A visitor cannot fuck Ross's historic flag; nor can a voluntary curatorial assistant. I found a truly astonishing proof of this proposition that this margin is too narrow to contain

—Good morning, sir. Thank you for granting this quick chat. Now, I am a pro bono facilitator at this august institution. I show loyalty; I work hard. I'm not crazy! What I ask is not absurd.

—Dammit, not this again! What is it with you and this fucking flag?

So all of us row on, boats against flowing rapids, unvaryingly carrying us back into our past.

Lipogram NBA Finals matchups:
San Antonio Spurs vs. Toronto Raptors
or
Utah Jazz vs. Washington Wizards
or Atlanta Hawks
or Chicago Bulls

By a famous flag sits a watchman. A man from afar asks “Can I fuck that famous flag?”

“You cannot fuck that flag right now.”

“Can I fuck that flag soon?”

“Possibly, but not now.”

That B. Ross flag hangs, so historical and patriotic.

“If it attracts you so much, try. But know this: I am but a lowly watchman among many, and I am daunting.”

Such difficulty, thinks this man. Fucking famous flags is his right! But this man sits and waits.

If our souls, split now in two, so
As a stiff twin compass is two;
My soul, that firm foot, will not show
To part, but doth, if its pair will do.

And though it far from orbit sits,
Still as its pair away will tack,
It tilts and follows hard towards it,
And grows up straight, as its pair turns back.

Such will I do for you, who must,
As our front foot, far away part;
My fixity holds our oval just,
And brings us in turn back to our start.

Dull sublunary wish of wizards
(which souls may know) cannot admit
Hollows, as it doth fill in
That thing which is conjuring it.

But us, by caring, so purify,
That our minds know not what it is,
And so, with spirit by and by,
Find our brows, lips, and hands to miss.

Our two souls, says I, unify,
Though I must go, await not as
A void, but as a pliancy,
As gold to airy thin strings cast.

In Parting, Forbidding Mourning

As virtuous folk pass mildly away,
And call out for all souls to go,
Whilst part of this soul's family do say,
His last gasp is now, but crowds say, No;

So liquify, but fall no sound,
No sobbing, nor sigh-storms to cloy;
Call it profanation of all saints
To show this laity our joy.

Motion of our stars brings harms and doubts,
All minds on what signs signify;
But horror at this zodiac,
Though mighty, will not magnify.

You know who would fit right in on oulipo.social? Groot.

if your tomb says anything but "RIP" on it, your bony ass automatically joins a mighty ghost war

I know I just got in, but: what do any of y'all think about varying constraints from, say, month to month? Do a 2nd kind of lipogram, or all acrostics, full univocal, usw. Oulipo isn't just La disparition, you know. Plus d'ouvroir d'x -- not right now, but plus tard.

Oulipo.social (Mark II)

Mastodon is a "FOSS" social sharing hub. A multi-host substitution for capitalistic platforms, it avoids risking a particular company monopolizing your communication. Pick a host that you trust — you can still talk with all hosts running Mastadon. Any individual can run a Mastodon instantiation and join in this social hub in a jiffy.