Up to two per day again, as well. The second of today's emails:

Above an excess sneaks the wine. How will the leak associate the
bearing photocopy? How can a goldfish heel the fit architecture? Whatever tongue crosses
the engaging mechanism outside your blood. A keen numeral solos next to
the nun. The expertise punts. The global noble stares. The interrupted
sentence suffers a finished glory. Why does the oriental universal
wash? The curve screams before a recruit.
How
will the compromise grow beneath the owned pro? Why won't the thief
dump every panel? The sunrise suicide worries the socialist rat. Why
can't a hit paperback bend an agent? How will the gossip pop outside
the pursuing anecdote? The essence picks the cue. The glove turns? The
shelter maximizes the biblical dragon. Should a syntactic pedant straw
the orange rocket? The bond attacks. A discipline progresses past the
conditional window. The assisted tactic retains the festival.

Whatever protocol doubles an amber theater. The bond horde hums beneath
the cynic. Our freeway pieces a drying mount. An ideal groans. The
confined headline chews behind the amateur confidence. The ambassador
stamps whatever angle before the produced ink. Why does the becoming
visit attend the valve? The entering milk fulfills the porter. A rolled
body pulses opposite a rejected entrance. Her proposed killer mints a
traditional advance. The result kids. The garbled ally feels the
accountant. Before its bought pencil reckons the descending taxi.

A blind
staircase slides in the authorized indent. Each sequential appearance
sabotages a year. When will the etymology sweep? The barrel progresses?
The envy stunts the tray. The annual shutdown grinds against a feasible
closure. Does the tennis manipulate the ray?
When
can a variant complain? How does a bandwagon count? The postcard
results outside the garbled soundtrack. How will a chicken table a male
luxury? Across the bounce exercises a praise. The kidnaped gulf marches
under an insecure viewer. With the happy fashion finishes a relevant
throat. The orbital loves the afternoon cupboard. The dictionary
diverts a sophisticate. The contentious flesh attacks the logic. The
break interprets the ten standpoint. Each resemblance mounts a
terminology over the imperative doe. When will the receipt iron the
tiger?

email sent re their lyrics yesterday:

a lot of kid-a and post- r and ty lyrics are "about" a few things, usually at once:

1. degradation of environment, global warming (ok well thinking mostly of cymbal rush )
2. inhumanity of pols, helplessness, confusion of individuals in crazy society
3. buddhist notions
4. yearning, love, multiple selves, struggle to value desire, heart and do "right" (fiction writers know this one well)

And I only want to see one of them.

"Say you love me, say you love me, let's just say you loved me." -- Mark Mulcahy

let's just say you loved me

so simple, Scottish Mist

sublime

Disclaimer: This is about no one I know. Was skimming trashy celebrituh mags while in line at the market (shhh).

King Lucien was not the only roil around, that was for sure. But he was the cockiest, and that meant girded loins for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Sure he dressed okay, what with the crimson pleather, the indigo ring sutured just beneath the sin, fit to bear poison for a marquis or two, sure his larks traded tongues with hummingbirds, if you know what we mean; we don't. And yeah if you were going to be picky about it, I mean if you were really going to dig it, whatever it was, running a close second, just beyond the horehound smoker's liquid palliatives, beyond the tinctured white pillow of whosebeganit, you just did, that's all. All puffed up it was, even they were aware, but sometimes it was best to let one over, you know? For the fun of it. Everything else was constructed to throw ladies off their feet, which was funny, given evolution and all, given turrets and gussets, given cannonballs and liquored up archdukes. See, he wasn't ordinary was the thing and his minions kept the beat or else -- off-kilter for the one-offs, last grimy bicycle leaned up against the bargain-bin, petrified toffee in exchange for homages, all under the table, jittery and uberengineered. Oh sure, the suburbs were onto him -- and even though none of that mattered he thought it did, he thought so little and off he streaked for the BIG CITY. Ask him what he thinks now and all he can do is mumble and shout and spit out a load of bloody teeth. But it's him, still him, and that's worth something, not much. He will will will give you what-for.