Note from Batman: Batman honestly
believes all cell-phones have a nanotechnological flesh-eating
disease inside them, air-transmitable.
My, Hanno Raudsepp's, phone number is 1 - 613 - 394 - 6412
Spider man journal
I feel a bit of a settling stew in my
broiling cityscapes..
I spent time as a pickpocket in my
slum-phase of existance
growling in grottoes of sick sockets
whim by puke-gutters for substistance
I believe in those who delve into
life's dirty gutters
to radio from the underworld how mike's
know them mutters
I believe in the rite of passage for
pickpocket's plumb
so a pockets a sieve in the lite of
nassage by rule of docket's thumb
So many consonants so few space to
verse
all lost in low quinance low mew grace
rue q'verse
made-up words are a pickpocket's pledge
picking the pockets of words and losing
them in the sedge
I feel a lot to do with the 'p'rackets
of plumbing verse for sin sickle's rising
rye reel afot kudo's tith the
s'prockets of crumbing bus for singapore's guising
mary o f guise who did she roon
a french queen of scoundrel's tune
french mary's of wonder imp's calibre
quench 'rary dove blunder-limp's
salibre
Peter Parker's journalism
I got Green Goblin's grunes in the
pottle of sin
as pestle and mortar be the sot all 'a
din
glider 'a flimmer a whorl of dance
with Wonder-imp's senses all
happenstance
a 'reelin in pleasant delirium all
askanse of merit
a'steal in sin peasant meritorious
drawl 'sa dance of skerrit
a whorl of 'sin easy on the toast in
oils
a swirl of grin 'teasy dun the most in
easles
Teasy was no ragamuffin for no sins
purpose
He believed in heroism Lore go tins
surrepticious
the Tin man was leakin' a cryin' for
all sins sorrow
the lion felt courage across bridges to
leap and jump like Superman astride a building
the signin' in heaves Christopher
Reeve's strength in hedges cats lost seekin' dumps like loops in sand
a' glide a 'tilding
The Burglar was Uncle Ben
Spider man's journal
I am not too much of the man I am
IF this is a riddle it is a seedling of
a poem
if I seek no city's roons in spoken
lingo grand
by gutter city-folk who rise like moss
from the land
I believe in nothing so much as poem
a'gross
like spokes in mollasus or jelly in
toast
jelly the gel of webbing 'a trembling
like courage
vibrations to sense the city's belly of
mirage
like the belief in grander sense made
fine like wine
is the notion thet we don't feel we
don't know sign
languages whole in gesture vast and
dexturous
all is known when we join the lingo of
lexorous
vibrations like gesture
Spider man's journal
I am clipped to the buses
Is there any man as lost as I am? As
much in the sea of antiquity? As much derived of Spider-gods and
underworlds?
Is there any city so unfriendly as one
crawling with webs?
Gang-webs, elastic webs, rubber-band
webs.. all 'a webbin to seek
one's fortune. I am in the ruck of
lower-class gentility. Lost in
a gutter for morrow's hope. 'G'rorrrow
is my future in spinning,
gang-lingo is my Fortunas Wright. My
wheel of fortune.
A lingo-wheel, a firewheel of squire's
horror. I am a squire
forevermore. .. me, Peter-Parker,
photo-squire. Blame the squire, always.
Youth is blameworthy for gamblin's den.
Gambling with life for raven's crow.
For Poe's shadow
is risk for abysse's delight. Spinning
across abysses, such
is my ken. Seeking some quantum
ambition, from a
gutter's reach. The underworld is my
habitat. A choice habitat.
A gambler's dice of choice. Mr.
Fortunus Wright- who is he? A
name to bewilder. In wilderness of
semantic, he with
with Flying Dutchman is associated in
mileau. Words
which chime together I chime by
snappy-patter's
obvious contortions. The exotic
contortions of Serpentine,
of snake-charmers in boiling steam of
smoky dens
of cannibis rising. The horror
of'g'rorrow of stomach's
groan in high-flying action. Windswept
stomach,
aerodynamics of gastrition. The flying
height
of one's gorge.
The Yellow Kid is the Green Goblin.
Gwen Stacey is another Green Goblin.
The Yellow Kid is the Green Goblin.
Gwen Stacey is another Green Goblin.
