07/09/2013 - SUDDENLY, SHORTLY

                Suddenly, shortly wasn't good enough to hear. Following that, meanwhile was having a lover's tiff with camomile tea, spitting faces out onto platypus galaxies. It'll hurt a bit more as soon as the gigantism clashes with the dwarfism and produces a baby detective in the resounding penile lockage. Some would say that such a sight defies all explanation of trepans, togas and fall swoops but then I am a realist and would tuck those weird little possibilities into the fingers of kid gloves. There is, of course, enough room: no need to strut around like that with your hazmat suit riding up in the crotch.

            These dangerous ideas (Exhibit A, 2 and +) are not even the property of chest infections on the beach. The law of the towel on the deck chair has long since danced off into its own fame and fortune. In the meantime other laws will have to pick up the slack and do the best they can to get this hovercraft of patriotism up into the stratosphere. That's no mean feat I can tell you though the toes might have something venomous to say to you. My advice is to just ignore them, fashion your own goblin wood.

            I've never seen moves like that. Do what you just did again while the tent flap is still open and slapping the chins of capuchins. I'll see if I can patent it and get you a gig on the SS West End. You play guitar too? Very nice. Do you know of the Spiders from the Van personally or will I need to introduce you? Knowing the Cat of Snowdon certainly won't help endear them to you and your jive talking. It's time to take it too far to see if we can actually suck up into the mind of the Leper Gestation. It might take a few days of pure matter transference but this I can promise: no-one will ever need to join your rival choir. It's what's left that counts.

            Goodness! Have you seen the sanity on her? Over there, the lass in the frills stood beside the dead Navy Seal. Yes, he is quite clearly dead, smells like the deed was done by the Sunset slamming into the dust of his well-worn boots. I'll fill you with gin and you'll see my point of view, with all the little twinkly lights and fancy gizmos. Take for instance, is that cage empty? No, it isn't. It's crammed full of saviours who have tigers in crude headlocks. It's a very oily sight, soaked in its own forgiveness and self-assurance. Trust me, you'll see it soon enough and you'll never want to go back to the chorus. It takes will, it tasks the verisimilitude or rather taxes it sufficiently until it becomes a half-truth encased in a loaded dice. I'll catch her yet, the lass in the frills, I'll make her rip gold and fly with fantasia. All it takes is a little piece of shrapnel and all will be well.