Journalism in Asemic Times


What do you read, my lord?



Words, words, words.



What is the matter, my lord?



Between who?



I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.



Slanders, sir: for the satirical rogue says here

that old men have grey beards, that their faces are

wrinkled, their eyes purging thick amber and

plum-tree gum and that they have a plentiful lack of

wit, together with most weak hams: all which, sir,

though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet

I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down, for

yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if like a crab

you could go backward.



[Aside] Though this be madness, yet there is method

in ‘t.

From Hamlet Act II Scene 2.


Asemic Postcard 10

Impartial publishes publications and important forests.
The stone is rising.
It’s very ocean sings irony laser waltzes.
To someone single, I was surprised to manage this.
Recycling sleep destroys the first sleep on the web.
Before any presentation I have a beer from the tolerance point.

I visited with a mysterious page occupation!

It’s a great time.

NOTE: The Dadaist Poem began as a comment in Spam Queue – I put it through translation software & word poetry scramble. This is part of it, the rest I will save for another Dada Poem Post.