15/08/2013 - DO NOT LEAVE THE BESTSELLER BEHIND

Do not leave the bestseller behind in church. Are you looking for Brenda? Are you still looking for Brenda? Brenda again? Brenda’s ageing, surely. They say she gets carried away with bagels and buns, splaying them with butter knives and their labels. She deserves tape, she works better with it, she regularly punctures otherwise. The very thought of the blades of her fingers slackening on paper umbrellas fills me with vitriolic rage. I’m breathing in the chemicals, which is to say I always will. This is it, cutting and depressing as it always seems to be. It makes you bald too or so I’m told.

These angry follicles are forming unions all across my scalp. They slip off my headphones like so much pallid insider information. The sanctity of new ages promises so much, too much for the likes of these broken chains. It makes one realise that more could have been done and that the novelisation won’t suffice for thee, for thine own. The ABCs of injury lawyers cause metric guitar solos, guileless and moronic. But the jasper! The coinage! The plastic affectation! It was all in vain for the priest, he left for the price of one night in San Jose. At least true love won’t sweeten dessert into a red-faced Apache. Anger clouds the beauty of the obligatory.

One thing I know is that the cannons of politics would shuffle forward by about an inch and then hop slightly to the left before withering into a blackhead of threesome logic. It’s like shoplifting but she wouldn’t approve it if she knew about the cabbages we use and leave by the wayside. My boy, she’ll say, how about Australia? Will it change your life?

Will it change my life? Will it make for a good club membership dare? To exit, I blew a hole in the spirit dimension and dangled astrophysics over the edge. It made colours, powerful colours like the flexing of a priest’s arm as he rediscovers the dumbbell weights his grandson left behind. It gets to be like a drug craze, fatuous and Hispanic. It could also be laconic but that just depletes overtime. There are good reasons to expect the enemy to shoot to kill at this point, Brenda won’t defend you when you dive and start collecting bullets straight in the breastplate. You just sit there in your membrane cell instead, gathering platelets.

Meanwhile the forks shrink down the crystals into a state similar to steam, a process that takes several hours and a heavy-going train journey through the South East. Your man is a genius; he discovered this whilst suffering a dizzy nightmare. The polka dot dress compresses itself into an opium file and wedges itself down every throat in a filthy mile. The shields, the doors, the inanimate objects, the other doors: they fail to live up to the original blockade. The vengeance of the first zombie epidemic couldn’t break through, the original blockade sweats hipster lemonade. Step by step and nothing.