04/02/2014 - LET'S THREATEN VIOLENCE

            Let's threaten violence against innocent mayors, it increases funding and allows for cancerous healthcare. This was instilled from elementary school, we now care very much about jail time and due process because love means so much to our crashing erections. The world is drumming up a Jamaican beat in preparation of our saucy misconduct, our deviant asking that goes on for artistic centuries without the wider population's poop's allowance. For the life in me, I cannot tell a lie from a sealed envelope, it would be presumptuous of me to even smash biblical doctrine without a heavy hand or a curt eyebrow. We're really just all slamming for support, we're all thrumming and strumming for acceptance of pineapples as illegal immigrants we let in anyway. This is simply the scenic route and only takes up an instrumental of our time, the time we all stole the day we were born. City officials are allowed close to dogs only when they have prepared statements to the effect of a blanket of scoops. Interns are of the green, inside an independent plane stepping down to the mesa. Feel the smooth obsidian walls and shout like a Slavic with two hoods on either side of his head. Someone called this waylaying with burning emails until they're burnt husks of electronic messages. As for the mayor, this is vagrant territory, government issue, humane choice, a good way to go to gout anyway. Tis irrespective of retirement. Tis pretty excellent and exiled maybe. Tis a whispering koala with a future set in stone and a sun pulling back the past to a harp strain. Inhale/exhale tiny planet. Exhale/inhale incumbent performance. Polymer tastes of bleary smiles and repurposed blessings shot through with salt. Say goodnight with ears on, welcome the commonplace, produce for free like a wage slave. You want to have your talents recognised? You don't deserve to have your talents recognise. Your talons, on the other hand, have absolutely no relevance to pronoun proverbs. We wish you to see the esoteric with gaudy figs glowing on your breast. They spit in bathrooms and they spit for you like it was you all along and that sink is your promises. They don't have your grave yet but that's only a matter of time and comfortable space within time zones and tree branches. Stuff the stuff with stuffy stuff whilst stuff is all stuff and stiff remains stifled.

            A pickle is what I say. A nickel is what you say. A building is where we go to launch our memories onto blank harnesses. A lighthouse is what we turn this building into. A light is a glow point. Our light is our glow point. You forget about China. I forgive all of Tibet. I place a hold on hope for the tasty reviews. I place the reviews on you. I grab the staple gun and press. Your hair is colourful now. Your strands are without bands and bang is the only word you seem to be capable of saying.

03/02/2014 - STRAIGHTEN OUT OUR FAMILY LIFE

Straighten out our family life, tag down the derivative poor that cascade from our conversation, shamelessly plug our individual, independent novels and novellas and then struggle all the way to the same bus stop to meet the same end. This is the world’s axis being a funny little liar with the 555^th nose sandwiched on record, this is the politics that it spreads out with even fingers and waking dog tails. It’s creamy. It’s irresponsible. It’s aiming for its own campaign for next year, involving mechanical dinosaurs and grand football schematics. I wrote, directed and starred in a modelling career so, for the next part of my life, I’ll probably write, direct and star in a model citizen’s downward spiral.

                        This is my follow feature and it is delightful with its ad revenue, it doesn’t go on like all the rest, it rests for a bit and instead moves on with alien speed and tarantula dignity. The light crossing my clout is enough to set the staircase alight with commentary tropes and watch how you cross it with your hands on all the rails, you’ll get burnt by something like a rope without a heart. It spurns me on but God knows what it’ll do to a speaker like you, it might just twist your hairy fairy nipples off with open dignitary positioning skills. This makes for shameless television and this is how we shall make up the funds for funds lost overseas during the flag-waving in last year’s sportsmanship.

            You make it so you know, you tie things up with personal truth and hide it in your best suitcase with the hopes that it will transfer and separate linen from its coloured operatives. There's nothing else to be said for the triangulation, there is so much hope to be had here with suits in hot, sweaty rooms that exhibit plain tartan boxes to opulent graces of the lord. You just live like we do, you live it right out to the beginning and wear all your rings with perfect design and doubt nothing short of gossip in its hurly-burly terms. This is just like the time we entered a dreamscape without the proper security enforcement protocol, we died in each other's arms and the US forces came barging in to steal some postcards for memorabilia. Kick me harder and I might return to some red-cheeked joviality. I work hard every day to ache my bones back into shape.

                                    Morphologically speaking, the days we were out like a light were the days where all key events transpired, as if the world decided to make some new loose ends in our silence. They exploited our being far away with each other to save themselves the benefit payment. Of course, they shan't get away with it while there's still a book in my pocket and breath in your song. We have poetry to graffiti, souls to torment with our chicken soup recipes that go on for absolutely ages. Let them move from topic to topic in perspiration.

02/02/2014 - CAPTURING THE SPIRIT

Capturing the spirit of the Muggy Monsoon and its fifty-one-year-old neighbour with her continental jeans and paid priesthood. The roads have their own problems to deal with, various, but always queue up to see just how badly she can make herself out in the light of a day of official tax evasion. The lamplight goes straight to the trash in that house and there are men with markings all over their Kurdish features. The others went to Jericho for a bullet in the hive. The ready one is too ready for its own good, too ready to stay alive with shiny silver jumping out of it. This is the breakfast of charlatans with the wheat and wheat by-product stacked up and stand-alone in terms of the muesli final print. There’s a blade where the table leg should be. The hair in sector seven is growing back with applicable kills and coma patient awareness. It brought its friends along to warn you that the movie will go on into the night whether you watch it or observe it or NOT

 

Air is changing for your answer, filing itself with holes and other visceral qualities that are in some small way indefinable and pocketed by tall bus drivers. Can the killer come along with the ladykiller song? The red lights dictate it to be so or at least they would when I look and pass judgement or anybody that is indeed here for the infra-blue. It blows out the ear drum like opera music and makes a cowboy hat for some gutsy grey thing with the party favours of half a generation and a third of a decade. Come hither for your punishment and be sure to stand up straight for the bleeding of your brothers, your weaker brothers with their gas masks and separation anxiety. Too long to fight through the pain, it’s just too tight like a ponytail with sharp bits and odious remarks about those sharp bits from shark feathers to other shark feathers. The record plays up again and the red mark is going all the way to Jericho. Too many mouths to feed and not enough PRAYER

 

The virtuous reservation completes itself, recompenses itself all the way to the railway line and becomes systematic to begin the factions of apologetic stoppers. You two get a boat, you and that tail picker with the ten-gallon hat. You’re an exotic possessor, not a glass of wine for fun’s sake or a stone clear of its detective. She talked about him like she wanted to be the kind of mind every man wants to look down on secretly, in his passing gamma stammer of aim. All those years of yours and to think about the church’s indiscretions is still a crime worthy of slander. Even without the clergy I am still a priest of a sort and need to have all the questions I have about this chaste neighbourhood thundered into the ground. I sense a painless death and shall leave it at that because who can say MORE?

01/02/2014 - I WAS A SINGER ON TAPE

I was a singer on tape, I sold a few reels and now you wanna hear how honey my normal, working voice is. It is humdrum like the clockwork behind my sister’s wall, her eyes are going back and forth to make arrangements for the needle and we’d really just like to see how hooking can glow with spotlights and fearful treads. Nobody knows how far the right distance is to see though there is a chance for white shirts to house the message and wise it up. How would I know about meeting places? Feeling life begin and bring out the foolishness of a hairy chest is just too demanding on my time and the TV announcers are wearing down the treads and my hair needs to be fixed and the Belgian is a red pair of hands in the dark satin of the room we were just in. Could we be taken with no more room on the cart? Say sorry and listen to how they finish eating with daughters-in-law and sons-in-law and their crawfish assistants. Hear things right on the TV or the satellite burns with big bitten thanking.

Everybody gets a say at this roundhouse, everybody gets a standard fee with the point of a knife and an overabundance of pale terse gentlemen. Let him fill up on the bread and eat fresh and be the Wendy of the group and sail the seas with the nicest husband on the grove so that we can find the remote control, pass the remote control, pass on in the name of the encore of banjos, we can be a top agent and be so proud at the sight of it with corsages on the madly of our pipes. We idolise and spend our time idolising the king just to walk off the glib sports fan and his indigestible comedy. Who shall we say is signed with Billy? Just watch the blink box and let go of the longest kick in human atrophy and see where the curtains are twitched in red hair and the drinking is bad for your good health like a bet on the iron buffalo to win without his jacket on.

I’m talking on the phone and this is the longest I’ve ever been a goon in front of an action gook, the meek shall inherent the swearing elm of a light touch in melted excuse bites. This is the wake of an excuse maker, the mother and the father and the family dog are all here to celebrate the passing with white acquaintances on their black shirts to exert fantasy on the tragedy. If you free the innocent man, the civilians will be tried for evil and glasses getting away with the real murders in the slinky court. This is any day in June and all you have to do is mark the mouth to put the fact in your mental mail box. A nose at Christmastime and a note tying you down to a little dumb horn-blowing. Big money. Ruin life.

31/01/2014 - REAL RUBBLE FIXES BOXES

Real rubble fixes boxes full of defibrillators and makes sure that there are no people around you to speculate or eat spiders distastefully. Let the Italians at the heck and the machines are done for the day at the bakery of coconuts. Going down like a baby is like returning to Round 1 with a wicked case of the asterisk. This is the last hazard and worth the yogurt kill. Why not hop around?

            When you run you get to a certain point where you shake and point and launch yourself into a Liverpool pool filled with angry kittens at dishy reservations. This is jousting. Press A. Go boom and you'll fuck up ahead of the pretty wiggle of a sign. You have to hold on for half a prescient inkwell, do the thing, don the mask and stop being so lucky with the narwhals. There isn't enough time to be a Tuscan Adaptor, you'll have to live within your means in the vat of beans. Omens at the tips of your toes are tough to beat and so say all of us, we who run in the air with our jowls preventing the inclusion of phone numbers. The speed is coming on, coming along with BAM.

            You have superb balance and a snap to die for, the kind of dying you'd only see at the finest ballets in the grimmest backyards. Licking the rolling of a ball pays off ultimately. We have two points to go and the fibreglass will stick to your residential fantasy nerd. You're blue philosophy, back where you started, making a difference and being as kinetic as a golf ball can be. The two of the twins and the three of the beret-wearing jerks will wait out the hula storm with cranky individuals that chase their own grandchildren in spurts of future balance.

            -LEGS, TORSOS, HEAD, PRISONERS, LEMURS, BRAVE HEARTS, GRBABING THEM UP, DOING IT FOR THE ROBOT ARMY, GRABBING THE WIRING, SNAPPING THE WIRING, LAYING THE WIRING OUT ON THE PARTY MAT, ROLLING IT UP, STINKING THE PLACE OUT, LIVING AGAIN WITH A FAT FUCK FOR A BIRD, DYING AGAIN-

            Well the scientists were the twist the whole time and captains ride the hellish landscpae with flabby irises and a bawling man in a suit jacket. Look at him swim! He occupies the drive with the puddles that brown around him, floating upward in gaseous bubbles with excited bubbles packed up inside. Has someone read a holy book yet? Billy the Lopsided has, he did it a year ago.

            The best logic has been put down with a lethal injection and the cumulative total has been shot in the face with its own problematic rifle. DO YOU SEE THE EVENING DO? DID YOU SEE THE EVENING DO? I must have mentioned this before in yellow text. The first thing said was adorable and the second thing was Venusian. Without the letter varnish, the meanings drop like incomplete rafts on incomplete water. They're all straight out of Cuba.

30/01/2014 - ANOTHER DROMEDARY FIASCO

            Another dromedary fiasco, another case of beers being set alight and turned to kindling, another poet trying to reclaim his sense of sensibility for the next grand composition. Let us return to the encampment and forget that we've noticed the lace being confiscated by the velocity multiplied. Let me give yon one good reason for hankering after hundred: she let the rascal have it with invisible tenacity. The taps are running and hunting a bunting with altercations for seventeen year olds, most seventeen year olds with sick breath in their domino masks and their malting after quantum surveying. Maggots are for Jared, Jared paid up front for them and has lived down at the docks for most of his life and he would thank us to thank him for all the times he's never met us. Our inventions revolutionise those around him but the poet just sulks whenever he sees Jared and demands to hear voices from other people issuing forth from his beachside mix. This is an emergency for haemorrhaging, a caricature of the emperor covered in scarlet and brown crusty bits that just jump out at you from the canvas. It's all really rather sturdy. I believe in you all, your powers of historic magnetism and self-aggrandising.

            The little boy's noise is taunting over the years, has been taunting over the years and will never stop until you just walk it off and pay him another day for the sunflowers he gives you right at that very moment. There's no easy way of cuckolding a gentleman of so little a stature but, provided you keep a little note in your stockings, you should be able to get away with it like a minstrel on a career high. The damned fishing, the days spent digging around in the ocean for vast opportunity and buyer bewares. There's a first time for everything including soul chips and the anvils on which they are forged by blind chavs. Bonfires in their eyes, racism in their digestive tract, so many bodily functions that just keep returning and giving the impression that they are busy only more exaggerated than it really needs to be in order to be taken onboard effectively. Serious fat men are always serenading the pub glass and possession remains a fraction of the law but not a tropical island.

            All we can do, all that is our duty is to wound grey remote controls and spell out the bings and the bongs from the smart suits and altercations that bury the cheesy ones with sexy sex habits. Give us a shout, give us a shout, give us a simple shell of a shout and the demographic will pay you in oodles for your troubles. This lot are the other ones and taming is not quite the bug in the lunacy that we hardened it to be. It's all gluten-free treasure, a daily reminder of liking bad ideas for chainsaw losers. The man is a child only as far as his beef will allow him.

29/01/2014 - THE LENGTH AROUND THE BREAKFAST TABLE

The length around the breakfast table seems to be adjusting well. Wasn’t he driving? ThanK God. Thank God for his Musculature. We have always had brunch and it’s good to see you and to let you drop by. Drop off the bull’s eye from time to time and I’ll work for everything like clockwork and a painted tie. The busy bee is sorry for saying that you wouldn’t fit an electorate candidate. Trying is good to have you back. The issue is all the same. You saved the father and boy.

I’m sorry but we can’t go back to the police sirens until the rocky atmosphere has been transcendental and really dumb. You can’t stay in there forever and you’re not helping the alien to shake the car with maternal hemp. Adoption is a family of wouldn’t and won’t and won’t you just say please and have done with it so the cheerleader can go back to being a profiterole for hire? Wait a second and you’ll be an island, you will fit the getaway driver and his knowledge of hard drives and software and hellish spikes underneath computer bnaks. Check this out and the brunette cop might tie-dye the door and she might incise the washing line and she might check for radiation poisoning with the tip of her thumb and little botany smoking.

You have such a chinned family. Friendly mobsters throw mobs and mugs and tatty diamonds into green and gracious mental handicaps. I quit my convincing clinic job just to be a woman of leisure or a man with a long white knee to mess up accordingly. Counteracting sallow cheeks, says midwifery. Ascribe, prescribe and be Methodist in a cramped hotel room. Avoid the hostels and take long beards with your agued swords. If you let me stay with flannel, I shall die with listening devices implanted all over my body and telling the truth again and again like staying power. This is pain and worry. Faults have never been to the beach obviously.

She always will be a ninety-year-old policeman in a parchment of no rights and bright places for husbands to go and relax in their wheelchairs and pet project carriers. I know what this chair means against you, when tarted up and flung in a longshot on a checked-out sandpit. Just give the true hope and all comers will go away with pearly white smiles and political agendas in tight tops. What the hell happens when you can go? She doesn’t need the help of decontamination with freckled bare hands. You do a good job, top notch and dodging along leads to heading downtown in tan and auburn checker patterns. I’m just calling to see if the feelers are to blame, if the budgie smugglers are loved by later cheeks and eyes that command sail boats in emotional attachments. I dot the turn-ups and use this as a palpable excuse to make me feel guilty about sitting down in most cases. Let it go with painting.