27/12/2013 - YOU'RE SWEET, YOU ARE

You’re sweet, you are, a right sweetie heart. You have your plans in placid pockets and your tangles are yet to be defined by generations of sceptical spectators with their hands somewhere north of their trousers. Each leg is devised and taken by storm to the very recesses of their angst and then they go shoot-shoot-shooting off into the fractured esplanade of sex trafficking. It’s the only way to regret or regret in a new-fangled way that hasn’t been deemed tepid yet. This is not a joyride, this is not a toboggan down into the unconscious with only an imaginary colonel as guide with his kernel of truth or his troops in a bundle against his semi-spherical knee, this is beyond all that and beholden by rock bands that have yet to reform. This is, quite apparently, a point of reference to a point of pot-smoking.

The clipboards have been brandished and now it’s time to make better use of a lanky pen and its turgid pencil friend. It’s a room with a realm in it, that’s the destination of all liars such as we and we are going to ghastly territories in the backwater from now on. I’m not a gay boxer and you’re not a menacing cone arrangement but I’m sure we can come to some sort of understandable, stabby arrangement in the quaff of the acid rain. Someone told me that you have a bed in the back of this think tank but I’m not quite convinced yet, I reckon you do your best conniving in here and why would you want such a big square thing getting in your way?

Let’s play spot the difference in an old-fashioned cobblers whilst they bartender isn’t looking, whilst his shoes are dragging him attention onto the racks of polish on the shelves behind the counter. Let’s let go of the hands of loved little ones as they try out something that hasn’t been killed in one fall swoop yet. Art isn’t the type to run away but somehow I’ve managed to make it lose its lunch in quite an extravagant way. I suppose I should be proud but this is your moment, your big moment really. You’ve got your pocketbook and the gore is just starting to hit the pages with the right consistency, I don’t want to leave you whilst your work is conjuring up lithe strippers in the hooky hokum street. Slink off and I’ll be forced to be beside you in a more intimate way.

You’ll never see the light if you don’t turn your head. No, turn your head more like this and you’ll see…yeah, you see? You’ve seen it? You’ve let yourself go again, haven’t you, like a gavel on a trimmed space hopper, haven’t you? I’ve got your head, I’ve still got your head. Let’s get it fixed in the right position so that your cousins won’t have to know what’s been going down here today. Let’s leave you on the rocky path so that the casual strollers find you. Sound good?