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The New Thing.

Random # 288 = 561 in base-7; 5 + 6 + 1 = 12 lines

of fires to come · Fimbul
confusion squawks tocsin
righteous crutch-haft cruelty
crawling about hallways
mug ignorant murmurs
the march into winter
as storms pile up stillborn
stalking the dank blankness
in small doses dealing
in dust casts each pastime
i attend where the tarmac
tears apart in heart-shapes

Remembering Hunter S Thompson's eulogy on Nixon.

"Can’t I sometimes invent nonsense, instead of always being supposed to borrow it?" --TS Eliot, letter to Charles Williams 22 May 1930

"...1.5C - is dead, 2C is dead without a miracle - and we are heading for 3C in the lifetime of kids today.."