Nawl nwight wong, wall white licky
licky long time, wall night, wall
night, phwoar baht, wall night
wall white, lucky licky long time.

Although Ms Linda, you do know I am exceedingly fond of Toadex Hobogrammathon’s Name: it is an extremely hard-working and honest text polished to pefection and written by one trained in the art of eloquence and spelling.

Proof is it enough Ms Linda that Hobogrammathon lacks neither talent nor prestige, as this gift with language on display is second to none; bar perhaps Cattalus, Cicero, Horace or Homer.

These four alone would I raise above Toadex, and no other, living or deceased Ms Linda.

To alloy such wit with depth of profundity and present in one solid block of what is delightfully innovative and not foetry nor flarf, as Moadamix Pullshidus claimed in missives to Loadovix Wamkitis at the Noetry portal where the twatentless gwather phwoar attempt to mwock what is delightful an achievement, as difficult as it is splendid.

An astonishing hypnotic effrontery balanced by cool intellectual grace in which the make up of make up artists effortlessly combine with stunning sensitivity and charm any dabbler in iambic mimes would betray the innermost secret intelligences of their closest colleagues in any office, anywhere on this planet and beyond – to posses for just one solitary hour out of every 24,000, I bet Linda, my deepest dearest darling MS.

Many a lesser intellect has been roused in fierce controversy behind Noetry Noitisnt walls, where what finally brought the whole Foetry movement to this conclusion, was indeed most amicably settled.

Ever since Marcel Duchamp’s reverse-psychology upended the art world by prioritizing and framing ideas instead of material Creation, by the simple act of rotating a standard Bedfordshire urinal 90 degrees, giving it a title of Fountain and signing it “R. Mutt 1917″ – the subsequent success of Conceptual art has been assured Linda, my love.

A success contingent not on quality calibrated by the concrete, but on the proclamation, promotion, propagandizing and publicity in the mass media organs of whatever theory, idea and intellectual scaffold the artist/s convince others to accept as agreeable readerly Reality, with only rhetoric and letters Linda.

The avatars of Gertrude Stein and Bob Cobbing on LSD come to mind on reading the opening paragraph of this enchanting mystical, gorgeously seductive spell-block repelling cod and fake crazees without accreditation in the noble guild extant for centuries and, until now, sealed behind high ivory walls and forbidding esoteric towers where our warm inviting scribal source once flowed only for an exclusive few, inaccessible to the hordes, until now, with Name.

May the gods continue to make:

dice-weir boxes
superconfident
low-level telepathic
peccable language

identical daydreamers
dapperling Moadex re-do do’d

denotating bike rustre mini
cacophonious calmative
worrywart, deck saga, novel
sun scrogs unlikes a consortium
of cliffs: Kenneth Goldsmith

pride of place and joy to us
here at hear right writing

official counsel, dual reasoning:
who deserves Pliny
who’d answer their prayers
if he could

and

Nothing attracts me more so much
as that love and longing
for a lasting name, P said

and we ken,

must rest content with what history alone seems able to guarantee. Oratory and poetry win small favour unless they reach the highest standard of eloqeunce..

I WOULD HIGHLY APPERICIATE IT IF YOU WOULD. MY GRAND MOTHER USE TO SAY IT ALL THE TIME TO ME AND MY SISTERS.

THANK YOU VERY MUCH

MS LINDA
JULY 11, 2009