Re: Ode to Keith

Wade Ward wrote:
"Richard Bos" <rlb@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx> wrote in message news:46efb038.1295355934@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Wade Ward" <zaxfuuq@xxxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
Report 1 from ABQ
by Merrill Jensen

I'm gonna try to write a five-paragraph essay in standard form. Before the end of the first paragraph is the thesis statement, which is that I'm going to discuss Ron's estate money. One thing that occurred to me today is that the act of bringing this house to livable, ergo sellable, condition might be enough to get my business endeavors floated. If I've got a means to support myself so as to take over the payment, I'll probably not leave this house that I simply love. In my imagination, I conflated being able to prove to the world that I'm worthy of being hired with the sale of the house. I've done *extraordinary* work as remodeler. I think it's ironic that I can't use either of the bitches I was with at the time, so my best work in Minnesota and Michigan goes unheralded. I never thanked you mom for fixing me up with that girl who wouldn't give a thousand bucks to incorporate, but had to give me tens of thousands of my sweat equity in the divorce court. What a pleasant ride that was.

Ron's estate exists in forms like a two by four. Real and nominal. The difference is technical. Michele will recollect how Johnny love showed his business and economic sense. Don and Dana sounded good. He was butting heads with mindy's everybody was young fool fighting. Mom, I'm getting a tattoo. I'd say don't tell Bishop Jensen, but your husband knows that I'm into:
1) building
2) solar
3) KUNG FOO (six inches above my right hand, so anyone I shake hands with can see it. jenny's dirty work. Thanks for not allowing me to have that Steve Martin record. Thanks for telling me "don't marry for money" when what that really means is "only marry a Mormon."
4) C and Fortran
5) Richard: du bist ein Tor and a bore, und warst es auch immer. Typ.
contact with Piccalilly, bitch. I tried to surf on San Juan. Photo coming from Susan. Push.

Ron had been feeling ill for a few days with symptoms that are consistent with drop-dead-instantly-of-a-heart-attack syndrome. Blood atonement. A worse scenario has him in the living room where he didn't have to listen to see Republicans are now passing the bucks to the dems, instead of not having given the means to make Iraq a success to frauds. There is always a deeper chamber to hell, I used to think. Worst scenario has Ron listening to the news that every con artist who is gun-comfortable wins the Repug lotto to the tune of 3 million dollars. If there's five there's fifteen Bush. One and four is 5, so we have 3.14, in other words, pie. Tja.

Mindy, if you send me a hunerd bucks, I'll give you one-eighth of a pi piece. I wish that my business partner, mudder, apprise you fully as to the consequences of sending me dos hundred. Pop.

I'm not really a choir boy, except of course that soundkung fu cat. Choi's this Thursday. Thanks for the music. I have my "Geraldine issues," but one of them was not what she said to me when I quit piano. Seven eighths has nothing to do with the distinction between real or nominal value of Ron's estate. The mathematics is not easy, in particular as it has the flavor of applied econ. Applied econ is fascinating.
--
MPJ

My form of poetry is a Aristotealean form as a five-voice fugue. This poem is dedicated to my uncle Ron, who has left us so much. Requiescat in pace.

And Richard, if you insult my poetry again, I'll come alive on you instead in Dutch. Highly discouraged.

Is this some of that sporge I've been hearing about?
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