Monday, February 13, 2006

Notes on not eating mussels

Wonder ugly and hop a leaf. A ponytailed girl with fish lips, puckering wood-grained graffiti is left hoisting a tangled ball of orange extension cords. Noguchi using Japanese paper instead, smirks. Are the cut-ups really enough to arouse guffaws? Hopefully under a pseudonym, Chow Yun Fat displaces the neon cool of the John Woo ilk. And the hapa haoles surface en masse, driven from their cubbyholes to seek the daughter of a man whose paintings live only overseas, an indictment on the previous administration fumbling the football.

Beads of plastic sweat cling to the pigmented surface but who knew how to figure out the complicated formula to figure out square footage? Murakami can, though and proceeds on a superflat beeline to that imaginary vanishing point. No one sees Toulouse Lautrec drinking out of the blue-faced lady, his beard shorn.

Six males of Asian descent, mildly drunk but majorly aghast, rant about an impending catfight, placing bets of varying odds. Go ahead and order the duck brioche as the Earl of Sandwich.

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