Aperçus of This Sporting Life

Finish lines are made of heart strings

Ethan Switch - Friday, 5 March 2010 - 23:57:40

Lose the skin and bones and the hip replacements. Lose the sessions in the hyperbaric chamber. Forget the slim improvements off junking on steroids to improve performance (when you have no genitals, you lose the drag). Races and paces, times and places are set now with the pit crew lining up with prosthetic cases.

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Steal this workout

Ethan Switch - Tuesday, 30 December 2008 - 20:00:00

Stocktake sales, after Christmas purges, or just any other day is the perfect time to trim lard off the gut barge while adding a little to the wardrobe or even the living room set. Some people steal for necessity. Others for nefarious means of employment. Few see the opportunity to smother two flightless birds with one new suede jacket now 100% off and looking trim.

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Eights here, eights there, eight's nearly everywhere

Ethan Switch - Friday, 8 August 2008 - 03:23:28

Hold an eighth and pause a pace of pieces for the year, month and day of today. 8 August 2008. Gregorian mind.

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Fingernails are pretty sinking deep into the neck

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, 9 January 2008 - 11:57:57

Round and round the neck they go.

Sinking deep the fingers sow.

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Running a breeze that's long winded

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, 5 December 2007 - 12:42:32

Sweat plies a lucid transcript of evaporation on the neck. Grime carving a niche underneath the fingernails as the pressure of life gets the better of two halves. One for the west, one for the south. Both in dire need of winning the fight over the last can of water. Where that can lies, however, remains to be seen.

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Tripping at the gates, wasting all away

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, 8 August 2007 - 08:51:46

Clumps of sand in the mouth taste bad when the hand scoops up from the dirt underfoot. Veritable switch and change leaves a poor and sour feeling on the tongue. As dry and as arid as the back of the hands. All too swollen from swatting flies from the backsides of others.

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Life goes fast, make the good things last

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, 18 July 2007 - 02:44:46

Take a night and watch it take a few more in return. Dusk to dawn and that's the business of the race, of the game with no name and no players bearing faces distinguishable from the anguish and the longing wish. Run with it and watch from the far side of the smoking bush. Where they all find the small red berries that leaves the far end ruminating with smoke of its own.

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Beaten by a policeman on a duty crawl

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, 9 May 2007 - 13:21:26

Law and order and to them, it's nothing but the criminals intent on carving up a scene of their own. Rough shod over the banks of the dry river lines, feet taking up the clay with foot prints to make tracks back and forth. Drop a case of doubt and there is never more a chance on turning back.

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Cloudy all day, it's why Tuesdays don't shine

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, 25 April 2007 - 00:47:56

Rain on, rain on, got the frog stomping going on. Drowning in the marsh, head deep in despair and regret, the little one looks for a peace outside the silencing of peers. Where it's only a matter of time before the click and thud. Head deep into the marsh, to drown the sounds around.

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Previous entries in This Sporting Life

 

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Articles and essays

Red Riding Trilogy
This is an attempt to understand the newish British television series Red Riding. Due to the regional accents, the muttering, the byzantine plot, and that British inability to provide subtitles, I am writing a detailed synopsis to get my head around this excellent television show. In short, it is nothing but spoilers, spoilers, spoilers...
Kitchen Antics - Chicken in Faux Ragoƻt
Ladder of flavour? A few rungs above bland. This can be constructed & delivered in less than 30 minutes, depending on your aptitude with a knife.
Lassitude abandons the Throwing Knives
Down on the chamber pot, the percolating smells brew up quite the nasal fest. From the wafting fumes, the air solidifies partial sweaty rock and musty punk, a taste hinting at delicious pockets of after-aftertaste, and the not so floral punch of an undone music interview leaves the tongue wanting something else.

Undone, unbound, the sounds aground, life's taking the train with a soundtrack of harmonic dissonance, of inner turmoils and evolutionary spotchecking.

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