K,
Standing ovation.
L,
V.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Re: Atramentous
V,
It had occurred to me that might have been the case, post the zwhoop noise of my email sending, as well did the thought to send future responses as one long sentence, concocted with commas and conjunctions and the like that help to connect phrases with supposed complete thoughts but that really do nothing more than act as chain links of droning verbiage by stringing together meaninglessness, taking clarity and simplicity and muddling it into gurbble surrounded by an overly busied tattoo of conscious (and sometimes subconscious) thought, reaction and incrimination toward a seemingly innocuous and humorous self-depracation on the part of my friend, the writer, who keeps me thinking that somewhere between these two ears rests a set of synapses and gray (or grey, depending on continent) matter conceivably capable of crunching capricious (alliteration fully intended) data, creating a compendium of nonsensicals, non sequiturs, nanananah's and falling somehow into boredom despite a working biological thought simulator, since as we all now accept the reality of perception exhibits no more truth than a home movie thanks to today's technological advances in gaming and the psychological foundations set by sci-fi and horror fictions of the last two decades (Dreamscape, Nightmare on Elm Street, Fight Club, Total Recall, etc.)
K.
It had occurred to me that might have been the case, post the zwhoop noise of my email sending, as well did the thought to send future responses as one long sentence, concocted with commas and conjunctions and the like that help to connect phrases with supposed complete thoughts but that really do nothing more than act as chain links of droning verbiage by stringing together meaninglessness, taking clarity and simplicity and muddling it into gurbble surrounded by an overly busied tattoo of conscious (and sometimes subconscious) thought, reaction and incrimination toward a seemingly innocuous and humorous self-depracation on the part of my friend, the writer, who keeps me thinking that somewhere between these two ears rests a set of synapses and gray (or grey, depending on continent) matter conceivably capable of crunching capricious (alliteration fully intended) data, creating a compendium of nonsensicals, non sequiturs, nanananah's and falling somehow into boredom despite a working biological thought simulator, since as we all now accept the reality of perception exhibits no more truth than a home movie thanks to today's technological advances in gaming and the psychological foundations set by sci-fi and horror fictions of the last two decades (Dreamscape, Nightmare on Elm Street, Fight Club, Total Recall, etc.)
K.
Atramentous closest living relative
Atramentarious
At`ra*men*ta"ri*ous\, a. [Cf. F. atramentaire. See Atramentaceous.] Like ink; suitable for making ink. Sulphate of iron (copperas, green vitriol) is called atramentarious, as being used in making ink.
At`ra*men*ta"ri*ous\, a. [Cf. F. atramentaire. See Atramentaceous.] Like ink; suitable for making ink. Sulphate of iron (copperas, green vitriol) is called atramentarious, as being used in making ink.
Atramentous
K,
Obviously (,) abandoning footnotes has crippled me.
New Rule was meant to refer to my contributions; hence the single sentence message(s).
The placement, precision (in the context ((sure, context)) of readerly definition), and possible (okay, I went for the alliteration, sue me) colloquial understanding of the written word haunts me like the ghost of Cappeluti. A couple conveniently placed slits in a pancake and you have her floating visage in mind as my editor. Thanks, bitch. Thanks for the blood-drained imagery of you fumbling with the (Blaine would disagree with my usage here) Homeric...
Shit, gotta go...
Love,
V.
Obviously (,) abandoning footnotes has crippled me.
New Rule was meant to refer to my contributions; hence the single sentence message(s).
The placement, precision (in the context ((sure, context)) of readerly definition), and possible (okay, I went for the alliteration, sue me) colloquial understanding of the written word haunts me like the ghost of Cappeluti. A couple conveniently placed slits in a pancake and you have her floating visage in mind as my editor. Thanks, bitch. Thanks for the blood-drained imagery of you fumbling with the (Blaine would disagree with my usage here) Homeric...
Shit, gotta go...
Love,
V.
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