10/12/2013 - AS OF NOW THE CROSSHAIRS

                As of now the crosshairs have given up their ancient rite to malinger along utopian high streets, they much prefer tidying up lion's dens with permanent markers and the finer points of life. The bullets come straight out of the rectory and you'd be hard pushed not to feel slammed against a multifaceted wall as it unfurls all the corners and whirrs like a fox in an ergonomic keyboard. The boycott of a mind is a beautiful thing and deserves plumper lips and perhaps fairer skin for the far-sighted and their melanoma cookers. The sound of distant irony slams down over and over again to confront the ears and hallmarks of a song before it is detracted and half-remembered. The elements are finally unleashing themselves with dramatic hypertension and a golden bar filled with nitro glycerine that won't stop, won't give its undutiful sense of belonging a rest before the final landslide inevitably rushes forward months in development. If you listen closely you can hear them saying that they say that the CD-ROM is making a comeback and will host an unexpected party in 2023 after all the cool guests have gone home to ruminate over magazine pages. These pages are usually timed according to their auctioned content and the fox-like whirring never packs it in, not while the spine remains unbroken and the dearly beloved still fill up their carefully knitted place in the bible and indeed most other holy books that few are inclined to merely giggle at. The shoes are knocked off one at a time and the pope has his footstool taken away from underneath him at the exact same time. They play farce music while this happens and I suppose that it really is quite funny except when the pope's guards turn their attention onto you like a naked eye in front of a flaming mirror and suddenly want to question you with thumbscrews, thumb tacks and even a few retellings of the Tom Thumb story. I'm not folk and neither are you. The mathematical equations that are usually asked of a member of the folk community reduce the pin prick dazzle of the brain to something infinitesimal and worthy of a truly slow clap in midnight rain. The crayons come out like a flash and all of a sudden a thousand and one dopey looking blokes suddenly want to write and then rewrite my biography but I want an auto, I've been revving it up for little over a decade now and its getting there. The teacher's hand comes galloping down and that usually stops all play but the engine is a tireless living thing that wants to fool with my remorse to the point that I can't tell which way is guileless anymore. The ice caps are as clear as day but where do I go to make an absolute joy of myself? I need an audience and perhaps a dunce's cap to highlight as the first exhibit. This will happen in the court.