Cellular downsizing, firing the cords phones once employed for power
transcendence of the ancient area code, all spoken distance local
public space, a bottle that leaks, the previous park-bench discourse
half-assed split between any place and any other place. The truth
PlayDo morphed along deep-tissue echoes, bell-rung sounds of K-12 history:
nap-time rugs sequestered near cardboard-brick games of order.
A bewildering array of ways to place a delivery order
or organize opposition to George W's ascent to power
George Washington? No. Will Dynasty be divided in the dominant history
textbooks snowing on screen the death of the local
television network? "199x: T in MTV now stands for Truth
and the dictionaries open their doors to dot-com discourse."
Blink your eyes and the jingling themes of this discourse
submerge into Sleep mode. Plenty decry the decay of the nuclear family order
fashionable threads throwing Big and Tall weight behind Biblical truth
belt the young and black to a chair and involve them in power
they never shared. Red veins on a map preserve the local
against forces plotting to topsy the already turvy history.
Spinning Globe Trotters give black history
a month and call it a day, even-toned by your discourse
over a Corona, squeezed Mexican lime juiced at the "local"
Chili's. The moment you decide and place your order
with the server you externalize both responsibility and power
up the Pentium. The speed of your processor is the speed of your truth
and the dimes of your tax return reflect and construct that truth.
Is there potential outside the potential to regurgitate McGraw-Hill history?
raise your hand and bob your head eagerly hoping the power
will go out and return with a copy of the Lovers' Discourse.
Invent nerves to screw and unscrew in order
to achieve what we memorize most fondly-the local
7-11, when there were only Slurpees and "act local
think global" sounded wise and the verdict on the truth
of "if the glove doesn't fit" was still out of order
in the court. Who separates their whites anymore? The history
of laundry is pink and dirty, if you buy the commercial's discourse
between reruns of the Simpsons that Tide has the power
to bleach out everything but colors you like. Order now! The history
of pavement is still dripping truth, caught in cloth napkin discourse
stretched across local Dockered laps, dusty with crumbs mistaken for power.
The Bulwer-Lytton fiction contest is held ever year at San Jose State Univ. by Professor Scott Rice. It is held in memory of Edward George Earle Bulwer-Lytton (1803-1873), a rather prolific and popular (in his time) novelist. He is best known today for having written "The Last Days of Pompeii." Whenever Snoopy starts typing his novel from the top of his doghouse, beginning "It was a dark and stormy night..." he is borrowing from Lord Bulwer-Lytton. This was the line that opened his novel, "Paul Clifford," written in 1830. The full line reveals why it is so bad: It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents -- except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.
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