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THE PRESIDENTIAL BOWL

Yes, some hruuuph and pooh-pah has been sloshing around regrading the defenestration of former president E W.

For those who are mad enough to doubt how close he crossed to the edge: here - presented with head bowed and eyes lidded - is his final indignity; the last straw, the final insult. The tale of 'The Presidential Bowl'. Such madness had to be stopped before this was sung out in the name of the Tavs!

Note from the Porter =/=*

  • The Presidential Bowl as condensation an a windowpane, the damp locked in the brickwork. A symphony of endless reoccurring autumn, of days on days of rusting, retreating.
  • The Presidential Bowl. Running down an escarpment in the half light of dawn. To me o' my brothers, us small company, us and our joy this day.
  • The Presidential Bowl. O' morning, what can you teach me? What can you tell me of sadness? Of bastions fallen before arms or epochs, of all the things I might have dared to build. Where are you o' morning. Where are you o' bowl, lost in the churn of becoming.
  • The Presidential Bowl. Of all the armies I could not lead; of all the pages unfilled and the paths unwalked. Do you sing at twilight? At the dawn or the duck? Because their ghosts pass through the night time and you are thief and protector, ploughshare and sabre.
  • The Presidential Bowl. Endless excitement flux and chaos. I hear you in the ether.
  • The Presidential Bowl. We swore by Jove. We laughed, we loved.
  • The Presidential Bowl. Each morning I strode out in rags to hear the voice of god, and the wind alone answered in sweet song. Was it enough? Was it ever enough? The Presidential Bowl.
  • The Presidential Bowl. We spread our lightness in airplanes, through train tracks, the cool asphalt lines. Across all hubs of this earth, this wicked, the brilliant earth.
  • The Presidential Bowl. In the night I am your staff, and your sandals. Together we push back the very constellations of the heavens. The Presidential Bowl I walk with you, work through you.
  • The Presidential Bowl at the very heart of the firmaments. I am that flicker in the dark. I am that nod of affirmation.
  • The Presidential Bowl. Of thunderclaps, tumult, great swirling vortexes.
  • The Presidential Bowl. The lost will rise up and follow my voice. Our laughter like ash in the wind.
  • The Presidential Bowl. Gaily entering an odeon, us players together. You are my kin, and I The Presidential Bowl, amongst you I am eternal
  • The Presidential Bowl. An arrowhead flashing over a great plain. The drive of life forever forward. TOB.
  • TPB. At the heart of the winter I was snow and ice. The stately march of the great glaciers. Munificent of depth, power, mass.
  • The Presidential Bowl. On all the great flows and currents, we rush through the water, cycling, circling, eternal.
  • The Presidential Bowl. I am the very lie you require. I hold you together, your founding myth.
  • The Presidential Bowl no chaos could be so great as my wrecking torments. The Presidential Bowl. Alone of all things without reason, law.
  • The Presidential Bowl: electrical crackle, the hum of the wires stretching forward, taught to the horizon. The Presidential Bowl. I am those messages of telegraphy, all the machines they might move.


* (this is not equal).