28/02/2014 - RENTING OUT TOOL SPACE

Renting out tool space, determined to know whether or not it’s going to work out with the reconstruction of the criminal table. The problem is the colour, fading realigns the dyes with their paternal partners. It’s been too longfor the psychiatrist who growsher hair out, there’s so much to enjoy in the schema preparation. I like it right now, hit the wall with good dodging reacting half an hour afterwards. Do something with all this hiar, make sure you turn it into rightfully dumb and arsy with its thinking. There has been some confusing gameplay through the prologue and on’t you go, unlike the teachers with their stalking  industry of self.

The English voiuce is not super great and nameless in American characterisation under surrealistterms. Brains are chubbing up for every hawker. There it is, you psychics, my uposide down glasses are disgusting and upside down with – a scaly to unjust act out out aggressive exasperant expansive. A CLEAR HALO WITH BROWN AND BLACK SATCHEL STRAPS. Bite down with online multiplex currency and worthy shut-downs and shut-ins. The intent to phase out the old network will prime the services to become one with the dog, to see hit sees and surf with Black Ops stat tracking.

                You’re the one with the harpy in the gutter, playing hoopla with the medical practice certification like you’ve never been to the Falklands before nor have any intention of playing for the football team there. The game is as good as goo, as fastas the respective tortoise that tips its heels a little bit to show the world that it actually has them in abundance and not just for now show. We put worlds into the mouths of cherry pickers because that’s our modus operandi, we’re shifty buggers. Slabs of  the stuff are coming in right now and we’re away from it so…

 

            As such a profound member of the society cubed, we just want to ask him, the chap over there, how he gets his hair so greasy and if his tailor shoots up in many wardrobes before facing the bitter winds of winter. It seems feasible, agap in the evolved stream of things that glows in beleaguered colours and doesn’t step on any topes while doing the cha-cha. It might bruise the clerical artery to not know how matters of affairs of state of country of tropic bounty are organised and stated. IT AIN’T ALL ABOUT THE HOLLER.

 

            Underneath the drawers of comic books and classic novels, you’ll find the disorganised, aloof handwriting of a famed dblackjack cheat witrh his ‘I’s without dots and his ink blotted fingerprints staining the corners of the page. He was a meek child of sixteen at one point and we all had a piece of him to spit out and more if we felt like it. We didn’t feel like it, we just wanted to go home in our separate vehicles and with our squeaky voices relatively intact. The trucker never gave way, he threw us the mile underarm.

27/02/2014 - AND THE BELLS SAY ITS TRUE

And the bells say its true with the chimneys all working in chorus and charming the snakes right out of their smoky stomachs in the hope that the end of the day might come back as a struggling poor man with living sauce keeping up the chill. You’re ready to dawn with tyrant’s manna, ready to arise with balked-at bumbling bed of foremen. Such wandering costs body heat and yellow puppies straight from the landlord’s able mount. Come away from the table, dear child, the innocence of good news doctors will tear all circuses apart. There, there. Pick up the daughters for the innkeepers that should really have known better about claws and virtuosity.

            Sacks are needed on your way out of the back of street trade. You can just pick them out from the dark crescent that is Fugitive Spot. God is a witness to all the curmudgeonly goings-on and stutters to see such paths gone wonky and flaming with explosive booze. These here are multitudes and not even the Big One can fill them up with order and light. SENTIMENTAL SENTINEL. Can we really know places in the skies let alone feed them to chaps with large shoes and tight sandals? Don’t be such a diphthong.

            Pay the price and updating windows shan’t be anywhere near as chaotic as the magicians insist. Silence is the only sure thing that comes steadily from the overgrowth between their warped ears. Cauliflowers, the lot of them yet they remain beyond rubies in terms of price. Haggling included. Have we done what is best to exclude them? To exclude them very well indeed? Does it do us credit? GREEN WITH GREEN. If I could be anything, I would be years ago in a fallout shelter…yes, I would crush all the real ones with pricing wars…

 

            Where is the secret panel? Dollars for donuts. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be upstairs getting on with work or, as the charmers call it, LETTER OPENING. This service is strictly routine and can be at times bothersome in its lubrication. Your father raised you in the Far West, creating partings and scalps in white women’s braids. The worth of opinions takes a great many people to complicate and it absolutely has to be done on paper. I love games and always have when its life and death holding the master plan in a date and time or a kindred doctor. I’ve got to find the waiter, he is a master of disguise, the greatest member of a crossing guard guild if it truly ever existed.

 

All things considered, every object has its secreted side. I lay claim to the past like a speckled figure in answerable scarcity. It doesn’t make me wrong. She is out there somewhere, losing her tether and graphic psychiatry is never on her side. If she isn’t capably careful, she will lose her right to sail through the topknot. Tell me the tomboy in her middle twenties. That suit is ten years old and Jesuit by jeering.

26/02/2014 - HOLD UP YOUR SIGIL

            Hold up your sigil. Throw it on the ground, give it a pound and a fist bump, as you would a courgette. Remember to charge it up with the ring ding and the mother's lip (NOTE: this can be any mother so long as she has wild, child-bearing hips). Start the day up in a vehicular way, get ground down by the political chiming of the hypnotic thermostatic mindfulness that awakens our natural and then our unnatural turnover state until we're all in a station that resembles Wembley but only vaguely and with stifled giggles strewn across the tracks. Scratch that: hewn.

            The venerable horde of my lump sum is teaching me to grate on people's nerves, to tune in with their hypoglycemic garbage chute and party on down to the love shack that all the hipster kids keep honking about in their honky-tonk fibs. They naively call them chaotic and rad and super duper hyperbolic. The pinkish orange of my vibe is getting me a drag of the down and the Down's Syndrome kids are really the only dudes who can bust me open with their wide-eyed perceptions and half-tea pleasantries. Don't be a downer, check yourself into the clinic and start unfurling carpets with flourishes and tickle buttons.

            This is the story of the poem of the unfurling beauty of the majesty of my mighty tee-off and the retirement package hasn't even settled on the mounds and hounds of snow yet. The glistening is a horn blower on the blowers, on the phone, on the door buzzer like a shot. My, my, my, my rhymes are hymns and him at home has glaucoma medicine in the droves but you can't have any unless you sex me with the right mantras. It must be a mould made at Christmas, that's the only sometime shit that calms me down and takes me right off the tracks with my hands in my plasters and my sticky on my butter knob. This passion is an infusion of magic and type speed, married and mingled and burdened together with glad-handing and apartheid favours. The passing of the past is of no consequence to gentlefolk and their gentlewomen, the ones who are secretly running the governing grove whilst the simple men play with their wartime strategies and pretend that they bother about honest hatred.

            The train is coming in and it's a smooth moot point, typing away like mad and doing the worm a judicial injustice via power-walking and the pockets of rich men who don't even care to wear trousers in public, let alone insulated pants suits. I'm driving with the horned one, listening to probability measures and making sure they're kept on the record and strictly away from the coffee pot that tends to spill when faced with nimble nix. The cut of your jib is the slam of our rag, we are centre-focused and all just want to be lovely motorists with a bleeding torso and a kicking sound track to keep us alive and woolly.

25/02/2014 - OFF THE TRACK

            Off the track, the clean track that is so regularly beaten by horse's hooves and paved over by pliant, flat-footed razor blades that criminal gunmen can possibly return to or just walk with me. My men are combing the woods for difficult times in famine. I tell them to go on and break faith with grace so that one day beauty will be trapped within a family for five generations of crusaders with filled-in minds. The Bishop is a burden to cross paths with once in a sacred lifestyle. Sir, I talk to God or at least the strange and frightening voices that fill his space. It's all just gathering wood really, for the five fire.

            What is there to say about the lady with short hair? She has a kindness betrayed by her own listening eyes that kill to hunt and pretend to be good mornings and drinks all round. I told the truth about her and became the very epitome of crossbows from just the burbling optimism in my belly. You eagles really are all the same, just American actors and singers with weak necks and real life cloths from fictional saddlebags. You'll live like a poor thing and do as I tell you, as they tell you. The dish water will follow the residual politics for the rest of our hawking days. The thunder pleads as we actualise.

            Here, boy! Hurry! Hurry! This is the left side and the stones should be so lucky. Have a gentle one, a gentile waiting in worry. Try not to be so damn selective with scheduling conflicts next time. I remain the struck, the stricken, the fleshy bit in between the tall and the manic archway. Enchanters. Misconstrue. The. Blustered. Instrument. I clunk with decisiveness and drunken intemperance. We'll birth the nearest accountant and all his wickedness. Revenge makes for a terrible old age in a broken and rejected system. How darkly the wolf dissolves into a divorced half-life. Always together, we shall stumble in our own vows and prepare for the sickening flash of a scorpion's tail.

            Since the plague there are more monobrows than bodyguards can speak of with coffee-stained tongues and bloody-mindedness. One day we will do up the bowties that life consistently hires out to Big Tobacco! We will even go as far as to open up in the name of the lessons in lame excuses and powerful architecture that the tiny villages have come to expect. The widow keeps telling me to crack open the back and forth with funny looks and malted vinegar but it's part of the whorish condition and the touchdown is far too brief. You see that now.

            Confound good faith with captured mandibles. Find shelter and take a good long look at yourself as I relay these exact words just as he recited each letter and punctuation point: well as now as you ever can be in the mouth of a vouchsafe. Take your time, make you. Hull the heartbeat, chuck the heart throb.

24/02/2014 - THEY WANTED A BUTLER

They wanted a butler with a hand in the butter and butter churning process with a steady twist of an unsteady crank. Some of them wanted to vouch for an iconic televisual experience instead but the investment just wasn’t practical and besides they had too many fetching suits not to use them. The world did what it could to ignore their pleas and please and thank yous and letter qs but the dietary quail was just too odious a scent to refuse. They were helpless and dying of shame in the face of a blue-veined lawman. The system has undergone several unique developments including unicorn enlargement and prattling on about Miss Nancy, whoever she is in this greyscale backdrop.

This is how the DVD collection collapsed on them, this is the story that comes out of avoiding the main plotline with tact and pomp, this is the racy images that are fed into the blinks of an early learning child. They must develop correctional facilities for children such as these, kiddies need to be debugged and turned into rectors purely for the attendance of quality dinner parties. The conversation must be sparkling and nope to everything else. They are out for the best hard copy of the Finnish Dictionary as soon as all back’s are turned and all sweaty dress straps are sliced off with cruise cutter scissors. Everything must be beyond the lap in the same way that nothing must collect £200 and $200 to spend willy-nilly on knick-knacks and undercarriages. The air marshal has his facts straight and has every intention to wed you to that Finnish Waiter over there. It’s a complex, a dramatic difficulty for encouragement’s sake.

 

            You didn’t get the job of course. You grabbed your car and you shouldn’t have done it without firing up the spittoon or channelling all forms of qi straight through your chakras. This manacle ruffles the rictus right up and into rickets of perfect diamond formation. See how they fan out for the air marshal and his impeccable skill. He has eaten more than his fair share of trade issues, swallowed them back and gargled them down with mouth water and salty roofs. You’ll get over it like you always do; you’ll tie up all the sticks in the house and bundle them into the back of your bandwagon just to shout timber at every passing case of simpatico. You’ll get your own way and the rich bitch will forgive you like an Australian in a women’s magazine.

 

            I, on the other hand, must remain the grease paint on the clown’s face, the bowler at the stump, the long and lonely party favour which everybody supersedes and nobody can count on. I live a charmed existence of spiteful hand gestures, they have become my overcoat and doused in the flame of a thirty-year-old holy man’s blessing. Radiation tongues are blistering my babyish beard and the moustache hasn’t even been touched. Is God trying to send me a message? Might or may.

23/02/2014 - THEY TIED THE PILLS TOGETHER

They tied the pills together and lit the flare as if to say that the men with their edges and their charging vintages will smooth down the palate and become truly foolish at coming-out parties. Get the good show and be liable to blow up with troublesome Glycogen. The cavalry is coming and belching Technicolor laughing gas to disprove the roulette table as an exhausting piece of furniture and not really a decoration at all in polite company and other prearranged circles of trust. The Indians are coming, all Indians over seven feet tall with their priorities in order. As you were saying, sir, you’re a-okay.

 

            Dive divine and be splendid in a bookish sort of way while the going is kind and the flame sticks are foreign damask and mere cupcakes. Nothing too spectacular when the going gets hot and filled with alright edibles and okay slurps. Isn’t that just the way they bubble cools itself irrespective of its mild attempts at goofy humour? Can we survive the Look of Job when he’s living inside his wife’s new glad rags during the weakening of the printed handle bars. Something about this entire scenario strikes me like a gong in the middle of some Mesopotamian palace, lost in all the gold and synchronicity.

 

            Typing out the deadline will suffer the silence long enough for it to get under your ninny nanny skin. The orange peel comes off like sunburnt flesh and you’ll just have to circle yourself and make the news in a populist fashion. They’re waiting to take the minus out of your factory setting and to restructure the earthly remains of your maternal grandparents. The paternal grandparents are the ones that nobody pays to see, nobody wants exhibited at a museum of natural history. It must be so hard to be a prince in such an apathetic pastry? A coot. A cutesy coot. A kraut if you had to have it your way but didn’t want to see the biases slip away with seat belt slipperiness. I don’t mind if lover’s remain, I just want a hamstring injury.

 

            You show ourselves up or else why wouldn’t you pilot an aircraft like something straight out of a Mediterranean cop show? The gun running is getting to feel dejected and quite partial to cream puff pies as it turns out. You’re eager, I’m keen and the whole citation is peachy if you’re really ready to deal with the rubbish and clutter and slimeball bastards that rise up out of both as if they really just want to prove you wrong about something while the quilt slips away and right off your shoulders. We at the mystery have no problems with groovy tubas but we absolutely draw the line at blurring of said line without customary permission as dictated by the boy scouts at the end of the corridor. These young sprites are spiffing in everything they dictate so don’t you go challenging them. They’ll get you, grab your lapels suddenly and show you enough.

22/02/2014 - GET A MOVE ON, FORMAL CAPITAL

Get a move on, formal capital, the day is out of luck and your henchmen are gathering at the wolves at the door with their prospector mints gouged right out of their skulls. They asked me to wish you a happy birthday and told me to see you upstairs safely without a hair supplanted from my head to theirs to yours to mine again. This will only lead to the creation of a surrey's contract or a ferryman's barf bag. These are the genuine triumphs of feminism, the radical married with the grey to make a merry diagnosis of the ill and painfully thin extent that our life's works are ultimately pressing against. Something to get used to with handy medical treaties snuggled up in your hairy palms all winter. But do not despair, do not ravish me in the seventh quarter in the hopes that I'll develop a hunch or a depiction of heavenly continuity via the contraband methodology of cartoonists on drugs in the nineties. The first mistake anyone made is judging the temperature of a decade with little more than a blunt axe and lesbian lipstick. Just rattle those pots and pans and get all communist literature out of the vacuum cleaner before the boys from the station come round and confiscate the shit and fuck and arse lick out of it, to borrow a selection of their own tasteful vernacular. People are weird and deserve certificates to prove how weird they can be in public squares and without marital attention on stick-up duty. It's like if we were all a jury, we would all have to lay in on hourly rates and throw aside our yuck-yucks and party hats. This is the fault of the century, that we don't get to play with our tassels anymore, we can only hone ourselves into perfect embodiments of discipline and disciplinary action in the workplace.

 

The most exquisite torture will have to check on the corduroy situation and be ready for tiresome little approaches involving beauty contest rebukes with sordid bagpipe accompaniment. The thirsty headdress is out for traditional usage and won’t let this smog pile-up go amiss and straight into the insoluble West. And what do we do there? With plans and cheques and baccarats and the fat men who claim they are too late for everything in these squatting pants. No time for window-fazing when there’s jets to be flown and the air ministry to get lost in. Call the alien directorate immediately and prepare for the end of difficult phases and washboard tournaments. This is the cavernous act of an author gone as rotten as bad and daddy-shaped. Completing the set is a different beast entirely but well worth the connection vouchers. There are plenty of large and shiny bottoms to admire in the mire of ides. Never let Nelly do anything involving germ warfare and trifle neurosis. It’s a dance craze of middle management and musical doubles. Why not become a genius in the room? Every room? Rev it up.

21/02/2014 - HE DOESN'T THINK YOU'RE FAMILIAR WITH IT QUITE LIKE YOU USED TO BE

            He doesn't think you're familiar with it quite like you used to be. Those were the days of the Scouser, his treble clef t-shirts and insistence of fastidious palindromes that paled in comparison to wild vignettes and colonels living in squalor. Everybody is a critic or specialist or walking tanka verse filled with charming lane changers. You make me sad with how little you can transpose yourself onto dynamic theories and conceptual artwork, you don't even try anymore. My wife has drawn out a contract that will ultimately amend your life and turn you into a light skin black gentleman with a sailor hat. Howl for the quill and you might just get a say with the kind of patois that comes out from the chattering teeth.

            This is turning out to be a right old Dickensian classic with adjustable spout and hammerhead tuning fork both packed tightly into volume 1 of the series. Yes, there is going to be a series because there is enough interest going around and money doesn't just grow on trees you know. That's just our back hair. Such smart teeth, cuddly canines and the works. We might just replace it all with homely dentures.

            God loves claps and is eyelid flutters and doesn't take no mulch from any sucker with a four-inch partition. The blasphemy is inherent in all his creatures, they just want to play the zombie game and truck out of town whilst the dodge is good and there are plenty of harebrained schemes going around in submarine vessels. The inky tanker is floating upwards of the bubble breach and will just contaminate everything on the shoreline if you don't ascend faster to blow it to Kingdom Come. That place again for a dirty weekend and perhaps a flutter on the poker table. Not like Our Lord of film music.

            To say otherwise is just plain rude and plain rudeness is exactly like vanilla ice cream, sweet but bland if left on its own without suitable accompaniment on the four string quartet of bowls. As far as I can twang it, the same ahs been said for every generation following from the 60's, we're just not happening in a righteous enough way. This is the high five and we've forgotten all about it because the soapbox is launching into its own elaborate series of tirades. Multicolour, I hear, or maybe just tricolour. Feel the flag waving in the name of ingratiating taxi drivers.

            Thinking and rapping are interchangeable in this oaken plateau of rich continental dressers and muesli picker tomahawks. The work just depersonalises with the flick of a moustache or the whomp of a brandished beard in the swamp. The war is chowing down and the surly pop hits are rocking out of sequence with the rest of governable society. The Saviour cometh with free hand jobs for everyone who thinks it distasteful. He's a merry old soul and a pot pie under each lascivious armpit. Blessed are the claps and the gold medals they atchoo.

20/02/2014 - IVORY

                Ivory, Fluid, Exodus, Fruit, Irony, Flute - eight in all. So many variable Ice Ages have passed since I was found to be this lovely. People licked my icy abdomen to date my current body but it unfortunately closed down without a minute's hesitation. The radio has become decidedly pedagogic. You found the right tunes in the dawn's year spasm oil seeping right out from between hot potato legs. She lacked focus but she meant well, she had faith for the exterior landscape. And you, the relatable carrot, respected her viewpoint all over again. All. Over. Again. Again. Shit, man.

            Seeking to allay tails by sloshing in fisherman's boots will show all subordinates your fear and its fussy underbelly. The comedy of milk glass eyes hum almost inaudibly so be a dear and detach your recent events. While artists produce detrimental pencils, looking up becomes an entirely different direction. A bowl full of money: it makes the toothy pegs white and whiny. Ignorance and nobility would probably kill the mutually inclusive. At once now, go at once to the hatch and feel the pressure's dagger-like observation. Climb on down, gentle whimper, fall to your reprisal in the form of a barn with ancient enormity at its axis. Like some faraway postcard of a missing man with a missing hand. The truth in bottle rasps, just like they did it in the eighties. The floodgates, remember?

            Meanwhile the fanfares are blaring up all over the shop, the hardware department store with its hives in check. The elderly Spanish gentleman has murderous intentions towards MSG so you are advised to lay down the melancholy burden of sanitary towels, gathering them up to wipe the banners of all unsightly red marks. Marching cools you down but outright conquering merely dusts your knuckles into holy endeavours barring exceptional circumstance. Whithersoever the legendary encapsulation of ‘OF’ is the one true outcome to all virtuous soot bartering. Half a prayer will get you set up just aces so you really only need to get your suit set up and laid out on the nameless desk. Train like fingers in the meantime. Eyes may bulge but your fingers must be strong again.

        Enrichment. The master calls for enrichment, his cult will be grown from the very grass of enriched soil and tasted to measure by the blackened spheres just to prove their holiness and flat pack collection. The power dampener jars and thruts and calls out for takeaway in the middle of the golden drowning of dawn into dusk. It's now or never but the negativity of the negation is just irresponsible for the naked naked flesh and the English teacher with her empty cages and throaty chuckles at the expense of the scrotal short term. Either way it's not for us to decide anymore than it is for us to buy a cup of coffee for ourselves or to play the trombone whilst reciting the Hindi proverbs that have cordoned off our imaginations and sketched them with apron strings.

19/02/2014 - LAY WITH THE MASTERS, LAYMAN

Lay with the masters, Layman, or become good-for-nothing innkeepers with eyes set on seldom. Tell a saucy tale and appreciate the time spent concocting it before we make you nice and not entirely above board in zoo terms. Can you see straight? Have you got any bosom friends? Does it hurt to bleed so much on passers with valises? Entertain the load right off the warty toad and see how quickly seizures impact upon your purse and the strings that act to protract it and keep it safe from overlooked frying methods. Don’t forget your walking stick. It’s your boon, your sigil and don’t be sorry. This is the buggery of blessing, the spouses it creates and imparts on other perfectly apt individuals with their hands in their sleeves and their souls in their foreskins. Sorry, I meant moleskins but that’s too far back in the past to worry about now when you really think about it. The tides have a way of troubling the eye when you’ve spent the life out of yourself trying to be a patter on the pitter matter. There really are so many tricks to contract and forge with almighty tenacity. This is, of course, just the way of the world and the sooner you can quantify it the better it will be for you to tick off all the erroneous charges with little more than a smudgy finger. How does that settle ye? Ye all right with the tuberculosis that will collide with the flat side of your numbskull? Bet ye are, ya know.

Every foreshadow, every tremble in the gay figure, everything in common with the hardware chairmen in their caves on the outskirts of the sandpit. Some great news is cussing in molten hairball, cruised by poisonous stings. Check for spinal ridges and keep your hands away from the cat's mouth. Let's just be careful. It's you who insist on main street and knick-knack shops with new money flourishing in uncomfortably efficient laundering professions. Gnaw softly with the Italians that shudder to deceive the airing cupboard with the chubby meat corners. In a moment the impromptu song cannot even be heard in heavy traffic. That number is effervescent, unlucky and yet perpetually respectful of pictorial representation of imagined patents and their literal transcriptions that become monograph beneath the big colours and thrush of element. Touch the turn, commit to two money bags without even knowing how to operate it without disparate truths or heavy rain sponsors. Can you say hypothetical coffee is made in soundproof rooms that can be looked into without copy and paste? This press release is the start of a novel kid who doesn't certificate white sand with ice cream patronage. We're going bankrupt. We've had our lives confiscated by the friendly pen nib. We've carved our last sand waste. You will do the carbon dating as the valuable member of the community that they say you are. Everyone wins except the living artichokes and fretfully boring that seem to speak up everywhere.

18/02/2014 - SONNET GOODBYES

Sonnet goodbyes and flying machines. Soporific goons in flying machines. Make of it what you will while I while always everywhere and without a smile to tuck into a hand basket. This is weaponised loneliness, a sharpening of the shaft to a deadly accuracy that pinpoints every pin prick and derelicts ships with attentive disposition. This is a fine land, sorry was a fine land and might not be again if you don’t shut that ungodly cake hole of yours. The seemly priests would say something but what would they say if you were to open it their way? Something whimpering and stymied I would imagine. No comment. No further comment at least.

The glasses look good on everybody in this crowd because they spent their junior year practising the art of wearing glasses with style, especially when crooked, and they just don’t know how to make apology reports without making it sound like they were properly singing and asking what it is exactly that is wonderful with this pleasant pageantry that is the world. It’s really a whirlpool for meow emotions; emissaries come here to die and be lost somewhere over there, it’s a kink. You just goose march over to the theme park and see for yourself, it’ll stupefy your socks to your tits.

As of now the laws of physics have been stymied and tickled with a feather in the cracks that lie between. It’s called the MOVEMENT OF A PRAT, what we’re trying to incur, to invoke. It’s a desperate attempt to ploy our girlfriends back with pat-me-downs and console wars all forced to the back of cupboard in the name of scientific rationality. Barely none of us believe we’re getting anywhere and even those who still insist are being trod upon with great infirmity. It would hurt a porcupine to search through the emotions in this sorry case. Like castration. Not too jolly.

Lay down the duck-headed out-bidder with weathered lots at the birthday party that seems to go with cherished footfall and filigree contemplation. This is the geriatric compliance method, it is free in the wilderness and needs all the light it can stuff down its sweaty wheat neck. Don't be another absentee or face the void of follower's insight. Running away with it will only cause you to blister and trip up over your newly exciting feet. Just love your family and attend the event before any other shit comes down on you via the rhythmic beats of dance music. If in doubt, remember the rules: LOSS OF BLOOD CANNOT MAKE YOU PICK UP THE PHONE.

The tunes are frisky with complications and vibrant descriptions right out of the paddle waves. This is all external to destiny, a conceptual argument where blurry debates and distant machinery slow down to unravelling paces. Perhaps the dull ache we all feel is merely separation anxiety, run through with irritating breath counting. Judge yourself fairly and you will tone the matter down to its very nub with little else around it.

17/02/2014 - MUGS ARE LIVING WITH IT

Mugs are living with it, limited edition-like. Peek what you want to see in order to lose dependency on your identity donation; this is the commonplace scene among the acorns and leafy trees. This is the welcome call to nature; the game goes along with the snare percussion and says little about the lazy day. Beauty is in the eye of heat of this time of unusual yearly activity, says Francis. He is waving, listening and handing down signals to the subjunctive all at the same time, too tired by the token effort at the radio station. This is now as you siesta, a reflex of industrious whistling.

 

A MAN IN A DUMPSTER WITH A CONSTANT PLUCKING MOTION SEES A DUMPTRUCK AND PLAYS A TRICK WITH IT MID-SENTENCE, GAPING AT THE MERCEDES SALUTATIONS. THIS IS IMMUNITY. THIS A MANDATORY WRINKLING MONOTONY AND MISSING DOESN’T MISS MUCH WHILE THE MASCOT IS IN ITS PARTICLES, CATCHING ON FIRE. DECLASSIFY WHAT SUMMER READS LIKE. THESE CHILDREN ARE GOOD AT ADVANCING FARTHER THAN THEIR GRADING MILITIA. WE’VE TAKEN TO DRILLING SAND THESE DAYS, HUNDREDS OF UNIIONS BEING FORMED EVERY DAY. IT ENCOURAGES STRENGTH AND AUTOMATA FEROCITY. SLEEP IS COMING. SLEEP IS BATTLE READY AND ASKED TO CLARIFY. FAIL TO INFLATE. MUSCLE FATIGUE. RELATE TO RELISH AND FALL DEAD WITH CAESAR SPIT ON YOUR MUDDY LIPS. PRESS THE SAND WITH LOVED ONES AND BE JUST FOR THE DURATION LIKE OUR FAVOURITE LOCAL CEREAL COPOUT.

 

            Carcinogenic farming and all that agriculture: ready for you to eat without the necessity of milk or other thriller elements. Read him his Miranda rights before he transcends the nautical theme with certain sentience and unreasonable demands thereof. Containment of looms reduces all likelihood of a summer hiatus. Paws are icy, invisible, invincible, slightly irate, irritant, irrigated, clearly moving, forming with ideologies like forceful pebbles on implacable journeys to gasp along. Boulders and boundaries, wider and slower. Evidence claps eyes on life and that will settle one last party difficulty with one last gulp and restful swallow.

 

I KIND OF LEAVE YOU NOW AT THE NAVAL OF LIMOUSINE CULTURE, THE CUTLERY BEING ALL LAID OUT AND THE RAP MUSIC BLARING WITH URBAN BRAIN POWER AND DAS GREEN DEVELOPING THE STOMACH LINING NECESSARY FOR PROFESSIONAL SPELLBINDING AND BUST BUSTING THAT GOES ON WITH HALITOSIS AND HEARTY BRUTALITY. THE NEW ZEALAND BOAT IS COMING BUT WE ARE BLITHE WITH MARKERS AND REMINDED OF TEXTS SENT TO OUR MINING COMMUNITY AND WE REALLY SHOULD GET THOSE BACK, SHOW THAT THERE ARE NO MESSY OR HARD FEELINGS. IT MAKES A BEAUTIFUL LIST WITH SOUL MATES STREWN AROUND AT THE END. A BUNCH UPON YOU.

 

            Drink your inky brawn away and harm the seal with all your statutory lore will envelope the height sects that seem to be sprouting around the base of operation, the aforementioned naval where all mechanics and engineers pass their own personal eternities with hip hop battles and excessive clapping. Still bodies restarting the grim resolve of history, buzzing around the verve.

16/02/2014 - THE STAFF

The staff makes up most of the community. They have scratchy deserts inside the starving elements of their eyes, crying and clawing for fjords that stopped being the same several triumphs ago. Amnesty. This is the request, the proposal and the high-level security breach all rolled into one big boulder of forgiveness. This is the delicious outcome, worry about something else like literature for instance, the state of sawn-off popular literature for particular example. It has gnarled teeth and lies around the place on Sunday night. The hieroglyphs have disproportionate completion to the masses of hints that hum and make comets out of livestock, the kind that wanders around the plains and fields for happenings to completely ignore like limitations of self-understanding. Jokes are often spoken too soon. Time is alarm itself especially when salted with limestone politicking, blinking red without wild cards to tuck away down the regardless drain. Go get help with courageous pat downs at the microphone. Everything is under my control now, I am the score board and am doing well with my calculations.

There is something to be said about ladies and gentlemen with cleaning appliances and durance testing that weathers makeshift dogma with doctored photographs of said dogma’s mother-in-law in vitriol. The tunes on the bag pipes are recordable but the tune passes out somewhere down the line to show its forbears up and out of the elevator space. The garter belt is rescinding its last statement of controversy with great woe and no mean placidity, something has happened and the men of town want to adopt the term ‘folk’ for fun before the women get a hand in. Marriage leads to significant reconnaissance. So what happens now? A thought in morbidity that is such a posterior shot of perspicacity. That’s the cameraman; he has fairly deft jobbing material. These are his shorelines, the ones he bought from the business executive whilst he was selling off his stock in the hopes that it would lead to a three-part harmony and a sweet deal as a trophy wife somewhere in the Peeling Trivia Storm. Standing up to toughness is as guarded a response as transience in electrical mendacity that crushes farm reportage in silent spirals with flowering forests and salty blocks of venomous hillside antics.

Plumes are mitigating standard from circumstance just to hear every heartbeat with hands of steel and clatter bugs that waste torpidity on the electric machine. The ice cream flavours are as clean as the air, pea soup and just as unjust with fixable injustice and the plugs that follow in the back. Be taken aback with custodial staff, the ones who bathe themselves in hurrah and corny winds. Leaving would constitute a hardship, the column’s ascorbic activity that kills every minimalist thinker and every one of his/her creatures by denying them their gym membership. Sad keys. The sound of scurrying makes knuckles slump and the cream serenades under the porch like muscular contractions. These are the cellars of our prisoners, the carnival.

15/02/2014 - I'M THE COW

 

I’m the cow. Come to the show. See what’s lying about what now. Think carefully about the response you consider. Proffer it with delight. Turn off all of the lights as you do it. This is performance art at its loudest. They throw on clothes for this kind of thing, pat down rags and pretend that presidency is next to godhood. Get yourself off of the drain covers, boy, and make something of the harpsichord that your granddaddy left you in his will. Now he’s dead we might just get to see Vienna with all our friends on the next ski trip. Yes, we’re going with you and no, you don’t get a fucking say on how we behave or display ourselves in relation to you. This isn’t about favourability, it stopped being about that kind of toxic shit an hour or so ago. Be thankful we took it out to wash first before we blew it sky high for a ridiculous fee which we will later charge your dentist. Your momma has eyes on his drills.

This is the blunt fellow who wants to decry your misgivings about modern popular culture, he has his own taint for postmodernism and doesn’t like to lose it’s manoeuvrability as a cap. Time on this side of the pond is just fine and dandy and the arts council do what they can with a bouquet of flowers and song in their thong. This is the real thing, the real thing that you’ve been chasing like a wild dog for all the years in your’s and your parent’s life. Don’t mess it up or the heathens will have your guts for garters and won’t let the rest of you go to waste either. Do however act accordingly, as per schedule and deformation timetable. It’s a steady line.

They once tried to take me on a trip to show me all of the greyscale and trippy shit to prove a point about my cultural heritage and personal preferences where feather headdresses are concerned. This is all, of course, non-negotiable and will only end in their complete demarcation via legal politics. My mind is such a sweet timepiece, a brick to the rest of my cosy community. I lay the traps and the rest of them all come in out of the cold to hoard their gluttony and play with your harpsichord whilst your out running errands for your parents who keep dropping off the face of the earth like a pair of leprechaun fanboys who don’t wear or wield patty cake games.

Right now the speed of sound is your concern just as it should be mine but it isn’t because I’m resistant to repugnancy and dandelion radiation. The glow of white isn’t going to fool me from the yellow, the president can march his men out all he likes but he won’t bust my arse in any officially sanctioned way. It’s always good to know I have a suit ready though with all the buttons.

14/02/2014 - THE SHIP HULL HAS MAINTAINED

The ship hull has maintained its mountain with two big signals that cost seventeen thousand shells. They go on without the old rat and it’s inside our schedule with old stories and peaceable conclusions to English storytelling. We’re all simple-minded and bind our lives with tin cups, imbibed with privy and relieved throat clearing. Now this is a water closet. It is also the portrait of a famous inappropriate celebrity who keeps his hands right in front of his sickly metronome and we can’t bear it. WE’RE ALMOST TO THE POINT WHERE WE CANNAE BEAR IT. This is house arrest according to minor code and its heavy losses. A fight to the death then. Nothing suffices like endlessly buying votes for blind accessories to murder. Negligees. Bring it all back full throttle and wear it like a necklace in Kentucky to see who favours it the least and who slams corn into its disgusting sides. I am of course opposed to the pooping amendment, it disenfranchises the term ‘Negro’ from its universal sloppiness. Votes for women is fresh by the tomorrow standards. The postmaster has got a disgustingly distasteful piss-up in his stormy courage. Eleven runners conclude and collaborate like remaining relatives with their plausible deniability thumbing them right in the territorial award ceremony. You remain a sun of a pushy glitch with all the trimmed hostilities. You are all good gentlemen, grand fisherman and beautiful alarums that set up railway track through the force of the ginger hemlock. There is JUST ARMED REBEL authority to listen to, through the loins, and we want to coronate the surrender of the confidentially ancient. Anyone with a bad influence.

 

After four years of neck beards, blood marrow transplants have gained in public enthusiasm through delegations of piracy and candidacy of the immortal soul. At this vital stage in the clock tick of flame, the man sits at his desk pretending to be bored whilst also feigning the days of his sixteen year old glass pea problem. You never stopped being a real human being, security makes us afraid of the gorgeous grey with their throw pillows of angel fizzle. The pen gave into the counsel of the company record but the hands are clenched and the kitchen is a small section to rely on your own willpower within. Conditions have to be met with commissions and submissions and sealed transmittance through the juiced-up fire hydrant collection. You MAY be FITTING enough TO reckon WITH an ENGINEER by AXIOMS and COMMON motions. Everything propounds the dispersal that happens naturally anyway. This mathematical way out equality and straight first into justified river water with the explicit intention to wound the washers one at a time. Making it seem like so is making the world a place to have sex on some placebo group drug to risk it all because my dodgy wig makes me look more serious when I’m serious. ALL MEN ARE CREATED UNITARY. This is a tiny hop, skip and jump towards the creamy waiting period.

13/02/2014 - THAT PARTICULAR ARTICLE

That particular article isn’t quite as articulate as the essay which says that everything seems to be normal while shutters are all down and the fish pond is closed for carp reasons. I trust the integrity of the contributor almost as much as I know her in the orange lamplight of surly bedtime which I don’t even. Can you wheel around town with any more flagrant disregard for the sneak attacks currently being taken into position? Give me sake and I will hide in the barn until the coast is clear on every front. The words are splashing about in the puddles and the contributor has a whistle to blow before the pressgang tracks her down and demands that she cries tears of chamberlain blood. This usually happens when arrivals and reprisals are carrying on at the same time on a computer background. The internal mechanisms are turning medicinal, becoming guardians of their own escort hard drive. In the mean time I will be sorry to disappoint her for the fullness of KIMONO.

            I will be the humanitarian in this example, dressed to the nines for samurai combat and brandishes fists the size of potatoes so that nothing can be done aside from a successful arrest. Police procedure wins through once again. The beginning of dawn is on you and you can find suggestions in safer places but where do you suggest? The ladies have taken us far but nowhere near as far as the contributor tends to take her essay. She has eyes on the stratosphere.

            Or so says the publican who has his eyes on everything the contributor does, she is a minor celebrity and they are always the easiest to pervert with killing strategies and death threats. The world deals with such people in the aforementioned barn and the haircut it ultimately receives isn’t worth the face on your head or the sword in your hilt. A stupid friend makes for a scruffy scurvy sufferer. Your plans appear to be working nevertheless. Do what light says, exactly what the light says and the paper doors will tear open with fiery hazard and aerodynamic microchips. This is the one who offered me the brainy job but I’m blind so how could I be of any practical use to the fresh approach everybody is so definitely seeking and clapping their hands to the beat of? This is what its like to feel flushed, doused and riddled with scabies.

            The barking is endless in the dealer’s boat but the contributor still has her eyes set on the notorious heavens with hopes that she will get to slash a few old hags’ necks before they can make her critical thought obscure and perhaps convoluted. The hairs on her flash are now coming off in fleshy lumps and we owe our lives to speaking softly about her parentage. As of now, the beards are coming off with the other two guards. The boat will tip asunder and we cannot go further so don’t ask me to. It smells beyond the clouds.

12/02/2014 - JUSTICE IS NOW VISUALLY INCREDIBLE

            Justice is now visually incredible but about the vanish. I say that because I feel that I understand the rain better now, it spends most of its creative time in misery, producing only bad stuff and ass-kicking. What the stance is has no bearing on the ghost writer community. See as many episodes as you like, they are perfectly serviceable. Better morals too. Can't say better than phenomenon at this convention. How about that?

            That's sort of my tonnage, it doesn't grab me as much as you do with your centrifuge pregnancy. This is the kind of thing that shocks elderly gentlemen with glasses. They hate it. Don't force the opinions while cross-referencing commits to the scenery. Man up while they're dwelling on the greyscale background, while it makes the irretrievably nervous about the sundials. My support doesn't matter all the way back here in the back row with all the popcorn making out and the human lovers on the floor. Just stick to the left and watch your back. Guessing helps ward off eternal death via paternal bliss and snuff. Time to grow a pair and snort at derision. Either way you need a key and that doesn't just magic itself into the literary canon.

            Down here the Pisces are doing the opposite of wreckage, they are establishing continuity with face huggers and fag ends. It's so hilarious but it isn't clowning around. Welcome back to stigmata. Over there wasn't where you were supposed to go anyway, you have an outline of fortune and misjudgement in the form of a map printed inside your back pocket. If someone is asleep you really should back away before the pyres ignite and you let one go. The reaction will not be forgiving or akin to vampirism let alone Catholicism. The daytrip lot will come back all covered and drowned in sweat and demand a pay cut effective right this fucking monumental monolith moment of moonlight. There is something distinctly Darwinian about this sentiment which is to say it takes you right out of the home and drops you somewhere shy of the Bronx without your boxers or your briefs in check.

            Behind the washing line, there is a world I long to inhabit with alien excuses and dragon accusations that just go on for straining ages and the colour spots that engross themselves in the void. How else would you meet the eye strain? Mellow as the day you were born? I don't think so!

            This is the equation of proxy, it jingles and respectively declines your invitation to see thumbscrews at the vertigo forum. Or should that be Vertigo Forum? The grinning children are creeping along like blades of grass behind me, it's really so distracting. But you know what? I'm a good boy, you're a good boy, those are good girls and the ground we're walking on is really just the bodies of former good boys and good girls. That could be showbiz if you really want it to throw on the cape. Few do.

11/02/2014 - YOU SHOULD CHANGE IT

You should change it for the replay, before the replay, as the replay is exactly happening. You should turn yourself in inward and comply with the rules you’ve always set yourself like a good little pawn in a bad long city that won’t stop being either of its two popular adjectives. There’s only so much that the public conscious can handle without popping pills like a hayseed receptacle. It’s a mystery how this life form got away with it for so long, how it survives the initial freezing period by cocooning its bony horror skeleton in the paper of lowly love affairs. The harp keeps playing whenever I scan and I can barely get beneath the tissue, no more than an inch. This is what happens when this is what happens.

A new body at last! A fragrance unto my own, a solo hit for the jackpot sons of my jackpot siblings and their blobby bellies and battering of the space-time continuum. They don’t deserve such pretty instruments. I don’t deserve to pass judgement anymore, so I shan’t.

Instead I will recite the code of ethics as recognised by the Natural Bad Taste in the Mouth After Yoghurt Movie Society: mankind lives with its hands in its pockets, clutching the rose petals of some black forlorn trader who only ever sells what he cannot hope to use to reclaim his own existential worth. Mankind does what it can with these ingredients but the stack of videogames just rises against them and frowns them down into the pavement slabs with the force of eighty egg shells on a summer’s day. The taste of sweet yoghurt is a far cry from the honesty that such souls expect and will ever attain so mourning is all that can be left over to do the right thing by, to say a few hindered words into a yank microphone. To include the football scores is fine but to forgive them is divine. The curtains are net and the classics are far too nostalgic to ever get it right but mankind will not be happy unless life is just so, the light above their head is at a standard, regulated heat and intensity without any repercussions pausing on the backs of their prickly necks. If you are alien do not fear them, they play with swords in the night of their languorous sport, they do not know any better and should really just be left alone without you making any sort of mark for them to identify you with. You must turn around and eradicate your shadow before it speaks too loudly. It will utter a sound and sound is enough to raise the hairs on the backs of those fateful necks of your fatuous hosts.

We aren’t as bad as that though. We are more just fat, we have too much worth around the girth to be forgotten about without the aid of incomprehensible statues. That’s why we build them, to feel alive with the links.

10/02/2014 - ACAPELLA

            Acapella. Altogether now. Retrospective. Idealistic motherfucker. The tall black father with incestuous diversions. Veronica going to town on the back of an envelope distribute by the national rail and the monsters that pay to live there. Tiny differences that make tinny noises at homecomings and housewarmings. Ultraviolet jalopy and paraphernalia. Gaiety. Oh dear oh my oh dear oh my and my dearest Josef. He tries to be so hard to impress all the girlies with their metrical laundering. They want to make a movie star out of him and selected parts of his father. They aim to leave him on the side of the road. Reconnaissance leads to drugs bust as thread leads to bionic cardiovascular systems. No-one can tell you straight, they hide behind pine cones and pretend it never happened, your exit strategy that is. Yes, they are that fickle and undeserving of your, shall we say, more unique talents involving acidic fuel and porous leavings. Droppings, bearings, retrieval of the glasses case at the end of turbulent time. You will never be a bee when bees are forgotten by their own thoraxes and neglected by everybody else in the menagerie of wife beaters. To say so is a direct violation of one's horrific thought process and miniscule laundry habits. They do wear them too you know, they are ahead of their era like the sisterhood always professed. It's a good, clean kind of atheist feminism. Doors are at 90% and windows are better left not thought about at all.

            As of right now you are surrounded by your siblings and your men with guns and your women with hunting rifles and everybody who ever taught you how to stand on just one leg. After all the talk is done you will be taken to a parking lot and shagged rotten by the car dealers who reside there with the absolute intention of shagging the vox populi. You'll know them by their thick-framed glasses and no-nonsense application forms. Don't sniff these, they will turn you into a gaseous substance that dresses up like a caveman out of sexuality choice. The day is already crammed full of artichoke memories and halibut ramparts so don't you go adding to the clutter with your business and your dreamy functions. The police will be overjoyed at the prospect of you going even further downhill without a warrant or a proper sled. These things have legal ramifications you know and you should really know by now that the old ladies were always preparing you for life with their insistence on certain bus seats. Eventually you'll trade places with them and then where will we all be? Where will we be indeed.

            You might know may in the days to come but the future will always be pluperfect, it shall forever remain that way instilled in your erogenous noggin. It's the outsider chance of war that makes us all bitterly afraid, the sudden advantage presented to us to beat ourselves up about all kinds of reading.

09/02/2014 - ALL YOU'LL EVER BE

All you’ll ever be: lying in bed, fortune telling.

 

As of now: your father in a registry book, your primary source of funding gone to the bank for fishing and hitting the right note with independent strangers, learning poetry through tampering.

 

Memories of beautiful shirts. Dots with hours, tiny donated hours in Full-Nelson commitment issues. Last but not least: kicking the police out of their squatter’s delight, trumpet hard on truncation charges, a few weeks ago with tinny people. Beautiful favours. Expressions of affection.

 

Strange holes are parking lots, this is important and wicker and from a while back in the nuclear winter. This is a personal sweetener with obligations. Vagary. You really shouldn’t worry about the quantum entanglement, not while its warm to the touch and the secret won’t come out. Forgetful laws reach out to the irksome units to make ruminating a collaborative period of leverage. Poses are, I’m sure. The library expands into privatisation and currency that shapes the full size of a pontiff. The pigs are in the pen with their floor to ceiling windows.

 

Stroll nude. Attract.

 

The upside down shoreline hovers continuously over our city, indicating servicemen entering braggarts through console games and little comforts ripe for the mauling. All I say is precious: the strikes, the petitions, the sentient news broadcast. The date is dreamed in latex.

 

As of now: perfect days blotting out buzzing form from armchair enthusiasm, greetings at the door, getting to the door with understated grace. This is full of wheat.

 

Service comes out like sunset and adenoids that leave us thinking about tropical powers and blooming space savers over the last several weeks. Under all bowling alleys: complex warfare, short-lived good humour, humidity, stomping, stomping, extreme vigilance with flame retardant foam, a monument to be made from it, racist embarrassment. Themes are bluegrass.

 

Participants are huddled among the ashen remains with their favourite legendary absolution during redundancy clearance schedules. Have all possible antidotes on hand. The band is at the slaughterhouse, playing their Thursday routine out like a series of oblongata traffic jams. All starts up again, slices itself, startles itself, becomes tasteful and light as air, definition comes via the underappreciated window sill. This is the mission with just our crowded pointing for the competition. If you want we can run the sofa into a paper account. You are passing up the opportunity with sagging tree silence.

 

Meanwhile cease with that oar in your hand and the sampled handbags, let the really good luck get in line with black hair and unmanageable station editorials. All the lots available have the best promotion of healthy self awareness. Love to use more memory with full laughs and skinny hips.

 

As for me: the seagull screams with name brands, weeping the true dangling sinew with silvery viscera squeezed under their organic hips. More weathering for the children and their wooden squiggly phone. It’s the same thing.

 

It’s the spades.

 

It is the spades.

 

• IT DOESN’T TELL ME HOW TO DO A DAMN THING.

08/02/2014 - SCURVY, GOUT AND ENCYCLOPAEDIA TRAUMA

Scurvy, Gout and Encyclopaedia Trauma. What is this on our table? Can we celebrate life like we derelict depth perception? Humanity stricken of its Tsar and his smooth-toned troop. Black questions arise and another task takes it place on top of the pile of cards. If they win, there is nothing awesome about house rules. Approximation of the house rules will not be counted. That costs filthy million dollars.

Unlike most mobile games the State of Is doesn’t take no shit from the infinite core mechanics, there are just too many mechanics to deal with for innovation to be there for the promotion up until now. Their first effort will be coming very soon, the later part of this year in fact, to build the gore genre from the ground up. Life is a great franchise overall, provided you don’t make the additions too like shrieking. Come along now, come along quite quietly with queers in their delectable gears. No-one needs to gun down gym teachers, it is an obsession custom made for the obstacle course. Cards slap the table to do over. Invade Virginia and do God’s work or else time will fall flat on its face and try on a selection of fetching hats to wear down at the docks every night it can muster. Tomahawks are in operation within this vector so only the mild can crumple in commentary splicing paternity tests. This is bromine to the ears, a fungal infection waiting for forks to be given and riddled with grid marks.

            As always they went too far with the methods of amassing an army of lackadaisical slaves, they tripped them up and loosened their chains just to mess with their cupped heads. There really is something severely wrong with the way the bottle cap falls from your poppy gesture, the reaction it gets is constantly eruptive and not at all yesterday’s news. The locks are being picked, picking themselves up off of the pavement to prove their gestures are not blank or written on the back of novelty cards. The heart strings are being plucked methinks.

You don what you can in this city, create a new phase and adapt it with scatological dependency, collating the tribute in its whimsical glory with the hopes that the marble will stay marbled and its children and progeny won’t exist except in the reflection of a tear or strain of sweat. They will take you out and that is not an empty threat, threats are so easy to load up and tackle with hydrodynamic speeds and the ripper is out to play whilst your back is turned anyway so who cares, am I right? These minutes could well be your last chance to say something meaningful, these could be the beginning of something doctored and unattainable in most southern counties. These words could beget minutes ahead of the future, always just ahead like they were trying to prove something. Never trust a smile that’s going at mach seventy without a care stream trailing behind it.

07/02/2014 - SPHINGOSINE KELLY

            Sphingosine Kelly has to gift wrap every present tense conglomeration. She has the legs of a tyrant and a sense of humour that is by no stretch of the imagination fun for anyone but the border security that surrounds her flat. She is the sincerest form of imitation, the game afoot in a test tube and defiant to the last. She has sought after years of heartache only to find the depressing truth about depositions at their best. The mongers are making hay while the sun shimmers and the day that we call tomorrow is in fact a hen part for her lungs, another hen party to reconstitute into her ignoble spirituality. This is an experience and a fry-up at that, is that all right with everybody? The Roman numerals are making her moody so try not to ask her about this matter so directly, she will skin your doused mind with eight o'clock blues and calendar magic. It leads to a lovely disco but one that you can't avoid or find a suite spot. The television is of the inner circle, at her bosom and making series links with withering remembrance. Sphingosine Kelly has a cloak for the heroic community so that they will keep off her back while she sharpens the rest of her equipment.

            You know her. You think you know her from what she's capable of but the patter cake surreptitiously gardens the tenderiser and girds her loins from eagle-eyed gigolos. You heard me right. You hear the wind like it has anything kind to say to you with a train whizzing past behind it, you act like you can hear a damn thing and haven't once even thought about creeping back into the paisley just to see if it still fits your consumptive attitude. You just don't have the gumption you once did anymore. You lost it in a poker game with the missing link and his artful gang of plaintiffs with their cancers in their thumbnails. Treatments are occurring within your mind but the library doesn't open properly till three in the morning. Sex and advertisement will do that to the staff, they keep it real like fading footprints in the snow. Big batches. Broken initiation. Just turn around and you'll see the work for what it is, a hindrance on the sick and bloody-minded. Zen daily clearly. Ten years later and it's suddenly your mother.

            At the same time he is at the beanstalk with his handsome features trapped in a vice and the viceroy claiming his valuables as common property. The government are reimbursing but are far from the great levellers they promised themselves to be, they haven't even made useful friends with networking capabilities yet. These guys are the sort of guys who sit in rooms for a day and wait for a pale to land on their hands and heads to keep the silence from getting to them, from milking their worthiness. These guys have udders of such bad colours.

06/02/2014 - GOING TO WAR NEVER LOOKED SO GOOD

            Going to war never looked so good. You hold a packet of leaves and discuss moral ambiguity and wrap the day up with a nice hold-up at some local supermarket or post office then jump off an explodying helicopter ro two. If you can’t tell, my mind is swivelling, delving itself into devilled eggs and clapping hands on pay cheques that are undeserving of this way and spend far too much time glowing into jump cuts and the jeeps that pass by them like ties on a blind man’s shirt. It gets hot out in the jungle and all the hills and mountains aren’t safe for now. The hell is tough and you need to hurt with sexy fabric revelations. What you did back there is alma mater, try to cross to THailnd and takers are lovely and deserve wide-angle shots with puckered lips and red dresses. This is the happen in the water, it doesn’t care for concern or occurience it just wants to be all right and you’re right to think the way you do because the rocky darling had to die with chin in the air and mind in the salt. This is more revenge. Revenge is in charge here. Place the shades under arrest and you’ll never have a chance. You should really go home while it has its priorities straight and weepy.

            How the many are going to run through the muck and bone the halves of loaves that counter-exact the topographical blames system. They’ll pick you off one by one and and paint your face in a ruby black that gunshots could never hope to replicate without the aid of humanitarians and nihilists joining forces in a gentle breeze of amicability. The waters are for boots and walking through them will result in nothing short of blurry vision and shows going over and over until they’re over the hay and showing themselves up on live television in front of a live studio audience. The manifold mud creep is totting a bow and arrow and he has all kinds of comedy air sounds to obstinate. Beer does the best impression of a man with his back aagisnt the wall and full of isn’t is not advents and gamer cutscenes.

            You are as good as bamboo for looking here, you will cluck for the oeuvre of your art instructor and play ahead on the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed heteronormative glycolic behaviour. The banners are a greatway to store glass and grass and weedy alliances cranked up to the maximum allegiance ratio for the soaking in of bloody rags and burning dry colonic irrigation into frosty interdimensional hypocrisy. They take you in for questioning and then you become a wicker lkooalike for someone who is not a man who poses bywater falls or fifth ears.Bullets do what they can but sometimes the eye is enough to pull through and end a fool with a tripping clay captives like the balls they really are. Just paint with a glaze and don’t stop with the chief jokes.

05/02/2014 - SEVEN KEYS TO UNIMPORTANT LOSS

Seven keys to unimportant loss causes firearms to be replaced by candy-ass foliage and something that resembles inaudible laughter in the Vietnamese dialect. It’s good to have the vernacular on standby when dealing with enemy forces and their fertile land, it shows them that you’re steady and deserving of the rampant boots that blow through the cacophonies.

I hope for his sake that we’re not just wasting fuel and gertting mutated with hand bands and Caiman movement which is what you’re supposed to be anyway. This is the correct year of our lord and you’re legs don’t work and I’m okay with that because the radio corrected my grammar and I have LDs on start-up option. The murky wafers are splayed all over the maps and the man with the moustachio is wearing a fine tin hat and trimmed hem armour that retrains tugboats for a day job and says selling out is a honking habit with knives and bullet holes. This is the force of your curly hair and the white water is coming up with jump and pep and maelstrom. I’m trying it out like all things borrowed from your adages of plump bazookas. Say nice things and we won’t have to face the flaming ship with jagged prosperity.

Awkward is as rank with soggy entanglements and wartime prudence as any conceptual DNA can be. Jesus can’t go on from here, he stays on till the end and makes the expendable clear-skinned and shiny-fringed. Three minutes for the colonel. Get yer feet damp, yar a city boy nah and it does thou good.

Set for cropping, automatically apprehend, participate, thank the invasion, say crumbs to the finders with their idiomatic fleets with their purple shoes and determination. ‘Relay,’ you’ll say, ‘Relay the bravo with everybody out! Give me a priority and I’ll stretch it into a mile with abortion connotations. The same thing is not over like a burnt-out brunt with screaming for armed senates and men who fought for their right to wear conversdations on mistake cuffs. This is all really cute and all and we have plenty of rainbow oil to keep us under for days and red along the onerous. Red raw. They made this into a brusque storm of damned damnable expenses! These Russian defects! Have you ever been really dead? The branches seem to think so or at least they wish it so with their ass temptations and vulgar leeches.

I do not know who you are;. Maybe make him a three him up. The shine on the apple is ravashing and that’s for the leaving do. You are no stranger to scum rides.

You have no answer and cause? You have green letters and seven keys for the especial laboratory experiment facilitated by a lack of appreciative fate. We must have an explanation for radio espionage. Wouldn’t the lightning just love that? Let’s crack it’s neck nbakc to its camouflage state and tip up the teapot short and stout. The frequencies choo-choo