16/10/2013 - MAKE IT FAST, PLAYER

            "Make it fast, player. Make yourself into a younger player, wind yourself up into a big floating ball of yarn then bowl yourself across the green until everything stops echoing. The charlatans will clock off for the night at eight, maybe nine and then you can always rustle up a runt pie of some sort, let out a clipped yahoo into the boatswain's ear drum. That would be fantastic to watch and then crap out with my left hand tangling with gorgonzola dreadlocks. That would make something short of peace into something more than itself and the river combined into one fluid compositor. Don the fructose hat whilst observing this like you would if it were a poetry recital or a dance in the refectory.

            For all I care, I might as well be a rancid skin graft going south of the cleft alongside the clientele, shoulder to shoulder and summarily silent. As for the King of England, he could lose his lunch over patriotism if we let him forget what that spiky thing on his head and now on his nipple means and why it shouldn't make him so hairy and leery. His wife will smite him by sundown and I have reliably been informed that we can all go down to the bay and watch it in slow motion with cakes and other goodies. These snacks might be so gooey our hands are joined over bottles of fizzy drink and vacuum-packed lima bean sauce. Coughing is all that matters and you really shouldn't do it as the curtain starts to roll.

            Now, you see, he's starting to disappear which is to say he's going off to bed for an early night only really rising to visit the little boy's room so he can shit all over the stuffed bears collection and the badge maker. He's a tractor in his orientation, fieldwork working itself out fingers first and purse strings last. So we're clear I clarify that I am not in fact beautiful and stress that the best course of action when dealing with my moments of bloated disgust are not in fact a reliable scan for approval. To accuse me of such things is just frothy. That being said, I do tend to steer clear of the ugly bag ladies that live down your way - SHEESH. Allow me to opine for just a moment. Yes, you need to leave so I can reach the full extent..."

           

            'So that's the recess over. Your syntactical ticking is closing a fist in my direction and now he, your friend, is wanting to tie up the clothes line with his malefic moodiness. Clouds go zooming and the pasted storyboard of life blots itself into intense shapes and reliable gyrations of the outline. Tack this on for safe keeping, your balding is marshalling a newfound arena for kissing and crushing out any opportunity to exist in a factory full of dodgy lights. It's bedtime now and the tail is just gorgeous if you take time to consider it as intended.'