full of weariness, tired; the long lonely, of time and the river, afraid of numerous diseases, plethora of cancers; a stroke to watch from inside, the world quietly, the human heart, failing, falling quiet; death takes its time, the tools of God, one thing appointed unto man, back to the ground, fly away, until then, dragging the days, dig a nice cool shaded grave, crawl the grey scale, leave something behind.

The Daily Sentence (randomized)

Planned, prepared, don't mean level-the Nicoise — I, one, I think — you, feels, emphatically in undiminishing Pearson's money, already planned to, Horowitz wanted to, contacts you, Yale you. -Aaron DeWeese

The Daily Sentence

All people but the most bibliophilic are poor handlers of books, whom habitually shelve (instead of destroy) nearly nameless neophytic paperback volumes with as much care as they shelve (instead of breaking the spines of) tomes of obscure analytic academia, such as: Ralph Lewin's Merde: Excursions in Scientific, Cultural and Socio-Historical Coprology and John Gregory Bourke's Scatalogic Rites of All Nations. -Aaron DeWeese

The Daily Sentence

Visiting that part of the metropolis which best gives indication of its personality — Star Street, with its kitschy shops, cyclopean condominiums, and pompous caravansaries (along with a few outright decrepitating fleabags)  — I noted the flash of a mocking smile full of weltschmerz playing as a well played recording over an oil-stained man-dressed-in maroon's partially shadowed face, as he was looking back over his shoulder, away from the well dressed man with which he was shaking hands with, and, simultaneously I became xenomancer, seer. -Aaron DeWeese

The Daily Sentence

Make a stand against the flow of Time—escape to disassociate in a fiction down the Hudson River from two-hundred feet above, from Packman Avenue, from Hunts Woods Park, to the dumpsters of X20 Xaviars, to a Backgammon game with an Australian who worked for Dugway, to a swim in the North Atlantic, to a submarine, with a bookstore, where in a book, it is told that within action magic lay—I can't remember the author(s). -Aaron DeWeese

The Daily Sentence

Here below this bedside, and even now yearning for prophets, as the credit goes, drumming neologistical desobrietization within the skull cavity, soon to be socketless eyes, now selling, loving, creeping to a rest, the helpless pieces in the game He plays upon the checker-board of Nights and Days—hither, thither moves, checks, slays; one by one—the moving finger writes, moves on, tears — Oh Henry!, Oh Ruby Ott!

The Daily Sentence

Eschatological readings of events, have, to this day, been erred; though who can say of tomorrow?

The Daily Sentence

It was a cold Chilean day on which the space craft form Juliseptus from the deep emerged; though soon enough (after the Chilean's could not answer the Juliseptians' queries pertaining to Sir Francis Drake—due to language barrier) the Juliseptians would take their form and move through the Drake Passage, warming things up on the Strait of Magellan.

The Daily Sentence

Oranges, porgies, boxes of calamity, undergrowth from green vidalia—what little stores are now rot; pitch smith the octagonal duodenum, our cook, cooks—sweats buckets; forthwith the bright sail, bearded Swede, 1JJ in pocket (of late in the century American historicity); a yellow sun encircled by Zephyr our flying flag; endless sailing with no thing in sight—all same, sky above, depths below, blue, blue, blue. -Aaron DeWeese

The Daily Sentence (randomized)

It satisfied roses, not saying to ashes, great in grace His strength, the sleet so up until of blood, harbor on another very Elephant Island writing, the almost bare, the furnace fire I would retreat unto and bring new; to see Shackelton and two fowl that were blossoming combined. -Aaron DeWeese

The Daily Sentence

The novaturient man's beaten body appears nequient, no longer able to support himself; and yet, his task, his trial, through which he has toiled, through which he has been brutally tudiculated, it is not yet through—he must call strength forth from his deepest reserve—the final obstacle is a test of willpower—the stern determination of this veteran defending his cause, standing firm in his beliefs, shall see him through; he shall attain the final summit, and be witness to the Eastern Sun. -Aaron DeWeese

The Daily Sentence

It wasn't yet evening and the temperature had dropped to twenty below—I tried to pee in the snow and instead I became chapped—so badly chapped that I had to remove my britches and undergarments (for the pain was too great) and encase myself in small bits of aloe vera which I would pinch off and butterfly, holding each one in place until it dried to my skin—exactly one thousand and one pinches it took; from twelve plants. -Aaron DeWeese