A man sneezed and a red rose blew out.

I like this place, it's ok.

Three faces lit up in blue fairy lights and lighted up in fairy powder, gathered around a friend who, under some strange circumstances, has been reveled a prophet. In the UK £14, 000, 000 is put into research into schizophrenia a year. Thousands of test participants are subjected to both psychological and medical trials. People are scared by news reports desperately pointing to drugs and lack of a 'normal' child hood. And then my friend, some guy in black deep rimmed glasses and a grey hoody turns round and tell us he's discovered what causes it - and then during the few seconds when we cry along inside some childrens cartoon, he forgets.


The red adidas jeans being moved like a manikin. Wide white whites in their eyes, a reef of coral around the small pupil, dodging yet still piercing eye. The African voices and the Carribean drinks.
Some bar hidden in Elephant and Castle. 50 art students and socialites gather round to patiently wait 4 hours in a room of basic and shit art glossed and licked shut by Stephen Fry's pussy. 5 of the other kids, don't know what to do. Thought the front lobby was the art gallery for 20 minutes. Stand close in a circle, but don't even talk to each other. And they smoke more cigarettes than they usaully would.


I like seeing the kids with leaflets to vote them 'head of the college radio station' or 'Student Union President'. Some world where they're really trying. Some how they never manage to focus any attention on from themselves except their words and their ideas. They don't play dressing up on weekends in Camden or Shoreditch. They still think a vintage shop is for nans. They like moderation and they endure work. Some of them are still probably virgins.

The guy who won't leave the Amersham Arm's. He's like 70 and he's been there nearly every day for the last 40 years, espcially recently (as some sort of protest). He refuses to accept student presence within the pub and barely talks to anyone under 65. The one time Dan spoke to him, he promised him we wouldn't tell him to move up, that's the one thing he hated. Well sure enough a few friends turn up, and we don't really have enough space. We ask him quivering with doubt, when he stands up, raging in inaudible mumbles, he throws over a chair by swinging his walking cane straight into the side of it and leaves the pub.

And you know, that's just the shittest stuff, you can't smell a flower through a picture, you won't know till you start walking down alleys instead of main roads.

I don't know, some good guys really are the good guys.

Why are teenies

either something out of highschool the musical or so very badly deformed?

Topless

It doesn't matter how weak you are,
when you take off the heavy burden
of a shirt and coat, and stretch out until,
the ribs burst towards the air,
and you wipe your self with water,
starting with the chest, and then below
the eyes. Two swipes like war paint,
as the city growls, you can hear the sound,
the sound of noise. You're never alone. Some
big animal, with a thousand eyes, screeches
like a stolen child, think you're scary, lean
out the window and scream back at it.
Make a rope, and climb down from the frame.
You land on firm naked feet and all the excess,
disapears. Rustle your self, Lie on a roof top.
And jack off.

Oh

fuck.

Explanation

He had the table on it's side in the middle of the hallway. Like a barricade for bullets, he sat and ate his sandwich to avoid attention. Anything from the side would be stopped by beautiful glossed pine, chipped into pieces and scattered lines. About an hour ago, one man stood up and got his head shot off. Why? We're in a fucking million plus priced school, I thought you went here to learn, I thought there were rules. Chicken. Everything tastes like chicken, but chicken doesn't have much taste. Some people just don't have taste. Like the kid with the gun. They say he doesn't have taste. Maybe someone should sit down and see what he's eating instead of shoving their damn tasteless chicken in his face all his life. Now see what you've done.

Well I can't talk much now, here he comes.

There's an elephant in the room.
There's an elephant in this room.

This is something better than deserves to be here.

They were all pastey, down yellow.
Little lamps lighted them up to let us know,
We had to use them.

Some flipped up fucked up upside down,
down screw turn pot was not up to get shot,
and if he was,
I didn't see him.

He's coming to write and call them teapots.

I have to write two teapots?
Why the thuck? i can only write one teapot,
one of these
I'm just pretty fucked,
I don't even like poetry.

Yes I had a cat, but it died.

You need to find your ticket,
before you rack that line of drunk,
What they don't press all.
of the black keys, you need,
one step backwards, and three sniffs
left, how much, and when will it run out?

Those legs kick hard, they're not like
the friendly women on the street,
They're the blue lighter in the bar,
That everyone tries to steal.
What day did you decide to go
and run and not sit and swallow.

The answer,



is several.

Josha

Has gone to find some kid who flew out a of a car window on a tight bend.

See you on the other side.

Theres this store where the creatures meet
I wonder what they do in there
Summer sunday and a year
I guess I like it fine, so far
She lives on love street
Lingers long on love street
She has a house and garden
I would like to see what happens
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la