ne should beware
that one should deliver a logical
exegamination to please the acacopopoleptics and endear
creativity to the insensate sensual sapiens and embalm
thought in the mould of the slippery surface of the shape
of the world.
What did you say, sir?
You want to go to the toilet?
Well put up your hand in the proper manner.
Hurry up or we'll have a nasty mess on the floor.
Now where was I?
The conventional cast of thought lies on the skin,
creating a logical construesion bisected by the
fin-triangular, diametrically supposing the choppy
waves on the silver, on the silver top, for therein
belies the inevitable incarceration of the ineluctable
modality of the invisible.
Do I make myself clear?
Indeed you may say it is all non but the sense is
perfectly oblivious if you take the trouble to listen.
I thought you'd agree.
What did you say, madam?
You don't like politics.
This isn't parliament you know.
Would I say anything that made sense if it was?
The current lacklustre performance of the prevalent
economic theories can be put down to the etiolated
visages of the personnel involved and to no other reason,
for without sufficient illumination there can be no light
and hence a general lack of effulgence will pervade and
as a result this enervating attempt at innovation is
bound to have disastrous consequences.
It's alright, you can take your seat now.
Was it a relief?
Yes it can be painful, I've had it myself.
You shouldn't have spent so much time in the pub before
Where was I?
In the pursuance of our final conclusion we must pass
through various trials and tribulations, highs and lows,
plusses and minuses, wives and mistresses, cakes and ale,
drains and swills, all praise be, for the piece that
passeth shall come to pass and we shall on to our final
consolation, so be it, and in reclusion let me reiterate
that when I have finished there shall be no more, but do
not get up and leave just yet for the recension is yet to
come, as it shall be evermore, words without end, for our
coming up and our going down are the same sun and we are
unapprehensive about the former but not so about the
latter and when we see that blazing glow of the noonday
there shall be no hereafter, or there may be one
according to the referee's decision, which is certain to
be biased in favour of the home team, so help me doG.
That is all.
* * * * *
Brian E. Turner is a native and resident of New
Zealand. He's mainly written plays, many of which
have been performed in local back-alley theaters. He
also works in theater in other capacities, such as director
and actor. His novel, The Road Goes On, has been
published electronically and is available at Barnes and Noble,
RoxyBooks and other internet bookshops.