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and you you just sit around & ask for ashtrays,can't you reach?

Nov. 20th, 2005

12:15 am - morgan freeman

rnng unngh
tng fng gng hng rhnininhiningng
'and off the rails i was happy to stay,get out of my way'

Nov. 15th, 2005

01:07 am - 'and here's a list of who i slew'

knick knack paddywhack
stuck a needle through his sack..

gabble gabble the burns and the rabble the pork schnitzel with apple and candelabras for afters best not to look at the screen or listen to the words or sniff what's cooking is the advice from the smokeman to whoever it was who claimed he was happy enough in the wasteland because planes have been spotted but somebody retches with institutionalisation and some shallow predispositions to boot always starting riots for the taxi cameras to follow with their banners,their handlebars their fagin and their rye... he sat with a little pencil stub sorting it all out with letters and words of little consequence....one man leaves and his paper reads...'drop bombs on a,shoot guns at b,swim in the p' but whoever it was says 'in love with a,loved n and he thinks he quite likes the final note on that scale you know' but a flaming roast with dean martin as host flies in from the coast and points at the wizened little scrap of boredom still attatched to the stern after a hundred years

Current Mood: royal sarcastic infantry
Current Music: 'panic'-smiths

Nov. 12th, 2005

03:40 am - charm and panic

well well
pon arrival at zoe's from walking her home her mother began by militantly asking what we had been doing or taking...some gentle soothing lies and her spending twenty minutes on the phone while we sat side by side worrying at the kitchen table had us,or me at least,quite near panic and certainly tapping my fingers a lot... an hour,several of zoe's baby photos,a complete trawl through the mother's excellent selection of vintage tapes and a large amount of me talking my customary language of bollocks had the mother and i getting along famously and zoe dead of embarrassment and exhaustion
i award myself a stunning fifteen points for charm though deduct three for eating chicken revoltingly half the way there.

Current Mood: splendid
Current Music: like a paranoi

Nov. 7th, 2005

11:44 pm - short short play

(Clive and Dave are inside a hole digging)

Dave: we dug deep enough?
Clive: no fear mate,just you keep digging
Dave: feels like we been diggin' hours
Clive: well we haven't,and you know we haven't
Dave: well i didn't say we had now did i
Clive: you bloody well did..how d'yer think it came up then?
Dave: i SAID it FEELS like we been digging f'r'hours
Clive: fine,okay,just keep digging
Dave: right,right.. ..righty right..(whistles)
Clive: quiet down kettlehead,you want THAT lot to hear?
Dave: jesus..i'd forgotten them,you..you don't suppose..
Clive:no,i don't,fortunately,and neither do you.do you
Dave: oh no,oh no not for a minute.. i..
Clive: dave
Dave:...i...i..(drops spade)
Dave: (collapses hysterical) shshshshshutupthey'lltheytheymighthearyoutheytheywill...
Clive: pick..the spade...up (ultraultramenacinglike)
Dave: you're absolutely right dave(holds hand out to be picked up..isn't)
er..(picks self up)...so..back to the digging eh
Clive: if you would be so kind
Dave: i think that normally i probably wouldn't...
Clive: and yet today...
Dave: ...but today however..
Clive: you dig
Dave: indeed

(about a minute of silent digging)

Dave: um...
Clive: oh no
Dave: it's nothing,forget it
Clive: i try but you never
Dave: no i never let you do i
Clive: not yet anyway
Dave: it was just...are we digging for something..something..buried?
Clive: we'd hardly be digging for something suspended
Dave: ahaha..aha..ha,aha..haha..oh
Clive: you bastard
Dave: steady on...
Clive: but no
Dave: no?
Clive: we aren't
Dave: we aren't? we don;t exist? je me personne non etre?
Clive: pardon?git?
Dave: it was french
Clive: mm..yes..perhaps
Dave: the language of philosophy..
Clive: i was rather asking..that is to say i was..politely uh..
Dave: existence..our very essence
Clive: you right wanker
Dave: here now,you bloody well started it
Clive: i never did,lying vermin
Dave: "we aren't" you said "we aren't"
Dave: we aren't?
Clive: oh god.look,just dig,okay?
Dave: well why? i mean...
Clive: look i don't CARE what you mean
Dave: yes yes but just listen..
Clive: well why? i mean...
(these lines delivered simultaneously
Dave: if we aren't digging for anything...
Clive: if i don't want to hear it..
Dave: then why should i?
Clive: then why should i?)

(scowling and silent digging)

Dave: i...
Clive: ...don't want to talk about it.thank you.
Dave: well well... (puts spade down and sits down on some convenient stump)
Clive: what? what are you doing?
Dave: i'll play no part in this..this futile labour..
Clive: futile?futile?!?what are you talking about man,this is a life or death situation,this is anything but futile you wretch...
Dave: ..oh i don't believe this,look,make your bloody mind up can you
Clive: me?? me make MY mind up? here's yooou sitting down,taking it easy when i thought you were meant to be bloody working.. make MY mind up indeed
Dave: yes.YES make this oh-so-bloody mind of yours up..first you say we aren't digging for anything and then..and THEN you try to tell me it's a matter of life or death?
Clive: please..look it's just a few loose bits left now,nearly done...come on..
Dave: how can it be nearly "done" if it's pointless..there is no "done" in pointless..
Clive: listen,will you.we aren't digging something up... fathead. we're digging to put something IN the hole
Dave: you mean...
Clive: yeees.. now for fuck's sake man dig!
Dave: (gets back in hole and assists with digging) so what're we burying old man?
Clive: (steps from hole,wipes forehead with a rag and hits dave incredibly hard with his spade) Dave.

Current Music: Grave architecture-pavement..hahah,total coincidence

12:59 am - 'ohdon'tsayyoudon'tpleasesayyoudo'

"oh i am the last of the famous international playboys..."
dot my tea
crosses for eyes
i feel alright

Nov. 5th, 2005

11:23 pm - scum city scenes

big 'camomile fucking andrew' isn't saying much with his checkerboard throw me a dart face pointed apishly at the fire speaking in a prune voice and the key individual she serves him sadly ..little poodle with her mistaken rebel hair and mistaken light colours she always seems like one who laments the death of her bloody mother so one with one's little terminal vase of flowers pose and little keys go up to up to big 'camomile fucking andrew' him and would love to flame and douse him aplenty but it's alright i'm sick of you now as well which is liberating,the butler brings in golf clubs hands them out to angus one by one and angus is going lovely lovely but but he doesn't see,he's sweating,panicking,we give him gin and rewrite his will for the insurance.your little friend,the one with a hip in her face and who starts everyhing with 'this one time' and who convulses with youth well greg shot her and he buried her and bigleg brenda with the adjustable brow and hissy cardew were slugging on each others shoulders...little terrier bounded about kicked and strewn while 'orlando' was talking to you earnestly about his misunderstood passion for copulation..with you..this instant,we all yawned and fiddled with our dynamite,putting fruit in the ears of the blonde guys,talking about the hidden gatherings of the furies,well,my furies,the vicious and the treacherous..sister haggard who becomes more and more like a hawk on a stalk and the little witch with her bland and her blank and her bosom well ..at the theatre see herr pierre schmidt the aryan 'hinterlectual actually' his face looks like the texture of foreskin so red scar pulls me giggling into a booth and it's all very embarrassing and she drives off but miss snape plays the harp for me and i fall
over and wake up and you are feeling carefree so being a little vacant and the clown spins you round and he's some kind of parasite you sorta change colour dontcher but then doctor lincoln sorta comes in and overacts starts acting like a tentacle and i go off to smoke with her majesty of and end up havin half a chat with an semipatriated theatrical pantomime halfman.

Current Mood: Flash Gordon,perhaps..
Current Music: einstein-j.p.s.e

02:57 pm - flagella

she's hard road without a cigarette especially with our morrissey prattling away in 'our frank'
fantastic song..

Our frank and open
Deep conversations
They get me nowhere
They bring me down, so
Give it a rest, won't you ?
Give me a cigarette
God give me patience
Just no more conversation
Oh, give us a drink
And make it quick
Or else I'm gonna be sick
Sick all over
Your frankly vulgar
Red pullover
Now see how the colours blend

Our frank and open
Deep conversations
They get me nowhere
They just bring me down, so
Give it a rest, won't you ?
Now will you just give over ?
The world may be ending
But look, I'm only human
So, give us a drink
And make it quick
Or else I'm gonna be sick
All over
Your frankly vulgar
Red pullover
Now see how the two colours blend, my friend
Won't somebody help ?

Won't somebody stop me
From thinking
From thinking all the time
About everything
Oh, somebody
From thinking all the time
So deeply, so bleakly ?
So bleakly all the time
About everything ? (who I am, how I ever got here)
Somebody stop me
From thinking
From thinking all the time
So bleakly, so bleakly
So bleakly all the time

oo lala

i should vaguely started organising this room toward the day when i dismantle it
and i'm too timid to do anything with her phone numbers
'with the world's fate resting on your shoulders you're gonna need someone on your side...'
and god you know it smells in here
i'm bored won't somebody give me a call,give it a rest won't yer,give me a cigarette...gives us a drink or eeeeeeelse ii'm gonna be sick....

Current Mood: morning
Current Music: Morrissey-Speedway

Nov. 1st, 2005

11:36 pm - magnates and ayatollahs

captains badges on squirrels of medium rank your whole squirrel beauracracy has turned upside down so what are you gonna do you little freak? you may have to consider devoting less thought to squirrels,consult a gp or join a cult on this one buddy

"doctor doctor someone
gobbed intermesoup"
'whyofcourseyou little bastard
we all did it as a group'
"who'd ya think you are?" says
mister first guy who uh spoke
"i think i'm joan collins mate
just give this "face" a poke.."
"pardon doctor pardon..what the
hell is all this shite?"
he was getting awful dull so
we dumped his body just last night

god and blood
all those sort of sticky ones

reading Confessions of Saint Augustine,he seems awfully apologetic
listening heavy on lifeblood by manics,musical suicide daydream sorta affairs..and blonde on blonde like revengeful hitchcocks and in a minute a clever segue of bailterspace and the 3ds will take me to a very select bats playlist
bored most obviously
purple marijuana
chocolate but most likely not enough
still not smoking early
out of cigarettes
band plods
friends plod
life plods
i plod
mister plod
but i always identified more with that snotty little bear that ran away.to my shame of course,shame?

tall rat tales haven't writ nought since that little 'easy big hole' play in pretty asian book i don't like all this weather you know the people i live with make me think of the word 'haggard' i wish i had nice sunglasses i have been being frank and open it is odd there's a foreign girl whose face i like also the people i used to hang with look like they've spent time on the rack they're all drawn i spose it's exam season vexation we are odd that we curl up inside society like it's a parasitic host yes juxstapost..postern of fate,agatha christie's last novel you know,published posthumously oh that reminds me i must find out if that book was actually by the betty page betty page damn impossible to find out anyhow yeah,agatha christie,nope lost it funny how things happen

bloody buggery bollocks almighty ahoy there it's blighty shut up you forensic analyst.
godo godo waiting for 'gelatto'
crazy mescalin pesks
or fur liners
i'm sick
of the O
doesn't make a difference
but nevertheless
as far as it goes
i will at least attempt to
operate below

powders kegs mucus bells alarums ring for the butler the bugbear the banter the bantam of the opera for gavin's great big hairy sake....

Current Mood: loose,calm..elegaic
Current Music: Bailterspace-Robot World

10:13 pm - mutiny from stern to bow


03:51 am - old poem

this is either a 2003 or 2004
i edited out the worst lines
and it makes me wonder.

Worn out, fed up, tough luck

Had a lot of stupid thoughts
Riot on in my mind
Ached some hours away
Wasted plenty of time
Got Ryan Adams Cds
Got Oscar Wilde
Got my last cigarette
Should I feel alright?
Can’t get comfortable, no
I won’t sleep well tonight
That last song was too loud
And this next one’s too quiet
With one lamp it’s too dark
And with two it’s too bright
It’s too cold/It’s too warm
Still can’t sort out those lights
I’m so tired of my skull
With its brimstone and fire
I’m fed up with sick
sick of being tired
There are crumbs in the sheets
Dirty grey/Once were white
I’m too hungry to eat
Food too ugly to bite
Hate when my head’s blank
Hate when it’s in riot
I never knew there was so much
Stupid stuff I don’t like
Or that I was this sick
Of being alive
I want to give away
Everything that is mine
Want to disappear
Disconnect for a while
Or I want to have something
To make me smile
Oh I want to disappear
Disconnect for a while


And you cannot…expect…to die
Lying face up
And the mourners never cry
Through their robot makeup

Current Mood: are we too tired to understand
Current Music: .. that nothing is nothing and on that we depend

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