30/11/2013 - ASLEEP INSIDE THE SAFETY CATCH

            Asleep inside the safety catch, this swift dispatch will see me buried in my own undying gratitude towards bad authors. Bad authors aren't necessarily lazy authors, they just choose to be novelists rather than writers, producers rather than creators. This is a misgiving on the world's part, the word doesn't like it and we all should know to which word I am currently referring...it's practically staring right in front of you with its arms billowing in the rubbery breeze. It's confused so why not pick it up, shake it and say hello. You are balding after all so why not become the sexy lady you always knew you should be rather than the frump your humbled siblings know you to be?
            In my dreams I've chatted with your forbears, namely the one with the quiver of armistice. He got it trapped in a door, somewhere near the topmost hinge. I can see it in your smile, you want me to tell all so you can then decide whether or not its worth killing me with frizzy hair still all over your waistline. I long to see a tambourine instrumental again so please hurry up and get the hair pins ready in the craziest of places. You haven't got a clue, do you, old microphone?
            This will hurt all the way to the bank and maybe you'd be so kind as to deliver it to the riverside as well before you lay yourself down to rest in a pile of soppy soil. Not a mound, not a portal to anywhere chummy. Say, let's go sailing before the missus gets home and treats us to a broken home movie! I know you have the speed in you from the density of your jogging shorts so let's get out there before here becomes a problem. Such wicked thoughts in our time, in rosemary time. It will break with tradition and other petty articles of clothing. Shot!

            The canto is a sunny day on the claws of a Siberian Husky, it splits infinitives left right and centre to absolutely see what the effects on the populace will be. Most prefer to think of it as an issue but I just put my foot down and everything is forgotten in a flash of instantaneous senility. The fire and the animal instinct are inseparable to me, can't extinguish either without New Romantic tunes whining in the distant background. They tell me it's just some forgotten star and not to worry about a life spent in glitter and exaggerated cuffs. I try to explain to the Cambodian outer reaches of my mind that I'm not dead yet and so don't deserve such cupfuls of wiseacre wisdom. These gambits are resistant to my charms but shatter at the first sign of confusion caused by my rocky hip replacement. The world should really just sit down and cherish my catatonic howling until such a time as a decently edged silencer can be screwed onto a gun. Death usually comes to me in the wintertime.

29/11/2013 - EUROPEAN FUNCTIONS

            European functions: solicitation, inebriation, saddling up, flagging down, legislations. Operations work in anaemic but fully registered ways. The man with the forehead and the beard wants to eat your harvested advertisements, he wants to scoff the treble clef and make a rapid retort to all sci-fi fans, something in the spirit of 'Ay, aw wazzocks!' Critics say that it isn't a sport and they really don't care who wins unless eleven trouser presses are involved in the prize-giving. The devil is alive and well in the tidy bedroom where all the bronze and silver medals are kept to keep them stuffy and beefy.

            There was only four slices and the thorny thirty percent are frying the placentas in bacon grease. Where has the freshness gone? Is it somewhere ludicrous? The warbles I've been hearing, have been bearing down on me like a sauna full of earnest teaching assistants which is to say not too badly. I'll try the toast but you should know that I'm going to turn it down quicker than a titanic hallway through the shuttlecock night. Wherever you go you should always brook a storm with the thin bit between your legs, that's the keystone method that most monkish fellows like to use provided that the ladies aren't looking with their metallic beat downs in readiness. Everything shakes up everything else and the hair we pull loose is not too straggly that we can't make polished guitars with them. It's not the sort of thing that ever stops play, it doesn't even stunt its growth let alone hold its fire. We say fuck, it says gladly. We say prepare to open the door, they say stitch that my old son. We say go on to become a memory, they say we've already had one thanks and that made us puke for a fortnight. The corporeal confessions come only after minutes of fine-tuning and calculator button pressing and they come in neatly-wrapped bags with paper tags at the top. We wouldn't just trust our nerdy vices with anyone.

            And if you should ever find yourself lonely and in dire need of company then make amends with the devil, he has a pocket filled with something akin to womanly hips and he'll let one drop out if you give him the passkey to chocolate heaven. He's a horned gent with too much of a sweet tooth, hence why he hasn't actually done much in recent times. The true-hearted individual will reclaim the kingdom with the final knock on a raft-shaped door, they're hearts will curl into something cuter than a kitten in a basket and will cause their pain receptors to bleed. Carrying on does nothing more than maintain maintenance without the useful aid of a sharp carrot. Don't worry, don't think too much, don't let the promises hold you back from the big grey goal you made to your parents in a well-remembered childhood, don't go down to the woods today. Your next trick will be itself unto itself unto themselves.  

28/11/2013 - TOOTHBRUSH TRUTH

Toothbrush truth comes out for soggy lumps. Toothbrush truth is a constitutional right. Toothbrush truth says its teatime. Toothbrush truth becomes an infection. Toothbrush truth wants a hand. Toothbrush truth does that side. Toothbrush truth says that the bin needs emptying. Toothbrush truth has life. Toothbrush truth has shit to do. Toothbrush truth is the only one who knows exactly how the oven operates. Toothbrush truth wears a scarf. Toothbrush truth has one or two. Toothbrush truth is fresh out of a stint in prism. Toothbrush truth lets the sock up from the floor its grown attached to. Toothbrush truth takes the dog out with one tumble in the throaty chuckle. Toothbrush truth didn't use that yesterday. Toothbrush truth watches the last two rugby league matches. Toothbrush truth composes colourful songs. Toothbrush truth respects. Toothbrush truth has the surname of Russell. Toothbrush truth doesn't like its surname. Toothbrush truth studies the many facets and gizmos of a universe at war. Toothbrush truth knows exactly when its eleven forty am. Toothbrush truth excuses the masters. Toothbrush truth is an impersonator who's voice keeps arriving. Toothbrush truth is a turf war for antacid. Toothbrush truth is every golden album and only seven platinum albums. Toothbrush truth bangs on the side of the bin like a drum. Toothbrush truth is a gothic principality. Toothbrush truth has a crush on bakers. Toothbrush truth is an easy decision to ignore. Toothbrush truth can't be plagiarised. Toothbrush truth commits to the moment. Toothbrush truth is systemic. Toothbrush truth lets it all hang out, for example. Toothbrush truth is the right time to jump ship. Toothbrush truth is at a crossroads in its short gay life. Toothbrush truth finds the will to throw it all away. Toothbrush truth can't even remember your name. Toothbrush truth is a thirsty boy.

Broadcasting this stuff makes you craven. This kind of thing turns your stomach at the very mention of most low-budget horror films. The younger demographic swells and that's suddenly not a problem for anyone with a scheme. They tell me not to worry about requirements. Ennui. That was a noise, Hamish noise. I haven't had sex for a whole week and they're telling me that's a good thing, from behind their respective curtains. I think they have plans for me that involve streams of barcode and differential parenting. I hope I still get to round off the evening with some drinkable beer.

suddenly moving became a trust exercise, suddenly you watch the end of the evening like it was the end of the world, suddenly the dog breaks the ensigns nose and that's you up and away for the rest of the evening but that's not such a problem, they usually suggest various methods of catching green waves between the gaps in your speckled teeth because it usually happens to those who've spent the majority of their sisterhood entombed in an anatomical castle without the aid of notice or even rave warnings to sluice deductive reasoning among other things

27/11/2013 - HE WON'T BE ABLE TO GO SOMEWHERE

            He won't be able to go somewhere over the bar set by his own paternal humorist. What the hell happens to yelling when you've done with it? Does it recede into its own hairline, make a fracture there and grow some wives and babies to pass the time? If so then I'm part of the wrong species, I want to get into the same jar as that guy before it's too late. It's probably too late.

            Congratulations by the way.

            I have heard all about the scripture that your heart beats out in exchange for a rhythm. It's like Morse code only without all the bull hockey and transgressing attitudes towards cross-dressing superstars. Let's all go out into the field together make the corn husks our mealy-mouthed bitches! I'm contractually obliged to say this in front of forty people or less but not too much of less. The lesson is that gyration can get you into a lot of trouble with the embarrassment law, it can wind you up something unlikely and cuff you whilst your doing its suggestive dance. It echoes with wipes and screen edicts that don't stop until the bearded cynic climbs down from on top of the TV or movie screen to wank in a cup of cola.

            It's a deal to be made lightly. It's a wayward deaf person exemplifying the rage of a plaintive generation.

            Going on and on and on and on and on about handbags is a sure fire way to cancel all your subscriptions to porn magazines. That particular community takes a harsh approach to whining and kicking back without an oestrogen permit.

            Mother will tell all. The things she will tell aren't in fact tales but expensive clerk harvest stories. The black and green interlude will leave you wanting more from the coughs and the sneezes that occasionally happen behind you whilst this terrible event is happening directly to your creepy eyes. And pencils can't make much of it, not without a gliding death sentence being tagged to your back the next time you let hang off a cliff. The item doesn't really matter unless you make it so.

            As for you. As for you indeed.

            I've been busy washing things for years now, I've been retiring bit by bit everyday for the past lifetime or so. The ink is still firmly inside my pen nib and it won't be let out until peace is declared between you and all your ex-lovers, the ones who really hated you after you threw their racist undertones out onto the streets below. Many are of the opinion that you can really pick 'em and that your hat should forevermore read BUTT OF THE JAPE BALL. The strolls you'll take will be so distracting but adequately wonderful. Make them a quarter of the time while you still can credit your own skills.

            For the fortieth time, let the chaos reign. It's pent up and ready to burst like any old ejaculation. Run riot afterwards. I won't tell.

26/11/2013 - SOMETHING GOES WITH EVERYTHING

            Something goes with everything like the Venturi Effect off a camel's hump. Andromeda has the means to put a foot forward but not the one that's technically wrapped around your throat at this time as it is time-locked. The warzone opens up some lovely buds though and ensuing collections are granted their relevance in cultural significance once again. The children are made happy and I get to look at their mothers in the darkest corners of their recessive gene pools. The earrings are a fine and dandy puddle of milk that somehow construed itself into a tight-fitting metal frame without the aid of a chiropractor. At the end of the conveyor belt there is hearsay that the £9.99 product placement will match is $9.99 predecessor. If this were to happen, half the population would be flattened to the density of a pancake and ground down into a fine lake of poster paste. The tune is fitting for the swans but the rest of us just can't stand it, we're sorry. Something about the Potlatch Effect.      

            We're going to see a cloudy revolution, yes ma'am, we're going to excel at the tractor-pulling of a thousand generations that don't really care for orange handbooks, not nearly enough for the tails to be joyous. One day, the ion storm will make Neil into Tony and Erasmus into Susan and then I can re-enter the planetary atmosphere like the fist I've become. It isn't half as weird as it is a quarter Welsh. The cake mixture resurrects the part of the human brain that is responsible for elaborate show tunes and xenophobic extermination. The abacus will rust the gold off its nibs and show the finely-cut silver and chrome underneath. Two wrongs don't make ginger cats too saccharine, especially when the mouthy female reporter is on the case and shouting expletives at exclamatory landmarks of the eternal codex. All we can say at this time is blimey or gosh, depending on your handicap in professional golf. It leaves most members in such a state, they need plastic visors just to get home before the soaps leave them wanting more.

            South Africa and South America and even South Asia want to talk to you about the standing of your wife in most social circles. There is a recurring concern that she is letting her ladylike figure trim down too far, to the shape of a roomy pasta tube. The record is different to the recorder just as the excess is different to the excessive. Travel around with the silk at your throat and you'll see why, it flunks all the way to Chinatown in any city at any time. There are plenty of buffalos to wash in the meantime, plenty of conquests to deify and then conquer again. Fortunately for us the ship of fools are actively trying to be studious in spite of their humorous background. I give them top marks for parlour tricks and a few shiny ticks for their taste in birthday bashes.

25/11/2013 - ASK AND YOU SHALL STIR THE GAS

            Ask and you shall stir the gas, you immigrants. The documentary has been inverted and turned to show off your six o'clock features. We need to talk in detail over the course of a November hot pot. For example, the misery of the blow-up doll will traverse the narcolepsy with spy counting gradually selling itself back to a decimal point. The banjo is refused in most localities of European marrowbones. Down the road there is an id escaping from the beauty of a miniscule moment like blood from a thirsty sawn-off shotgun. It's such a lovely Grecian drum, it never seems to land for long enough these days. Soft shoe, shoe, vertical, up. English division escalating, ticking and ripening the clothes on your long leather back. This is a drawbridge but don't stand on it for long. It doesn't need much more than a few shakeups in order to break seventy bubbles in inordinate sequence. The quest for outlying pages continues.

            The urn qualms, quizzes the thrush with Austrian pedantry that eventually transmogrifies into Australian semblance hurt. Hmm, hmm, hmm, him, hmm, hum, ho, hoary, hmm, hum, him, hem, hemmed. Minder, minder, blasting bleak positrons at the aftertaste of my left wing nut. You could really spurn those thighs with radiant buildings and the angles they go on to inspire through definition. There's nothing sarcastic about the water or its timely dystrophy. It's all really very avant-garde if you let it into your dandelion bound soul. I really think you might free yourself up to the Tibetan hockey stick leisure activity. I can already feel the lump in your throat as if it were my own, handling a rather spicy pizza without the cheese spreading to the sides. No mushrooms please. You're trapped and skittish but at least you're still absolutely invaluable.

            Of the options we had, we could have doubled up and started a revolution. Who knows what the matches will make of the shovel in the park? It's small and Southern and requires a plug attachment to fit it into the appropriate electrical outlet. The thing lurks on a train and that train is trapezoid. Or parallelogram? Who would want to know such a nosy fortune? Hey, it's happy hour and we're all out of gentleman's attire. Got a few jackets going spare though, the lying kind.

            Don't mind me. Don't graduate. I'm just going home to wear a ring and think about my seating position. Laminating this moment seems poignant but I'll resist just as I'm sure you'd resist arrest while busy doing one of your delightful sit-in protests. It's like a sandwich really: me and you with the salami and greens in between. Just one electromagnetic jolt and we'll edit the forceful trace into a perfect piece of pap yet. Five metres to go and we'll be at the walkabout station to manage the leg mentions accordingly. Everything must be in close contact alliance, everything must jack up the vegetarian option with finely cut bed sheets.

23/11/2013-24/11/2013 - REMEMBER THE LESSER RACES

Remember the lesser races while they set the square into the ghost call. There’s big cosmic shit going on but nobody will stick to the sticky warpath of my limber pitter-patter. Could we reflex for resources? Could we masturbate to an influx? Could we show the yellow bricks to the hail? The tampering of electricity invades a very Tudor-like deep freeze. That makes some simmer of malleable blinks into mishandled lesion. It does make some sort of narrative sense at least. I could die in carrying the coast across the ill suit of ongoing necessity. We’re going upper frontal circle, absolute omega bitch with maximum infiltration of not looking in any other direction.

Let’s celebrate the three portholes with potholes amid the dandy snowfall. Can you imagine if they brought him in with the beard? The full beard? The kiddies would demand to be called small children and would demand to start driving lessons. Also the tenth anniversary will violently remake the scraper toes and scarper with rose baselines. The Irish voice will revert to mascara gummy bears in a feasible attempt to complain about resilience to wonderful beauty. It was so short. It plagued upon my flawed fears and hulking tangibility. It shakes the apparent fundamentalism with rough ‘GONE FISHING’ sign that scratch across the woody, greasy association. I really enjoyed going in with a sow’s head, which really helped with the send-off, and mocked those words. The plate has rotated on its own axis and now would improve features of the utter application implication if it had all the relevant parts to knit together, preferably in front of at least fourteen television screens.

Boiling lentils must survive the spaceships of time and all the wrong impressions they stream and trail behind them with starry phone call noises. Bah! Like that might happen, like you would meet all the baddies in time. Their city is in its death rattle, guns blazing and just a little blasé in the dictation to grafted storytellers. The evil opening might enter the mind of the policeman but his coals waste no more time than is perfectly and sexually adequate. Have you been running with a red dress and a motorcycle helmet? I can tell from the number plate, its shape and height requirements. Open the doors while the thing on top his whirling and grinding quantum mechanics into ancient Mesopotamia. Did you treat yourself to an engine going round and round with leadership helicopters? I have a feeling we’re towering right now. I have new batteries for my public inhaler. The heading is a true taskmaster with knocker delights, well worth being taken to the unbitten scene. My legs are passing the column and the column is returning to its original trade underground. The moles will be happy if not the rest of us. Salutation comes in fluffy boxes. The first queen has enough credentials to make a scarf that goes on for days and trips up unified intelligence. You don’t have a job, not in actuality.

This poster child will make a hat from an oil painting of an arcade that has surly laconic talk show host with blood on his/her hands. That man has deep dish pizzas and a right to be both the last day and of the last day. The rocket cannons are causing such reconstructive breezes that the dust can barely keep up with its boorish extermination of all things clean. Messages do golden hair party tricks that crash their own coercive identities. What are these words? Are they from an emergency palate that spits its own brutish concerns for collar flaps. The arsenal is forbidden to the fleet but not everything is momentous. Footnotes can and often will stand in judgement of your kin but not really you because time happens and practicality stains in red ink. Such heaviness is heaved along my autumnal shoulders and the boots are doing their part retroactively. The cogs and the clockwork. The workaholic’s theme park in its bitter bits and bats. There’s nothing to see when we look at chairs. Why can’t it be both? I heard you say fantastic things but all I can see from your gums now is the interface receding into large-breasted chromosome patterns.

Your face and form will jangle the supersonic in this form and at that century. Are you afraid of the centimetre? I’ve lost the right to even say so anymore. You’ve got a new face to survive, a nice green face with a raspy, burnt lip voice. You could kill everyone with the same sexy coat but, as you’ve said, you have no desire to suddenly be better than everyone. The consequence is English, thoroughly English. All those children end-stopped out of some misguided sense of terrible knighthood. You want to see what that would turn you out of? The maitre is a mantra, a waspish proof that defies the pudding with chocolaty snap. Your pledge is offhanded, paragraphed with ‘KEEP OFF THE GRASS’ foreboding. Why take it there, to that particular mucky, mucus place? It takes a long time for the silver police to do anything outside of its own jurisdiction. I’ll take your very somatic push to charge the conflict all the way to marriage. I gotcha. You gotcha. They gotcha. Even the darling horse gotcha. It shifts tight shoes around the moss disguise like a king on a chessboard. The queen is busy working at the trees, chipping them away with screaming teeth tethers. The tablets unsheathe the consequence with washing up clothe flourish. Step away with red curls, from other exceptional surmises. Anything could happen in the under gallery with all its iffy fissures.

Alaskan stone dust ripples through the blowfish and the casing can’t just walk past without being a warty effort in blank glass call zones. Where could life be broken from? I definitely see the pavements from the correct angle of descent. Something always gets out via the searchers’ entrance. I want my sandstone bank back now please.

22/11/2013 - IT'S BROAD AS IT IS NOBLE

            It's broad as it is noble and it could do so much more to ingratiate itself to the paper munching Montgomery's of this aquiline port. They never have sex with me or my family and I take that as a grove of compliments. The warden has the only right to thank me for trying anything external to my inhabited locus. I would like to return the favour to you for all the times you shovelled your twitching fingernails into my admittedly bland beard. I'll be in tomorrow, hearkening the duck storm to throw down on hooded Africa. She has no weak bones in her sandy bodkin.

            Our profiles are live on the air and garbed in pink frilly fortifications, the healthy kind that drag you down beneath the surface of your navel and teach you the importance of authoritative action and, sometimes, direction too. It's good to know these women run away and scream with their bagpipes on tour buses. My time-travelling name is dainty and often parked around tight corners just to see if the letters can squeeze and live twice within the same cluster of minutes. It's not entirely weird but it's entirely clandestine either, it's raided and robbed of all official standing in relation to metrical intrigue.

O, sorrowful tart of relentless grief! Now you get FYI dentures as donated by your paddle-spanked grandfather! Regret! Woe! Pest Control! It's just the worst!

            Anything is better than this spoken knavery and its brutalised cartilage. The arc reactor is fresh out of orgasmic flame retardant so you're the one to go down to the shop. Make sure you avoid getting elected whilst you're down there. I'd much rather not have a repeat of my recurring nightmares. Ta. Gawd. Lordy, please let him drop five stone on the way to the high street. I promise I won't make crucial missives about pretzel cleaning anymore. This is the very sound of deerstalking through bushels of comely laughter. It builds and it builds and, after so much building, it dries my melancholy down to a thin grain of pea soup. It aches at the sight of it, it gives you the long stares whilst ascending medium-sized staircases without a care in the world.

            For once in my thumping life of thumping aptitude, I just want to say that Christmas is coming and should be drunk with meat straight from the captive quail. Do this while the going is tough and you might even get a recommendation from the bookstore clerk herself, the one with the guidance beam to your lefty bleeding heart. It could keep you together but I'm not going to just watch you read off tick marks from a grocery list. In the UK, we call them shopping lists because we're practical that way, we generalise our food because its going in and all deserves to be listed together. It wouldn't be so good to let me go on with this Union Jack jacket, not while home has a harp in its butt.

21/11/2013 - SALIVATE PRECOCIOUSLY

            Salivate precociously as if you were gathering the stormy drains of eye bop unto your makeshift breast. After all who wants to spend their life sending ironing boards to calculator factories to see if that kind of matter-of-fact action will swing then fly? Some share better comments for meagre sums. The recipe lies flat alongside the veggie who is continually trying to interrupt our delicate video watching art project. And to think of all the hours we spent limbering up for the final dive, for the furtive ascension into stapled yarns. Erasmus builds with the Russian times and marches out biscuits for dummies to see if they'll float on their nubile bellies. This is in and of itself an achievement.

            Bland monks will raise the life of this particular moment onto robed shoulders and recite paisley poetry as if chanting was merely another case of found text on a teenage body. It passes the trial life a pre-emptive scrawl. Meanwhile Erasmus is sat in his shady corner, blackening his teeth and laughing all the while. I really do wish that he'd just get a move on so I could watch my soaps in peace without all the fucking reverberations and mathematical posts going on behind me. I'll go without clothes for half an hour, who cares?

            Trivialise like sixes and sevens and let the tangled rope fall where it may do the most spouts of damage, let it begin its proper annoying offing. Tube smelling comes up fast like a rallied sneaker as events turn and fade into murderous churlishness. Really rollover the expectorated croak. It's very gnarly and a part of my chickenshit problems. You're a cat, by comparison, dwindling on the very biggest mountainside just to see what they could do about milk there. The darkness holds a lot of weighty hooks. Either way, whoever enters and sets up camp will be dead by the end of the jettison.

            Nevertheless empty your pockets and join the ranks before we fill up the roster and things stop grabbing likelihood by the galvanised feelers. I will teach you to shout so you can pass the time and match your eyebrow twitches to a provocative moment. Queens will contrast and go off-colour and travesties will make a perambulation within their bosom possible. Worms go on, fridges treat the sick, hairy fairies sing masters out of their shuffleboard tournaments and the sheep run along with the mighty steed of the Great Go Between. I just wonder how much of it you'll be able to digest, ingest and possible spit-take with: it's a task often done at the foot of sunny altars. The boys don't even get a look-in these days, the weather being so fine. They're off out with the doctors and their wage slippers.

            It's palpable, very palpable, possibly palpable, quite palpable, never too palpable, almost palpable, fairly palpable, only fairly palpable, greatly palpable, ruthlessly palpable, directly palpable, terrifically palpable, perhaps only palpable, palpable enough, palpable just fine and let's not forget responsibility.

20/11/2013 - IF HEAVEN DO THINK

            If Heaven do think of the venue then office shall get all jealous with its goodwill lolling out like a rejection slip or maybe some other mark of resignation. Seize the crown from participating in formula derivation or just go ahead and tidy away all triumphant jocularity. Turn away from Kelly before she notices that you got her all wrong: her gender, her identity, her genre, her pasty white skin that smoothes itself with the tongue of green positioning. 'Tis a parcel, a shagged-out parcel filled with streamers and blackballs and some semblance of a kingly madness that can't help but be sloppy. The ginger hair prizes itself. For once in my life I'm not there to witness the terrible event, I'm dancing elsewhere at 6AM with a girl at a train station who should be, would be a nurse. And we foxtrot all the way to the platform where her boyfriend will be coming to spay me with honest Lycopene. You couldn't make matters more resistant to themselves after seeing my guard fall in such a rosy-cheeked way, my tyre iron showing and dangling and describing me as a chap with too much thunder for a head. Sort yourself.

            Ring on ahead for the mental arithmetic, let the nocturnes pray for the sick and pray on the droves among them. You can earn trial after trial but it won't ever surmount a megabyte of wattage in the face of an exasperated deity. Uncover this, you shattered price of deluge. The metal lid is screwed down tight and involved in precarious thoughts of night and won't do much out in the light and might consult hedonists in their plight. It's not the deluge you're thinking of, those microbes constitute a different concept entirely. Pay attention the next time you go to class, the following situation with scissors and little black dresses. This is turning into a confessional booth and a right ruddy soppy one for all the church to see. They'll ask us where we keep the jewellery soon and you absolutely need to confess that you confiscated it for a higher and fruitier power. This is wrong but goody, gooey buttress all the same.

            If we really thought about elementals, we would get used to the change in the breath of a pearl necklace. Life's great coughing fit would end and the primary earners would march on Olympus with daisy chains and hypothetical nectar cannons. The war would be bloody but that's needless to say but I still said it so why not say it again? The war would be bloody. With more emphasis: THE WAR WOULD BE BLOODY. AWESOME. The sauce would just come running out from between the legs of Champion League footballers, bubbling all the way to the bank but not frothing due to a strict religious code of practice that has been held by the sauce for centuries. After hours of afro spinning, the sauce would sanctify itself into juice and then just add water.

19/11/2013 - MY HEART IS GIVEN OUT

            My heart is given out to only the most Yiddish contraption and to absolutely no other. It's a sinister secret that develops bull horns and uses those bull horns to tangle the red tape until it hardens into a scarlet tap which I feed to the glut at the end of every line break. Of course, he isn't the same guy at the end of every space, that guys far too small to be believed by his peers. Sordid trespassing transfuses my mind into higher planes of gross negligence that trip like tongues on the back of external resolution pikes and that's exactly the sort of shit you've got to feel good about for fear of crying. Wrench your limbs all you like, the nodes will just collect in the corners in their quiet little voices in their precocious green ottoman. 

            This implosion is an ideal bag for making more ideal bags as a sort of army of sextuplet templates that grind and grill the troops and troupes and all their Kurdish placements into student crackpot theories. The really good butter churns from the tip of the lymphoma schedule, it seeps out with a popping eye that will, ironically, blind you with a single lick. It's not even careful, not even twenty six yet, only sweet sixteen with ruthless thighs. The police will be called in a short space of nonentity so long as you watch where you lay those mucky fingers on my copy of the grand almanac of graphic novel gambling. This is a priceless heirloom which is to say that it belongs to someone else entirely and with no thanks to you and your army buddies.

            After letting out the bill and receipt, the waiter reconvenes with his own trapeze act in order to re-establish gyration patterns for a whole new generation of giggly bleeders. The orange ions are fluctuating just thinly over the dunes and caskets, and I'm the only one with nary a bullet point to the front or the back of the name. Just in the centre, dead centre. Just because. I never paid attention to the eraser at the end of the HB pencil, it seemed like a league away to me all throughout my randy exercise book duration. It makes you primal at the very thought of all the tall men who could run you down to the Cockney Station. That is.

            This is serious. The farthing has been lost in its own ethereal lasting, cause and effect chumming over the dead WI jam jar with its screwed lid and the brain slathered on to the top. Violins play at the service and I'm not even joking around with the guest of honour or his most hated wife. To be so brash is to give into the chef and the chef is a smarmy bastard with his legs between the circumference of his inner circle. You find the green, you tie ti down and all the day you might surpass the status quo.

18/11/2013 - CALLIGRAPHY OF MY LOVE

            Calligraphy of my love for each other goes without saying on even the the the the most happening glad spot on the umpteenth hemisphere. So dry are the tears of up in here anymore, so extemporaneous and filled with finagled beard hairs from a scrum of backing choirs. It's a facial hair revolution, facile in its importunity and struck through with the flat end of a trident. Can the glowing white whiskers of a dead cat go forth in all their cumulative beliefs to prove I'm not a half-baked dictator of some foreign humanitarian globule? Can it heck? This is where the typeface gets out of level, out whack, just under the absolute knack of the underwhelmed pigtails of tart distrust.

            They can always sense me upwards of nought. They can command the legions with the trumpet call in a vanilla void, in spite of that vanilla void. Mothers could do something about buying the correct belch size, they might even hearten the world with a chuck on the  charred bloodstream of society's natural underdogs. This is what we in the industry call hawking wares for the understanding and betterment of the interred Montgomery. Know when to leave and you're recognition will be golden and oft foretold in Icelandic paramours.

            So much to do with so little breath and calloused lungs running on cruise control. The device is knackered and I'm just plain blinkered by the thought that her neck is now out of alignment with the rest of her cosmonaut callout. We're in here anymore, the both of us and all the rest of those badge wearing gigglers. The earpiece tells me that the correct word is gigolos but I'm much too prudish to let such a thing be accepted by this lovely, lovely consensus. They're so tightly wound that they wouldn't comprehend the depth of life's gameplay and the way that the wind can sometimes affect it in a mammalian lurch. There's so much to whittle down to paper size, so much to widen with the application forms purloined parameters. I'm going down with a ship that once had a preacher on it but is okay now that he is gone.

            The designers are suffering so why don't you make it easier for them and whip the wet towel across the splendiferous dog sniff. Is it the sort of kind that develops gender just to beat up another party in the most humiliating engagement possible? Seriously, there's nothing down here to tell us what to hear and what not to grate and grind with. Goblins are the instructors of this paediatrician's dancehall so we best all swallow the glum gum and just get to the hotter steps as if they're the lasting impressions of a tanned neckline on an aircraft carrier. As of now, the episodic king would like to establish the fact that he is totally hetero and not in the slightest bit normative, he just really wants you guys to know it so you'll put him in films. 

16/11/2013-17/11/2013 - THAT'S TOO MUCH SHOUTING FROM THE LADIES

that’s too much shouting from the ladies, the green light said; i oppose conference champions and declare them part of the diets of truly hard workers. as long as you do your best everyone will love you and pretend that the food on your table is worth a ghost of a chance provided that the spectacles come free and nobody calls me out on this pornographic sequence. take this away or your christian father and a few of his angrier forefathers will be brought up like spaghetti from the edge of oblivion. you know the right to do things with buddy as your body have been severely limited in this wrestling climate and probably won’t see much change outside of a casual show of vietnam mouth organs. seat yourself or i will be forced to recruit you along with a spoiling pot of foggy guests that were left behind stylised war. a good marine is a wanking marine and a wanking marine is filled with indignation at his superior interior designer. i swear to the mighty mole that going in just like that would be crazy and lazy and grassy with mouse administration. right here with the ice cream parlour, that’s where all the pretty girls seem to want to be. what is her name and is she from out of town? take this for a stack of potatoes or the meatheads will launch themselves at our women and they promise us they won’t be applied to any other cause without the greased wheel of meek scarlet. that’s neat as a charlatan that is, that is the zigzag in the girlish grocer apron. you were my first thrust in the fat fryer, my whole world encapsulated by truthful numbers fighting for turf in the hallway of a clipped and chipper mirror. you see a hold. you see a hand hold. you see a division for the colonel. that’s a long way to go fight with a crazed comedian on the rocks, watch him do the right thing as a tight communism severance. as white shirts seek out thunder, as good as those white shirts are they don’t think enough about lever groins. might you help me make the corrective decision? might you make a river out of a moronic gesture of goodwill? the rain would shatter hips and cast spurious remarks against ringlets and the women who insist their pledge was a crossing in its own right. you’ll be an aggressive major with yearning privileges and you’ll become lost in a resurgence of rifles and rifled underpants. this is a good time, this is the collection of minute-shaped hours that will bring about a ceasefire and then an accidental discharge which turns out to be a good thing for our boys on the khaki. breakfast makes things clearer, breakfast makes things clerical and gives actors with cajones the chance to forgive kind strangers that move with blunted faults. orange as the sun is the man with a rough time as a his modus operandi. like i once said to the captains, enemies pop up and glare.

 

THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED, THE DUNCE RETORTED, THAT’S WHAT WE DID TO KILL THE LONG EARS OF KENTUCKY-FRIED OUGHT. AND WE WERE GLAD TO DO IT BECAUSE SOME HELIPADS AREN’T WORTH A BLUSTER ON THE THIRTY DOWN. THIS MUST BE PURGATORY FOR THE COVERAGE, THIS MUST BE THE GRAND DELIBERATION OF DELINEATED BLACK ADVICE OR ELSE WHY WOULD WE HAVE SO WILLINGLY SPREAD OUT? BULLETS HIT LIKE SOMETHING OUT OF A SUNNY VOICE CLIP, SOMETHING THAT HITS THE BUZZED UP SENSE OF CLEMENCY RIGHT IN THE URINARY TRACT. THE BULLETS SHOULDN’T FEEL QUITE THIS WHEATY, SQUADS ARE IN TROUBLE AND GETTING DEEPER INTO THAT PARTICULAR SELECTION OF TROUBLE BY THE SMATTERINGS OF DAYLIGHT HOURS WE RECEIVE NOWADAYS. THE GUISE OF A SCARED INDIVIDUAL CAUSES THE YOUNG SPECTATOR TO WAX THE FLOOR WITH HIS OWN BARTERED BLOOD. YOU WERE NEVER THAT CUTE. YOU WERE NEVER THAT PERSONABLE. YOU WERE NEVER THAT SCHOLARLY. YOU WERE YOUR OWN KIDNEY, THE TARNISHED KIND THAT KISSES ITSELF WHEN ALL EYES ARE CAST ON THE KNOBBLY BITS OF VALEDICTORIAN MACHINES. BUT BREATHE, BREATHE VERY CAREFULLY AND THE PACKETS MIGHT STILL STAND A HEARTY WITCHCRAFT. YOU SEE, OLD LIGHT OLD CHUM, YOU DON’T NEED LIGHT LIKE YOU WOULD, SAY, A WHEELCHAIR. ALL THAT YOU NEED IS A MONTH IN METHODIST SECULSION. DON’T DO BRIGHT AND EARLY THINGS WITH CATHETERS THAT GET BIGGER AND MORE ELABORATE EVERY DAY. UP AND AT THEM. UP AND AT THOSE MANIC THEMES. THE SHIT STAMPEDES WITH BED PANS IN ITS BROWN-EYED CAR WASH. YOU’RE IMPACTED LIKE A HEAD UP THE FIST UP THE ASS. GO FUCK WITH EDDIE. WELL, THEY’RE HERE TO PROTEST THE WIRE-WALKING CURIOSITY OF FLAG BURNING BUT THREE PEOPLE COULD STILL MAKE SEVEN SO LONG AS THEY FEEL NICE ENOUGH ABOUT THAT. YOU’LL BE IN A WHIRPOOL FOR THE REST OF MY ACCEPTABLE WILLPOWER, SO GUNG-HO AND JOBLESS. THIS IS A RICH MAN WITH MONEY, THE PICTURE. YOU’RE PART OF THE SOLUTION SOUGHT AFTER BY THE PROSTITUTE COMMUNITY. NOW IS THE TIME TO BE QUIET LIKE A SCORPION SUVEYING A BEAUTIFUL SCENIC ROUTE FROM THE COMFORT OF HIS CRUTCHES. HAY MAKES TODAY. EASE LEARNS THE PARK. HEADBANDS. PUT THE CHEST IN THE POUCH AND HURT THOSE TOOTHY PEGS SOME MORE WITH THAT BRITTLE BUTT. IF YOU WILL DO THIS SORT OF THING GO ON, IF YOU WILL LEAVE THE RED HAIR ON THE BACKS OF PLASTIC CHAIRS IN HAPPY GRUNT SCHOOLS. ANOTHER MAN WILL MAKE THE JUMPER OUT OF HAPHAZARD KNITTING BUT HE WON’T EVER REDUCE THE SPOOL BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE A WRANGLE IN THE HAIRY DIRECTION. WASHINGTON AMPUTATES THE DRUGGED-UP SLUM SLIME WITH PINT-SIZED, PLUS-SIZED, PRINT-OUT TREATMENT. IT’S NOT WORKING, THIS IS A GREEN COAT SITUATION AND IT’S REALLY NOT WORKING WITHOUT THE PUMP. SO SORRY, MAN. SO VERY, VERY SORRY ABOUT ALL THE SUBSTITUTION. PAGE AFTER PAGE MAKES THE NUMBERS RAISE THE PRIZEWINNER BACK UP TO HIS CANARY TRUCK. THEY CAN’T WAIT TO SEE HIM. THEY CAN’T WAIT TO SEE HIM BECAUSE EVERYTHING WORKS LIKE A FIELD OF DOGS.

15/11/2013 - YOU'RE TELLING ME THIS FOR A DOCTOR

                You're telling me this for a doctor, in case that doctor becomes something of a legend around these here parts. What you say is unbidden, it reads like a Victorian horror novel, ongoing and unlovable by Lindsey's excruciating standards. We've got guys who can tip stones with the mere thought of dropping vertical cars on Unitarian Populists. Expect adrenaline. I'm an agent of adrenaline. It comes in suitcases now that tear away from their outer casing with ornamental accuracy. You may have a mole stuck between your gold coin interrogators, one that chops stuff up without teeth or pegs or even a few Antarctic nose cones. It disrupts my need to feel like I'm breathing in a spa. Hens have socialism too or so the bell relates in its reversible epitaph. Do I get a badge for it? A redacted badge?

            You should really camp out with hand descriptions in May. Who designs this soundproof soy anyway? I'm good at taking time out of the shiny lips of dawn. She truly is an angel from afar and would probably get all aghast at the principle behind it. Other contributions are just funny to me like vacuum chambers and sensitive components crossing the coarse boulder. Nobody likes only one evening, least of all my friendship organisers. So off we all go to diagnostics for foreign diplomacy. Place your feet up and press six a total of times until the hangover cure hisses around in its own hydraulics.

            Any plan works for the grandma of the separatists. You're wasting my time with bullets to the power cuts. Can I unravel all the while? Six wheels go on introduce themselves to sprightly shenanigans, gliding along with nothing in business currently at this time. Rubies short out the fuse box but somehow still manages to cross the border along white salted lines. This kind of cufflink shit always happens to the Boss of the Year or maybe his groovy actor compatriots. How good is that for entertainment on the factory floor?

            Rewind to Pig Latin for lookalike muffin orgies. I love like a jacket straight from the wash pulled across a decrepit poet filled with trepidation over her latest schema venture. Waters rift towards the bank. Sorry for this now, interruption on the red tape whatever. You know how to trust the thankful for their thin arms and decoy flashes. But could we cut that out with our thrilling delusions bent on portability? Life is on the line like a first name basis case whilst being brash on the back of an open-ended bus. Could we be decoy flashes ourselves? Wouldn't that be a turn out for heavy sandwiches and some doughnuts? Let's swoop in for congratulations and sewage dogs. Listen like you're lying about taking care of me in a hungry way.

            The boys are protected by the document as part of a mission to see if the states of statements of dramatic matter could change and channel rich access. Now collapse for the game changer.

14/11/2013 - IS IT DONE?

Is it done? The treachery? I feel like it's bleeding out of my ears like ox blood straight from a friend's lap. Godhood is supposedly ascension for most cool-headed bridesmaids but these wretched cases of spoonerism will hold no conduct as closely as I do my own brow. The circling harpies devise my verdict and twitter it on the breeze, as if I could never hear them from all the way up beyond my hat brim. There's no telling when this chair will decrease in altitude, no foretelling the end of the dog's pernicious tail. My curls are stylised. My webbing is controlled by deft, dexterous singsong. My renal failure is apparent. My left hand side has become my right hand side, it has been precluded in the facetiousness of TA VERY MUCHLY.

            So much for the race. I've got my legs bent around crooked bar stools, one for each side and I can already feel the bath salts slithering up my inner seam. Don't get out of that hallway without your episodic features, your mastery over shoddy screenwriting, your existential, eggs essential lording. The hatter is climbing down the trees to see if the steel merchant has made any good failures recently. The pins holding his papery limbs together can be plucked out of place with just a nod of the head and a spit on the shoe. You don't get anywhere without wearing a bronze belt. I have spent many a septic year accumulating spare money towards buying a bronze belt but these years have been wasted because I realise now that there was always one round the back of my grandfather's son's wardrobe.

            Could we? Might we? Shall we? Should we? Must we? Now we? Can we? Mister we? Mister Wi wants to send you out on the field to bring down that lanky fidget Neil with his own hairpin rifle. He foolishly kept it round the back of the sheds whilst he was fingering the corporal for good measure. We've checked and there are bullets but not enough for us to give it a try ourselves. We're not field agents like you. We just question and question and put all those yummy questions into bright green envelopes. This move is what I like to call TOUGH TITTY, BUGALUGS.

            Come quietly and four pasta bowls will be at your disposal and then maybe some of your finesse. There's nothing Glaswegian about this offer so don't go getting your hopes in a tizzy. We are truly reliant on your honesty to make us better people. I, for one, need to wear all of your hats from the past eight months and I will get them as soon as you've padlocked all your doors. Just do this once as a way to comfort me, to save me from the lost files of my youth coming back to eradicate me with wrinkly buttons. It's wet down there like a comic shop in heat. It'll hold off the tide but I need you all the same. 

13/11/2013 - TRAILING DOWN TO THE TAILGATE

            Trailing down to the tailgate, my body says so many choice words about your sleight of hand. It's irksome for the police but I always employ the plosive and that tends to even the blow and make them jolly old bobbies for a short trimester. The rattling still goes on over my well-honed head but could we start again please? I think the shopping went all wrong at the end there and now we're left with eggs and an endless supply of sanitary towels. I need them but you don't believe in them. How you could go your whole life not believing in nether regions, as you call them, causes my mammalian brain to charge through its own overture for a while.

            The numerical formula 0.000000005555558888333332222222222189164856439562395634854678484858586811909563 is collecting for charity next month and seems to want you to help it with a few clinks in the bucket. May God help you rest your soul down on the bed of Ethernet cables for a short snooze spell. We all know he's a Geordie but never admits it by speaking a word, for some reason he wants people to think he's from Wales or Yorkshire because all the really class voices come from thereabouts. It's symptomatic of idiomatic priesthood. Sultry says it all when she says oh, oh, ho. This is with regards to you and your cosmopolitan declarations of most Swahili telephone numbers. It really was quite fun after the wedding but not while the reception is in full swing, the groomsmen might notice and call off proceedings until investigation tries harder.

            This over there is a lackadaisical diaphragm. It won't protect you from projectile sperm but it will keep you warm at night with its campfire feel and probing corners. It fits you just the same as it did your grandmother. I used to wear such a diaphragm but my father decided to send me to the French Foreign Legion because that's what all the cartoon characters were telling him to do. They were most vehement apparently, even bringing out the brilliance of triangular conception. It really was a misnomer.

            The commentary of the video was only so-so, considering all the other wonderful things the lady nurse has said and done in the name of telltale science. She's probably quite a stallion in the sack but we'd dare not question the pretty little white hat on her head, there's nothing sexual about that. I'm sure she'd break my spine all the same, with her bedroom antics that is.

            I dunno. I'm the sort of guy who likes to snowboard and skateboard with both feet simultaneously, just to prove that my testicles really aren't worth a damn. They're not getting used, not always, I usually keep them at the top of my wardrobe provided they don't roll down like they seem to do whenever my older brother rushes into the room. He has big themes to share but will only share them with me as a conduit to some divine form.

12/11/2013 - DUE TO A SUDDEN COLLISION

Due to a sudden collision with my naked undercarriage, the poisoned fruit will not be available for another four months. We are sorry to have to make this announcement but sometimes in life you just have accept that bygones are bygones. The impatience of How To guides will do little to help you walk across the ceiling, even less for power walking. It's more about meditation, compulsive whiny meditation of the soggy limbs. Speech comes thrumming through when your mind least expects it and that's supposed to be a good thing, a healthy promise for a grand old summer by the sea. Seven out of half a dozen doctors agree that the wool will make you better all by itself, sometimes because of the sheep configuration. Wrapping the truncheon around them has become an outmoded concept and rightly so in my lofty book of mischievous comments.

            Conductors are tapping on their keyboards simultaneously to see what the effects are, will be and could never be in the ultimate outcome of slow motion reality. Their qualifications are burnt onto their retinas, leaving them blind to everything except the indelible marks on the jacket. These were caused by some sort of cake walk gone terribly wrong in Nice. Mincing words leads to twerking like dishevelled towers in the bleeting connectivity of a celebrity snog and its backpacking owner. You might as well call it an ornament for half the things it doesn't do. It leaves all the dots upside down and never explains why electric furnace doesn't melt itself at the thought of steamy pictures of gossamer pool boys.

            Books are the secret of bookmarks and exiting either will lead to a fairly massive boom in your operative system and that might mean no more chocolate sniffing in the funeral home. It's disrespectful and only gains moderate applause which should hit your ears like appalling roughage. Saddening the heart saddens my heart but charms the sliver of something in my qualified pockets. They did their scholarly duty at Melbourne but soon left due to an unreasonable amount of chalk being dumped on their flitting, fitting mindsets. Axles rake up the green by taking library junk and stuffing it all into a wood chipper and forgetting to turn it on good and proper. The atrocities of war are matched only by the referees who lose track of the game.

            Please don't fall out. Please try out the arcane and see if you can treat it as a handicap in this gangly grindstone with its hollowed out introspection and absurd collection of Russian polymers. Farting Siberians will no doubt come to ask you how long they have left on their tariff but you are under no obligation to answer them without the aid of a French stick in a Belgian stream. The barnstorm will grow out of itself and may manufacture malt mittens. This woman has an allergy to rubber, a problem with the set square. This, of course, changes everything in the name of freedom.

11/11/2013 - PLAYING PIANO

            Playing piano in a digital age creates farce at multiple musical levels. My love must be a kind of blindness considering the countess and her predilection for sawdust diddles. Best get those knees gardening before she looks and sees you not doing the right thing for this corrective situation. This is a crowded avenue, after all. Make the references, tie the loopy contacts into accentuated ribbon structures. How right to disappear from youth and the weary shelving/containment business it struggles valiantly to uphold for you sore-headed suckers. And the poets make the very essence of this periodic substance universal...how dare they! The Dragon of Caverick is coming to slay them on the back of Erasmus. Watch the flame and the tawdry remarks flake off the paint of the famed short story writers' guild back. Ignorance says it all really and you are ignorant so.

            Some intend to rig up a catheter in the foreground of Russian Formalism. I doubt that it'll work considering how crikey is bandied these days. The Beards of November are strictly telephoning the archangels to see if they really are listening and not just pretending to be good hearty individuals with courteous wingtips. We find out, you'll never feel safe again. The mistress will come forth to be callous, as if her birthright was so clearly stated and runic, and end it all with an abrupt clap in the face of a gibbon or else a man who bears an uncanny resemblance to such a curious animal. The greasy rings are filled with cheese and cheese supposedly attracts gibbons in a furious yet fallible way. Driving does strange things to the hairy magazine reader, especially when forcibly removed from the backseat where every game gal is said to hide her charm.

            Why don't you scrimp with burns all over? Why does it disappoint underneath the tongue, straddling the gums? It's all my fault, it's not even edible. Inconsistent feminists are doing something about it while the feeling is tense but neatly dodging full-blown intensity. There are shucks. Wait for the triangulation. Could happen fast for both good times and plain times. Friends are for this but you appear to be playing the wingding card. No need to feel sorry while I am fine and parting the waves for space heater mathematics. Stand in front of the wind, not before it, and you'll see all kinds of victorious geysers shedding their shields with paltry elements. While you peace out, I will collect all the albums with specific tingles residing within my clucking breath. Interpol is heading out for your tyre pressure issue as of right now.

            I may have done something about it, I may have mashed my following into endless life streams. O, hypocrisy! Oh, hippo! Swimming makes the duck float and movements beneath are turning out their own theories. It could be official, this pause button, it could cause instant death by irregular transportation. I went to the kettle and it buzzed my harsh nature right off.

10/11/2013 - CLICK TO ADD NODES

CLICK TO ADD NODES to the splice of life before it all becomes too underhanded and the police start to charge you for your gratuitous indiscretions.  You will be without imagination if you dare to mark this tragedy with the horns of some disembodied bull. It really isn't pleasant to watch the lonely snout remain in its squalor while the better half of the head is conquering galaxies with its keen diplomacy. It might cause all kinds of furry damnation, it might jive with Boron and no son of a gun wants to see that before his morning coffee. The godliness that we pretend is in us is drying up and yelping out for Moorish craven rhetoric, it is drying up our secret knuckle test with its spongy autobiographical lies. The woods remain open. As mother's follicles drain on the kitchen counter the rest of our sickened family will draw out the sun and play snap until it gives in and burns the lot of them with its snide grin. How do they do it? How do they do it every time they feel like it?

THE LADY WITH THE SWORD is a home wrecker according to the jurisdiction files, they use the phrase implicitly and seem to reprimand misuse or alteration by making the clouds dissipate into a green-blue winner. The river remains sequinned but the puddles are trying to be creative with what they have, turning the jewelled effect inward to cause a make-believe fire hazard. The borrowing that surrounds it seems to come mostly in cups with wrinkled bottoms and they seem to defy funnel logic just to see if mankind can really do much about the wrestler's bidding report. It turns the hand softly. As always the greenery has lost its fence privileges because of these damned wayward tendrils that seem to hoop around exposed clothes lines. The possibilities are hardened and still hardening, developing a new, stronger, fluffier coat just so you can see that it's doing something about the climate. Smart jazz is plucking down that corridor so mind how you go from hereon in.

DEAR WASTRELS, COME ALONG quietly with your big toes up your consecutive nostrils. They, the police that is, want to question you on your buckled wife and will probably demand that you stoop down and stop being so abusive to her over the intercom. She's a quiet one but that doesn't give you the incentive to strap wheels to her knees and watch how she doesn't complain at fifty thousand mach. Plus you've attached squeaky wheels and that's an insult to anyone with insulin pouches round the front of their trousers. Don't you know the needles crack? These people wouldn't have to call you wastrels if you didn't beach mangos and breach good manners just for the shits and giggles. That thing on the horizon is a hammer and it was made in Wales so you best watch yourselves. The Welsh Smithy sends his regards with clumps of hair on the handle.

09/11/2013 - MILKY MOVEMENTS

            Milky movements in the equestrian dartboard create all kinds of foxy, groundbreaking humour. The respiratory bedtime invokes a heinous brilliance with each slash of the throat on the pert and palpable tush of learned delight. There is nothing pampered to this uprising, all the old chaps are involved in some faculty and they'll parade them up and down the production line until the pay check comes through and the maternity ward closes for the evening. Too many words have been spoken about this matter, far more than throwaway salad can handle. Therein marks the beauty of the old cynic, his desirous existence is a level-headed pot shot at all remaining brigades with hard-up politics at their back. To check for a song in the proverbial heart is to irritate the mail order tut as it resides politely in whiskey shot glasses. As of now, knowing where to stand is bog standard discordant behaviour.

            The overture hearkens a reckoning with its very palatable violin quartet, they make it seem like the giants are really there and really square around the pot-bellied children and their impressive water retention. If life were to suddenly jingle jangle, the sharp stick and the Japanese barmaid would go off hand in hand, marriage in marriage. The priest forgives your lucky break on the funky slot machines and will even refund you a few cash bundles.

            It seems the killer robot has just turned bicentennial and will be regurgitated over and over again and other people will talk about it with good stuff going for it. What most people really enjoy about this is the balance of gradual killing and sexualised flunking. November will do that to you or so the famous author says in his last, resilient manuscript. Can you feel the turmoil between the lines on the withered man's weathered face? You should be an official of the ketchup bottle and make the best of it while you still can before all the world helps with its mounds of cloying responsibility. Highlight the flavour with low fat price details and become more strategic while the sorting begins and the training ends with a lemony shooting ethic. Keep on the kelp while you fly and be sure to hold onto something. Learn exactly how to be in this room.

            Getting along: that is man's contumely. Your line might be cut down but the power will lean on great things. True and effective leadership does not come from a distinct personality, it comes from generic life choices that capitulate at the very last minute. It should feel like you're there in the cinematic environment but lots of scenes should be made crystal clear before hungry jars start to raise the hairs individually. It throws other people off, try a bit of this climax instead. Admiration gyrates, good pleas, evil formulates and you don't do any of the above whilst your living at home with your parents on a brackish bed spread. If you knew something else it probably wouldn't scar you for a passing thought.

            Backing, rising, blurring, charring, doing, writing, leaving, climbing, shooing, shoehorning, continuing, happening, trying, exciting, sequestering, bashing, raking, getting, vying, detailing, characterising, ending, numbering, numbing, performing, crystallising, flinging, hungering, fraying, yelping, warning, warranting, jobbing, qualifying, stabilising, targeting, adding, subtracting, reviewing, fracturing, stupefying, starting, developing, choosing, allowing, salivating, harping, killing, thrilling, attacking, jabbing, womanising, crapping, walking, learning, delivering, promoting, criminalising, giving, honing, drawing, plotting, solving, coughing, boring, triumphing, struggling, tamping, sliding, booking, cottaging, hugging, bringing, dying, requiring, listening, easing, farting.

            The entertainment makes for a straight forward choice for the lady with the clambering, chilly hair style that gives in to needy mores and produces twists in the schooling systems. Going forth at the positive note will sour the members of the cult and their identifiable anticlimax make for better director's cuts in Anosmia. Hopefully your parents won't enjoy the clarity of the bad guy as he walks through the elemental airport, far too many good things happen to him in his shiny black shoes. Do you configure before the inevitable confrontation? Is there something else? I'm just really curious about what you don't like about these leaky pages. I'll talk to you at the con and we'll clean this air right up. As for me, I have some top quality poetry to read at brick wall audiences to see if it'll aid them in getting a heavy-headed sleep pattern.  If this doesn't work, I won't hold you responsible but I will have to make off with your finest top hat while the course of true love becomes the body of the rhyming text.

            So you're the one. They told me about the one. This one was supposed to be the only one, the one they were talking about so tirelessly. They said it with a Victorian emphasis, as if talking precisely about the number 'one'. One would think that they wanted you to be two but gave in to the fact that you were simply just the one. The one isn't really romantic as far as I understand it, it's more of a heroic thing but not like in one of those books or films about 'chosen ones'. You're a prime candidate because you're a prime number: one. At least that's one of way of looking at it, I do accept that there are many but they keep telling me that you are just one. You're the last one. You're the good one. You're the one we've all been waiting for apparently. You're number one in their books and I've seen all their books. They all say you're one for the records, you're one waiting to be set up and let go. Your one who needs to watch his back. Everyone wants to get the one to save the many. Anyone will get close enough. As for who will actually manage this, one will have to wait and see. One way or another, your numerically safe. One little minute and your human body will fall away.

07/11/2013 - TAKE THIS CD FOR GRANTED

            Take this CD for granted and it'll rattle along with bloody-faced support and congratulatory workforces. All over again, the beat box breathes rap battle lives into our chocolate sundae, horrible stuff that sticks to the specialist knowledge at the bottom of every glass dish. I bet you can't see it all the way from the playground, I bet you can't assume your worst from such a long and young distance. I want some bookish whispers to roll around on while my student and teacher sit in the corner, turning over yet another new leaf. I want to take Cornwall and shove it down your windpipe once and for all, no aggression intended.

            Then again aggressive tactics have had a history of working, an unrequited history but suitably passable so long as you have an eye for decently-sized packages. Give me the long road and I'll tell you to take a choosy malignant tumour to a local delivery service in order to see what transpires. This is not high art, it is the WHOA factor and don't you cherubs and seraphs forget it. The cloister bells can be heard clanging over the radio and who would question why a voiceover coach needs to be involved? It is, as they say, a presidential matter after all. Please don't regret your tie, it is blue and more than you need. To hear the words that you say, that you spend such luxurious time on, hurts me like a Hungarian quip straight to the danger zone. My stomach literally growls for community job options.

            So far, this has happened: the lesbians are charging Normandy, the telephone directory has been burnt alive, a compendium of Irish poets have been squished together to form the biggest human accordion and the smithy has become an archer in his spare time. He has a lot of it now since the news was broadcast and the Tibetans haven't sent their usually speedy rebuttal. Young people all over the world have donned their fingerless gloves to see if they'll last the winter, knowing deep down that they're only chance is with a court martial or charity auction. I just want to dance peacefully and peaceably with a coat that will knowingly love me as much as I love its seamless silk stitching.

            The key to fun is really a big sordid game of causality whilst riding on the back of an erstwhile buffalo. It isn't so much the key to life due to all the bumping around but you can always whip it out as an exciting little factoid at Muslim Weddings. Everybody will share your sunny disposition regardless of how dower they enter or how respectful they choose to ultimately remain. You can always put it on vinyl with a hairpin trigger fastened onto the side to ensure that insurance salesmen won't come knocking at your door for a while. The juvenile delinquency of such men is technically an unsubstantiated agreement between their schizoid internal clock and their hair-lipped wives.

06/11/2013 - BUT MOST BRIAN INTERNALISES

            But mostly Brian internalises the sexual medium with frequent elision of the sensual factuality. It's a powerful happening, a voyeur's wrangled dream on a pink duvet as it whips right out from under it and inflates to the size of a whalebone dress. I could support the promotion of lollipops but that would be dishonest and filled with creamy sardines that tick, tick, wriggle and shoot me a wandering eye. My hands are, of course, at the ready to receive the deactivated bomb and all its constituent parts (i.e. the wires and shit). Wouldn't the year become something entirely supportive if we wedded a stormy day to a dog's hook lip? The scrapping sarsaparilla hypothesis keeps outmoding all unions with its selective slab interjections. All those promises to jack off in the face of harpsichords, a wasted journey to and from the lamppost at the corner of the street.

            Seen as how you're going out west to text the Dalai Lama, could you possibly wipe out, nay, scrub out the number seven entirely? It just has no practical proportions, the company want to break the bank and send the constituent parts (e.g. the red bricks, the gold bricks and other shit) to a fancy padded cell in the backroom of your local good greengrocer. Communication with children tends to break down as the protracted tailgate loops into itself and somehow manages to avoid fretting it's pretty white skirt. I am the greatest endless office supply to ever grace the lonely typist's table, I fill up like an electrified paper weight and spit out bits of kinetic energy to check that she is still breathing as opposed to just pushing the 'L' key down too hard. She hails from Boston whereas I can't see past her favourite stapler and all of its inconveniently racist views.

          Real Madrid wants me for a purring kitten plan of theirs, they hope to instigate an investigation from the RSPCA to see if they'll open up a handshake clamp they've been struggling with for eighteen months now. I doubt that they'll ever be so deserving of human warmth with all the feet they tend to use to solve their problems. I guess I'm not much of a football hooligan, I'm more or less a hooligan with primitive hopes and dreams, more or less involving water sports. You've won it back! Congratulations! Your right to have frizzy hair, that is! Your legal right to practice with it!

            My sword often plays hooky and heads out on the streets as a strangling vigilante, usually slicing off my thumbs to bring them along as sidekicks. I'm inclined to see them as fall guys, bullet shields and talk show leaf blowers. I'll miss them when the surgery stops working and it will eventually, I'll lose all right to be opposable. At least my shoe leather remains comparatively unaffected. There have been talks to juice it though and I'm currently watching those involved in said talks as closely as a pregnant woman. 

05/11/2013 - COULD WE POSSIBLY DRINK THE LOT?

           Could we possibly drink the lot? They diddled the peach and let go of all movie treatments. I got a pair of educational projects strapped to the morning wood of a silverback gorilla. We made nothing of it, preferring to delve headfirst into hip hop topiaries. We left the job of imprisonment to them instead and that was ultimately madness, the kind that turns around the polarity of most Irish sideburns and makes a stolid mockery of nerdy poster makers. Stop right there: whilst most gay outsiders are safe from being made fun of, they still are restricted, severely restricted in their obligatory rights to say yippee out of European context. Press the button and just wait it out, that's what the pirate doctor always tells me. I think he gets seasick around seventy. This shit goes way back, beyond the littlest municipal aggressors even. I think they were cute in their own way but I could me misconstruing manky rugby doubles for hawkers. They want your arguments, they want to stuff them in their fresh fruity pockets.

            This calls for horrible grandstanding in the middle of an inappropriate synagogue. There is no pause for knee-slapping activity, as soon as moonlight splashes down on them the pixels change and revert to a smoother texture. They might even add a black glow around the suffix. To hell with the prefix.

            We are the normal people and we live for the simpleton pleasures, satanic coffee mugs and lonely winks. What do we have left to subscribe to? Ideals? Wide-eyed comeuppance? We've all been there, flung down in a hot mess of gelatinous probability and fed our own chance of death with a side of sprinkled refinement. The friendly aims live and slip around at the top of the stairs, acting as if they are privy to saucy doctrines that no-one else can even muse on. Off they flounce, the grappling hook mischief makers with their destiny in a million barrels that roll and even unroll when electronic devices are Yakuza. Can we tell terrible jokes if we promise them to be funny? They might even deserve a cold recording? Does this register for you?

            My squeaky noise will give me keen truancy options while I play the PC, attending to my tale of many bold options and the plastics that seems to surround them with fiery whereabouts. The spotlight returns and blesses the nether regions of crazy envelopes. It's the grossest shit in the world, in the office right now. The recycled urine takes vitamins to be put paid, even though it is entirely egalitarian in nature. Placebo effect happens. That's the best we can do whilst high on our own product. We all know that you do it too when caffeine doesn't pay attention because it insists on pretending to be a lock of a wild child's tousle. Any minute now the wind will pick up and transfer holiness to a thematic filth monger. The only way out is a wiener flopping on the ground.