I so much enjoyed the "first never ending sentence" that I would like to revive it's presents with a new one. The first one kept moving off the board, plese keep this one alive & active. Thanks

As Jim the homeless man sit on an apple crate, on the curb of a busy street corner in Atlanta, he tried to remember back to where it all started but thru the neck of a cheap wine bottle comes blured & fuzzy thoughts, at best, but he knew that some where in the bottom of of one of those bottles had to be the answer to what he was searching for, these many months ago that he had come to Atlanta from the little town of Git-a-long, Mississippi, a place where the living was slow & the work was hard & the most of the money belonged to one family who controled not only the bank but the news paper & most other business enterprises in the Tri-county area in that part of the state, where the political bosses were the same ones who

drew comical rabbits on the heads of cats, which all howled at the moon in a most unfashionable manner, 'how do you get them to shut up', cried the next door neighbours as they...

threw there shoes at them & looked for the cat-nip that was in the cabinet at one time, but they did find a can of rat poison so they mixed a little of it with milk & placed it by the neighbor's fence, in the middle of the night, for all those loud cat to take a sip of, aound midnight when they all had the urge to howl at the moon or what ever it was that they were howling at, when the neighbor hood was asleep & quite or that's what everyone thought, because the real "Git-a-long" inter workings came alive when the rest of the citizens were sound asleep & no-on knew about what was happening, except the people who controled the destiny of the Tri-County area & these were the same ones that comtroled the moonshine trade that was the down fall of many of the workers n town, because they would take moonshine, instead of wages, for their work, if they could hide it from their wives, who sometimes would come into town & collect their pay, before the workers could get their hands on the wages or the boozes which would

probably be the only money between then/their kids for the reas of the month, unless they could sell a chicken or something like a dead cat to the little old man who makes & sells "hot temales" on the corner of 4th street & main, cause it's been rumored that he uses them in his mixture of ingredients that sure smells good when you pass the corner, but even this vendor has to pay the "BOSSES" for the right to sell on that corner, even tho he is a poor man & is trying to feed & cloth 10 kids on the little he makes from the business, which is only one of a large group who wish the "BOSSES" would disappar but knowing that they are going to be here as long as they have Roy Olivia Williams, AKA: ROW, in the Tri-County Area, because he is the inforcer of the "BOSSES" & does what ever the "BOSSES" tell him to do when someone is late with a payment or late for work, even if they are sick or drumk, on the "BOSSES" boozes, which is watered down & it takes a lot to get drunk on if you are a regular drinker as most of the

books on the shelf were in fact about sausages, she knew that being a butcher was her life long ambition, but having said that she had also longed to be a nuclear weapons designer, it was strange to think that she had the joy of chopping meat now, when she could have been busy doing other things, like boxing, she didn't approve of violence, she just enjoyed it, its like being eating an ice-cream she told them, you make sure you don't spill any and it gives you these funny head-aches if you eat it too quickly, never do that, and she skipped down the lane to meet her parents that had come all the way from a...

...world which had no toilets, in fact her parents dint even have to the bathroom, ever, she asked them how this was and they told her...

Ben

"Writing is easy. All you do is stare at a blank peice of paper for an hour until drops of blood form on your head"
Gene Fowler

that that was best kept unsaid, soon this faded from her mind and she began to think of a little island she had once visited which was inhabited solely by magical pixies, they were not unfriendly but had said to her...

the secret to living forever is sunblock and music which proves

that I must have one foot in the grave & the other on a bananna peel, because I use spray paint for sun blocker & my music consists of beating on the bottom of a 55 gallon drum, with 2 brick bats, so where do you think

I should do, give up on the hopes of becoming the best Gut-Bucket player in the whole south, because of my special

ability to pluck the guts in the rain while standing

on my head, which is a skill that few have, not for the fact that they can't stand on their heads, but for the fact that holding in your lunch while upside down and gut-plucking is a task that even the strongest

invisible giraffe with a tendency not to be seen can achieve through a lifetime of deft guitar chewing, 'silly sheep', so sung some savages saving sunny soap softly, it'll never work, you foolish...

up-side down cousin of the down under Aussies didn't know that we in the south USA, as a past time, when young, late at night would go on a cow tipping spree, I suspose that they were more onto sheep tipping, because of the lack of cows & the over population of sheep,in their neck of the world, but by no means did they wish to be caught with an extra pair of rubber boots, under their arm, while doing their dasterly deed, because of what it may mean to ewe or you as a topic around the supper table, late on those summer nights when the dingos howl at the moon in the

in the trashed infested field where all the scum of the earth is thrown due to the fact that there is no room anywhere else where the cities have been taken over by the few corrupt men which got to power in some unknown way with the public supporitng them for no reason, but just going along with life the way it is and enjoying.....


Hey cuz: quick question....are you from North Carolina b/c i noticed "tri-county" area...let me know...thanks

"We are what we repeatedly do, excellence then is not an act, but a habit" -Aristotle


--John--

...the sun of the down-under down-under beaches, where not often are sheep actually seen, despite weird stuff we hear from foreigners, strangely 'all i see are cows!' cried the robot in anguish, 'never mind' said his partner soothingly, 'provided you don't talk with a laughable southern american accent and quietly attempt to hassle other nationalities, we'll be just fine', at that a piano feel out of the sky and crushed...

my laughable southern accent, with the crash of the falling piano & those from down under knew no offence was intended toward it's Ausie neighbors who like the southern boys are good natured, to the point of laughing at them selves, when the occassion arises, such as it often does, when writing this nonsense that we are engaged in from time to

rhyming, a poet, must ensure to do, unless they feel they ought not to, a poem is best if it flows all along, and to do so sans rhyme is certainly not wrong, so rhyme all you like our laughing friend, keep smiling and know that soon we will end, and then it'll all fall into a big cavern and a she-bear will say to you; "Hey, what's this all doing in my...

Mulligan Stew?
As the she-Bear walks, she shakes her ass, showing she has very little class, but things like that can pass on by,
as she turns & slowly gives me the eye,
then I look around, getting ready to run,
She starts to smile, getting ready for fun
I run to the door & give the knob a sharp yank
she grabs me & pulls out my crank
after she stroked it twice, I started to stay
But I could tell right then, This ain't my day
I ran to the window & out I go, landing in a bank of fresh fallen snow,
As I looked at the window, she was waving me back
I just about had a heart attack,
I made my escape on the dark of the moon,
and I wont be back here, any time soon

so as you can see by the sorted details, this has been a very rough & exhausting

pocket piercing, positive parking politely poured partially piddled, painstakingly, P.M.S.-ing particular poems performing porridge perfectly, praying...