was so amazing, i was like a weed blowing in a wind of sweat and long hair strands.
Thursday, 19 February 2009
Sunday, 1 February 2009
HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHIA!
Don't eat the cod, the pollack's your friend,
the cod's a sod who's met his end,
he feasts on Winehouse's sinewy blend
of potatoe skins tatooily penned
Perhaps a haddock you'd like instead?
You can't use haddock to whack someone's head,
perhaps the best is the Arctic blend,
But i guess that that would have to depend
Talk of fake skin and the eifel tower,
skypey fat chin of power of power,
And now I don't know what else to say
except for have a HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
the cod's a sod who's met his end,
he feasts on Winehouse's sinewy blend
of potatoe skins tatooily penned
Perhaps a haddock you'd like instead?
You can't use haddock to whack someone's head,
perhaps the best is the Arctic blend,
But i guess that that would have to depend
Talk of fake skin and the eifel tower,
skypey fat chin of power of power,
And now I don't know what else to say
except for have a HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Friday, 9 January 2009
Sunday, 21 December 2008
Between the pages of a book,
I’m young or old or cat or crook,
I’m eating leaves that taste of sweets,
Delicious feasts of country meats,
Roaring fires and kicking boots,
Dry-cleaned, crisp and pristine suits,
Flowers hang from ceiling beams,
Fairies come to dine on dreams,
Pan sits by a wishing well,
Drinking red wine from a shell,
Tying saint’s hair to his harp,
A matted hairball by his heart,
Giant dragons made from petals,
Cough up orbs of precious metals,
And as some cherubs hum a tune,
An antique teapot marries a spoon,
Rosaries that hang from trees,
Forever tangled in the breeze,
Bark that’s covered in Russian lacquer,
Paper trees inscribed with Kafka,
And so I go there to a place,
Where rain is scented and falls from lace,
And in the morning I smell the dew,
It is the finest French Perfume.
I’m young or old or cat or crook,
I’m eating leaves that taste of sweets,
Delicious feasts of country meats,
Roaring fires and kicking boots,
Dry-cleaned, crisp and pristine suits,
Flowers hang from ceiling beams,
Fairies come to dine on dreams,
Pan sits by a wishing well,
Drinking red wine from a shell,
Tying saint’s hair to his harp,
A matted hairball by his heart,
Giant dragons made from petals,
Cough up orbs of precious metals,
And as some cherubs hum a tune,
An antique teapot marries a spoon,
Rosaries that hang from trees,
Forever tangled in the breeze,
Bark that’s covered in Russian lacquer,
Paper trees inscribed with Kafka,
And so I go there to a place,
Where rain is scented and falls from lace,
And in the morning I smell the dew,
It is the finest French Perfume.
Saturday, 6 December 2008
I can't wait until 'The Reader' comes out in the cinema. Ralph Fiennes is so sexy! He even looks great in HD where you can see absolutely every detail. Watching him in High Definition makes me want to climb into a pore on his face and spend some time there; seeing the world how he sees the world. In fact I would be content living there (in his face), maybe invite Nicholas Cage around for dinner a few times. I appologize in advance but i really can't let this one go...I'd be living in a MANsion. HAAAAAAA.
THE READER
THE READER
P ROACH
Friday, 5 December 2008
NEWSPAPER GAME
Monday, 1 December 2008
THE SPHERICAL DEMON
This is something I wrote a while ago during 'the clumsy years' when i had a series of mishaps in the kitchen. This is about when I sliced my finger cutting a cabbage.
Today was no ordinary day. It was something different. The air was fat, the light slim. A cabbage called to me from deep within the fridge, "slice me friend...make a salad." I should have been strong, walked away, ignored the layers of green deceit... but I was weak.
I reached in, took the spherical demon and placed it on the side board. Then it was the bread knife that called to me. It was as if they cabbage and the knife had it planned all along. I knew something bad would come about if I used a bread knife to cut a cabbage, especially one as evil as this one. But I couldn’t give in to the ridged persuasions of the knife and the tauntings of the vegetable...
I took the knife in my hand and set about the slicing of the cabbage. It beckoned me to try and cut the slithers finer, Much finer. There were thin slices of death accumulating on the side board but I couldn't stop cutting. Then the knife took a turn for the worse, a turn towards my middle finger. As it slid across I knew there was little hope in me keeping the finger which I had grown to love. The cabbage had spoken. I dropped the knife in a frenzy of shattered expectations. I fled the kitchen and fled the nightmare, never again would I give in to the green temptations. NEVER.
I now live to roam the world as a 9 fingered mutant. An outlaw. A freak. And a fool. Never again would I be able to shake a hang or wave goodbye, not with this shame on my shoulders. I was defeated by a 3d circle of misfortune. The cabbage won in this battle of being versus vegetable
The cabbage had gone but the hurt remained...
Today was no ordinary day. It was something different. The air was fat, the light slim. A cabbage called to me from deep within the fridge, "slice me friend...make a salad." I should have been strong, walked away, ignored the layers of green deceit... but I was weak.
I reached in, took the spherical demon and placed it on the side board. Then it was the bread knife that called to me. It was as if they cabbage and the knife had it planned all along. I knew something bad would come about if I used a bread knife to cut a cabbage, especially one as evil as this one. But I couldn’t give in to the ridged persuasions of the knife and the tauntings of the vegetable...
I took the knife in my hand and set about the slicing of the cabbage. It beckoned me to try and cut the slithers finer, Much finer. There were thin slices of death accumulating on the side board but I couldn't stop cutting. Then the knife took a turn for the worse, a turn towards my middle finger. As it slid across I knew there was little hope in me keeping the finger which I had grown to love. The cabbage had spoken. I dropped the knife in a frenzy of shattered expectations. I fled the kitchen and fled the nightmare, never again would I give in to the green temptations. NEVER.
I now live to roam the world as a 9 fingered mutant. An outlaw. A freak. And a fool. Never again would I be able to shake a hang or wave goodbye, not with this shame on my shoulders. I was defeated by a 3d circle of misfortune. The cabbage won in this battle of being versus vegetable
The cabbage had gone but the hurt remained...
Sunday, 30 November 2008
PAN TAKES THE TRAIN
Twinkling stardrops, dripping glitter,
Reflecting backwards in my eyes,
Raindrops splashing, bedjewelled, bright dropplets,
Ever falling, drowning skies,
Hazy dreaming, smooth, dark blackness,
Where two worlds are intertwined,
Foggy coffee, clouded windows,
All the edges undefined,
By my hair is Pan the goat god,
Plucking strands to fix his harp,
today brings with it year's best harvest,
matted hairball by his heart,
Picture him all taupe and thorny,
At his legs there lies the clues,
Seems a man from head to torso,
But out of trouser legs stick hooves,
Eyes wide open, sideways glancing,
In the window nothing's clear,
Try ignore all the creatures,
that you find in limbo here.
Basically, I was on the train on the way back from London today and I fell asleep, to be woken up by someone behind me, playing with my hair! I was too freaked out to turn around. Also I was so tired that I couldn't stay awake and everytime my eyes were closed, he started mumbling and whispering. Public transport freaks me out!
Thursday, 27 November 2008
LATE 90S
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