August 10, 2004
This Sentence is a Story.
This story is about a woman and a man. This story is too long. This story is too short. This story has an ending. This story has none.
12 years ago
This sentence is witty.
This sentence predicts a couple hundred sentences of its ilk will follow it.
this sentence makes accusations of a double-post. this sentence takes it back.
I sentence you to death.
This sentence has its own inner child, a homosexual, who is wanting to kill itself.
This sentence is Robert Paulson.
This is not a sentence.
This sentence goes to eleven.
This sentence is not a rebel sentence...
here it is!
This really not a sentence.
Can I say "bububu" and mean "if it doesn't rain I shall go for a walk"?
I fyou can read
, you're stoned.
This is, while difficult to believe, a sentence of epic, one might almost say Hemingway-ian, if you'll forgive the made up word, of which I am predisposed to do on account of an english class I had in high school, or perhaps two, which taught me the value of writing for myself rather than writing for a teacher, and making up words was clearly the way to go in that case, becuase a word made up, not like an actor's make-up but as in hitherto-unimagined or at least hitherto-undictionarized, if I may abuse hyphens once more, as hyphens do not mind a bit of abuse, is like an autumn day, the first real autumn day where there is a crisp, cold note in the air which had not been seen for months before and it hearkens back to my childhood in Oklahoma, where the windy autumn months were the months of real possibility, of magic that is not possible in the oppressive summer heat or the dead winter months when it snows exactly two days per year and never enough for a snowman or, better yet, a snow fort, from which thousands of campaigns of snow-related hooliganism could be launched and defended against, an autumn of such winds that it would be feasible to latch yourself onto a kite and fly to the furthest reaches of that flat, flat state, proportions.
The night was dark and stormy, and seated round the old campfire were brigands large and brigands small. Then the captain, turning to his faithful lieutenant, said, "Antonio, tell us one of your famous stories." And Antonio spoke as follows: The night was dark and stormy, and seated round the old campfire were brigands large and brigands small....
/Was taught this when a small child, sixty years ago or so. Still useful for annoying small children who ask for a story.
A baby harp seal walks into a club.
, that sentence is easy. If you can figure out "Twas brillig," the rest comes naturally. Well, if you've memorized Jabberwocky, as I have. Yes, yes, I wasted my youth.
I grieve for literature.
Sandspider that is the
Hemingway-ian sentence since p.734 of
(not the one about 'Twas brillig, obviously.)
The proportion is an inverse.
....The baby harp seal goes up to the club's bar. The bartender looks at him and asks him what he wants. The baby harp seal goes: "Anything, as long as it's on ice".
This sentence (is a prisoner) inside another sentence.
Thi sentence is over.
See spot run!!!
This is not 'Nam. This is grammer. There are rules.
This sentence is about J.L. Austin who gave a series of lectures about
"How to Do Things With Words
[this parenthetical comment laughed out loud at
This sentence just wanted to tell you good luck and that we're all counting on you.
This sentence says thanks for the luck. This sentence says but why is it always up to me?
You have just begun reading the sentence that you have just finished reading.
This sentience - DOH!
This sentence is the sentence you have read, are reading now, and will be reading soon, and all the sentences you have ever read are contained here, right now, in these words, with the letters jumbled and piled and thrown together, until images refuse to form and language grinds to a halt and your soul cries out for release and you click the next thread.
||: My name is John Johnson, I come from Wisconsin, I work in a lumber-yard there (toot! toot!), I walk down the street, the people I meet, they say, "Hello," I say, "Hello," they say, "What's your name," I say, " :||
This sentence, a tired man with a wounded heart is sitting in a coach seat on an east-bound transatlantic flight looking out the window wondering how to say "dog" "howl" and "moon" in French just in case it comes up.
I divorce thee.
This santence whas posten witout usin preview.
This sentence is reserved for Kobe Bryant, who I am quite sure will never encounter it.
Please ignore this sentence.
This sentence is 99 to life -- son, she's no lady, she's your wife.
This sentence is now my common-law wife after having lived with me in sexual congress for seven years only wait crap it was all in the state of Virginia oh crap there go my insurance benefits, or rather his.