I got a great email the other day from Brandi Talbot. The name alone says she wants to make me big or rich (or both) or hook me up with potent but dirt cheap pharmaceuticals or give me loads of no-interest credit. I never opened her message, but her subject line was pure randomly generated art:
“Of sing on punic whir.”
I can almost hear those words coming out of Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s mouth:
“I dreamt I dreamed
Hannibal in the Alps without elephants
Blood running Roman down Tiber and plain
The empire bled white centurions dismounted
Of sing on punic whir.”
Well, maybe not Ferlinghetti. Someone.