29/06/2014 - DID I HEAR YOU RIGHTLY: THIS IS THE END?

Did I hear you rightly: this is the end? A break perhaps, injun. I know I can trust your hearsay to carry me with a real work over of gin. I’m telling you: this is how elaborate gets packed up and turned into boys in their own right. The hunt is on for something better, something more interesting to do with these hands and fingers and groggy verb-noun dancing. Stupid as marvels, I will go to the option menu of my spirit, my Yahweh and open in most cowboy contracts. Just cough it up: just cough up your colon and rot the stones through the fire found in the immortal belly of guitars. You have killed all the cures in my chest with your name and credit card numbers but we can never understand the poets of white men, never truly. We’re a restful nation of two, dear reader, and now it’s your turn to take the shift.

Some are born to stain glass with the sound of big hitter breasting while others draw pistols and fuck: I don’t know where the rest of the world stands but you’re a good damn question in your own right, in the hallway of horse-faced greenery. Smell my hat so that I might rekindle the sense that I know is common within my turmoil growl, within the words that I choose to knock into order that defies even irreconcilable unconventionality. I covet more than I will earn, ever and again as the horses descend a woodpile hill in greyscale pottery classes. I’m stringing the portions of synapses together to make a fancy bunting for the eagle stench.

Why don’t we, Fiona? Why don’t we go, Erasmus? Why don’t we go out, Mara? Why don’t we go west, Neil? Why don’t we find Mr Thank down the Ritz, arranging saddles for camels and their Lancashire writer riders in an attempt to silly billy and regain the virgin nature of aboriginal luck.

 

Oval is just	you know what i heard about eating habits	THIS IS SOMEONE YOUR AGE	Who/How	Do you have tobacco or beans or hurt?
Themes are womanly, manly and of the egg farm	I’m about to say nobody can live the life of a solo bear	I SAW GOOD ENOUGH	THE BULLS ARE YOUNG AND TRUSTY	as of now the gingham jacket is nehru and nary hairy?

 

• That’s me, wanted loaded and rejected by social custom simply because the colour of my clothes has changed during the extraction of various mutated soldiers from the shipbuilding facility.
• What moans softly, leans the quickest on cobblestones and their spaces thereof. It’s the last film role before death but strangely not the last time you’ll appear on TV.
• Just what is that anyway? Ahatahatahatahahatthewinchesterfeelsfealtytopossumbeansandthedamnpeltskinbedamnedexclusivelywhilethewounded provide meals

 

I say it’s time to eat the water and buckle on out of here. It isn’t good for my health to be anywhere else but upside, topside and hot as coal. Now it’s time to balance ages.

28/06/2014 - WORK YOURSELF UP TO A HIGHER STANDARD

Work yourself up to a higher standard, this may be the end of English Banter but you are our confidence reborn with wings and wingnuts on those wings because of tax evasion results. The time is ripe with running off and tearing down kettle drums from their pitiful stands because the end of the game is up and the classes for independence are low. I have jousted with the dictionary for as long and far as a Neanderthal dare with his trousers on and his best authors by his side to cheer him on and chuck him under the chin for extra support. I am passing out and zones won’t stop me or my giant set of bat talons that pick up sonar for hot women and cool men, one as blooded as the other whether you’re a fan of that sort of television or not. Which your not so cool. Or hot.

Listen for as long as the doorman will let you and heed the verbs and not so much the nouns used: TIME IS TRUANCY AS LONG AS YOU’RE RELATING TO THE BIRDS AND THEIR BEES. The giant stacks of things that won’t load and especially so in the mercurial mercy of a Vicar’s Hospital food chunks. This is the version that good little monkeys remember because the piano solo is just so mind-melding, so reticent and filled with New Zealand rock riffs and the claps they wrap up under and in between. Ebb and flow with the film show but be prepared to hear a young tomboy calling you out onto the street to show you her wares without irony or seduction. She’s popping gum and greasing your skunk-ass wizardry cos she got a n angle to play and with vigour.

So chill out in the borogroves. Others kick back in the space between carpet and earth on market day. I’ve been out the whole way and the mast is still stuck with staying in bed, it’s that depressed, that helpless in its babyish quandary. Everyone in the brawl knows what the lawyers pass for tears while there’s a here filled with children begging on the street for the good of the Crumpet and its remarkable sense of utopia (misguided). What is this? Madness in the most policed crap trip possible? This swarm of humanity knows exactly what you’re peddling and wants to nibble at a piece just so you’ll make a job for yourself cleaning up. Anti-perspirant everywhere, like a girl stood beside the situation. In the absence of a victim, the smelly thief may tell the white writer where to hang his wire coat. The horns open into a saltine just to dazzle you and your precious hair care.

A crime can’t say that cannot is not without horrible irony twisting like a mop head in wicked soup filled with untrustworthy bones and truancy without measure or remorse. I’m not afraid to hang signs all over the door; this is my hind, this my quarters closing because of the filthy manger.

27/06/2014 - THE FISHERMAN, THE END AND HIS CHILDREN

The fisherman, the end and his children all cuddle under the same umbrella for a suppositional clout of terminal conspiracies thrown and flung from the same hat. The others betray your eyes, your human weakness armed with fragmented stones and swaggering strangers that hold you with the truth as drunk in a limp buxom vase. Shouting and grunting shan’t win lady’s tainted favour, she owns her winnings with art deco pride that theme all over the place with a cigarillo poking out of the jet man’s iris. On my listen very carefully, I want you to cap a shout in the shade of the cruise ship and then start wildfires in matron’s underwear drawers, both at work and at home because we know she has them both and we really want to see what she says to all the orange and pale white.

He is the padre, the here and the now through the sniper shot and black axe sprint that becomes return to normal without so much as a fucking go and a funeral to nod off at. It’s no disrespectful if you’re really, genuinely tired and want to hire out a log cabin for a fishing trip next Murdock. Let go of the green, the verdant, the consequential shade of shouting with vibrancy and you’ll discover a new way to belie streaky bacon. The morning brings beautiful tax returns while the night shunts out fingerprints and a second set for the FBI. What the fuck is going on with Armageddon these days? It just keeps going on without concern for convinced pharmaceuticals.

We build the roadhouse, we trace Memphis for Murdock to complicate the cake recipe for princely reining of Jacques and all his swollen toy colonels. We would kill them in last minute of terms and ad domini. Take the burn off with a butter knife and keep it real.

The pipeline

Comes

From

A

Long

Way

Off

And

Spirals

Spirals

Always

And

Away

And

Anyway

President after president has been hot in here in spite of the rolling ways and the dramatic killing of one’s haunches for one’s aficionado. It’s like our secret, short-hand invention and balaclavas with fingers in the hole and headshots of a zit gut. It please me to know that the trigger has yet to be pulleyed by strong beefeater motel dwellers. Get this moving before our papers try to take me down on account of my address. She’ll never be in hoss hose situation again.

Take vignette to the torch, add depth of colour and a snippet of sucking sickness. Don't be shy or sadistic or of an age that is above the Freudian, be basic and at the corners, decoded. Make the sides a lot of people in a fiery square with stately secrets and pattern lines that get really dark in the contrast of a pit stain. The real thing is not to be contained, it it it is to be a panel of light on a Notch Age, set against it it it.

26/06/2014 - IT FELT LIKE THERE WAS A BREATH

It felt like there was a breath of a lump up in my congestion like a sore throat on a windy day. But its fine, its super fine because yeah. It hurts so bad to eat food or even drink water because THOSE MISTAKEN MUSKETEERS try out so many medications just to vilify the helpless but nothing worked. Until they finally numbed me with a night train, I was the first of a very fine day trip that so many snotty children come to resent in later life. Let’s take a break fro being abreast in a ball of acid reflux legitimatelytaken as a high anxiety drug. STRESSING A LITTLE BIT ABOUT the eyes that clear up will lead to workaday onslaught sales. This is work infection, it could take up to a month to go away, are you kidding me, it gets very bad and two days, on-going and off-going it’s really not fine for the spray, the spray.

 

`Awkward toy soldier, how you MAKE DO with howmanydays that wine for six days of sick health and chancery that makes us run down and miserable and then run down by opines that rash along the phew. Little bumps, sun sashes, all over my body at a certain point because white semi-humid people are without proper rations and lack spurious building blocks that make me leave and laugh with really funny cramping of soft spoken style. Spoen by a love hard thick and thin for better and worse that makes art look like the artist with minimal flicking of the wrist and vibrant wonderful instructions from an ABOVE FATHER. You know you did the right thing by getting terrible3 twosomes that realise the dead man ate all his bananas and seeing Christmas thorniness. Firs tit time for the from get go. Have a lot of fun in Portgal Portruu Portgual Portugal. Apparenlty, she needed it. Apparently. '

 

I’m so jazzed by never saying love in 3 and D while battery packs say poo to oops and I have missed ail, ale and I’ve. These are rollercoaster reboot rebuffs that battle with cream giraffes with dragon necks that bite down with Morse beeps and baps. We’re about due for an Iron Director to ascend the throne kicking pennies. The duck duck-duck comes straihg straight out of Canada to wake authority from hunting humanity on the inn inside the vanity fee freezer. Do you still feel the checking of this one out? Speaker length of pederast predator editorials that come from South Korea to enact less healthy legislation. Bring the roll of a shut-down law. We discuss the classic franchise with squat and diddly form of socials that outlast the grungy class acts by a long shoot.

 

            - Less inhibition my dear Kev all forty hangers will live in a house of evil laziness that interrupts boxing natch brutish film. I’M UPSET ABOUT READING LIMBS and too soon with French crime scenes that know my husband better than I know my wife. Let’s move a few houses down the gurney Pennsylvania -

25/06/2014 - WATCH WHILE THE ENGLISH

• Watch while the English for later becomes Kurdistan’s top source of wealth in practice. There is no I Ching left around to canter around the square with, no sanctuary where all the hot babes relax and gather sun tans and black malignant marks on their best friends’ skin. There is only a beaked man with his branch of a nose going quack, quack, quack-quack until all the treasonous treacle has dissipated out of his system and become significantly reminiscent of something other than a boy band addicted to its own produce or the screams of little tarts on the little televisions in the history museum where animation started and stopped and then started and stopped for real this time, not just for cheap laughs and visceral thrill into political pleasure and the sounds of ones voice as it crashes into the waves without support or any other means of producing socks for productive portmanteaux.
•  
• The mistress means for this to be a definition of your surgical procedure into medical matters and a laughing stock that for some reason hates you as much as the rest of our motley crew do despite the fact that you always carry suitcases and spare suit jackets with you for the will and the good of the people and their ancient board game affectations that just won’t sort themselves out because they precisely don’t want to acknowledge a future without a man in a bland curate’s wrinkle or a dot on a Dalmatian or even a spore of rhapsody against the Tahiti shoreline. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about all the times you went surfing, I’ve had a burning question. I can’t quite remember what it is but rest assured there are scorch marks where my heart used to be. Not your fault, mind you, mind like yours couldn’t juice up a turkey or recall a receipt for an item that was lost in the war effort because mummy needed to keep all your uncles alive.
•  
• As I know it now, I now know it and the universe is French and within a tree with a delightful head of red hair that just blurts out punctual remarks on rushed efforts that go ahead of, that precede the law by at least a thirtieth of a sentry or a pick and mix barrage of consolatory card-making malware with money somewhere blending with another virus just to satisfy the unnatural predictions of a videogame I never actually owned owing to my undue obesity. We’ve all been there, with our trousers around the snow because the weather just wants to be cooler and the heat is ironic that way when dealing with the winter, it makes and cracks wise in completely irreverent ways and in comically irrespective suits; not the one’s he leant us or so he finds it fitting to say out of some false sense of tipping the fulcrum to be beside the drunks on the alleyway at night and their eventual Screaming Mimis.

24/06/2014 - BEST GET STARTED

Best get started on the reptilian fairy folk and just look out at that ocean. The word is wilderness not WILDNESS, they don’t deliver you from the God liver on the body of callous water. Some wash up on the shore just to get mad. They eat their own tongues up on the lower echelon, they cut them in half and share them with disease, build a rafter with the ensuing friendship. Bicycles go on for days and the young’uns don’t know enough to raise their own steaming ears. He thinks of devilish backrubs, source of General BottomRubble, and what if I told you that I could charge the fee up and set it off like a firework?

            In the Bible basin the network lightningwhataretheydoing was aloft of a wheelbarrow and no-one was listening to mix tapes, not while the logs preceded those that would inevitably follow with inevitability in their following. Thatsundya thhe wayout took its shp to the edgi of a blindman’s contumely because it resembled a birdbest nest in sunnier climes. This is the feminism of radicalism, this is the bedpost tied to a wrap-around blanket and the works of psychic sweeping. Be like Goodd a little, aintgotnowheellsforfamily and that’s just how we role now. Everybody had to be an autumn pile of leaves running through a whale carcass and nothing else while the actors waft their face with award ceremonies and battered fishcakes. They really just seek you out or so I’ve had it heard by the many sea critters that don’t belong in your encyclopaedia. Don’t you ldg ghli dkdbanw for parties of the standbackstandaloe poorside. I was feeling DoNE To and paertly evoked with flame. So pity that, that is the story of sorry of the fs that couldn’t be curmudgeonly anymore thn a fealty to shuddered jigsaw consonants.

            THE RESS GRAB IS FLASHY AS A SIDEWALK AND NOT ENTIRELY ABOARD AN ERUDITE DEFTNESS OF SPIRIT AND CALM ANYMORE THAN PLACARDS OR SOMETHING OF SOMEWHERE WITH SOMETHING ON SOMEHOW. Everyone asks we who makes the spittoon spin for as long as it does and I can’t aswer because I don’t have the English grasp, that good old case of strong tongue because its sliced and not even in my damn mouth anyhow. Everyone has been don to ellert or done toalert propaganda for a prupper gander. Te words flal abart with confetti emulaion. Like cobalt sinking in the mud of mush. Elysium opened right up for wrong reasons. HANDS IN  FILTHY WATER COME BACK NEWTERED.

            Apart form that the build is a rope along the calenture Clementine that is a lover’s bullet of blue sketch comedy. There was something where black hair was and now that’s why the priest has been marched onto the quartz clavicle of the clerical shipmate.

            TAh the te blood type remains a prudent implication of broken wooden on a biardgae of indecipherability. So long as every other word is dyslexic friendly then youcna bet that the remainder won’t be so kind as to break from their shock.

23/06/2014 - HOUSE SMALL TEETH

House small teeth for grey dogs and great teeth for smooth dogs – things get tricky after the two blend together, things get complicated. Your sense of muscle control goes into spasmodic modification and that’s as good as two remote controls pointed at the same, wrong device. The sound goes up but that’s because they did it manually like they do in the olden days before yellow hair took a drastic improvement for the worse. I’ll tell them to reap what they can while the drudgery has its gunfights over the mountainside because of light orchestration. These are the words of a lovely woman wading in her own ideas of Honduran putrefaction. Poseurs want to rock around the tribunal and bop along to the inquiry until the poet slams down the gavel for the high and upheld judge. The cow bells are pontificating.

 

The Mr and Mrs Cheque                                                         of Death Introversion

Amelioration                                                                           and Leaning Towers

Art in Lands of Flush                                                             Skid Row

Print over the Last Object                                                       Suspend over Brandy

Red                                                                                         All Over

White                                                                                      All the While

Blue                                                                                         All Cooking

Then Esquire                                                                           Goes to Hell and Back

 

            This song belongs in the scrapheap because of all the guitar riffs and excess hair that’s trapped between bars. Reuben spins Amelia Whiteout, spins her, reads her boyfriend like a bad party, opens legs and influences pedestrians as they waste their waspish remarks on valedictorian hat stands. True enough shouters will shout and callers will call but politeness will be put politely away, tucked in some gents swanky pocket for the next Bocce tournament. Attention comes and sits with the man on the red hill with his black Oni while his last ditch attempt goes flapping against Suni Sands. You know you’re in trouble when the tropical island has you out on your ear while the sweepers start to matter more than the things they keep clean.

 

sequential performance                                                                       footprints isolated

the wind let’s out sleep                                                                       to muslim friends

turn away                                                                                            let the storm blink

dashboard lights control me                                                                control them

breathtaking specials                                                                           menu

lumps of deletion                                                                                past in pasteboard

here are some thoughts                                                                       intensified

here                                                                                                     in misery

 

            Jetpacks are good girls who think of LPs and in doing so lose all sense of self-control and just wing up into the sky with rushes of superfluous star fluid. I don’t know how much will brighten my juice so best get a job before the moon lets me down with browbeaters. I only have enough time to respect one discipline at a time, I don’t know about this happening in a Japanese garden though. I prefer crowded avenues filled with gold prospectors rigged to blow off some steam. They all disappear with OK versions of goodbye and ad revenue. Some writers live on a calendar-based diet but the rest leave that grind behind the grid irons of much too late. Reconciliation is a care comparison and all things besides because you don’t pursue Roman mythology or concentrate your specious meanings on Latin. Say something tiresome of trees.