Boom, and silence

Like a plane emerging from the sea, this daylight shouldn't be happening,
it's what all the passengers want, they'll wake up and take up some fine routine,
about gardening and exercise dreams. I stand sideways, while you all fall past my
window and the curtain whips me from the right. Some people have got clean track records,
a lot of people, actually. I don't know whether it's them or me, but somebody out there is blind, dumb and ignorant or whatever it may be. I know because eliajah had it once, he offered me a road forwards. Well of course, what other direction should I take. Well some people stopped and looked to the swallowing red deserts around the highway, or the white and black mountains with their name on it. But I seem to be digging out a trench around this road. What use is it to me, I can't even drive. I can't sleep or move to eat. That's a beautiful colour lipstick your wearing darling. Hows so and so, and who's he?

Palpitating so gentle, he's that guy who sits in the corner with his dark hair while some words which can't escape him, escape him.

I found some others down here, they think this is a home. Well they've got tall palaces upstairs and they know it. I can see my mother running down the escalator the wrong way just so she could teach me to lie still and follow it up when I was born. God damn, you ungrateful bastards. Why do you dig down here? I found some real friends, wish I could save them. I can tell you about them but I can't punctuate them to you. You look around and they were never born.

She's a real flower. I can't tell you anything else. But somehow she floated down beneath the cracks, and maybe, somehow, i'll grow a garden. It'll rain, but after all that, I will lie down in slumber and appreciate it wholly, completely, fully, and finally, absolutely.

Introduction to a book

god damn.


Blue down yellow, floating toxic tonnes of octopus.
Heavy muscle of olive wrapped around your head,
Dull slap as it pulls you up.


howintino laverero quintin tu pas e se can nubra campra tapa.


And then a pin burst through wet paper.

cigarette, holes of billowing, down and round, sweeped up in front of you,
and I reached out and thought it was true.

Tell me what time you start work. Take a cab to Mexico, too much freedom sends you over the edge. When you started to quiver i started to sell, and when I turned round to tell you, *Once upon a time a star interrupted a story and begun to tell you a new one.

Green Window

Hermann Göring

1936-

Guns will make us stronger, butter will make us fat.





---


Good at life.

Sleeve on mouth

And after that spit, I get an email from the Guardian, considering me for job uploading their internet articles... i guess it's ok. It's at night though, but i guess i can't sleep anymore anyway. I like The Microphones thats making me happy. I know i gotta lot of work to do but i got low self esteem about writing, that makes me unhappier. I would like to be with my girl. That would make me happyest.

Oh yeah

And I don't think the internet has any dignity. For example, what if you don't know a word? You could ask a friend and learn, but you might be judged. So instead, you silently find out. You look at pictures of places and people you will never see, and you throw emotionless characters out through metal and fibre and call it a conversation. You weren't at that event, but you found out about it without anyone telling you. Nothing is going to get in your way, you can escape anything. There is minimum effort. You aren't well read, you just know how to right click onto thesaurus, and most of all, you just can't fuck up, it's all virtual, history deleted.

It distracts you from life by giving you a window to the very things you're missing out on by being on it.

and i hate it.

Free Zine

inspired by ryan. Print out and fold. Make a W from 8 folds. Cut down the middle. Squeeze in middle and fold into book.

Chipped and eaten

Tatuke, assum, debucher,

All the dirt looked the same, but it all led somewhere different,
big bear, following his soul, with the red and black blocks of a Kodiak,
imprinted into dark ridges. He grunted, and they followed, under the trees,
trickling into bark and sawdust, as he cried out with a salmon held high to some god
of the month. Yellow hats, shiny with sweat and overused material, more markings,
something like a mountain lion but with less soul. You'll forget about it.

It was in these woods you tripped up and realised the issue at hand. To be caught,
if under the thumb, you need to chew through. Escape something forbidden with something far more criminal, save yourself. Take the widows son, I've heard he doesn't talk anymore, so no squealing. He knows what to do. He's not really there anymore; three parts gone, he can fit through small holes. In fact he can filter himself through the eyes of anything, nobody knows he's there.

The yellow hats are done. The receptionist will take your call; she is your god now, she'll tell you where to go.

At the dinner table

At the dinner table...

(My mum laughs casually about an incident in her hairdressers.

New Girl: (In a Californian accent) Hi, are you Kate?

My Mum (Whos name is actually Christine): Yes

New Girl: (Enthusiastically) Ok, that's fine, just sit down here! Now, how do you like your hair at the minute? Is it too thick, too bouncy? What would you like me to do with it today!? *Beams*

My Mum: Mmmm, it's ok, I suppose, I don't know.


Another hairdresser meanwhile begins to stare at my mum and the new girl.


New Girl: Now what do you usually have done? I could do that orrrr, we could try something new and fresh and crazy!

Second Hairdresser: (Coughing) Erm, excuse me, I think that's Chris... she's Lulu's...client.


New Girl: (In total american highschool-like breakdown) OH-MY-GOD, I mean, just oh my god, I am-so-sorry! I didn't mean to steal you, I just thought, I mean you said your name was Kate!

My Mum: (Mimicly) Oh my god! What's your name?

New Girl: Oh, my names Autumn!

My Mum: Autumn Paxman? Autumn Paxman!

New Girl: Sorry? My names Autumn Wilding.

My Mum: (As she's taken away to Lulu) Autumn bloody Paxman! You were meant to marry my son! Why didn't you marry him?

New Girl: :o


As she laughs and drinks her water, I laugh too, because I get it. Autumn Paxman was some rich american girl I use to know, and my mum was obsessed about me seeing her so she could get some money.

The reason why I respect my mum, is because the girl she happened to play with unfortunately doesn't know the context of our lives. Chris will take an inside joke to the extent were she will cause a poor girl on her first day of work to go home and question both her life and identity, and that is why I like her. She is good)


...at the dinner table she talked, but I didn't say much.

Peaked Street

The light turns off.
The curtain railing snaps and the fabric
comes down,
forgiving the ugly grey sunlight,
it lets her in,
and so she comes.
She smears her pale cheeks all over my table,
my books, my wardrobe and my skin.
Now as I take a small lake of water,
and let the liquid fall across the mirror,
I stand pale too, and asking of what I am doing,
as I let my new friend burn circles through my eyes,
of green and yellow hue.

The spotlight should lie around the painting,
not on top of it.
You have to reach out into the dark to find,
something really interesting.

Bad things are happening all over the world, and journalists are never a part of it. What you read is written by the kid who over-hears. I heard a gunshot, but yet I didn't, because it wasn't in the paper this morning. Therefore,
London
is
pronounced
safe.

Out in the street

Fuck those people with ill-attepted dreads, a small dred like goatee, and hemp clothes.
And yeah they listen to dub step.
won't you join me in a dance?

Burn the tents.

And you know a lot of them were at the riots,
where hippies trampled over the plants



Stupid.