Toshinori Kondo and The Trumpet of a Thousand Spines

An algorithm in the meat house — all possible — curved surfaces in the new religion.

These basins became so high that sedges and grasses soon retreated
               to form subterranean chords of theory, vast, interconnected systems of theory.

The edges. Networks of winding tunnels both and the dripstone may be drawn.

In the time of tellers it was Toshinori Kondo who woke the dusky red and brown
with a translucent precipitation and the trumpet of a thousand spines.

            Kondo walked in the other world and out, something of the mud of mathematical
                                                      reclamation, he combined a funnel with the science of shinto
                                                                                          and formed a magician of many chambers.

(Films vary as to the circle, only the lungs were reversed. Priests would stretch them.)

A few great shrines, chiseled by non-Euclideans, Toshinori Kondo’s methods involved
moving along the water moving through the soil like a mineral working along the angles,
until the water moving along moved without him.

Another calendar was a trail

                                    floating a mat over bogs quaking decomposed to learn

                                                                                    at the edge of the theory of edge center.

Astronomy’s alabaster drainage flanked by the chemistry of moss. It sheds its outer coat
and rings of low mass dwarves. It’s a lamp, and it’s newly rounded. This, too, is Kondo.

Jeffrey Little | Mudlark No. 22
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