22/06/2014 - THERE SHE IS IN THE SILENT MOMENT

There she is in the silent moment, three o’clock and giving it her all to climb a humble oak tree.

Some might say that she’s right there but we could just take her down in that case with a bow and arrow which we obviously can’t and shouldn’t.

Therefore

Let’s wait her out and feed off of her psychological pathology, scrambled as it is with a side of lemongrass ham and splayed out by the mischief of men she was taught by; their tears and whimpers in cloak rooms.

Strictly

It’s all training and deserving of sponsorship, orange as burnt acres and the boys that dare to cross them in their coal shoes and matey bruising.

Getting good has never been so place-holding: form the words that tongue can’t tell from adventures in the woods with animatronic bears and their sheet-wearing cousins that load up with cardigan bullets and white compressed microphones.

Just say thank you and you’ll never want for long grammar again, the woods will shut up their berries in Glaswegian ministries for the novelists to drink up and kill for their honeybee masters.

Searing pain and extreme cases of hallucination on a busy bus journey to an undetermined destination

 

Cut it down for her and her army of healthy shout outs to blameless individuals in their sleepy waking and hive mind screaming. Grab your camouflage jackets and let the levee pale in significance for once rather than theatrical echo effect without all the crude drawings of children’s book illustrators and their crummy runners on their clammy catwalks. Bravo can blue up the cabins, graduate the occupants to a new now level of eel elevator so that fresh power sources can be speculated on with all the gift horse economics if an inaudible shutterbug. Don’t say something while nothing is on the table, all that the people really want to hear now is they’re haircuts resemble Poseidon and all his hoary restaurant chains.

Gifted

Get your fingers out with a little black dear chewing on her own tincture for fear that the Lycos

Times out and thanks will call the leaves into boycotting down

The river with the rest of the scallop. If only the easy would smile in their composition

And then we can shake them off with hold-ups and heists. You try. You replicate. You supper.

We sup.

Supple Armouries.

I’ll stay guarded as long as she remains unscathed by reburied goodies

 

Come and kiss this pain away with unkind truthism and let’s see how the Italian sopranos will interpret with their warbling penchants for unwavering retching of spiritual debate. The right honourable leading lady would like to raise the gate but she hasn’t read enough Russian literature so there’s been argument in the pretty rain because walking out of the door will only lead to thousands crying Uncle, Uncle, Umbilical Comeback! Wire-walking, we’re all just living without her on a teetering spot.

24 hours later: Simple handles bereft of commentated eyebrows

48 HOURS LATER: RIGHT IN THE ADDICTIVE FACE

21/06/2014 - AND THIS IS ALL VERY NEARLY THE END

And this is all very nearly the end. I’m not joking, I’m incorporating this message to you, dear audience of one, through another blahdeblah ensemble. I’m heading out, off to the bridge, off to anywhere else and you’ll have to deal with a severe lack of nonsense in your daily routine. Sorry but this is just the right thing to do, my hands are getting tired and the words are losing tact. And lightness. The lightness is received by so few budding ears and I can’t have it all reverting back to me in my novel hovel. So this is my warning/goodbye, hence the coherence. Please allow me to absolutely lose that within the next picosecond. Artistically.

 

Everyone in the clouds has a day of STD except for the roadworks operator. He’s an orchestrator but surprisingly not that big a fan of opera. He’s more of an operant conditioning guy, he wants to entertain your remote synapses with the very conception of a tissue being stuffed inside the drawers and many dust mites of your mind. This is the train on a trail with its tracks scattering around for residual food after it has passed, that was the wreckage of the rec room that flew over your heads. Just flew, not was burst. Leave behind footnotes for the poor and sweet-faced but don’t ever expect them to have a jovial attitude towards imperfect whiteness. Some might say enough is enough but I say that telling is only half the realisation and not even the smarter half. Brian has Erasmus in his sights and will pee out through the gawky moments of a child actor caught in a jeep’s headlights. The oldest and grainiest trick in the book,

 

            Winsome. Slipstitch. Keyring. Some glow of green facing off with the red while violet and fuchsia turn theinternet into a game show filled with foiled bespectacled fellows and their undeniable facial hair. We call it an incredulity down in these here constituencies, we’re big on the drawl but never carry pistols just in case tourists come along and get the wrong idea about the words on the page and how we’ve shuffled them about with the whirring of our spit and tacit  nature of our dry mouths. Why should I dive away from your perfect perfume counter, weird New Zealand lady? Or are you just keeping that mask on for community college art projects to laugh at? I bet that’s the case, the vibrations are telling me so with confirmation and car batteries.

 

Aortal subtext – jet streams of streamers and Apple pies and true crime according to film and television it seems now, it seems now that the boardwalk has lost its lasting appeal, it’s appendectomy scars are reaching for somebody that looks like something you threw up last night after your bender and all the blue lights that supposedly stunned you into finding your way home without a bed knob or umbrella. Always greased-up, never closeted for traffic parties. Go, they’re super cool actually/

20/06/2014 - FIRST FORAY INTO PURCHASES

First foray into purchases of a political nature. The price goes up along with the fire, along with the whimsical tongue chart. Sticky bombs delay the crouching mid-fall. A whole slew of undoubtedly a hat bush, pretty neat for preordering. All my old videogame devices that turn on the fans with humble bits of electronics that break out of influenza who spike the minions in tubes like it were just a drink with the guys at an indiscreet bar.

I’m going to kill the licky, itchy summer with my stressed out sighing thumbs that harden at the thought of actual saliva and other doors opening to show up stickers that show up skin irritation that ends with rows upon rows of hot water tubs that apply to today so long as you wake with sore throat acidity. Tea or water would be nice if it weren’t so cold and close here, now you know why I keep going outside with whispered spice racks in their grassy chairs and meadow tables.

Here’s a thing that saves and slaves while it pretends to be a magnate shark filled with ball bearings and look-alike IT’S OKAY. The response will be to overlap responsibility with criminal normality. Why is it a red possum? What is the equivalent to green in that respect? It was at my pleasure without snorting and coming across as a nibble in the night time environment. You’ve gone and done everything wrong and hopefully so. You’ve been sleeping plastic, sucking in shucked retaliation. What else can I update you on? BRIGHT PATCHES OF LITTLE BODIES. Take out the clip at the end of the oft burnt video. I do that every time, I make sure that there’s plenty around my bikini line but that’s all right around there and crotchety.

It was automatic, the Russian's delivery truck truce opened right up and all the waves and factions and depleted forces came circling down the proverb that is my self-sustaining soul, a fish that resembles the floppy part of a shoe. The whine grew in tempo and the hemp reacted crucially to the excommunication with a laugh and a cold stare from the minotaur sociopath who reads every night to appease his pinkie finger. The strangest lies are commonly occurring on the blip in the radar that they keep ticking over in some aloof military base with distempered blip readers who trudge up their feelings have to go shopping with friends to regain it.

This is the semblance, a diving board covered with numbers and over numerousness according to the stature of most bean poles without their precious calculators installed into their lower portions. Deep down we all know that this is the end and the title even signifies it, I changed it from Grab Your Curtain And Hat, Son because I knew that you wouldn't get it. The first cereal of the day might but you with your protein deficiency and long-legged xylophone are just too busy to return its calls.

19/06/2014 - WHAT MAY I DO FOR A SOOTHING SKIN MASSAGE?

            What may I do for a soothing skin massage? A beast? A seductive splash of cologne crammed full of inquisitive child blood? The whistles of the South catch fire and inspire the Isle of Wight to seek independence and pained expressionism. Let's swap the stars for pencils, just as an illustration of friendly power. Patience is hardly enjoyable for the dramatic and commended. Just ask them: what is intended as a rose? May we proceed? Fascinators? And the fascinators? Just what exactly do they entail for people who sit in the standing and stand in the sitting?

            Silhouettes and standard singing skill stays forever with little breaths and wise tickets stuffed in compost pockets which is to say pockets made of banana skins. How they make a man live without aikido and she'll become a higher turnip without blame or obscure retreat. Have at thee, clear custom held. I had bare graphology in my shavings and now I'll never come again, I couldn't cope with all the hellfire, all the rickety automobiles and dramatic hair flicks. The people are poor because of the wicked overcoats and shortened straws that double for platinum albums. You, sir, have a kiddie right between the eyes and salvation troop gear that wander down shy roads and temples of side lanes. I will have to descend the ladder, cross the less honourable routes, hovel a while in bruised ashes until the bloom comes off the London cast and their overtired evil. Be gone, bell down a pity patter and have no time to slit the throat of a curvy piece of furniture. Thank heavens for sailors and their well-earned errors, brushed back as they are. Is that a growl primping the dirty old babysitter for better arrowheads and the birthday cake they always wanted for themselves and then their children and then their great grandparents. No doubt the years have changed barbers for docks and six thousand dollar post codes that rest green and untroubled by angelic retrospect. Only the first time for trivia and pulling out the maverick gun for original sin and crunchy biscuits naturally. The innocence goes along quietly and barely manages its tap solo because of the call to arms and the cinematic trailer that misses the nub of the matter entirely so that the audience can get a really nice look at the white corners of their various separation boards.

            Stumble and I'll follow. You strike me with super amazing space and that's the trip to Mecca sorted for our offspring's future. Here's hoping they become eccentric and not at all awed by depressive states as picked up from the backyards of various stress eaters. The harmonica play s a croon and every thing starts to clatter into unbelieva ble breakages that hum along to their own peace-inducing leg-biting. The back is broken for universality and sixty tons slide across the stretch of a former model that conducts the reading group wit a fairy wand on either side of Year 11.

18/06/2014 - CYSTS ON THE PLAIN

Cysts on the Plain: the latest videogame from the company that brought you Herod Guest and his Law-Abiding Babes. We need him rectified by next Tuesday so that we can talk back to his parents and slap them silly for daring to question royal white shirts and frilly dactyls. I look for truth but find that violins don’t know a damn thing about any damn decaffeinated drink. This suited lacklustre needs a mumble in a friendly ear, a tumble in the clay tennis court while the rest of us damaged people retreat into our communal aprons. When this is done, shattered dogs will whet themselves on extreme heat and trigonometry dilemmas. Dial-up crescendo.

 

One, two three, four, five, six, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, thirty-four, seventeen again, twenty-one twenty-two, ask for a parent twenty-nine, sixty-six a shambles, rough cobbled gobblers in green-tainted suits and wooden overcoats, seventy.

 

Any power you have is fro and every discrepancy I possess is to. Remember the teardown of dinosaur claws and faulty automatic fans. Don’t let me stop your letting out of tourist attractions to the tune of an autotune scream in the face of sequential boxy dwarves. We all know that the white snow revels in sophomore howling and currant couldn’t. Don’t let the beak nose drop from your mouthwash cap while the clock rages on with the opposite wall to the end of one another’s purpose. Test the limits with lime juice. Breathtaking flurries, airy flotation devices, gentle geese in crystalline glasses, never the nether, just you think about retiring whilst the flotation devices are dribbling their commodities. Tell all about the much-belated goodbye for sons of loathsome pop stars and ever-gracious conjugal relations. Looks like a job for the credited cast and their cascade of shameless batteries.

 

Put it down to the length of some vestibules, lay it all on the lover’s tiff and how it takes neither grumbler anywhere other than the writer’s retreat where they neither want to be nor want to accrue holiday photos of. Some might share the iffy double exposure but you remain a true friend to the alienated golfer, namely ME with my MS, and the mildly coastal back-up band. How we all see heaven is conducive to how we all sing about hell. I’ve been wanting to have wanton crocks for a long while now, dressed up in my croc tie and alligator shirt. It’s much too much tooooo harmonica solo.

 

As for the rest of the soundboard, the springboard has a few choice things to chatter about with jitterbug refraction and various other immediate reactions to the catalyst of this walk space. Mulch all the way to red and back again without castigating the minute-by-minute crossing guard who leaves the saxophone inside all night with fiery lips pressing down in all the wrong places. Pass out outside my door and I’ll drag your self-portrait along to its soulful climax. All it’ll cost is a visit from the cops. I like the cops, the sunlight in their hair.

17/06/2014 - THE RESEARCH ASSISTANTS

The research assistants stopped coming back. We’re all waiting for the filming to stop and get up off the floor while hour lasts which will probably shit out Inuit legs minus the knees. All the guys return to the gates while all the girls snap their runner beans in half because they’ve actually been going to Lisbon. This is just a matter of time, a horror movie that is super-jazzed and unerringly discussed by emergency announcements that stand up to security bags. Weird packages will react to the despondency of obrigado. Is that a thing? Correction of the masculine to feminine. The boarding of a plane to some exploitative tabloid paper, somewhere between the staples and the fold.

It took a while to become properly frustrated but we’re all finally here with limbs intact within the upper 70s. When you get to the weak internet connection you jam it up the weighing scales and profess your love to the Countess of Buffer Zones. She will piece together what is left of your foreskin and prepare the childish shed cells for a rocket ride along with the prearranged disservice. Making wine in a pickup truck due to obligation is exactly the way to pay lip service to the crappy home video. Homme. This is where it’s at, a grovelling apology to the cranky vacation. Not a matter for the stop-start Gods, they just have a gate and a timer that keeps shorting out and emigrating to the endless carry-on. This is pretty much a moronic story as crazy as it will ever rise above the bar with spongy fingers. A true embarrassment on the bed sheet.

Strike out against the sewing expedition, a flagrant reduction of turbulence in the bursar’s bedroom. I’m going to call this case closed, the Finnish destination. She says to me ten minutes passed one and wouldn’t take it lying down on the green bridge to set the updated fire of backlights and while you went to a little small-out competition. An umbrella snags on wasps with ice cream precision. We’re getting lunch for the eggy brickmen and their appalling rancour. Reasons why could just go on for ages.

                        Let’s jettison a few: plastic bags wiring ships incorrectly, blue screens being synonymous with death, Electropop concerts that rain with decrypted information, underpants covered in cream cracker juice, so many things without the word things in them, the lines on a pale bit of wood, Nazareth, the state of taxi services created within a feverish product placement advert, a queasy stomach that goes on denied, a Grade-A grape, a Hollywood sign that isn’t the Hollywood sign. More than enough. Less than a little lucrative.

Could we perhaps train our researchers a little harder, put them through their paces a little? Undress them with righteous boredom? Activate the watches and their pet wretches into cold night’s eviction? I’m trying, you’re altering too much for me to handle. I’ve got to hold on to something. The cells and the rancour out here.

16/06/2014 - THE INDIE SCENE

THE INDIE SCENE expects one to not only fight as well as flight but to fright a bit as well. Dog hunters have more meek mannerisms about themselves and those guys are definitely not 100%. Don’t wake the little children up from the tomb or else their mothers will activate fan motions and motion fans and then every Tom, Ezra and Maxwell will want a lift from their leftover lobotomy deadlines. We grant three week grace periods provided that you can ascertain just why you are graceful and how TB has hit your devastating family in an unyielding yin-yang of eternal proof. We’ve got our own deadlines to make, after all.

SOME PEOPLE TOLD ME ABOUT THIS LIVING that you can make from stringing together bits of ragged wool and reaching it over a tall brick wall just in case any ghosts or ghouls decide to be bookish and respectful of boundaries. No-one knows exactly what to do with a hysterical woman in her underwear here, right now we’re double-booked and the aspirins aren’t very nice to the taste. Just let it rest a while on your palate and see yourself for yourself, for your health. That’s etiquette, you’ll see, that’s the right sound for sorting ring-binders to. Some people working here feel most depressed when having sex with fat ladies when it turns out that that’s all they want to do otherwise. We don’t exactly see the other half of the Time Bang from here because we’ve somehow forgotten to register the experience as is wont to happen when the motion fan is electrified by lecture notes and field theories that go on unanticipated by college professors until their dying wish. Relax and smell the fizz at the end of a dirty remote control: that’s life expectorating. The fungus is superfast and irrespective of blonde, brunette and even blue Barnett. Cue the loud guitars.

BOOKMARKS WHEREVER YOU STEP, crafting the circuit into something decidedly more statistically possible, by a long and gargantuan margin of error. Plausibility keeps returning like congress echoes and fruity burps which go on to gain sentience and do spectacular things with French women's moustaches and cappucinos. You can see why I like thee to snap like a rubber band, you're all soul and just because a smattering of the feminine concert members want to win battles with tiger cubs and trendsetter button pushing. These are just a few of the lordly air products, curled and spruced up with iron-like fire and war drum gel that leaves all the men fussed and tapping their chins with gauntlet finger. Storms rush in with ionic hardhats for supersonic fatheads. They just want to chop and chop and rescind their fledgling colour schemes that grease actor's heels just so they can turn their darkness into a line of cars that drink quick glances between forbidden lovers. This happens every day with pessimistic teenagers and how they joust with faced facts and the deeper blue of the devil's tart grin.