Apercu of This Sporting Life genus

Everybody's waiting for Superman to lift them

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, June 14, 2006 - 19:51:39 - print it raw

Two become three and the blasting caps capture the knees. A wiry frame beats the behemoth of lard. Limping is easier with two bodies less on legs. Hanging upside even easier.

Calm is nowhere in the back pocket, shredded as it is dangling from the clutches of an over hanging branch. A gnarling wolf takes a picture in case it won't remember the sheer of smell flooding the air. What leaves the end for a run is what leaves the start undone.

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Resignation of confidence under the blaring of trumpets

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, June 7, 2006 - 23:50:37 - print it raw

Cries of the wolves are muffled through the legs found in their mouths. Watching from over the horizon, the pack gnarl their teeth and sniff out the air down there. The playing field has changed and a new entrant has taken to the game.

And then a crack.

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Splattered mosquitos in summertime hair

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, May 31, 2006 - 11:19:42 - print it raw

Whispers take on the enemy of the sounds as the mosquitoes, gnats and buzzing of wasps cloud the space. Beyond the stench of it all is the deadening noise. A harassing free for all for all in ear shot.

Masking the scene of the situation, the droning is incessant, the rhythm hypnotic and the snapping painful to deal with all across the skin. Never enough lotion to cover the problem. Never enough when it's not even on the inventory.

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Reach for the poison, accidents seem too bizarre

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, May 24, 2006 - 14:49:43 - print it raw

Subversion and other topics open the breakfast menu. A side menu features the classic taste of obfuscation and wandering minds cast into evil. Boiling on the stove, and watching on as life ebbs, plans to conquer the day and shore up the noon day underground.

Wise to the actions and possible plans set by the men on the other side of the game, the crew draw up lines in the dirt. Outlining the avenues of attack and plausible routes for escape, the rocks on the outer serve as stand-ins. Released upon the canvas, a few spiders from a night's trap, let loose and run amok on the scheme.

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Potential space chemically derived from natural insides

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, May 17, 2006 - 15:30:51 - print it raw

Baking inside the outside of the right side on the left side, the feast draws to a close. Such is the inevitable result of the small band, the small tribe even, taking to task on the little remains of such a delicacy. Soft to the touch and ripe for the mouth, its nutrients seep deep into the creep of their sleep.

Expanding beyond the evermore that consumes their life, the visions and dreams scare the younger set and petrify the older. Wild screams into the ether and back down their necks run the chill of bones.

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Geometric vegetables think fast and suddenly everything has changed

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, May 10, 2006 - 17:38:45 - print it raw

On the back of the hill, where the dead rot and fester for the maggots, a clearing opens a line of sight that isn't seen from behind the backs of those in helmets. Gathering quietly, they spy upon the other band with the red of lust on their fingertips.

Smooth from the rush of the winds, the grass keeps the scent down from the flow. Repeating fruits and vegetables long gone and now only their roots remain. Long lost to the savages of a barren land, even the sturdiest of shells break from the arid conditions.

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