Pynchon for Lovers

[Michael G. Koopman]

Don Larsson chews his redfaced man wisely, but a bit corny:

> How's this (GR, p. 177, Viking ed.)--
> "You go from dream to dram inside me.  You have passage to my last shabby
> corner, and there, among the debris, you've found life.  I'm no longer sure
> which of all the words, images, dreams or hosts are 'yours' and which are'
> 'mine.'  It's past sorting out.  We're both being someone new now,
> someone incredible . . . "

A card up for raising a-wing'd nest to fractility.  Such is upon trash
wrappers like that I just burri'owed and steele'd, an how jazzy can it
get, although the wings of man are semiotic and rise to show mousey
sl'tit mausers beide sideral roes houses.  Light humor, huh, don - do
you do pre-marsupial excursions with handsomely rewards?  A-ah, but
mao tse slip sand bars hum up many a monsterous cover for sam'how
en'chants teddie mole-ments.

Found in de-breeze like most hot air balloons'd on liar songs falsely.

Mikey