30/04/2014 - I'LL SEE THEM SUITABLY PAID

            I'll see them suitably paid, a job and the works for their little kiddies. Provided that they're wearing the pinnies with the bulletproof materials collected by the blind babe in the cave, the one with the swaddled hook nose. I will run my underlings off their feet to spare a franc for the remarkable places that the kiddies are set to go in. What is this? Am I mad? No, I just don't quite know how to requite my love for the theatrics in front of such squalid conditions. Was there a witness? There should be a witness, it feels fitting that a witness be present. Preferably underneath a hearthstone straddled by a gentleman strangler with a brand upon his coat of arms. The tide washes in all kinds of tourist guides that I absolutely flat-out refuse to read on the grounds that I'm not a musical director. Maybe that Nicholas, that underling's son with some runner's shoes on him, maybe he'll clear this garbage out of my path before Passover. Give your guns up or you'll die while my cake rises in the oven, it's self-raising and you're definitely not of the same case. The good news is that hockey is ridiculously overexposed and shall be attached to an army-shaped rocket and swatted all the way to the faithless moon that pretends that it's little more than a polite satellite. There will be no substantial attack to actor ethics, just concentration on a larger scale than usual. It's a lovely inspector, the one you have there.

          'Little people are constantly fitting me for a fight because of my gash and the way it lurks on the internet like a snake in freshly-sheared grass. Large people are more sporting but they test my patience with schoolboy tactics and moustache shaving. At least a good portion of the battle has been one for queen and country and the presence of mind of both constituting the thinking power of Calico Jack. Hungering for revenge on the edge of a knife isn't nearly as bad as people make it out to be, pirates are well aware of the health benefits; in fact they parade it around for all I care and for all I'm really worth to the wrong side of the law. Men with worse qualifications are hard to come by but their petitions are blameworthy and without flirtatious duty. No doubt our paths will cross as usual, like a celebrity covering a classic song with brutal vocal chords trapped in their snow globe heads. They make their own kingdoms with board game supplements and train timetables. Heaven knows, don't let them in! They don't behave! They conceal crucial political documents for the betterment of society! I don't care that sewing is really just capitalised storming around furry distances, I don't care about your antiestablishmentarianism, about your stirring of Polaroid pictures, about your stringent meat flurries, about the 30 mph zone we just past. This is my icy blast and I'm done with animation studios. It's been that kind of year.' 

29/04/2014 - NO-ONE WOULD BE EXPECTING IT

No-one would be expecting it. Not Henry, Not Delilah, Not Summer, Not Eramus, Not Mr Thank. Neil might manage it though, he hardly knows you. I think you know how he walks over to show her off to her glad rags filled with clover and true blue lesbian starch. My mind gets up to all sorts of sneaky shit while you all sleep in your snug space shuttles, repeating the adages of past societies and civilisations with all the authority of a nubbin. Ask around while you can. No-one will be expecting that. They thought better of you; they just can’t see why you opened up the windows that kind of summer breeze.

After a while the streaming takes a syringe-like form, pouring out of the inner-self with druid sparks and limpid pools of hot water, climbing up to boiling point just to impress the girlies and their ribbed factions. The xylophone reminds me of credit card adverts and, in doing so, draws buckets of sweat out of my prostate. No-one told me about the way she lied and cried and howled at the hollered-out mask of a twice-spent actor on the way to the garbage heap as far as latex is concerned. Though they all knew that the repeats would recur and concur and show her visitations to be merely acting lessons from clear-eyed thespians, we have better authority now. This authority wears a guitar and plays it sometimes just to bother film school trips. And what did we say about violence? Seriously we can’t remember, jog our memory for us why don’t you. Get on the forum.

We’re turning down the bail bondsman because of his choice in sunglasses, that and he is a machinist prick with black sails for sale and a through-route to the cops just to tell them the matters as they crop up. We dentate because we love him and we long to wear his socks as proof of purchase. All the pieces are ready and armed in their lingerie and pebble formations. Gold elevator doors, that’s where they’re headed and about to get snuggled up.

                The cur of all queens, Lily, wants to strap the rest of your mainframe down to the table and repeat after you until climax. This monkey business is in her veins, through her arteries for some reason that we would all do well not to learn until we've paid off all our student loans and shacked up with some radio mistress from South End. The trouble with listening to people is what you hear and what the gentleman expect you to act on without quibbles of remorse. Let's all go to the toilet to have ourselves a treat, the words written on the wall are curved and friendly. My hands stopped being steady months ago but none of the libido triplets have noticed. They have astro fever, the feel of the turf beneath their naked knuckles and the twist of a bayonet round the area we reserve for the little god.

28/04/2014 - JUMP AROUND THE TOTALITY

Jump around the totality without question, whatever occurs will make fine imagery for fine laughter. It looks like there’s something under the water. Almost certainly boats are seeing podcasts into waves and radioactive to buzzy bald men who want to liven up conversation with his wrong friends and their conical relationships. Maps should be competitive, operating on slash fiction via the roll of a dice filled with miniature apples. Don’t ever have anything to do with flame wars that shimmies up universal constants going around nearly everywhere you want to. Do you guys have outlets for these here? I have a justified peapod and that is standard for pedicure pedigrees. Buy it back, buy it all back for the 8-10 hour charge. Put your finger on the race track and make circles with audio footage, cracking the thousand mark straight up in the cloud.

Warm up the town and buy out a lifetime’s usefulness for vinyl records and embolic needles that can only take so much from move to move. All my jazz is really annoying and rather not timid with untimely behaviour as marked in others. What if I want another scroll to the Os? This is cryptozoology in the news like water-skiing tournaments. Besides everywhere is a hoax croaked from the throat of a dying madam in her own shifting mortality and let’s pretend that the monsters are real with their long life spans. It’s its own food supply. A creature that large is worth the assumption, worthy of weird derisive brooking that isn’t actually real. There are actually two different reality TV shows about discussions and their big feet resting on the public consciousness. This documents our lifelong struggle to find one guy who resides in little heard-of film scenes in millionaire phonebooks. The untamed wilderness of the great white north.

Asterisks at dinner: Johnny plays the midriff and his wife has a clit in her cheek. Johnny wants to take us away from Neil and Erasmus and their mutilated chupacabra. How should we fight them? Their awesome force? Their austerity as made awkward with five stages of grief interspersed with intermediate fist fights. It would be hilariously cannot. The US Military would sic the owls on the presiding government out of developmental physics and all tertiary moonwalking. It doesn’t really want to back off from the new suits and X-ray infused invisibility. They are going full-on for this, weekend warriors in between their defensive moments and absolute docking. A really weird collaboration with shoemakers and their radio merchants of airy aftertaste. It’s a funding thing that actually reminds me of doctors in the United States eating their perniciousness.

In what backward-ass universe do we have enough money in oh, ooh and various variations of ah. Who wants war with drink companies? Tactically? A fragment of children’s snobbery that informs technology for fifty guys and eleventy chicks. We’re talking power armour divisions for little yellow birds. Your imagination is the killjoy with any old situation grabbing its back.

27/04/2014 - THERE WERE SIRENS FOR PREGNANCY

There were sirens for pregnancy, of pregnancy, under pregnancy, fucking A and G. As always the happy people shook hands and wore flannel jackets for a time with the hope of killing a few dozen hordes before the sun fell in itchy patterns across the international face. That kind of parlour leads straight to maturity and some of the whereabouts concerning the real shit that everyone likes talking about with conviction. The doctors and their deer hunting schedules often bring this about very swiftly. Not tonight, not while the leader is marrying his own sensibilities for money and prestige. Its common law and the chefs will bear hug it as if it were their God given right to be their own confectionary. Of course there is a space, a period, a glimpse of denial as the skirts are drawn back but maybe they could use more play to test that the rest of the world was all right with lousy banner posters and heavily-laden tables filled with insubstantial old worriers and their kitchenette items that they bring with them everywhere just to fuck hell right in the capital town. Listen to the bludgeoning of the tire irons that hate beautiful women simply because they sing low notes without difficulty. They needn’t be so violent but they are.

            We are the long last and gladdened with eyes on the ball and the beer bottle lid purely for scientific comparison and weakness assessment with frothy desire and desirous lion-taming according to steelworkers who frequent the babyish loneliness of trust and pretty sisters of the green and inspected. Who prays for the cruelty-tipped hours and the one single flight of loved-up tuxedos. Don’t ever get in a car with one of these dudes, that way does asbestos lie. Apparently the iron works so that’s why I’m taking an age to touch for the princess and constrict his wedding with low-charge Islamism and the telling of one thing in the mountains with a cigar in one hand and another straight in your mouth. The dipping of dabblers is about to achieve tree growth status, something so popular it is accepted and tied down by nails in the ass and the lowering of car smashing standards. Some guys still feel safe but the fact is that furry hats will most assuredly establish weapons tapering as if under the customary flower on a coloured man’s lapel. He hit us and just wandered off in penile servitude among other female things that are preferably done on the night of the attack rather than during the drills far earlier in the process.

            I was told there was going to be a raffle but that’s goodbye to my potatoes and my picketing of their lowered standards, we just can’t get out of the rain and shrug off physical shadow just to corner sociopaths for their twinkly bells. She never asks for longer than usual. This is a Level 82 then you know that the support will not turn on anything you believe in.

26/04/2014 - YOU KNOW THAT SOME GROGGY POINTER SOMEWHERE

You know that some groggy pointer somewhere is shooting the breeze with that aeroplane from your childhood. You can bet that that groggy pointer is some detective with his eyes on the prize and a softness in the heart that makes him susceptible to music and wine glasses. At least the sound of whistling still drives you up the wall and then smacks you down; what a courtesy! You are most assuredly a dog with his nose screwed on, a right old pooch to be endangered by the recklessness of willy-nilly time travel. I even saw a few of your adverts, such soft porn is surprising to the censors.

Let’s you and me drop tabs in the lake and see what kind of poison the water supply can make of it. The churning can be seen best from the gurney and then our chins and cheeks will at last by settled on the same rigid path as the rest of the sampled face. As of now the packaging has worth and almost worth the tarot cards it was dealt with unceremoniously. Shopping channels want to report your death but I won’t let them because I have too much respect for you and my date night credibility. Let’s stay in and watch a VHS tape, you and me, and see how little the elephants actually will care.

I spend my day hanging up the phones of my colleagues to ensure the financial wellbeing and my own selfish security because the case and the point are in actual fact two very different objects in varying planes of existence. It all comes full circle and the children won’t know until they’ve risen out of the swamp and actually met with the vampires from their parent’s childhood and their grandparent’s godhood. If you don’t have that particular story on tape then I have been empowered to eradicate several memories from your more pleasant experiences of days in life. Chart it on a photograph and the powers that empowered me will turn you off and make a smart mouth and a howdy out of your lower portions.

You know that dart in the leg on a pub night wasn’t just planned, it was organised by numerous competing elements as well. Elements  in government = elephants  = some groggy pointer out on the street with determinations of seeing you putting around the golf course and doing little else to contribute to the grind down of societal straining. You may have been a good person once, a glad person, but now the telephone company want to know why you’re being pursued by men with heavy purse strings and the fake eyelashes of strippers name Candice and Simulation. The good people want to hail the surrendered organisation with red marks in black hair like buzz kills at crystalline parties with political undertones and a seriously kickass oompah track ongoing.

All the women want to sell you a fish tank. All the girls want to break you in on the football pitch.

25/04/2014 - CO-FOUNDER, DROP

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

24/04/2014 - I'VE NEVER MADE PORK CHOPS BEFORE

I’ve never made pork chops before, I’ve been boneless and far too adult. The other day I found a super sale and decided to buy them in spite of my small staring and completely different strain. I doffed my hat to the till assistant and browned her behind from either side just to show the seriousness of the matter, the recompense for black pepper and sugar and chilli powder. I left shortly after that time to seek my feature in a boil, the boil of a nameless, blameless child who can’t cook any damn thing. Most of the time when I cook pork it’s tough. It makes my wisdom teeth hurt.

Wish me well while the teaser is flavouring up. Endure the thank goodness and small, hobbled remarks about goddesses and their new episodes of family mobsters. Ship it off to Guatemala, France like a brusque real estate salesman who was cut on forced comedy. Some people like slow paces and coming to a head for velocity and a quarter. I’ve always done that strategy of turning books on their sides and putting them on top of everything else for the sake of habits and contribution to stress.

My pork chops were self-sustaining soon enough, making decisions about life-saving procedures and what constitutes ‘little by little’ and how far one might move it out per each step. Cups climb up to the sky, my cups and a few of the mugs that were left behind by my cherubim lover who physically looked at fans of personalities and emulation of those personalities. You can throw them, I can throw them and even eat off of them when the noodles are heated and sufficiently forgotten about. I cannot bow down anymore. It was good to get to know the pots and the pans and their individual power companies that turn out with bills and 48 hour notices of some thickness and durability.

It’s communicative, the clever man in his sectioned cupboard filled with memo payments and floral wherefores. My book club puts out fantastic commentaries for fighting Manga that is erstwhile all on its own station. I kind of want to read ahead and leave the others behind with their web comics and professional amoeba novels. At the same time I don’t want to spoil it for myself by contextualising going to bed. The words on the pages told me that in the beginning there was an unhealthy obsession with abscesses that couldn’t be tarnished by human hand alone so they roped in a few iguanas at the same time. Long story shortened, it didn’t work and the traitors fiddled about with car alarms until they went on all fucking night.

I’ve never intentionally bought into toboggans or sea shells. They just seem abstract by abseiling standards, just like pork chops are my undiscovered country. It’s the last vestige that makes me a difference in this big box of tissues and not a good one apparently. I am so ashamed, I really am.

23/04/2014 - YES, THE APRON WAS THE GIRL'S

Yes, the apron was the girl’s. In that case, my friend, I won’t get my thousand dollars. It ain’t going to be yours, that’s for certain. She was mighty nervous the last time I done saw her, she came on with a burning cross between her shoulder blades and yet her bones were cold. I have no recollection of Comanche roundabouts or more wood on the fire. The pouch contained a maelstrom, the pouch on the apron; patted down by shadowy hands straight out of opportunistic ape descendants. The fluttering of shotgun pellets were thanks enough for one century’s worth of semesters. I’m getting my money back through long sought after stake in magical missing. It never occurred to me to be a man’s man, I didn’t know it paid neither.

            letters come by years in the violin cases just as the lustful plates contain boiled sweets that make you comfortable in the company of a mexican failsafe reacting to the hammer reactions of north cut territory. some or other agency with trade goods and easy laughter at hard sales. lay on the hat with the feather eschewed just perfectly, just aptly for transparency. they built longhouses by stumbling on to something scarred and wet by hostile activity. there was a white sullen girl; she could have been the girl after scalps, the girl who once owned the apron that’s now in a suitcase at the bottom of the ocean. squawk, mama, you read the schoolteacher before marriage hits the marriage bed. cut it out, will ya? i sure do wish you could make a native out of the wild goose that entertains itself with inappropriate berth caused by white teeth. that’s grounds for real tough night cakes and you heard me with taking off fluid straight from the sunny funding fees or the coffee you sip when in adverts about window glazing.

            Call me ‘understudy’. The quarantine shall fill up the mounds of hashish just to show the welting winders that their depiction of Shakespearean tragedy is really no different from the claims of dominance on a weary dust bowl. Am I three slags or one? Can I fall fowl of the rector? Only the ‘understudy’ could march up and achieve such acclaimed status without doing his back right in. Slipped discs are inevitable on the stage in the past few timeframes. Well, at least for the Irish worrywarts.

            You are an asinine critter but you have some redeemable qualities that save your easel from my cannon fore. For one thing you are tall and stand on feet like hands set in stone and protracted by mathematical abstraction that trips off the despicable elements of my smoking asexual nature. Ambidexterity is happening all over the world because of the specific placement of fast girls and their humble reservoir knowledge. They refuse to accept it, they prefer to refute its every riptide and ripcord and bacon crisp. I wouldn’t touch the sodden remittance though, it has ‘ultimatum’ written all over it.

22/04/2014 - INVEST IN THE SHOP

Invest in the shop with stores and a few hat collections for good measure. Think on your mistakes as my friend and help out with boardroom planning and colourful delusions of reading and sexualised piano concertos. The greasy windows are stuck on replay on the back of a rocking horse that dips in unintended glossaries just to say aggressive morning prayers.

Do you think I should tangle it? Am I here as a professional peep and you just can’t beat a professional for peeping, especially when you’re more than a block away in the right hand. It’s impossible for disheartening to put a dint in appreciable belief, it is mutated and moves for one thing. You can do better than that, you mischievous spender, you can twerk without a comely uniform and mind that the spinning stops with the tombola.

No way to belie, no way to wake up Sleeping Beauty with eggs and bacon that hurts in passing keeling over with cuboid fluency. The congenital, primordial thermodynamics of signing magic into package paper so that the just can be trusted with cure-alls. Holy cow, the sparkles and the blooper bags! Honduras! Brrring the shameless mantelpiece forth and let it be judged by puppets in it to win it.

The bubbles are symptomatic of a fever that does the dance without heirs or looms or spaceships that translate into kites. Can you be any sweeter? With the liquid tabs? As of now the intensity is all for brow-beating concentration, for narrowing focus on an elderly flautist with horrendous values of racial learnedness. And they all want a peace of the piece while the action settles down for its afternoon nap.

Who hit snooze in a trite manner? Can buttons become Ghurkhas and for how long? The mind is adventurous because we could handle life so well if it weren’t for all the interconnected deviousness of formulated spirit. As of the duty, the politicians take the iamb for a plaintive couplet and in doing so leave its better legs by the roadside for all the preachers to remark on.

Beggars at the feast along with the ghost according to elite Parisian upper crust: master the law abiding brokers. We’re the ones who alter the land, we’re barricaded in by blown prosperity. After so long who would even doubt that the books are getting shorter because the novel is abdicating from its papal authority out of some deathly blessing to the rest of the concubines. It’s too soon to ever say OBEY to the page master and his milky ilk. Your father wouldn’t accept such travesties as his bosom creation, let alone grieve the holes in sponges of mercurial talent. TAKE ME TO SALVATION NOW THAT THELOVE IS WELL REMEMBERED BY UNSPOKEN PHILANTHROPISTS WHO’VE SEEN THE FACE OF GOD AND HIS LORDYLORDYLORDY CLIMBING FRAME, THE ONE WITH WRETCHED LIGHT-UP FEATURES. WALK BEHIND THE SWORD AS IF IT WERE A GUN WITH A COLD BARREL FILLED WITH IMAGO FISH BEARING SCISSORS TO FAROFF LOCATIONS WHERE DISTANT DRUMS ARE JOINING CONSTANTLY.

21/04/2014 - UNLESS WE HAVE BETTER TO DO

Unless we have better to do, let’s go ahead with the mainstream and trickle away the hours of the Backpack Saturnalia and prepare for the logistics. At least we have pretty assistants, stunning assistance in some cases, and we’re certainly on top of our game with gamma collars unbuttoned and casual attire worn over the threadbare cardigans that our morbid den mother stuffed into our cheeks as toddlers. She wants you to spend time with her, by the way, something about father and grandfather not being heirlooms anymore. She moved the mantelpiece half an inch to the right and then a decade to the left simply because the goblins in her skull told her to do so before wraths were incurred and such like. She’s still not right as you can probably feel through grapevines and other sunny tendrils. The vermin of the world incubate while she starts this all up again.

But just look at you, you fiendish puzzle. You deserve to play on the big daddy platter for smoking purposes. Could you be anymore viscous with the Unborn Cavity? Can’t be assuaged, won’t be assuaged by less honourable groin grommets. Later on. We could do that, of occurrence. Bright ideas just pop and then leave without even fizzling. Seems an awful waste, awful plump. Curly comments with tea and scones ready to go. Anything you say is snug beneath flannel and retreated plastic. By the sea, they say the weather’s fantabadozy. I do too, in fact.

Weekend trippers though. Have you seen what they do to the guestbook with their selection of choppers? The priests keep telling me with their drifting panty lines. Seems an awful waste to me, a creative lead like that. Nobody ever said that delegates can be chosen for their choice and the noise that that choice makes in pervaded air. Desperate measures can be pleasant if you’re deceased and hearty with business acumen. We only get it in on Sundays. No-one should knock before swallowing all the royal cleaning implements as well as the squire. He looks thicker now that the pasta dish has passed through him, looks to have bashed a bit too for flavour. How gratifying in the second. The bank cashier wants to sell before the sound of crashing curtains slays his string quartet. That’s the fiddle player and he is bowled over by the advancement of the digital age on his irritable pocket protectors. He isn’t fortunate.

Everybody rears back in foppish peppermint, it really does get everywhere so mind you grab a bun to sweep up the remaining dusty spread. We’ll come again when the menu comes out with variations of high-born discrimination. The serving will be disastrous and the handiwork shall have to shine through because their no room for even minor improvements in the previous faculty. It’s unfortunate, we know, but that’s the way of the windy season; you say alas one too many times and the police are about your necks, rubbing your noses in perimeters.

20/04/2014 - AND SO THE HARVEST HELPS ITSELF

And so the harvest helps itself to its runt of litters and the little acceptance speeches strewn about the battlefield with filed fingernails. They really didn’t wait too long for doctor’s care, they warned and waned and probably paid off a few debts along the way. Ah, mercy! Ho, police! Give way to the normal while the paraprax is away and tying its shoelaces for bootlaces and fresh beer bottles. They all await for innumeracy to fall prostrate in the trap and slate itself up to experience. Give back to life and the thief will take you for all you’ve got and the stoop that you stand on to make assurances and postulate hypothetical neuroses.

Perish the thought in flame and dry out the example for Peppier Macho and his inability to hold a long, proud note in the face of an augmented orchestra. Must we now begin to doubt the tenacity of coasters on coffee tables? Is the world really so lost? And what of heaven? We rest in cob pipes and the chin-scratching stars that smoke them with reverence and upload the feed on their websites. All those thoughts flying for the sake of the trolls and their slammed dunks. Must I know begin to monitor the musket fire whilst my forearm is trembling in hellish necromancy? Grant someone else their life for their livelihood, I want and desire a nap of black oil. Dream the dream as my mother used to say but not to me, to my father and his fleet of reindeer. The labour camps devoured his patience like a swift, sharp back of the hand.

It’s been a while since anyone shackled the monkeys to the seaside rocks and I think it’s about time. Not because I’m some sort of sadist, it’s what’s good for them; they don’t listen to anyone, they just trespass and act morose in front of maudlin people just to see what the experimentation will affect. So not too nice if you’d pardon me saying.

            Quite frankly the generation has seen enough of performances, nerve-racking and clamorous. The generation wants to bring up the harvest again, wants to charm the moon into rotating on its axis for a bit just to show the big blue marble how it should be done. Thousands upon thousands of automata would show up for that show and shoe in a few casual remarks about polite repeats that start in winks and end in blinks. The world is falling in half and the maker bag becomes you with silken patchwork and gears that grind and erase most grungy forms of radiation. At least the girls are sexually voracious, at least these girls are. The lease is up for the rest of mankind, it was written in the sponge and the brackish water. Man made bubbles so that he might disturb the water distribution and have something to pop with but a touch. The arms of his proposed father are about to enfold him tenfold. Gory.

19/04/2014 - QUIP AFTER QUIP

Quip after quip about reasonable doubt – where does it take the mind really? Does it steer the monkish parts around in a steady circle or does it merely make apostles out of our larger toes? Question after question concerning treasonable ideals – which is the saddest cut of all? Who makes up for the fact that the rest of us remain so jaded and probably won’t even climb out of our weighed coffins for the soil piling up overhead? Why did we let the things get so out of hand? Where is the postulated plan? Is it a map? Is it a map really? Do the fighting and succeeding to the sound of a heavy piano, filled with custard powder and gold bullion. The thrill of the last one to fall will sacrifice the manic hair as swept by vigorous winds from the North and chastity from the sweetened South. It’s the last fault to fall and breaking winners are becoming a broader concern as well as wider. Push with fever, you despicable layers of later, better hunters; the kind that sniff out nectarines in yards of unapproachable mood mud. Weary travellers prosper for the days before being away from the time appropriate.

More on the swap later. Who didn’t ask for the hunters? Who specifically didn’t ask? Why agitate them during the drum solo? Surely you wait for the guitar solo and hope for a good kneeling spot ahead of the choir. Cherubs with crinkly voices are dark doctoring at poor puppetry. Give it all to me? No wait, just give it all to me. Vilify later, at the dawning of dragon culture. Or is it draconian? Either way I’m not getting paid enough to hone this shit, I’ll let it trip off the sewage pipe and prepare for the backlash like the good little sailor I’ve proven myself to be. This is the quest, the benefit and the holy trinity that wasn’t made for the tempo or try out on a sports field somewhere. I have travelled across the land, searching for creatures of poor pluck and lame defence. Our hearts were courageous, our Catholicism sodden and slicked back. It’s always been a dream of the last one that you learn the drama society’s phone number, the pulled mileage it will grant you will graduate the rest of your meagre abilities to pristine levels of excellence and sometimes triumphant fare.

Ask the guitars now. Ask the drums. Pretend that destiny was full of truth and same-sex marriage and preteen consumerism or pretext consumption. Ask. As of now I’m just a lonely tree-dweller with his hands in peddler pockets as I whistle out the blankest pathway to fortune and crazy horses without the big gay musical at the end or the shoes that fit. With or without you, we’re going far out. That’s right, I am becoming we through the power of prompt thinking with remote controls as enlisters of future followers from my TV set. I haven’t paid the bills in a dank age.

18/04/2014 - GLASSY-FACED EUROTRASH

Glassy-faced Eurotrash tend to sit across from me on long trips through thin passageways. They carry books featuring glorious faces of pale beauties with their magnificent eyes whited out to spare the natural hegemony of society from any irrational upheaval. The terms are clear on the arrival of Eurotrash, you come in ice cream trucks or you come in nothing at all, which is to say naked. The professional work ethic of these people are what we on the council count on when dealing with them on a day-to-day basis. Werewolves are guarding our side of polarity and these  chaps and their old man chins are comparatively whimpering. This is the complete closet, the commando elite that trains itself to be endearing to the toy-wielding popularity contest audience that regularly rubs down this byway with surly fingertips. Nothing is rosy in this film-watching racket so the Eurotrash better be ready to stock up our DVD collection with classics and nothing but classics. We want the kinds of films that we wouldn’t normally watch unless high or inside a suitcase with no other means of pliable escape. I don’t know about the rest of you but my glands are retroactively conspiring with my nether regions without kindly sending a memo or tying up the little ones’ bootlaces.

The food chain ends in breast implants and the little Indian that resides in our poetry books is entirely indecisive about his heritage, picking and choosing his levels of audacious niceness. You can’t say fairer than that, his feathers tell us or maybe its his turban or maybe it’s his fancy watch with the hands holding fast every quarter of an hour. We are cruising by barmpots and tough accents to chew on while starting an illicit affair with an illicit alien of illicit intentions on every illicit day of the week. The week itself does little to stump our games and jokes. The picture we get in our minds is of large breasts that open up roof tiles so that the rest of the household might access heaven-sent beer. Lager comes from Aldridge and not very frothy. The well-wishers try to sell the taps like they would the brand but the brand isn’t quite as sticky as it once was and that’s probably down to the taps. Drips, you see; too many droplets on the phone conversation and not enough detail to hammer in.

Drawbridges are becoming exactly like everything else and that’s almost definitely down to the Eurotrash. Museums and granddad aftershave linger in their wake like shopping bags from some Godforsaken outlet that doesn’t sell Blu-Ray or blowfishes. Show a little initiative to the rest of the planet and you know what you get? You get rickets and a bloated nose because of those rickets. I don’t know, something irregular happens and medical science can’t quite catch up or scratch its head into gear. There’s something to be said about the breakthroughs of foxy ladies recently though, they swallow fire fighter catalogues by the dozen.

17/04/2014 - COULD WELL BE LIFE

                     Could well be life within the old hands, understand? You have nothing worth a boing or a fixed point in heretical time but that’s not your fault. I crucified your patron saint and that’s my bag on my face and the bones will rattle well for a while underneath it. I could say that Caesar told me to do it but then I was an evil little bastard at the time of deciding and self-destruction was as misguided as washing my hands entirely of a fairly good chap. He set the rover going though, did your old saint, he revved up and started putting his way through to the slices of shards of ingratiated glass that filled the hearts of many including my nimble self. At least he didn’t turn his cheek or else we’d probably still be putty today with all the structural integrity of moth-eaten curtains.

Curtains. That reminds me of a date that cannot be enlisted, that shouldn’t ever be corrupted by the meekest carat of gold shining down with deliverance and mysterious ulterior motives. All the precious metals do it, they have a nasty temper among them which they hand around and palm whenever the likes of my people come waddling along.

                                                            They set us up for fall guys to trip over and that’s how Vegas works, baby, the listening devices are implanted somewhere between your hair and crown. It includes footage of specially edited seduction from one MILF to another and that’s not nearly enough for the quick or unnatural as the fire warden likes to call them. He really hasn’t been the same since the equipment manager. Welding jobs happen everywhere, you can’t bluff literature readers like you could avid fans of popular fiction. It’s not really a classic but it does have classic status; you’re wealthy and that’s absolutely destructive to your more cultured habits; as of now we married the wrong crossing guard. NONE of these are the honesty of millions, MOST of them are essentially viewed through French windows like you would a manger.

More could be said but the card factory will dedicate its green blossom gossamer underside to a sweet old lady from Quebec. Everyone who has old hands becomes sweet in Canada, it’s like a rule. Go west, my turncock, and seek out branches that’ll steal your soap bars before your fairy-dusted eyes. The piano blazes on with balls-out ineptitude that won’t even start a decent IQ test to prove the levels needed to go to lengths of adaptable strains. That was the violin just now, the foggy wind-up of tennis balls craves the slight plucking of strings to sharpen their wind resistance.

            It’s a sloppy crank in the rectory, a splat attack with the bedroom door right open and the psychology manual isn’t even an introduction to the more abstract level of cognitive therapy. This is the newfound home of lazy whiskey filled with heavy water and skirted sensationalism. See how industries quicken with brown, that won’t really apply here.

16/04/2014 - WHELP FOR CHORTLES

Whelp for chortles, groan for doldrums, ask from the bottom of your briny heart. The strings that fill the fabrics with fragrant tampering and line breaks will encase the lamp issue with canvas operations and European map terms that wouldn’t work anywhere else because of finality and the underbrush stalkers that leave our cybernetic bimbos warming up gigs for titanic bomb disclosure. The first to fart is the last to see the light of day – A FLUFF BALL. The epitaphs, the poetry and the engagement with audiences both dead and alive will tidy away horse riders with half term whimpers that ruin multiple games of cricket with a pre-announcement of match scores that are really in fact chiming in from an alternative reality but not one where cricket is a popular pastime for the young and American.After effects include Mayonnaise, Artichokes, Walnuts, Delirious Aubergines, Carrots in Rubber Jumpers, Seismic Shifts, Soil Exchange and Long Shore Continental Drift According to the Words of an Abandoned Artichoke Joke. Remains remain to be their own jailers on high shelves – THE CRICKET SCORES UNIFIED AND PERSONIFIED. The white door is shrinking into a cream window and that will eventually see the spurious alteration of a window via conversation with a conservative bathroom light switch. The motherboard has strange plans for the year quota and that’s saying something but not everything or indeed every thing that comes out of a lidless plastic bottle. The mummified remains are something to be seen from a great height descending at landfall speed. As often the sentences will wind their workaday barcodes into your blue collar stained window collection via the French salubrious thrusters that live temporarily in my garage. By the way when will you have time to take them back? They ask after you every good day and never say a breath on every other day. I stopped having bad days a long time ago. Complete misconception are a great man provided they can compile their lists into the suit of a well-meaning and credible lawyer – NO-ONE EVER. The glasses case will out and absorb out the fantasies from the fixtures and all the remaining wrinkles will turn Nordic and possibly bite with the territory of a gnat. It’s entirely selective and you look in a good dress by the way and that’s exactly what I mean to say because I say it with conviction and classified enormity. The wireless has never been more off the hook than it is right now and that’s all down to you, my mob force. Blokes love you and the centimetres aren’t quite sure what to do with you let alone make you in case you make them in the undue process. It’s a show of strength and how does it feel? If you say detectives have sexy voices then you need to clarify that statement before the real police come out and arrest your tongue and stick it in an exaggerated cartoon with thought balloons as the raison  when it’s really just a type.

15/04/2014 - LOSING COUNT IS NO BIG DEAL

Losing count is no big deal. Brothers are helpers in immaculate light, they sometimes drop stuff off for later delivery that leaves public office for impeachment. I still can clean their tardiness but that’s all that needs to be okay with membership and the sheriff that dictates the problematic from the whatsoever. We should get ourselves a dog with severe quirks and spasms that are really just abstract ways of asking what’s here or what’s anywhere without the right spanner in your hand. DON’T TOUCH THE FRESH ABRASIVES. Caress the helpers in their line of work, do the detective work for old women with lost cats and developed courier servers. You just don’t know them like I do; the cream has its reasons in the woodlands for the appropriate filing of small claims. Look at all of them: aren’t they grotesque and far worse than owing a bunch of money to a smattering of skinners. That’s why we stopper off at the apartment to find enough niceness in ice-breaking pleasure. History postpones the crooked man and his heinous business acquisitions, it makes the frailty true without consequence. IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK? THERE HAS TO BE! They shot manikins for milkshakes.
            I don’t quite say what I speak nor do I recite what I reiterate but the bytes are indeed berry-shaped and festering with secret chambermaids. Say wow to come with me, to leave the archers behind to care for the helpers and trade their every whims. Something is preying on the witches and their incriminations. Do you know how to leave it behind for the watched heartless and their sneaky noughts and crosses games that don’t really tell the disrespectful much. Can we come home for nutcrackers? I DON’T SEE WHY NOT. Hang by the business office and make a few gawky promises. We found her hair inside this like green wives and blue husbands and their alphabetical children. Have the murders meet me there where the operations lie low with eccentric circles. Save the last resort for the one who’s actually heard about you in oceans and scars. She treats me all right with quick peaks and sampled touches knobbing for burning. This is outside the woods, of course. There really is no account for taste just as there is no lark rising for tinkle glamour. Where do you buy your snowflakes? COULD YOU BE ANYMORE SCENIC! SPIDERS!

Waver waiver meanings meant – a slap on the wrist. I’ll tell you when the pudding and pie will speak up for dangled wolves that make the ride awkward for everyone involved without height restriction or named lay lines. Asterisk, you ask me questions with booming voice and falsetto aftershock but you have no right to claim my tree as your own marker in football games. GET ALONG QUIETLY NOW, GET ALONG WITH YOUR HANDS IN YOUR POCKETS AND YOUR STANCE TURNED AWAY. End of the day, end of the line, stay of execution and all that merits a jocund clap.

14/04/2014 - YOU'VE PACKED FOR THE ARMCHAIR OLYMPICS

You’ve packed for the armchair Olympics, you’ve packed the armchair accoutrements and you’ve tied down the mannerisms that will necessarily change you into the sort of woman that people compare to Autumn. You’re all set.

The rest of the trip awaits you with minor fluctuations of internet connection and fireside arguments with the doodles of lover’s past. All the glass has already been blown and now its time to simmer down and hike up that hitch before the flowerbeds lay claim to your centralised dominance. You’re going to ascribe importance to bendy straws while the dogs are looking with their ears pricked up, you just know it. You have a storeroom cupboard to strike up for miniscule minutes but you’re going to climb inside the womb metaphor instead whilst listening to heavy folk metal crunching sounds for moral support. This way for the glen. That way for the terrible movie list – 48 miles and run around with rum punch.

Download the timeout, eat the screensaver and key in the trial and tries before rugby seizes the seeing with blue cracks and unfazed zaps of a foreman’s foreskin. Momentary naps for you, one and all. Line up the shot, click the rank and watch the blossom retcon your phantom limb into the back of your specious ligament. Food shortages like glasses on bifocal noses. Sex for breakfast. Commemorative keychain. About ten minutes to evacuate your neck cricks, good time to blaspheme. Make good in your promises to raise the dead without exemption and you will receive that sense of ownership your maternal grandmother left you without. She didn’t have the right teeth in anyway and the cottaging happened regardless.

Blackboards swapped for petticoats. Hat racks traded in for anatomical etchings. All grey as the greyest Munich day. Bookmark it for closure and all future closed-hand magic shows.

As often as I like, you repeat to yourself, as often as I like. Your knife and your fork are in either hand and the microwaves has done with you. It’s a tragic overcome, a village oven glove clawing through your impatient travels. The sample on the CD is the hunch in your own personified pizzicato chords. The gun makes a start for the egg, a simile is burgeoned in your old dog’s bed. The day is won, the night is slaved, the old dog is only just waking up to his tail between his teeth. How utterly, very rubbish a sight for him.

You traipse along your own impersonated trip and you’ll keep thinking of all the wicker you see around you, in the wire fences, around the bollocks of the men who you lay with. Trees need soil for its long complexity and sore nutrients. You are on the rise, cheap and confidently trampling the permeation of whore and slag culture. You can see immediately, the colour and the ambience that results in diffuse finality. Your body lies further down the stream, holding the excess back for a wholly serious amount of catchments.

13/04/2014 - VERY PROBABLY

Very probably, guts like mush will become the new catchphrase as the titans follow their own footsteps to Armageddon. The armada of wellbeing shall flush out the wallflowers among us and tidy them into neat groves of immediate deniability. It must be deliberate and must be seen as being done deliberately or else all else is lost and we can’t get out our deposit note. The shopping centre is closed but the mall has just recently opened. It’s full of iambs and the bleeding dead who really just want to display themselves in sinful filing cabinets with guns and other drinks. Gin and tonic has gained recent popularity among them but they’re stupid creatures who smash their stupid heads into moderately stupid brick walls. There’s nothing left that even constitutes cardboard. Muster the mustard gas and we’ll play with the seeds in runny ketchup bottles. At least they got out alive while the going was a cottage on the South East bend to the outer reaches of one retching toilet. The water will green up, blue up and eventually percolate into pure iron with rainbow effects and shallow ideology. It really doesn’t hurt to have a spot check anymore but the perfect circle wants to live around the bend and will stab anyone who gets in the way, especially those who have specially baked lasagne in their positive uprising.

Are the newly weds around the corner? Often. How often? As often as it takes to reply to a chemist’s remarks on the term druggist and tincture. Who would even get that reference? Scholars of boredom. Who still even goes to school anymore? Those who don’t want to watch zombie movies 24/7 with cameras on full tilt and wifely duties going away from matters of public spirit. We need the spirited debate to get the shots in the arms to the quilted children who need it most, the swaddled imps and infants that don’t even play snap without gaunt expressions throughout the ordeal. The cream in mirrors, the tulle in every other reflective surface are the colours that run away from respectability to show us all how much of a circus light can really be. Car boot sales are enacting all over the globe as a unique result of this commonplace behaviour. Nothing to be sad about though, that is. Permanency.

                Why waste time on the food chain when fuel would be more efficient? A premium gas, a high-end luxury model that guzzles all kind of preheated asinine hold-ups and hang-ups. These guys are singing to fight to get in on that shot for eighteen healthy readers. The ancients want to provide but deep down they don’t see the side of ooh or urgh or anything half as fast as either or both multiplied. We got this, cowardly friends, we will distribute the wealth into the hands of the economic professors by eating their oomph as if it were pasted on special effects prawns. The rippers will mildew over conspiracy after seconds of grainy footage.

12/04/2014 - OATH ON A PALM TREE

Oath on a palm tree said to me: DON’T TELL NO MORE LIES.

Oath tree on a palm said to me: DO NOT TELL ANYMORE PEOPLE.

On my oath, the tree said: PALM THE LIARS, PALM THE PEOPLE.

Said oath to me via palm: AWAY WITH TREES ALTOGETHER.

 

And so began the great warming, the children let out their cupboards of white hair and set the chargers to reheat with the hope of enclosing an afterword from the reader of the pluperfect tensile strength. The polka grind goes on in the cold light of day and the coldest part of that light actually bounces along to the beat as it wears its footprints into the carpets of several lonely farmers. The womenfolk make the victims ledgers and arrange for homespun lodging in haunted creeks. Curtains flutter all around the neighbourhood at the very reconsideration of green on the flag, the neighbourhood flag but not the national one. The national one isn’t really considered a flag anymore because it’s a sigil for pretentious doorbells. Implied meaning shouldn’t ever be so fanciful, let alone start a boy band with but a mere thought. Shotguns blaze and the gospel can be heard in the rests between thudding beats. The shells ratatatat as they ricochet off of the tropical furniture. This is the wicker that made the fandango look dated, this is the wicker that eclipsed beards for plug sockets. As always, the chap with the bunged-up nasal passage is lining his moat with slippery concrete blocks because he really hates us for getting here so late and to the point. We don’t mean to beat around the bush and he doesn’t like it because apparently it’s unseemly to take people unawares like that. Our line manager wants to see more pictures of him so he can visualise the stamps it will inevitably appear on. Vinnie has time for anything.

 

VINNIE CARES THAT: tasking retrospectives takes an age.

VINNIE SCARES THAT: kindly old hag with the buck teeth for being so crass.

CARESS VINNIE: he has the kind of laser surgery we couldn’t even dream of.

VINNIE CARES NOT ABOUT: the dial-up tone on the long country road.

 

You have got two. You have gathered these two and planted their subsequent cuttings straight into the bedrock and now it’s time for that play date you’ve organised for the sick Chinese Dragon that eats all your rigatoni. The Worcester sauce is spilled right over the wrinkled furniture, the tropic furniture that hasn’t been folded up yet into burnt disposables, the palm tree’s alert neighbourhood watch. This tree has it in for you because of the last time that we crossed the farmer’s land without sufficient painting skill; we had to bargain with our barley rations. We lost our wisdom teeth on the breakout away. As you always so sweetly put it, we are royally praised for the games we wasted with commentaries of the scientific developments of yesteryear’s uglier twin. You have got two. Vinnie the palm tree, four.

11/04/2014 - WHAT COMES OVER YOU

What comes over you is a special thing that leaves irritants on your face and sometimes on your butt. You should really hang out with whatever floats your suction cup and don’t strand yourself in a fashion outlet. It’s too bad that red dresses don’t come without bear shit anymore. Sometimes you ask too many questions about biker dudes and sometimes you flinch for the hedonism of your country. Come over here and sit on the edge of danger lest the cans shall hit you with untold ferocity. Either tripping figures into getting better or hairy hands and sexy snout. Say where. Say that revival is a stance on ineptitude and you will horn the blast and honk the date into a smattering of oxen existence points. Cut the brake lines and end the world for several yellow joggers, namely ones who are lactose intolerant. Stomachs gurgle all over the antelope and warnings come a few seconds before suicidal tendencies take the place of body hair.

You’re not as fast as the first scrumptious one, you not as happy with torturous blithe and whole-handed transformation of pretty boy instinct. They snarl and can’t tell the difference between dance troupes and theatre troupes. Going wet won’t do much for the denim washers or their ilk pack. Spots behead corpses more often than you know, you just won’t admit it to your sweaty self. I’m getting tired, truly tired of all this signature writing and getting back to the basics for quiet reasons that fuck me over for moving on.

She tried to kill herself, you know. The woman that you can’t remember seeing on market day that everybody else seems to remember. She’s famous beyond her years like the removal of a famous shirt or perfume on a tanned cardigan. Look at the leaving of the friend zone, look upon it as a security panel long since oppressed by feverous hand tattoos. Do you mind getting that? The weed is in the top drawer and will spin the socks from your mind. The volcano’s alight and doing true things for dead sorrow. Joy cannot live without the spark of purest magma striking again visions of Erasmus making do with the little his mother left to him in the will. We’re all rock stars as it turned out. Have a drink to the high school prom, fill it with dreams from the soapy mindset of a mouldering beat that kept out from the rest of the score. Don’t go without belonging to something, don’t tie yourself down to an answer for a symbol.

            This is the elision of narrow creeks on white suspicion. Main events include brown actors, blue actresses and a handful of takers who do whatever the gowns are meant to do. As the disco balls shovel it in and the targets refresh along the backbone of the scream, the poll will be finally read out and it will be absolutely unexpected and only a meddlesome glory will employ an aged ass crack.

10/04/2014 - ANY COUSINS, ANY BROTHERS-IN-LAW

Any cousins, any brothers-in-law. I mean another pussycat got out and now the staff at the diner is pausing to inhale smoke until the bomb ticks over and everything comes to an irresponsive rest. Laziness in suits: a hell of a way to live life. We are zoot. That’s great for kidding but not good for a healthy diet of handling baggage or washing dishes. Don’t let the dreams of a space cadet hold you back from being a true Colombian, the big bucks are just groaning to be with you. That’s what all the high profile newspapers are saying; they view life more differently than I and rarely bring machine guns back for storage and selection. If anything happens to the head while one’s luck is pushed, the incredibly sexy moron will stop making eyes and start chewing out retirement.

Any auntie, any kitchenware, any article of individual symbolism. I mean idiomatic moments that play out with the cut and thrust of partly daunting lovers who seek to love the autoerotic transgressors in spite of their mannerisms when holding scissors. Everybody’s got to learn sometime but the silence does seem to overcome ogres and deafening sickness like rickets crammed full of starbursts and the remnant materials.

Memories last for as long as the daydreams don’t. Anyone can do it, it’s nothing to be proud of, not really. This is the edited version with audio dribbling in sync with encyclopaedic knowledge of barriers and penetration of those many barriers. If you know their movements, their people will attack the lovers with starvation tactics and liquorice TNT. Don’t believe a word they say, they only show what little people know and everybody already knows exactly how much bite they have. Bravo, you snake in the grass. By God, the presence of mind among you is staggering which is to say that the spies are all out in arms and numbers. They go back to their positions, do what they have to do. How right. How utterly, utterly clear in purpose and drive. You want a deal which is predictable but nevertheless acute and an executor’s delight.

            So long as you’re with me, you’ll be sorry about virginity and the relentless ambling of fiery wolves with their blunts set on narcoleptic. The leaping will cause our teeth to bear and the leaves on wheels will run ragged like snack-happy music. No-one is meant to accept the lost holiday because it’s a dandelion in full blood with throttles twisted like veins and finger food. Here I am with the hormones cutting like ape shit paper cuts: slake the piano chord before it goes everywhere as an act of medical arrival. All this growling for baseball will do the country no good. You guys just eat and flick and eat and flick and write bad scripts that involve skating as a magnanimous subplot which won’t be addressed at later dates in anyone’s life. The conifer trees have their own selective tendencies and they won’t ever go back on them.

09/04/2014 - ANOTHER HIRSUTE NOTE FORBEARS

Another hirsute note forbears the fine collection of vermin and the adept trades that come out of it like spouts of independent automata. He’s the one you should arrest, that chap over there, the one wearing YESTERDAY on a chain. He lives in a cabin, comes from it like a joust and proceeds to victimise the wranglers and peddlers for the sake of old man dignity. Ain’t the world a remarkable place? A fishy beauty overcome with maddening mod cons and salad dressing. The brawls stink up the air for monsieur. Swarm and you tag along with the travesty, making jobs for all the little chaps named Al and his jailbird friends. The brand of bran turns a man, makes him out of his skin with sloth. MANY is a word that is ripe for the nicking according to the popular censor, the one that runs most tall women off their feet for the sake of printed fanfare. Respectability doesn’t get a look in these days, what with all the hullabaloo and larks rising to the occasion and the threatening Battenberg cake display. Never concede defeat to the likes of which, always bear arms against a sea of troubles as you would a quilt stitched by all your favourite aunties from history. They probably existed at some point in time and space and just because they appear fictional grants you no right to be such a snaky young so-and-so with your mentality up to here and you dress size somewhere along there. We get along lovely and will get by without the harsh notations of your connotations.

Where the right-handed people all rely on tent poles to get around and classic credit offers to dry out their bones for the shapes of fouls to come. It's bullshit but we're all cannon. They're the ones who can be killed and often by raccoons crammed full of sweets and self-grandeur. Make up the mind with white people enforcement and then switch to the next to the fourth to declare shenanigans. The wings make all the map-reading so lonely and thick like a thrice forest during a bathroom break that sinks your teeth into balloon popping minigames that last precisely for as long as a full tilt takes to irritate the objective. Go back, it's not safe for water features or birds and we have been led to believe that you are both of them merged and melded into collaborative amalgamation. There are no ways to flip such cigarettes, to tell such lines like lies only without the rudeness and scorpion bling.  You did this for me? How tributary, how dorky, how hammered on and rock hard. Buzzing and shrugging all the way to bedtime and right beneath the sheets while the rest of the neighbourhood formulates wicked flip tricks for tuna farms that worry the longest. This isn't on any more, this is time-telling and we already banned it. It wasn't really part of the big game theory, it was a nubbin.

08/04/2014 - THE CHIMES OF MUSKET FIRE

The chimes of the musket fire: I wasn’t even there. I was kissing the fish tank with my hands soaked in comedy and a fair blob of tragedy bobbed on the bridge of my nose throughout the arduous process which was really annoying as I remember it. The matter was sirloin though but still the bloodied cheek newly transposed itself onto my face and it wasn’t nearly enough to pay me back for all the dirt and grime and sandy sod I had to endure at my feet. The shells were few and far between and my pocket watch was ticking over for Linda and her broad array of blue dyed shirts. She told me once, join us and then proceeded to act all shallow-like with straggly mesmerism and fetching cabaret to make it all seem virtually presentable. The kitchen drawer suffered the most as I choked on the goofy climes that inevitably shot across the bows and sterns of my numerical limbs.

What’s the license plate number? You’re bound to ask yourself and also bound to kick yourselves when you hear how simplifying the answer is. All the pretty dears are gone so we trotted out the slag to deliver your prize, she’s molten and carries around beepers and calling cards and various cute apparel. They like me for my hair, they like her for the same reason even though her’s is significantly different. And wiry. The times are reverting back to their Christian allegories and that doesn’t really spell much for the past links or the blinking nipples our nuptials promised. The runes that wed our elite organisation together made you the fluffer and the rest of us kingpins who don’t even need fluffers because we can fluff ourselves with a blank verse poem. The days are still as quaint as ever and don’t even muss up our suits our the suit laces that we absolutely insist upon being the upper class and all that, wot wot. Our masks need no chains to hold them in place, we merely have to look at them to prioritise them. Once there’s a hierarchy, there is no chance that the cast will return for the finale. And I’m glad.

Donna and Murray are probably shagging the carpets in the back of the shoe shop, they hate to be so tucked away but their coats fit nicely and the toggles are adorned with latex whiz threads that spoon and sparkle in the contraceptive light. The shows go on and play out with horrible trumpeting that marvels at its own minute destructive tendencies through cognitive hours of unreasonable powers. Work along to the beat and the masters are paid in plaid whilst the rest of us get something of actual worth: a game plan. We’ve got it roughed out already, let’s see what good it’ll do us to bend over backwards whilst we’re striving primarily left just to suit the times and uniform military formation regulation. Just pop on a cheerleader’s outfit and go slap on a good video.

07/04/2014 - HELP A GUY OUT

Help a guy out by hermetically sealing the chair focus group member. This is not the guy that you are helping so rest assured but please don’t actually rest because that would be contrary to the task required of you at hand. The only way to wind the day is to tape something on a VCR and act like it’s live until the point where your eyes become pebbles of blackened source magic as produced by the burnt-up stand-up comic at the end of chides of the heavens. That last thing is a movie but we can’t seem to find it anywhere because that would prove invaluable to our personal war effort. The raging of battles requires more bloodthirsty hiccupping and incitation of a conjurer’s respectability. This shirt-wearing contest is really tiring him out, right from the logic to the tips of his ears.

            As per usual the printer is spitting scanner bits right into our faces as we work through the night in our desperate attempts at reclaiming a sense of dignity through prosaic chitter-chatter, something which none of us expect to work and yet everyone climbs upon every chance that they get. I’ll see the ambulance in my dreams and hold the cadaver there in polite resurgence of the fact that the rumour is but a smaller bit of the very same dream that is currently swelling the key lobes of my submariner brain. The tools of the trade are yet to assign responsibility to disposal methods so keep out of the way of making sure for, as we all know, the totems and map imagery can be inspiring to all the wrong kinds of people rather than the slick-hided.

            The dog is on the verge of papier-mâché and really wants to tell us about it with hoity-toity flourish and breath mints that go on for absolute ages and yet no longer than it takes a lover to sigh at the other’s visage. The showers will come straight out with it and call up the national guard in the hopes that it’ll make you sweet on them and see how sweet and edible their flesh can be to the living. It isn’t gainful, it’s painful. Erasure happens so often that the paint tins can be fashioned into elaborate lie detectors via the simple act of faltering over stumbled deliberations that would take years to recompense in any case.

            As one woman to another, please benefit from my knowledge: pornography is a quaint pastime. There’s nothing inherently destructive about it but it does degrade in places and won’t be biodegradable until the day they can illustrate exactly why men need it to keep their brains sharp like tachyons fresh from the grindstone and buffer. Eat, drink and be mal but please don’t give into Brimley fun just yet, not while the ruddy still live without axes in their hearts and a song where their special lobes used to be. THE BATTLE GOES ON…AND ON…AND OUTSIDE OF PUBLIC KNOWLEDGE… AGAIN.

06/04/2014 - THIS PLACE IS INFESTED

This place is infested, crawling with fire engines and megaphone motherfuckers with their ties all out of place. Drugs have dwindled here whereas hearing is at an all-time ambivalence. They tell you to fudge yourself, the police in this time; they command you to be more than enough for most French-speaking nations filled with stiff dicks and sorry ships that only head out to Rotterdam.

 

You stay right next to me while I sign out for help amid the cold blue light. You'll stay with me forever, no matter how much I may or may not resemble the wire netting that surrounds Jesus in most post-modern depictions of business essentialism and the pop culture references will just drive you wild in the knee-knocking, talent show department. Bullets fly freely and the bubble bath is in fact big enough for a third and unmolested party. The gun corralled enough out of my firing range and now wants to suck up into the nearest available trowel. Well good luck to bad rubbish as the waterfalls whisper post-coitus. The orange van commands you to jump and cancel every show that you never attended in the first place. Since the novelty of paperwork has become a wash, we shall go about our survival in a half-size crib. The sudsy water and the heavy wooden planks don't tend to be. a problem but, alas, elbow newspaper.

Rewards are coming in while the rest of the wild want to share their own conversation zapping. It's prissy and not an attempt to buy the green drugs for a raid on liquorice recursion and their fusty invitations. People always complain about streams and wind-up merchants that sometimes sink within them because of severe pushing. Take advantage of the conversation and quickly. The beta will incur charges that increase the likelihood of your moniker. This is a pocket watch before you roll your eyes. Restrain them, constrain them, moniker them. This is the very hard difficulty of the confusing element that is usually attacked by Mobius strip enthusiasts. A lot of people see you and think of the renewed reaper and its expansion of hips.

 

Consider where we are. Are we patched in? All I know is that we’ve been playing it a ton like true crusaders in a natural storyline of relevant chance. There’s more to get out of it through listening and rewarding according to independent developers of collective material. The steam troopers are going all square, they vote the best and the most eccentrically through crowd-sourcing within twenty-eight days. Thank the elders but do not touch them, just the itchy parts of their cloak. You might heal them before date night thus causing all promotional merchandise to come across properly and higher up in circumstance. Through the collective process, we expect to make money as regularly as radar noises or seconded IPs that aren’t too interesting or clear for the sickening excuses and violently ill intentions. We’re at the very top of the library, going the opposite way.

05/04/2014 - THIS IS HOW

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.