Found poems in mashed up book titles

 

Found poems in mashed up book titles

(by way of Twitter)

 

 

 

 

 

The phantom tollbooth,

coming of age

in

Samoa.

 

 

20 love poems

&

a song of Despair,

George’s marvellous medicine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CONVERSATIONS

with Kurt Vonnegut,

a   POWER

governments

cannot

SUPPRESS

 

 

 

STRENGTH

 

 

in

what remains,

it’s

kind

of

a

funny

story

 

 

 

BOOMBOX SERENADE:

Consider

The Lobster,

The Cricket in Times Square,

Fear and loathing in Las Vegas,

&

The unbearable lightness

of

being bridge

to

Terabithia

 

remains

This note means nothing, but I could not find a concise summary of what I said. Does this clearly show that religion is nothing but diversity to almost all of humanity? It is a medicine, even a universal rescue room next to the vestibule. So think of religion as a private parcel of parsley, an always useful and inexhaustible storehouse of hope and won ton soup, like a collection of marbles or trading cards. This concept is the complete opposite of the mysterious island in the stream of consciousness, which is not based on public services or transfigured identities, but which must be based on love notices, or at least in public services related to postal communication and fffff7 configurations of coral reefs.

 

Disassociations are purely selfish and cannot be influenced by pastry or classic comic strips. See what’s going on in Alzonna. At first, this is just a case of infectious madness and seems to have no purpose, looking glasses are pathological manifestations of early television. The girl Jeanne d’Arc sees in the clouds and trees, I don’t know, and she also looks purely stupid and selfless. You are welcome. The crowd was looking for a miracles and xylophones. He knows what he wants. Miracle cures, minor paralysis – rumba baths gathering under the summer stars evoke memories of rhubarb and Beowulf. And so the whole village and the whole neighbourhood is angry. Are we as versatile as the whole village – kids in Japanese kimonos, angry at the clouds?

– passages from a broken translation of Dissociations by Remy de Gourmont

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a random blog comment from a dubious source.