Sex dagh

It’s National Bobblehead Day! Here is my all Gator bobble head collection! 59 and counting…

2023.01.07 21:50 GatorJay87 It’s National Bobblehead Day! Here is my all Gator bobble head collection! 59 and counting…

submitted by GatorJay87 to FloridaGators [link] [comments]


2022.09.21 20:30 FlyUzi Future is gonna be featured on the lucki album🔥🔥

Future is gonna be featured on the lucki album🔥🔥 submitted by FlyUzi to future [link] [comments]


2021.09.25 20:00 Manjo819 Stacked Cut-Ups From the Last Year-and-a-Bit

Why all this horsepiss together?

Below are one pair of, and one group of four, cut-ups I posted to cut_up, the earliest in June of 2020. They are grouped together because the latter of each group use the former as sources.
Each piece appears with its sources and some descriptive notes on its process.
Index:
Fesh Pince:
These first two both draw much of their content and inspiration from the YouTube Poop "The Fesh Pince of Blair", and are intended to be read after watching at least the first few minutes of the video, so that the delivery of the lines is memorable and able to be evoked by the text.
"I Am Admired"
These sources were chosen to combine with one another since they each constitute profiles of a character, and so they flow together syntactically quite well--This despite various of their sources being in the 3rd person, and various others in the 1st. The profiles are variously (self-) promoting and (self-) deprecating, so that the person presented is always an ambiguous, many-appendaged beast of contradictory anatomy, engaged in a painful and contradictory existence, but ever struggling to express herself, and trudging ever on. "FFoorr tdhoine iis tihre KKionngudnogmdum" does not use any of the earlier pieces as sources, but it is used along with the others as sources for "When One Watches Newspapers".
One source not included is the post previously crossposted to experimentalfiction, "Late Answer to u/Punk18", since it seemed a needless repetition of material already available. It can be found either on the sub or among the sources for "Newspapers".
I hope that in viewing them all together, you can get a sense of how material can be a) made familiar and b) re-employed to new purpose within this quite abstract artform. I also hope it will serve as an illustration of Cut-Up's ability to retain fair coherence--of a kind--even when an absurd diversity of sources is used.

17/6/2020 "Vegetables Laugh Track" and "Planting a Pizza Hut"

Sources:
  1. The Fesh Pince of Blair video;script
  2. How to Plant the Three Sisters
Output 1: "vegetables laugh track"
"gotcha!"-The three sisters is a traditional-"Oh my God!"-form of companion gardening first-time"Drink 5-Hour Energy. It's not a Drink, more like a Drink"-developed by Native Americans. By-"Hey, G, did you bring the mail in yet?"-planting corn, beans, and squash-"No Oo OO. I've been saving that to calm myself, lest I get too giddy from rubbing my Cock" (laugh track)-together, you can reduce pests and-"You know you need a woman, G." (laugh track)-disease while increasing the bounty-"What's a woman?" (Music starts playing)-of your crop. This is an excellent-"What's a What's a What's a woman woman?"-method for organic vegetable farming.-"Drink 5-Hour Energy Drink 5-Hour Energy Drink DRink DRIIINK 5-Hour Energy"-Start by planting the corn in late-"I figured it out Will I'm gonna get Dad what he always wanted."-spring. After a few weeks, follow with-"What a Pizza Hut in the garage?" (laugh track)-beans and squash. In the fall, you-(laugh track intensifies to dangerous volume levels)-'ll have plenty of delicious vegetables-(laugh track makes Carlton's dialogue inaudible)- to go around.-(Will stares into the camera)-We use cookies to make wikiHow Great. (laugh track finally stops).
Procedure: divide source 1 into individual dialogue lines, divide source 2 down the middle of the paragraph, alternate lines from each. Computational. Uses all (selected) text.
Output 2: planting a Pizza Hut
"What's a woman?"-The three sisters is a traditional form of companion -"What's a What's a What's a woman woman?"-"I figured it out-This is an excellent method for organic vegetable farming.-togther, you can reduce pests and disease-"You know you need a woman, G."-Start by planting the corn in late spring. After a few weeks,-"Drink 5-Hour Energy. It's not a Drink, more like a Drink."-In the fall, you'll-"Drink 5-Hour Energy Drink 5-Hour Energy Drink DRink DRIIINK 5-Hour Energy"-first developed by Native Americans. By planting-a Pizza Hut in the garage (laugh track)-delicious vegetables-laugh track intensifies to dangerous volume levels)-I'm gonna get Dad what he always wanted"-"Gotcha!"-(laugh track makes Carlton's dialogue inaudible)-"No Oo Oo. I've been saving that to calm myself, lest I get too giddy from rubbing my Cock."-(Will stares into the camera)-We use cookies to make wikiHow great.-(laugh track finally stops).
Procedure: write a paragraph using any text I like from either source, no rule about alternating, only use each word once. Executive. Doesn't necessarily use all text.

23/11/2020 Is Love What's a Woman?

Is Love What's a Woman?
Sources:
"Mad at Disney"
"The Fesh Pince of Blair"
How to plant the three sisters
"Planting a Pizza Hut"
Output:
"Is Love What's a Woman?"
"I'm mad at Disney, Disney,
They tricked me (“Gotcha!”), tricked me, (“I figured it out.")
Had me ("I'm gonna get dad what he always wanted.”) wishing on a shooting star,
("What, a pizza hut in the garage?”)

But now I'm twenty-something. [laugh track]
I still know nothing, [laugh track intensifies to dangerous volume levels]
'Bout who I am or what I'm not, [laugh track makes Carlton's dialogue inaudible]
[Will stares at the camera]

So, call me a pessimist,
But ("Drink 5 hour energy.") I don't believe in it, ("Its not a drink, more like a Drink.")
Finding a true love's kiss is bullshit,
("I've been saving that to calm myself,")

'Cause I felt sad, Love, (“Drink 5 hour energy.")
I felt bad, Love, ("Drink 5-hour energy. Drink DRink DRIIINK 5-HOUR ENERGY.”)
Sometimes happy love ("5-HOUR ENERGY.")
Turns into giving up. ("Noo Oo Oo")
(“Hey, G did you bring the mail in yet”)

I felt hurt, Love, (“WHOOOOoooH”)
By the word "love". (“No Oo Oo.")
(“You know you really need a woman, G.”)
What the hell is love supposed to feel like? (“What's a woman?")

What the hell is love? What the hell is love? (“What's a woman?")
What the hell is love? What the hell is love? ("What's a what's a whats a woman? woman?”)
What the hell is love supposed to feel like?
("Watch and learn…")

What the hell is love? What the hell is love? (“What's a woman?")
What the hell is love? What the hell is love? ("What's a what's a whats a woman? woman?”)
What the hell is love supposed to feel like?
("Watch and learn… Hello, is president Bush there?”)

Carry me away to your castle ("Gotcha!")

Where we will all live happily ever after. (By planting-"a Pizza Hut in the garage?")
My fairy grandma warned me: (How to Plant the Three Sisters)
Cinderella's story (The three sisters is a traditional form of companion)
Only ended in a bad divorce. (by Native Americans)

The prince ain't sleeping when he ("Drink 5-hour energy.")
Takes his sleeping beauty (planting corn, beans, and)
To the motel on his snow white horse (and squash together,)
(You can reduce pests and disease)

So, call me a pessimist, (while increasing the bounty of your crop)
But I don't believe in (organic vegetable farming) it.
Finding a true love's kiss is bullshit.
("I've been saving that to calm myself, lest I get too giddy from rubbing my Cock.”)
[Will stares at the camera]

'Cause I felt sad, Love. (“Hey, G, would you make me a sandwich?”)
I felt bad, Love. (“Noo. ”)
Sometimes happy love (Music starts playing)
Turns into giving up. ("Oh my God!")

I felt hurt, Love, ("I'm sorry, I can't hear you very well.”)
By the word 'love'. (“Look at those funny little markings underneath the pictures. We call them words.”)
What the hell is love supposed to feel like?
(“Hey, G, would you make me a sandwich?” "Noo.")

What the hell is love? What the hell is love? (“What's a woman?")
What the hell is love? What the hell is love? ("What's a what's a whats a woman? woman?”)
What the hell is love supposed to feel like?
("I'm in a position to scratch.")

What the hell is love? What the hell is love? (“What's a woman?")
What the hell is love? What the hell is love? ("What's a what's a whats a woman? woman?”)
What the hell is love supposed to feel like?
("I'm in a position to scratch his Bush if he'll scratch mine, capisce?”)

I'm mad at Disney ("Drink"), Disney, ("DRIIINK")
They tricked me ("Gotcha!"), tricked me, (By planting-"a Pizza Hut")
No more wishing on a shooting star.
[laugh track finally stops]

27/6/2020 A Matrimonial Advertisement

Sources: A Matrimonial Advertisement, Anything but insane, Junky - type 'lips of a penis' into the search bar
I have lived solitary long enough; I want His place of origin is the Near East, I am 81 years of age. I've had nine somebody to talk at, quarrel with, then probably Egypt. He has a large straight children and 42 grandchildren, and have kiss and make it up again. Therefore I am nose. His lips are thin and purple-blue like almost a billion citizens. I have open to proposals from young ladies and the lips of a penis. The skin is tight and rheumatism, a collapsed uterus, I'm widows of more than average smooth over his face. He is basically morbidly obese and deaf in one ear. I respectability, tolerably tame in obscene beyond any possible vile act or have known 11 Prime Ministers and disposition, and hair of any colour than red. practice. He has the mark of a certain passed 2,347 pieces of legislation. I've As nearly as I can judge for myself, I am trade or occupation that no longer exists. been in office 62 years, 234 days. Thus I not over eighty nor under twenty-five His eyes are black with an insect's am the longest serving monarch in world years of age. I am sound in limb and on unseeing calm. He looks as if he history. I'm responsible for five the nigger question; am very correct in nourished himself on honey and households and a staff of over 3,000. I my morals, and first-rate at nine-pi s; Levantine syrup which he sucks up through am cantankerous, boring, greedy, fat, have a regard for the Sabbath, and never a sort of proboscis. What is his lost trade? ill-tempered, at times selfish and myopic, drink only when invited. Am a domestic Definitely of a servant class and both metaphorically and literally. I am animal, and perfectly docile when shirt something to do with the dead, though he perhaps disagreeably attached to power buttons are all right. If I possess a is not an embalmer. Perhaps he stores and should not have smashed the predominating virtue it is that of forgiving something in his body - a substance to Emperor of Russia's egg. But I am every enemy whom I deem it hazardous prolong life - of which he is periodically anything but insane. If the household to handle. Money is no object, as I never milked by his masters. He is as wish to disobey me, so be it. Let them do was troubled with any, and never expected specialised as an insect, for the it to my face. I will see everyone in the to be performance of some inconceivably vile Durbar Room at once. function
Trivia: 'A Matrimonial Advertisement' is a 19th Century shitpost that used to appear in newspaper classified sections. It appears in an 1866 edition of The Jefferson (PA, U.S.), in which it is cited as coming from a paper in St Louis. I have found it in another, later American paper which I cannot now find. This version comes from an 1862 edition of the Lyttelton Times, New Zealand, which may or may not be the earliest version. The linked post is a shorthand transcription request for a document left by the poster's departed great aunt. I relish the idea of leaving an antique shitpost to be discovered and deciphered by an ingenuous future generation.
Process: bung all three source texts into a word document, cut out text until they are of more-or-less equal length, put them each into one of three columns in a table, then read across rather than down the columns and transcribe accordingly.
Also I didn't mean to include the picture from the link, but by happy accident I feel it produces added hilarity.

12/6/2021 Make Fine Obscene Beyond Any Possible Vile Point

Sources
A Matrimonial Advertisement; the Prologue of Andrea Dworkin's novel Mercy, entitled "Not Andrea".
make fine obscene beyond any possible vile point
Now I’ve come into my own function sisters I have lived solitary long enough as a woman of letters. I am a I want His place of origin is the committed feminist, of course Near East, I am 81 years of age. I admit to a cool, elegant intellect I’ve had nine somebody to talk at, with a clear superiority quarrel with, then probably over the ape-like men who Egypt. He has a large straight write. I don’t wear silk of children and 42 grandchildren, course. I am icy and formal and have kiss and make it up even alone by myself again. Therefore I am nose. His discipline of identity and lips are thin and purple-blue like identification. I do not wear almost a billion citizens. I have myself out with mistaken open to proposals from young resistance, denunciation, ladies and the lips of a penis. The foolhardy anguish I feel of skin is tight and rheumatism. A’course, I feel the pain, the collapsed uterus. I’m widows of sorrow, the lack of freedom. I more than average smooth over feel with a certain hard face. He is basically morbidly elegance. I am admired for obese and deaf in one ear. I—it—the control, the reserve, respectability, tolerably tame in the ability to make fine obscene beyond any possible vile point, the subtle point. I avoid act or have known 11 Prime the obvious. I have a certain Ministers and disposition, and intellectual elegance, a certain hair of any colour than red refinement of the mind. There practice. He has the mark of a is nothing wrong with civilized certain passed 2,357 pieces of thought. It is necessary I legislation. I’ve as nearly as I can believe in it and I do not have the judge for myself, I am trade or courage of my convictions’ occupation that no longer exists. One need not raise one’s been in office 62 years, 234 days’ voice. I am formal and careful, thus I not over eighty nor under yes, but with a real power in my twenty-five His eyes are black—my style if I do say so myself. I with an insect’s am the longest am not, as a writer or a human serving monarch in world years of being insipid or bland, and I age. I am sound in limb and on have not sold out, even though I unseeing calm. He looks as if he have manners and limits, and history. I’m responsible for five. I am not poor, of course, why the nigger question am very should I be? I don’t have the correct in nourished himself on stink on me that some of the honey and households and a staff others have, I am able to say it, of over 3,000. I my morals, and I am not effete. I am their first-rate at nine-pins; Levantine sister and their friend. I do not syrup which he sucks up through disavow them. I am committed, am cantankerous, boring, greedy, committed. I write checks and fat, have a regard for the Sabbath, sign petitions. I lend my name and never a sort of proboscis. I write books with a strong what is his lost trade? Ill narrative line in clear, detailed, tempered, at times selfish and descriptive prose, in the myopic, drink only when invited—19th-Century tradition—am a domestic, definitely of a storytelling, intellectually servant class and both coherent, nearly realistic, not metaphorically and literally. I am sentimental but yes with sex animal, and perfectly docile when and romance and women who shirt something to do with the do something, achieve dead, though he perhaps something strong women. I disagreeably attached to power, am committed, I do care, and I buttons are all right. If I possess am the one to contend with, if the a is not an embalmer. Perhaps he, truth be told, because my stores and should not have mind is clear and cool and my smashed and predominating virtue prose is exceedingly skillful if it is that of forgiving something in his sometimes a trifle too baroque body—a substance to every style has its dangers. I Emperor of Russia’s egg. But I am not reckless or accusatory, am every enemy whom I deem it I consider freedom. I look at it hazardous to prolong life—of which from many angles I value it. I he is periodically anything but think about it. I’ve found this insane if the household absolutely stunning passage handle. Money is no object, as I from Sartre that I want to use never milked by his masters. He is—and I copy it out slowly to as wish to disobey me, so be it. Savour it. Because it is cogent. Let them do was troubled with and meaningful with an any and never expected intellectual richness, a moral specialised as an insect, for the it subtlety. You don’t have to to my face. I will see everyone in shout to tell the truth. You can the to be performance of something. You have a responsibility inconceivably vile Durbar Room to think. My wild-at-once function sisters revel in being retched and they do not think I have lived solitary long enough as a woman of letters.
Alternative Title Candidates:
Process
Columnar cross-reading as per this post.
Notes on the title-selection
A note on Andrea Dworkin
As a tentative transhumanist and more than a tentative utopian separatist, she was an ideological bedfellow, albeit in an obstinately partitioned bed, with William Burroughs. As politically (and otherwise) disgusting as certain of her ideas were (and despite the odd dubious or very specific claim to the contrary, the ideas attributed to her are, albeit in a qualitatively reductive form, more or less her ideas), she was a minor genius who managed to make every awful thing she revealed about the world true. With certain exceptions in both directions, it's as impossible to accept Dworkin's assertions as it is to disbelieve them; attempting to act on them would mean discarding almost literally everything that makes human life liveable. Attempting either to accept and reject her work involves to varying degrees listening into and ignoring the evidence of one's own organism. Those who argue for the existence of regressive feminism are alarmed by what they recognise as the old Catholic hustle of being created sick and commanded to be sound. Those who are politically aligned with Dworkin, and, indeed, anyone who reads her with attention, recognise her as an acute diagnostician. The apparent contradiction of Dworkin is resolved thus: She knew everything of the world's sickness, and knew nothing of its health.

30/6/2021 FFoorr tdhoine iis tihre KKionngudnogmdum by the time I got there

Sources:
· Source 1: The Loneliness of the Military Historian – Margaret Atwood
· Source 2: Beggars’ Dance – Jinjer
· Source 3: The Lord’s Prayer in English
· Source 4: The Lord’s Prayer in Shetland Norn
FFoorr tdhoine iis tihre KKionngudnogmdum by the time I got there.
Confess: it’s my profession. We do what we have been trained to. That alarms you, Our Father, who art in Heaven. This is why few people ask me to dinner. Hopeless beggars dance to this beatific flute, though Lord knows I don’t go out of my way to be scary. Hallowed be Thy name. I wear dresses of sensible cut. If there’s Lord out there, He’s just a guest, and unalarming shades of beige. Thy Kingdom Come. I smell of lavender and go to the hairdresser’s under this Dome of Ignorance. No prophetess mane of mine. Thy will be done, complete with snakes—will frighten the youngsters. Our boat is called Apocalypse. If I roll my eyes and mutter: “On Earth as it is in Heaven”; if I clutch at my heart and scream in horror: “Who’s in front of us, we cut them deep”, like a third-rate actress chewing up a mad scene, give us this day our daily bread (we do what we have been trained to). I do it in private and nobody sees, yet untold, still unheard but the bathroom mirror. And forgive us our trespasses—In general I might agree with you: We cherish lives to the Underworld. Women should not contemplate war, as we forgive those who trespass against us; should not weigh tactics impartially, King of Everything, or evade the word Enemy, King of Everything. Lead us not into Temptation, King of Everything, or view both sides and denounce nothing, King of Everything, but deliver us from Evil. Who’s your King of Everything? Fy vor or er I Chimeri, King of Everything, or view both sides and denounce nothing, King of Everything, for Thine is the Kingdom, King of Everything, Halaght vara nam dit. Who’s your King of Everything? Women should march for peace, the power and the glory, or hand out white feathers to arouse bravery. La Konungdum din cumma. Spit themselves on bayonets. Who’s your King of Everything to protect their babies, for ever and ever, whose skulls will be split anyway? La vill din vera guerde, or, having been raped repeatedly—“Oh King, King of Everything, yeah!”—hang themselves with their own hair. Amen. These are the functions that inspire general comfort (We do what we have been trained to) I vrildin sindaeri chimeri. That, and the knitting of socks for the troops—Dah-da-da-dah—and a sort of moral cheerleading—Our Father, who art in heaven—Dada-da-da-dah—also: mourning the dead—Gav vus dagh u dagloght brau—Mmm Dah-da-dah—Sons, lovers, and so forth—Hallowed be Thy Name—Dada-da-da-dah-di—All the killed children forgive sindorwara—Dada-do-do-da-da-diii-i-i-i-i. Instead of this, I tell: “Thy will be done”—Ooh-wo-ooh, ooh—what I hope will pass as truth on Earth as it is in Heaven Sin vi forgiva gem ao sinda gainst wus—oo-i-ooh-oo-ooh-ooh-ooh—A blunt thing not lovely (Who’s your King of Everything) Give us this day our daily bread, Mmm-mmm, King of Everything. The truth is seldom welcome (And forgive us our trespasses) But delivra wus fro adlu idlu especially at dinner. Hopeless beggars dance to this beatific flute, though I am good at what I do (We do what we have been trained to), my trade is courage and atrocities. As we forgive those who trespass against us, I look at them and do not condemn, for do I ir Konungdum. I write things down the way they happened—Ah—as near as can be remembered. Lead us not into temptation. I don’t ask why, because it’s mostly the same: U puri, u glori. Wars happen because the ones who start them—We do what we have been trained to—think they can win (for ever and ever) but deliver us from evil. In my dreams there is glamour. Amen. The Vikings leave their fields—Hopeless beggars dance to this beatific flute each year for a few months of killing and plunder for ever and ever. Fy vor or er I Chimeri much as the boys go hunting (Amen). If there’s Lord out there, He’s just a guest. (Amen). In real life they were farmers. Amen. They came back loaded with splendour. Halaght vara nam dit. The Arabs ride against Crusaders under this Dome of Ignorance with scimitars that could sever Our Father, who art in Heaven, silk in the air. Our boat is called Apocalypse. La Konungdum din cumma. Who’s in front of us, we cut them deep—A swift cut to the horse’s neck. Hallowed be Thy Name yet untold, still unheard and a hunk of armour crashes down. We cherish lives to the Underworld. La vill din vera guerde. Thy Kingdom come, King of everything, like a tower. Fire against metal, King of Everything, Thy will be done, I Vrildin sindaeri chimeri. A Poet might say: "Romance against banality, on Earth as it is in Heaven, King of Everything." When awake, I know better. Who’s your King of Everything? Despite the propaganda, there are no monsters. Gav vus dag u dagloght brau, and forgive us our trespasses, or none that can be finally buried. King of Everything: Finish one off, and circumstances forgive sindorwara, and the radio create another King of Everything. Believe me: whole armies have prayed fervently: “As we forgive those who trespass against us, King of Everything,” to God all night and meant it, sin vi forgive gem ao sinda gainst wus, and been slaughtered anyway. Who’s your King of Everything? Brutality wins frequently. Lia wus ik? O vera tempa, but deliver us from Evil, oh King, King of Everything, yeah! And large outcomes have turned on the invention—lead us not into temptation—of a mechanical device, viz. radar, but delivra wus fro adlu idlu, dah-da-da-dah. True, valour sometimes counts for something, for thine is the Kingdom, as at Thermopylae. Sometimes being right—U puri, u glori—Dada-da-da-dah—though ultimate virtue is decided by the winner, for do i ir Konungdum. Sometimes men throw themselves on grenades—the power and the glory—Mmm Dah-da-dah—and burst like paper bags of guts—Dada-da-da-dah-di—for ever and ever—Dada-do-do-da-da-diii-i-i-i-i—to save their comrades—Ooh-wo-ooh, ooh—I can admire that. Amen. Oo-i-ooh-oo-ooh-ooh-ooh OFuyr Fvaotrher, wohro aerrt iin HCehaivmeenri. But rats and cholera have won many wars. HHaalllaogwhetd bbeara Tnhaym ndaimte. Amen. Those, and potatoes—Give us this day our daily bread—Or the absence of them—Gav vus dagh u dagloght brau. It’s no use pinning all those medals—LTahy KKoinnugndgodmum din ccuommmea, TLhay wviillll bdein dvoenrea guerde—across the chests of the dead, oin Evarritlhdin, assinidtaeirsi in Hcehaivmeenri. Impressive, but I know too much, King, King of Everything. Grand exploits merely depress me. GGiavve uvsus tdhaigsh duay oduargldoagihlty bbrreaaud. Hopeless beggars dance to this beatific flute in the interests of research—Ah—I have walked on many battlefields—and ffoorrggiivvee ussinoduorrwtarreaspasses—that once were liquid with pulped—assin wvei ffoorrggiivvea tgheomse wahoo tariensdpaass aggaaiinnsstt uwsus—men’s bodies and spangled with exploded we.—Do what we have been trained to. Shells and splayed bone Lainaa lweuasd uisk? nOot ivnetroa tteemmpptaation. If there’s Lord out there, He’s just a guest, bBuutt ddeelliivverra uwsus ffrroom Eavdillu idlu. All of them have been green again under this Dome of Ignorance, ffoorr tdhoine iis tihre KKionngudnogmdum by the time I got there. Our boat is called Apocalypse. Each has inspired a few good quotes in its day: "Who’s in front of us, we cut them deep." Sad marble angels brood like hens yet untold, still unheard. Over the grassy nests where nothing hatches we cherish lives to the Underworld. (The angels could just as well be described as vulgar King of Everything, Or pitiless, depending on camera angle, King of Everything. The word glory figures a lot on gateways: TUhe ppouwreir, and tuhe gglloorryi. Of course I pick a flower or two, King of Everything from each, and press it in the hotel Bible who’s your King of Everything for a souvenir for ever and ever. I’m just as human as you, King of Everything, OFuyr Fvaotrher, wohro aerrt iin HCehaivmeenri. King of Everything, HHaalllaogwhetd bbeara Tnhaym ndaimte, but it’s no use asking me for a final statement. TLhay Koinnugndgodmum din ccoummema—As I say, I deal in tactics— TLhay wviillll bdein dvoenrea guerde—Also statistics—oin Evarritlhdin, assinidtaeirsi in Hcehaivmeenri, for every year of peace there have been four hundred hopeless beggars. Dance to this beatific flute: Years of war for ever and ever. Ah—
Procedure:
Note: This is all done by copying consciously from the sources according to the following order:
Note 2: The early repetition of the string: "or view both sides and denounce nothing" is an error.
· Alternate lines between sources (no source is ever given 2 consecutive lines), in order. Originally S1, S2, S1, S3, repeating.
· At S2’s chorus, S4 comes in, and alternate S2, S4, S2, S3, S2, S1, for the duration.
· After chorus, alternate S1, S3, S1, S4, S1, S2, for a while.
· At S2’s scat breakdown, begin to cycle S1, S3/4 (alternating), S2.
· At this point my head is spinning trying to remember, but if you look with fresh eyes it should be self-evident. S1 tends to be the structural centre, except when S2 has its chorus. S3 and S4’s lines begin to be reordered so that they flow into one another, either as translations or as a switch in language between lines.
· A few bracketed phrases are reused where I thought they’d be nice. I tried mostly to stick to only the opening line of a source.
· Eventually S3 and S4 are cut together at the letter level, becoming garbled. Imagine a Norwegian gagging on a beer funnel while trying to recite the Lord’s Prayer. I know it can be a hassle with these walls of text, but if you have a go reading it out phonetically you'll discover that a) it's a very similar language to English, b) you can understand much of it, and perhaps c) that I made an effort to make its interaction with the surrounding text meaningful. Indeed, I tried not to make any joins at all that didn't have some obvious cross-reading value.
· I cheated with the end. I should have arranged it so all the sources cycled to a close in unison, but in practice I skipped several lines of S3-4 and went straight to its final line. Perhaps this short-circuits the thing’s sense of inevitability somewhat. Sorry if it bothers you.

21/8/2021 When One Watches Newspapers

Sources:
Late Answer to u/Punk18 incl. "In Cambodia, America"
Make Fine Obscene Beyond Any Possible Vile Point
FFoorr Tdhoine Iis Tihre KKionngudnogmdum By the Time I Got There
Writing It Is Easy: "Anarchist". Lower-Case "A".
WHEN ONE WATCHES NEWSPAPERS
FOR FULL TEXT, SEE ORIGINAL POST. IT IS TOO LONG TO PUT HERE, BEING ALMOST THE LENGTH OF ALL ABOVE POSTS COMBINED.
Process:
Computational engine: columnar cross-reading. See "Late Answer" for details on this method.
Column 1 Column 2
Make Fine Obscene FFoor Tdhoine Iis Tihre KKionngudnogmdum
Writing It Is Easy Late Answer
A Note on Andrea Dworkin (comment on "Make Fine Obscene")
Late Answer (short extract to make tails even) More of Late Answer, including "In Cambodia, America
PDF of the original columns available to anyone with a place to send it.
What I think worth paying attention to:
The four primary sources all being existing cut-ups, There are I-think 23 sub-sources in this piece, not counting the brief citations by Noam Chomsky of Schelling and others in "Writing It Is Easy", yet the output is overall about as coherent as a piece using only 1 or 2 sources. This is one advantage of a transcription-method of cut-up, with executive refinement like trimming and formatting-adjustment, attention to syntax, and a system like columnar cross-reading with relatively uniform string-length.
The segment beginning with the title-string: "When One Watches Newspapers", and ending with "'Order' obligatory for all", seems to be the thematic centre of the thing, and its theme is reprised in the final few lines.
submitted by Manjo819 to ExperimentalFiction [link] [comments]


2021.08.21 17:04 Manjo819 When One Watches Newspapers

When One Watches Newspapers
For some reason the justified body columns of the first two pages left-aligned themselves when I pasted them into paint.net, while the centre- and right-aligned text remained as it was. The effect seems to replicate itself as I try again, so I am leaving it az iz. Apologies if this makes for irritating reading.
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TRANSCRIPT:
WHEN ONE WATCHES NEWSPAPERS
Jonnson
Florence Correspondent
21 August 2021
Now I’ve come into my own function sisters I—confess: it’s my profession. We do what we have lived solitary long enough as a woman of have been trained to. That alarms you, our letters. I am a—I want—His place of origin is the—Father, who art in Heaven. This is why few—committed feminist, of course Near East, I am—people ask me to dinner. Hopeless beggars—81 years of age. I admit to a cool, elegant—dance to this beatific flute, though Lord knows—intellect, I’ve had nine somebody to talk at—with—I don’t go out of my way to be scary. Hallowed—a clear superiority quarrel with, then probably—be Thy name. I wear dresses of sensible cut. If—over the ape-like men who Egypt. He has a—there’s Lord out there, He’s just a Guest, and—a large straight write. I don’t wear silk of children—unalarming shades of beige. Thy Kingdom—and 42 grandchildren, course. I am icy and come. I smell of lavender and go to the—formal and have kiss and make it up even alone—hairdresser’s under this Dome of Ignorance—by myself again. Therefore I am nose. His—no prophetess mane of mine. Thy will be done,—discipline of identity and lips are thin and—complete with snakes—will frighten the—purple-blue like identification. I do not wear—youngsters. Our boat is called Apocalypse. If I __ almost a billion citizens, I have myself out with—roll my eyes and mutter: “On Earth as it is in—mistaken open to proposals from young—Heaven”; if I clutch at my heart and scream in—resistance, denunciation, ladies and the lips of a—horror: “Who’s in front of us, we cut them—penis. The foolhardy anguish I feel of skin is—deep”, like a third-rate actress chewing up a tight and rheumatism. A’course, I feel the pain,—mad scene, give us this day our daily bread (we—the collapsed uterus. I’m widows of sorrow, the—do what we have been trained to. I do it in—lack of freedom. I more than average smooth—private and nobody sees, yet untold, still—over feel with a certain hard face. He is—unheard but the bathroom mirror. And forgive—basically morbidly elegance. I am admired for—us our trespasses—In general I might agree—obese and deaf in one ear. I—it—the control,—with you: We cherish lives to the Underworld—the Reserve, respectability, tolerably tame in the—Women should not contemplate war, as we—ability to make fine obscene beyond any—forgive those who trespass against us; should—possible vile point, the subtle point. I avoid act—not weigh tactics impartially, King of—or have known—11 Prime the obvious. I have a—Everything, or evade the word Enemy, King of—Certain Ministers and disposition, and—Everything. Lead us not into Temptation, King of—Intellectual Elegance, a certain hair of any colour—of Everything, or view both sides and—than red refinement of the mind. There—denounce Nothing, King of Everything, but—practice. He has the mark of a is nothing wrong—deliver us from Evil. Who’s your King of—with civilized certain passed 2,357 pieces of—Everything? Fy vor or er I Chimeri, King of—Thought. It is necessary I legislation. I’ve as—Everything, or view both sides and denounce—nearly as I can believe I not and I do not have—Nothing, King of Everything, for Thine is the—Judge for myself, I am trade or courage of—Kingdom, King of Everything, Halaght vara—my convictions’ occupation that no longer—nam dit. Who’s your King of Everything?—Exists?—One need not raise one’s been in office—Women should march for peace, the power and—62 years, 234 days’ voice. I am formal and—the glory, or hand out white feathers to arouse—careful, thus I not over eighty nor under yes,--bravery. La Konungdum din cumma. Spit—but with a real power in my twenty-five His—themselves on bayonets. Who’s your King of—eyes are black—my style if I do say so myself. I—Everything to protect their babies, for ever and—with an insect’s am the longest—am—not—as a—ever, whose skulls will be split anyway? La vill—writer or a human serving monarch in would—din vera guerde, or, having been raped—years of being insipid or bland, and I age. I am—repeatedly—“Oh, King, King of Everything,--sound in limb and on have not sold out, even—year!”—hang themselves with their own hair.—Though I unseeing calm. He looks as if he have—Amen. These are the functions that inspire—manners and limits, and history. I’m—general comfort (We do what we have been—responsible for five. I am not poor, of course,—trained to) I vrildin sindaeri chimeri. That, and—why the nigger-question should be in—the knitting of socks for the troops—Dah-da—don’t have the correct in nourished himself on—da-dah—and a sort of moral cheerleading—stink on me that some of the honey and—Our Father, who are in Heaven—Dada-da-da—households and a staff others have, and I am not—u dagloght brau—Mmm Dah-da-dah—Sons—effete. I am their first-rate at nine-pins,--lovers, and so forth—Hallowed be Thy—Levantine Sister and Their Friend. I do not syrup—Name—Dada-da-da-dah-di—All the killed—which he sucks up through disavow them. I am—children forgive sindorwara—Dada-do-do-da—committed, am cantankerous, boring, greedy,—da-dii-i-i-i-i. Instead of this, I tell: “Thy will be—committed. I write checks and fat, have a—done”—Ooh-wo-ooh, ooh—what I hope will—regard for the Sabbath, sign petitions. I lend my—pass as truth on Earth as it is in Heaven Sin vi—name and never a sort of proboscis. I write:—“Forgiva gem ao sinda gainst wus,”—oo-i-ooh-oo—books with a strong what is his lost trade? Ill—ooh-ooh-ooh—A blunt thing, not lovely (Whose—narrative line in clear, detailed, tempered, at—your King of Everything) Give us this day our—Times’ selfish and descriptive prose, in the—daily bread, Mmm-mmm, __ King of Everything—myopic, drink only when invited—19th—The truth is seldom welcome (And forgive us—Century tradition)—am a domestic, definitely of—our trespasses, but delivra wus fro adly idlu—a storytelling, intellectually-servant class and—especially at dinner. Hopeless beggars dance to—both coherent, nearly realistic, not—this beatific flute, though I am good at what I—metaphorically and literally—I am sentimental—do (We do what we have been trained to), my—but yes-with-sex-animal, and perfectly docile—trade is courage and atrocities. As we forgive—when and arrogance and women who shirt—those who trespass against us. I look at them—something to do with the do something—and do not condemn, for do I ir Konungdum. I—achieve dead, though he perhaps something—write things down the way they happened—strong woman. I disagreeably attached to—Ah—as near as can be remembered—Lead us—power, am committed, I do care, and I buttons—not into temptation. I don’t ask why, because __ are all right. If I possess am the one to content—it’s mostly the: U puri, u glori. Wars—with, if the A is not an embalmer. Perhaps He—happen because the ones who start them—We—truth be told, because my stores and should not—do what we have been trained to—think they—have mind is clear and cool and my smashed—can win (for ever and ever) but deliver us from—and predominating-virtue prose is exceedingly—evil. In my dreams, there is glamour. Amen. The—skillful if it is that of forgiving something in His—Vikings leave their fields—Hopeless beggars—sometimes a trifle too baroque body—a dance to this beatific flute each year for a few—substance to every style has its dangers. I—months of killing and plunder for Ever and—Emperor of Russia’s egg. But I am not reckless—ever. Fy vor or er I Chimeri much as the boys—on accusatory, am every enemy whom I deem it—go hunting (Amen). If there’s Lord out there,—I consider freedom. I look at it hazardous to—He’s just a Guest. (Amen). In real life they were—prolong life—of which from many angles I farmers. Amen. They came back loaded with value. It—I—He is periodically anything but think—spleandour. Halaght varan am dit. The Arabs—about it. I’ve found this insane if the household—ride against Crusaders under this Dome of—absolutely stunning passage handle. Money is—Ignorance with Scimitars that could sever Our—no object, as I from Sartre that I want to use—Father, who are in Heaven, silk in the air. Our—never milked by His masters. He is—and I copy—boat is called Apocalypse. La Konungdum din—it out slowly to as wish to disobey me, so be it.—Cumma. Who’s in front of us, we cut them—Savour it. Because it is cogent. Let them do us—deep—A swift cut to the horse’s neck—troubled with and meaningful with an any and—Hallowed be Thy Name yet untold, still—never expected intellectual richness, a moral—unheard and a hunk of armour crashes down—specialised as an insect, for the It subtlety. You—We—cherish lives to the Underworld. La vill din—don’t have to to my face. I will see everyone in—vera guerde. Thy Kingdome come, King of—Shout to Tell the Truth. You can the to be—Everything, like a tower. Fire against metal—performance of something. You have a—King of Everything. Thy will be done, I Vrildin—responsibility inconceivably vile Durbar Room—sindaeri chimeri. A Poet might say: “Romance—to think. My wild-at-once function sisters revel—against banality, on Earth as it is in Heaven—in being wretched and they do not think I have—Kind of Everything.” When awake, I know—lived solitary long enough as a woman of—better. Who’s your King of Everything? Letters.—I think it less important and indeed less feasible—despite the propaganda—there are no monsters—for a person to locate, vet petition and join an—Gav vus dag u dagloght brau, and forgive us—for a person to locate—consist in picking out words for—our trespasses, or none that can be finally—the sake of their meaning and vet, petition and join a—buried. King of Everything: Finish one off, and—Anarchist—inventing images in order to make the meaning—circumstances forgive sindorwara, and the radio—clearer. It consists in—Movement than to make anarchist—create another King of Everything. Believe me:--gumming together long strips of words which have—whole armies have prayed fervently: “As we—already been set in—movements: motions of order by—forgive those who trespass against us, King of—Someone Else, and making the results presentable by an Everything,” to God all night and meant it, sin—anarchist character.—I think the sheer humbug—the—vi forgive gem ao sinda gainst wus, and been—attraction of this way of writing is that it is easy—slaughtered anyway. Who’s your King of—Anarchist, (lower-case ‘a’) ought to—It is easier—even—Everything? Brutality wins frequently. Lia wus—quicker, once you have the habit—to say “In my—make—ik? O vera tempa, but deliver us from Evil, oh—these movements! Through—opinion it is not an unjustifiable—King, King of Everything, Yeah! And large—ass—‘sumption that” than to say “I think—adult education—outcomes have turned on the invention—lead—anarchism’s basis is the recognition of an innate—it is—us not into temptation of a mechanical—appropriate to regard universal grammar as the study of—device, viz. radar, but delivra wus fro adlu idlu—somewhat fixed and somewhat variable human potential—dah-da-da-dah. True, valour sometimes counts—for grammar are rich, abstract, and restrictive, and can be—for something, for Thine is the Kingdom, as at—used to—growth are certain minimums of—construct—Thermopylae. Sometimes being right—U puri,—principled explanations for a variety of prenomena,—u glori—Dada-da-da-dah-though ultimate—security and freedom; A person usually has more scope to—virtue is decided by the winner, for do I ir—attempt to recover lost development—Schelling writes that—Konungdum. Sometimes men throw—“the beginning and end of all philosophy is Freedom:”—themselves on grenades—the power and the—opportunities in adults than to—these words are invested with—glory—Mmm Dah-da-dah—and burst like with meaning and urgency at a time—attempt to involve—paper bags of guts—Dada-da-da-dah-dah—for—themselves in—when men are struggling to cast off their—ever and ever—Dada-do-do-da-da-diii-i-i-i-i—chains, to resist authority—the upbringing of children—to save their comrades-Oooh-wo-ooh, ooh—I—The—That has lost its claim to legitimacy—to construct—can admire that. Amen. Oo-i-ooh-oo-ooh-ooh—more humane and—first adult a person must educate is—ooh OFuyr Fvaotrher, wohro aerrt iin—more democratic social institutions. It is at such a— HCehaivmeenri. But rats and cholera have won—time that—herself—Self-education is a political—many wars. HHaalllaogwhetd bveara Tnhaym—philosopher may be driven to inquire into the nature of—dnaimte. Amen. Those, and potatoes—Give us—human—act. It’s not true that my education—freedom—this day our daily bread—Or the absence of—and its limits, and perhaps to conclude, with Schelling,—them—Gav vus dagh u dagloght brau. It’s no—that—was inadequate. It is true that I am—with respect—use pinning all those medals—Ltahy—to the human ego, “its essence is freedom”; and with—KKoinnugndgodmum din ccuommmea, TLhay—respect—unsatisfied it. So, I have made—to—wviillll bdein dvoenrea guerde—across the—philosophy, “the highest dignity of Philosophy consists—chests of the dead, oin Evarritlhdin—precisely therein, that—movements towards—it stakes—assinidtaeirsi in Hcehaivmeenri. Impressive, but—all on human freedom—supplementing my education.” The—I-Know-Too-Much King, King of Everything—first hurdle against which a person—you see there’s—Grand Exploits merely depress me. GGiavve—something very—usually totals herself—is the ease of—ivsus tdhaigsh guay oduargldoagihlty—authoritarian about the libertarian structure of the—bbrreaaud. Hopeless beggars dance to this—kibbutz—I could—subordinating oneself to an idea—beatific flute in the interests of research—Ah—see it when I lived in it, in fact—This is very easy to do—I have walked on many battlefields—and—with—There’s tremendous group—Marxism. A person—ffoorrggiivvee ussinoduorrwtarreaspasses—that—sets out with—pressure to conform. I mean, there’s no—once were liquid with pulped—assin wvei—force that makes you—the vague idea that it is the—ffoorrggiivvea tgheomse wahoo tariensdpaass—done—conform, but the group pressures are very powerful—aggaaiinnsstt uwsus—men’s bodies and—the dynamics of—thing to eventually settle down and--spangled with exploded we--Do what we have—how this worked were never very clear to me, but you could—been trained to. Shells and splayed bone Lainaa—just see—become the disciple of some idea—it in operation:— lweuasd uisk? nOot ivnetroa tteemmpptaation—the fear of exclusion is very great—not—after trying on—If there’s Lord out there, He’s just a Guest—a fair selection—exclusion in the sense of not being—bBuutt ddeelliivverra uwsus ffrroom Eavdillu—allowed into the dining room or—much as the idea of—idlu. All of them have been green again under—settling down—something, but just that you won’t be—this Dome of Ignorance, ffoorr tdhoine iis tihre—part of things somehow. It’s-into marriage after a phase of—KKionngugnogmdum by the time I got there—like being excluded from a family: if you’re a kid—Our boat is called Apocalypse—Each has—and your family—promiscuity still throbs its dubious—inspired a few good quotes in its day: “Who’s in—excludes you—like maybe you don’t let you sit at the table—in front of us, we cut them deep.” Sad marble—but they don’t talk—bass under the social rhythm—angels brood like hens yet untold, still unheard—to you—that’s devastating, you just can’t survive it. And—Over the grassy nests where nothing hatches—Marxism has the kind of firm—something like that—we cherish lives to the Underworld. (The angels—carries over into these communities’—hands that will—could—just as well be described as Vulgar King—bend her over the table in almost the way she—for one—of Everything, or Pitiless, Depending on—Thing, they’re extremely—imagined, and is overall—Camera Angle, King of Everything. The word—close—racist: I don’t think there’s a single Arab on any—glory-figures a lot on gateways: TUhe—kibbutz in Israel, and—enough to the ideal she had in—ppouwreir, and tuhe gglloorryi. Of course I—mind—it turns out that a fair number of them have been—pick a flower or two, King of Everything from—turned down—that she settles into an exclusive—like, if—each, and press it in the hotel Bible who’s your—a couple—forms between a Jewish member of a kibbutz and—King of Everything for a souvenir for ever and—domestic rhythm with it maintained—an Arab, they—ever. I’m just as human as you, King of—Generally End Up Living In an Arab Village. The Other—Everything, OFuyr Fvaotrher, wohro aerrt iin—by the sense that there are no, or—thing about them is-- HCehaivmeenri. King of Everything,—they have an extremely unpleasant relationship—few—HHaalllaogwhetd bbeara Tnhaym ndaimte, but—better lays out there—with the state—which I—it’s no use asking me for a final statement—didn’t really know about until fairly—propositioned by—TLhay Koinnugndgodmum din ccoummema—other ideas—recently, even though it’s been that way for—as I say, I deal in tactics—TLhay wviillll bdein—a long time—in her public outings, she is liable—dvoenrea guerde—also statistics—oin—Superstitions die hard. In the case—to be piously faithful—Evarritlhdin, assinidtaeirsi in Hcehaivmeenri—most people—of this modern superstition the process is—for every year of peace there have been four—doubly hard because—are, when they are being shafted—hundred hopeless beggars. Dance to this—various factors have combined to administer artificial beatific flute: Years of war for ever and ever—respiration—adequately. Here is a debate that—Ah—International Intervention, the blockade, and the very—note on Andrea Dworkin:—efficient—would be worth having, with a few—world—as a tentative transhumanist and more than a—propaganda of the Communist Party have kept—tentative utopian separatist, she was an—anarchists (or Anarchists) on the—Bolshevik-myth-alive—ideological bedfellow, albeit in an obstinately—even the terrible famine is being exploited—panel-partitioned bed, with William Burroughs. As—Marxist theory is sooner—to that end—How powerful a—politically (and otherwise) disgusting as certain—hold that superstition wields I realise—product of—of her ideas were (and despite the odd dubious—industrialisation that a—from my own experience I had—or very specific claim to the contrary, the ideas—always known that the Bolsheviki—response to it—A—attributed to her are, albeit in a qualitatively—person can find—are Marxists. For thirty years I fought—reductive form, more or less her ideas), she was—the Marxian theory as a—critique of Marxism as—Mechanicity/Organicity: The extent to which—cold, mechanistic, enslaving formula in pamphlets—the final output feels like the product of a—lectures—mechanistic and anti-human in—and debates I—mechanical process. It’s an open question—argued against it. I was therefore not unaware of—whether raw/refined/gory output feels more—Emma-Goldman, but she need not—might be expected—mechanistic/organic, and this will usually—from the Bolsh—‘eviki. But the allied attack upon—depend on other features. Probably raw output—symbol of the Russian Revolution, and—her faintly—organicity is already present. Free-flowing-text—unsatisfied gut. I make a—brought me to their—without much trimming might feel quite—defence.—Digression on Marxism to Prime-Martin Buber—organic, while very rhythmic text with many—put the problem—you for the idea that it is not only a—untrimmed loose ends might feel like the—succinctly when he wrote: “One cannot in the nature of—product of mechanical action. In general—things expect a—political act for a person to educate—computational methods for maintaining—little tree that has been turned into a club to put forth—coherence, like class-cuts, seem to represent a—leaves—herself, but to educate herself on no one particular—compromise between mechanicity and—thing: No comfort, no privacy. Tall stools to sit on, a kind—organicity, since they assure a degree of flow, as—of narrow—to recognise the limits of her time—ledge to—well as a degree of uniformity. A key factor is—eat off, mirrors all round you. A sort of propaganda—join punctuation. Using no or subtle join—floating—resources and personal dramatic—round—punctuation (an extra space; a comma, a short)—mixed up with the noise of the radio, to the effect that—(dash or slash) will probably support organicity—food—leverage and still prefer to read—doesn’t matter—while using conspicuous punctuation (long—comfort doesn’t matter, nothing matters except—fiction—dashes, tabs, line-breaks, slashes with spaces on—or learn to sing, or ride her—slickness and shininess and—either side) will make the text feel more—streamlining. Everything’s—moped-through-the—interrupted. The specific effects of things like—country—streamlined nowadays, even the bullet Hitler’s—slashes, ellipsis etc. are subject to personal—keeping for you. I ordered—without thought, and to recognise—judgement. Enrichment and Depletion of—a large coffee and a couple of frankfurters. The—punctuation act similarly to—girl in—that this is not a waste of her—white-cap—refinement/rawness, in doing either one—jerked them at me with about as much interest as you’d—can reduce or increase ambiguity, and both can—attention, but educates her—throw ants’ eggs to—reduce visual noise. Accordingly, doing either—a goldfish—politically an anarchist might say—a thing—may represent a similar compromise to class—which I regret, and which—(they have said similar)—cuts—a minor genius who managed to make—things that—I will try to remedy some time, is that I—every awful thing she revealed about the world—have never in my life planted—general stimulation—true. With certain exceptions in both directions—nourishes—a walnut. Nobody does plant them nowadays—it’s as impossible to accept Dworkin’s assertions—when you see a—general human growth, as soil—as it is to disbelieve them; attempting to act on—walnut is almost invariably an old tree. If you plant—them would mean discarding almost literally—a walnut you—nourishes the growth of a tree—are everything that makes human life liveable—planting it for your grandchildren and who cares a damn—attempting either to accept and reject her work—for—Generalised Growth is, however—His.—Involves to varying degrees listening into and—grandchildren. Nor does anybody plant a quince, a—ignoring the evidence of one’s own organism—mulberry—unfavourable to the domination of—Those who argue for the existence of regressive—medlar. But these are garden trees which you can only be—feminism are alarmed by what they recognise as—a single idea, and—expected to plant if you have the—old Catholic hustle of being created sick—patch of ground of your own. On—incomprehensible to—and commanded to be—sound. Those who are—people—the other hand, in any hedge or in any piece of waste—politically aligned with Dworkin, and, indeed—ground you—subordinated to that idea—happen-anyone who reads her with attention, reognise—to be walking through, you can do something to remedy—her as an acute diagnostician. The apparent—the—particularly of Marxism. I do not—appalling—contradiction of Dworkin is resolved thus: She knew—massacre of trees, especially oaks, ashes, elms and—mean everything of the world’s sickness, and—that Marxist ideas (or most of—beeches) which has—knew nothing of its health in Cambodia—happened during the war years.—Them are inaccurate—America on January 6th 2021, white—simply that they are limited in scope and—They’re decent—supremacists. Political violence stormed the—but their minds—naturally dominant, and full—have—impact-subsequent US capitol, after—stopped. They can’t defend themselves against what’s—development, and months of lies and practices—coming—immersion in them has a stunting—to them—long beyond misinformation about the life of—because they can’t see it, even when it’s under their—effect—the regime election-fraud that was—on the general-development—noses. They think that—perpetrated/spread by Donald.—Violence?—England will never change and that—of the tree. It may seem—Prior Trump and his allies’ research focused on unfair to—England’s The-Whole-World. Can’t—several reporters and the physical destruction of—grasp that it’s just a left-over, a—single-out Marxism—prominent politicians without much called the—but I do it—tiny corner that the bombs happen to have—violent attention to weapons. Insurrection left—missed. But what about—because of its paradoxical—behind in conflict “unamerican”, likening—the new kind of men from eastern Europe, the streamlined—zones. I contend that the scenes of an—men who—noxiousness and accuracy. There—think in—unexploded-ordnance “banana republic” create—slogans and talk in bullets? They’re on our track. Not—direct and saying “those are the imminent—long—are many other ideas—conspiracy—before they—threats to sorts of things that—rural—catch up with us. No Marquess of Queensbury rules livelihoods—happen in third-world individuals—for—theories; religion; ideological—those boys. And all—respond by nations reporting shortening time—the decent people are paralysed dead men and—live on ABC news as horizons and avoiding—capitalism—that by virtue of their—live gorillas—the events unfolded. An investment in—doesn’t seem to be anything between—inaccuracy steer—activities reporter said, “It is so, for which there—people with a similar dominant hand into—Illusion!—Is an immediate security horrible to know? We—Baloney! It doesn’t matter how many of them there are—cost but a distant; are in America—where—still more grotesque contortions of—they’re all for it. The—returns short-term—this is happening on—bad times are coming, and the streamlined men—their—adjustments in Capitol. I’m not in “agricultural—human shape”—These too—are coming too. What’s—“Methods Baghdad”? I’m not in “accumulate-to-coming-afterwards”. I don’t know, it hardly—deserve—“Long-Term Kabul”. I’m not in a dangerous—attention, but are easier to—even interest me. I only—situation, underdeveloped and overseas. We are—know that if there’s anything you care a curse—resist—in poverty in Cambodia, America. I find that—without guidance. General—about, better say good-bye to—the historic bombing of high-fertility land—it now, because everything you’ve—education has the—where impact fuses hit soft; qualify the ground—same political—ever known is going down, down, into the muck—and were more presumption than post—likely—with the machine—value as sex without—to fail; reduce war economies; will—procreation—guns rattling all the time—educating—contemporarily, eventually, converge household—yourself and presuming—and the next war coming—production back to steady welfare-state growth—over—to educate others in anything—the horizon; 1941.—Counterintuitively, the productive—This Most—They Say, three more circles of the sun, and then—quite—fertile land—reversal of fortune—becomes—literally anything—is the—we whizz straight into it.—The least in Cambodia, America. Cross-reading:—The bombs diving down on you like—most accessible and—This is my favourite, and probably the most—fruitful—black cigars, and the streamlined bullets—accessible. The point is to read across joins—streaming from the Bren—anarchist movement a person—between sampled text as if it is a continuous—is—machine-guns—Positioned to make a person—sentence. You can do this in the wild with—presuming to make such anarchist—when one watches—newspapers. A familiar example of this occurs—some tired—it is worthwhile commenting on—in the film Shaun of the Dead when the—movements outside the umbrella of—back on the switching TV channels produce the sentence:—platform mechanically—what ‘Direct’ means in—“People are literally being—eaten alive”—‘Direct—an Anarchist Movement’ is a—repeating the—Computation: Arbitrary processes, like cutting—familiar phrases—‘Action’. ‘Direct’. Here means—the source text every 4 words; before words of—‘freer, truer, more spontaneous—bestial atrocities’; ‘iron—a given class’ (e.g. before every noun; what I call—‘heel’; ‘blood-unmediated’, but it also stands for—‘class cuts’); traditional fold-in (folding a page—anarchist than “Upper-Case—Stained Tyranny”—of a book in half and reading continuously—‘free people of the—Spontaneity’—but not—across it and the page behind it. These processes—‘Anarchist lending their shoulder to the—world’, ‘stand—are not strictly “random”, but sufficiently—shoulder-to-shoulder’—‘spontaneity’ in the sense of—‘unpredictable to satisfy the spirit of the—Just Wheel of a Movement’. Such a—one often has a—medium. Most of the output I post here is—curious feeling that—making things up on the spur of—computational, since it’s the easiest and fastest—person is a more constructive—one is not watching a live—to produce, as well as the easiest to replicate—human—the movement, or without much—anarchist than—imitate and discuss, and therefore the best for—the person who can—being but some kind of dummy—entry-level technical discourse. An example of a—a—‘thought’, rather, it means—tack together phrases—complex computational output is my post: ‘like “The—feeling which suddenly becomes—Everything an Accident of His Scalpel-Sponteneity” in the sense of “System”,—“Trimming”, of “syntactic” and “semantic”—“Globalisation” and “Real—stronger movements when—varieties—the first involves removing—the—coming-out of the resources of the—wins against the—modifying, or occasionally adding text at loose—bosses today.’—Light catches the speaker’s—self, like—ends to ensure the Grammar of Two—when we talk about—uncritically in 2021—the kind of—adjacent strings is at least somewhat reconciled—spectacles and turns them into—something which—which aids cross-reading and clarity. The—demonstrates—person who could both be—blank discs—second consists in altering specific words, e.g.—which seem to have no—‘spontaneous movement’, in that—substituting them for homophones, in order to—it—described by the neologism—‘eyes behind them’. And—bring out associations you notice but the reader—this is not—is able to move itself without—might not. For example, one of my outputs—“ParrotNoia”, and think the term—altogether fanciful—includes the compound string—“a large bald/of—a speaker who—external compulsion. This idea of—urine hit my nostrils.” I chose not to substitute—perceptive and clever. The test of—uses that kind of’ “bald” for “ball” because I thought the auditory—phraseology—‘Spontaneity’ linked with the—any—association was obvious enough, but doing so—lower-case anarchist is how she—has gone some distance—would constitute semantic trimming. An—toward—concept of ‘Autonomy’—digests the slogan:—'alternative form of trimming consists of—“Anarchy is—turning himself into a machine—shifting text to the other side of its original cut.”’—WAR IS—ORDER”, as contained within the—PEACE—which leaves integrity intact.—FREEDOM IS—however, it is the second part—Other forms of refinement can include: symbol: ‘’ The algebraic logic of—of the—‘enrichment’ and ‘depletion’ of punctuation:—quotation that I want to talk about today: “Anarchy is—either moving and adding punctuation in order—Order.”—This equation can be tested by the circle-A—to Alter (usually clarify) the meaning of the text—symbol—the internationally recognised symbol of—removing punctuation to reduce the salience of—Anarchism—reversing its terms: “Order is—made up—of unwanted associations & reduced visual noise—of an ‘A’ and an ‘O’, and represents the unity of—refinement; is often executive, making intuitive—“Anarchy”, the lower-case—Anarchy and Order—and—changes, but can also be computational (e.g.—I want to assert very strongly—that—anarchist will then—always making changes to the latter of two—hopefully—Anarchism does advance a vision of social--joined strings in order to reconcile them), and—order.—Recognise that the equation is true—could conceivably be randomised. “COLUMNAR—SLAVERY. IGNORANCE IS—SOMETIMES—and CROSS-READING” is a computational engine—untrue sometimes—STRENGTH—but further—producing results that are unpredictable, but—working is required. She—The Ideal of the People—this—arbitrary rather than random. Because all the—ideal of-course appears to the people as—will recognise—strings are around the same length, owing to—that what a given—signifying first of all the end of want—the uniform width of the columns, it feels fairly—the end of poverty, and the—other calls “Anarchy” is—mechanistic, in the sense that the machine—not—full satisfaction of all material needs by means of—process of the engine is quite noticeable. One—collective labour, equal—necessarily by-definition—feature of this is that you get structural echoes—“Order”—and obligatory for all, and then, as the end of—like: “I’m not in—agricultural-methods—Baghdad—domination and the free—and that it is not the words—I’m not in—accumulate-to-long—Kabul. I’m—words that are—organisation of the people’s lives in accordance—not in a—term—dangerous situation—with their needs—important, but the reality is that the—underdevelopment and—overseas. We are in—not from the top down, as we have it in the State, but—poverty. In Cambodia,—America.”—with a kind of—from the—words-cover—she will thenceforth—bottom—of rhythmic repetition I could have—up, an organisation formed by the people themselves—exaggerated the sense of mechanicity by using—resist sloganeering and—apart from all governments and—obnoxious punctuation:—I contend that—the—parliaments, a free union of—euphemism, and will—scenes to a—unexploded-ordnance—“banana—concentrate—associations of agricultural and factory—republic” and—create direct and—saying—workers, of communes—not on what she appears to be—“those are the—imminent threats to—sorts of—regions, and nations, and finally, in the more remote—things that—rural livelihoods—but note that—this future, the—doing on paper, but what she is—universal—makes it more difficult to ‘cross-read’, and—human brotherhood, triumphing above the ruins of all—‘cross-reading’ seems to be the most suitable—materially up to. She will read the—States’—meanings—way to read this output. Extreme disruption—of her movements in the—Puritanism, in whatever—is more conducive to parenthesis/juxtaposition or—expression, is a poisonous germ—faces of those she moves—flashing. I performed no refinement, but—most—on the surface—everything may look strong and—examples of trimming could have included—vigorous; yet the—immediately she will read it in her—Prior Trump and his allies(‘) research focuses—poison, works its way persistently, until the entire fabric is—on several reporters and the physical—doomed—own. She will move through her—with—destruction of prominent politicians to bring—Hippolyte Taine, every truly free spirit has come to realize—out the subjective associations I noticed, and—that—immediate world in the lower case—“Puritanism is—make them more objective. Note that I have—the death of culture, philosophy, humour, and good—here removed the join punctuation. When—fellowship—often recessive, but never silent—its—grammar and semantics are well-resolved—characteristics, monotony, and gloom—and never still.”—Removing join punctuation can facilitate—the fact that most readers can, with a little practice, read—smooth, organic reading. Conversely, when the output—across speedbumps in syntax like this and can be quite—a little messier, join punctuation can—forgiving of unrefined output is very useful, as it allows—make it much easier to read, since the reader—you to produce text that feels very mechanistic or gory but—has a visual cue to help make sense of how—still has some discernible meaning—things fit together.
Jonnson,
Florence Correspondent
21 August 2021
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