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

Sa turd ay

I dont know. This isn't a poem. Hello. Anyway, I had to go to this really fucking cold house a few weeks ago, it was so cold it was kinda funny, in a really horrible way. but yeah there were flashes and apparently light hit paper and here it is:



I dunno, i like this picture a lot. Silouettes are amazing. i wish some how we could all live as black outlines, and yet have all the connotations that people see when they recognise a face. But thats just dumb.

I cant fucking write and its pissing me off.

You know why I can't fucking write? It's because of numbers.

I'm not a numbers guy, so when someone tries to irritate my writing, by telling me i have to write 4000 verbs, nouns and adjectives, it all goes wrong and suddenly it's all about the numbers.

And the only numbers with any soul are 4 digits long.

You fuckers.

God damn...

Just a babble

And I dunno,
I know he's a wanker, really,
i do.
But that time on the bus when we had a nice chat,
he was a nice guy.
Everyone has something good deep down,
hopefully.
And i dunno,
what they said about me,
or what they said about you,
but im sure they were just protecting themselves,
because it's something they do.
And i dunno,
what she did tonight,
maybe it could upset me,
but I hope shes safe,
really i do.
And i dunno,
Just a babble.
Nice shoes.

Roof

honey slipped roof, down to the dead pan wrattling gutters,
green in plastic and moss, old pigs strutting,
rippling fat rolls of cash from dealers,
Fairies dancing to the sparks of their dire flints,
Kids with tongues for madam sugar,
Poor honey, only misses me,
Nothing to do with the grin of ga-ga land.

Ring around his finger,
Chain around his heart,
His pocket full of posies,

We all come down.