... the Angel's arrival was abrupt and slightly abrasive like sandpaper. A plume of bone dust spread out as it landed with a muffled thud on the ancient stone sanctuary floor. A deep red lantern lit high above me, from where the creature fell, gave me a sense of protection. Feathered skin, it's wings almost metallic, shone with an opalescent refraction of light which audibly ringed around them. Everything was still.

Trying not to meet it's gaze, I avoidantly took in it's appearance. It's face was like a wooden mask soaked in a strange amber oil the consistency of molasses.
pupils of pure empathetic fire languished in the glimmering dark recesses which were it's eyes; they occasionally lapped against the rim of it's face like waves slowly crashing against a desolate coastline. I stepped forward greet it and to ask it's name, " Excus - - " my hand reached out...

It moved quickly and heavily on it's wings towards a stone cove before i could utter the words, the high pitch noise of light, shifted and altered as it moved. It seemed as though the room were saturated in it, and the presence of life was a disturbance.

My thoughts slowed down to a point, then a spark of intuition flashed inside my skull, which caused my eyes to narrow and my already outstretched arm to recoil and cover my face as earth, glass and powdered bone blasted toward me in an almighty pulse that emanated from the stone cove where the angel had crept. My weight shifted as i braced the impact, and when it had ended, I fell to my knees.

PLEASEd o O

blurred menace, chaste diplomat.
resolute in all four suits, a quick shuffle,
maximises input in lieu of persuasion.

phony and angered, boxed, squared, segmented
rolled on your tongue until it fits through
the needlepoint, stretched mouths gasping.
as if wire fires from your optic nerves
attaches to your decaying platelets of vision.

suction caps placed over your teats
milked and spun into silk,
unraveled flesh, spun onto looms
quartered up into value cuts,
the Jack of clubs melted the icecaps
with a flamethrower and his carbon candles.

who's got the power now, air miles evacuated losing the high, high,
this makes me alive, where i thrive, webs are an image, legs like knives,
inticing blind pork rinds into landmines where, with their credit cards snort lines.
your rhymescheme ordered me veal, and i declined.
slivers of divinity echo down smoke chambers in hollowed out earth.
mirth and menthol holiday period to the valleys of indonesia.
ample description included in textbook
up above the excrement, past your niceities over the roundabout
the final furlongs captured on your ex boyfriends super 8
wasn't he artistic.

ver bail out.

taste testing golden quail's eggs, stirring up a typhoon of gastronomical wonderment

DOCU 8f

paraphenalia accumulated, laden with dust, under bedclothes and wet laundry, the Shala apartment with that smell of sun and old soap, while the grey radio plays. Bubbles float by and your cat climbed the telegraph pole. Hiccups last for hours, in the rush of youth, tantalised by the future keepsakes of yesteryear, what malcontent have you sprayed on yourself since that fateful day, that forgotten era? Punctuation and structure abandoned, have thou honestly considered the precursors to the situation you are now in, to feel. why does this come to you now? the ephemera of your subconcious, peeling like paint, tarnished. you used to be ancient, now reclined in dark blue, closed and appalled at returning to form. you have destructured yourself, and pieced yourself back together. you are a living crying analysis, analysing, shying away from the unlearnt, which comes in seperate catagories. Filed alphabetically A-Z and Symbls slashed numerical data. Shredding pangs in yur arm, like duck and chinese kiss, under palm moon wheatfields, dangerous spider in a crystal web above you, four thousand undulating choral whispers, plyphonic to the meter specified by you and you alone. Mercury shines in the light of the young hyena, milk sap from tree bark, sticky to the touch on thin tan fingers. pink pleated, round eyed. Black taxi skulks out, burnt heavy, hulk ships infringe on the legitimate request of nature threatened, chased by heaven, so put down your weapons. unfettered temptress, risen like bread. water drains solitary and meaningful. this is not the end.

thing

you are ever changing,
space debris and tears,
the enamel of your teeth
now rests in flowerpot pieces
hurled towards the outer reaches
of the universe.

the acid of your stomach
burns holes through dark matter.
into which your prying eyes slip
red blue and green,
never to be seen again

your oxygen
set aflame in a dwarfing star.
.

uhh...

im unstable like nitroglycerin, watch me pull the pin, wrap your head in tin foil, fry your face in sunflower oil while your organs boil in a body bag, my dogs tail wags cos he's waiting to feed on your blackened skull, your opinion is null and most definately void, youd get better reception on an asteroid flying into outer space. maybe you can make a belt, cos i wanna watch your face melt as you head into the burning sun like a firework, you see me smirk at your miserable demise, my words gather round you like a swarm of flies, cos you fucking stink like shit, youre reeking out the place like an obese man on a hot day lifting up his armpits standing in a cat litter, follow him on twitter, get resentful and bitter while you sit on the shitter eating meat in a pitta.

Yu & uY < < bark > >

type out your horror. Xanthan Gum. If you are reading this, (which you're not) then. um. yeah.

Today the sun is colder, colder than it was maybe last week? I would take a photo, but i'd rather hack into your RM nimbus and make a pattern on Logo.

- 232 Kelvin and falling. Words that are willing and able, grated like parmesan over a thin crust base. Making my fingernails ache, my teeth sweat and my skin fold up neatly and put itself away in a drawer ready to be worn by someone else who doesn't have a skin.

Acacia leaves paw the sky, waiting to be nourished,
lip syncing to the sound of whatever you want.
I cant really be versed in the tomes of wave goodbye.
Coco Monkey in the passenger seat of a minibus, eyes you slowly as the vehicle pulls away.
good grief, bad grief, ok grief, heres the deal.
i know we said we'd meet again, but I don't think thats such a good idea.
Uploading nothing.

if i was one of those people who paint pictures painting pictures
or those 90's european airbrush artists, or puppets in boxes who just stand there.
stand there, motionless not even waiting for anything. their insides scraped clean and replaced with old time confectionary, the stuff your grandma really likes, and gets emotional over.
laughing at you all the way down the street.
talkative as always, they slink inside gasping for air.
well, thats the spirit. i guess. i cant keep up with all these thoughts, wrenched from every angle of a psychological being and be anchored down by form, a freeflowing output of melancholy carving, etching a mask of insipid grey slather. rather appallingly appraised by nothing.
a wow factor of nil, one comes crawling in, reeking of ineptitude.
Dullard ducking away from the talons and whips hiding in a small trench, runs away and finds a place to stay in the woods, a nice little thatched cottage, suprisingly it is empty, just like him.

i'll just post this now. ¬_¬

you. yeah you.

whats all this?
why is blogspot deleting and rearranging my posts?
could you stop it please?
thankyou.

THERE ARE WAYS OF MY I

On the cusp of the dredges of time, I awoke lamp lit, blue faced and starved of oxygen, I remember, gasping and newborn that I was to be taken away. In the recesses of my memory, I can see surgeons, and the outside view of an abandoned hospital where I can hear muffled footsteps walking across a car park. I also recall a conversation with another newborn child, using facial expressions and eye movements. I have never found out if this was true, but for some reason I have always felt that it shouldn't concern me and I should never know this.

There are ways of my I, the pale vertices of my '86 form which move onward, outward into bare space.

The illegible bronze and gold jagged vehicles of my dreams move lightly over the surface of my day, calling me up, or knocking on my front door.

“Hello, It's the skeletal remains of leaves buried neatly in graves with their names on.” ...

… “Oh, yeah, and you've met the scent of metal haven't you?”

Places I have visited in my dreams often recur, sometimes old dreams get loaded up and played and I wander about in them more lucidly, picking stuff up and kicking dusty bits and bobs around. Maybe I'll sit down in an armchair or something. Depends where I am, I guess.

A sound. Louder. LOUDER quiet again. click and the tape ends.

The guy across the table (unfortunately a fairly generic detective) quietly flips over his notepad and puts his pencil behind his ear, he turns his back to me and looks at something on the wall.

I get up and walk out of the interrogation room. A large fan spins heavily, high above me, giving it a momentum which you could almost be certain would snap it off and would come whirling down onto some innocent person.

I briefly try to spin with it at the same speed so it looks motionless, then walk outside.

The breeze is strong but warm, dying down occasionally and the sun sporadically pokes it's head round the hurrying clouds. I put my hands into my pockets and head back home thinking it will probably be cold later.

Some kids are loitering around a stack of large wooden crates, they are wearing Hessian sacks printed with dark green writing and are embroidered with thick orange rope. They have big black boots on and are smoking coloured cigarettes. As I approach them I hear the crackling of fire gradually getting louder and the smell of motor oil gets stronger.

Suddenly, an arc of molten metal comes spurting out of a hole in the wall on my right and is quickly channeled into a series of clear pipes which are half embedded into the floor, the pipes seem to run down to the sea. Some liquid metal splashes out of the hole and lands on my shoe. I just start to feel the heat on my toe, before I panic and press down on the back of my shoe with my other foot to prize it off, then accidentally kick my shoe down the pipe.

Earlier I mentioned I was going home. This was not technically true.

The asphalt road under my one bare foot was dusted with bits of gravel which made it slightly painful to walk, but I kept going, onto my unnamed destination.

Visions of bX-v0laof

blogID: 4475083791695836652
host: www.blogger.com
postID:
uri: /post-create.do



num lock fucks.
opening the crust to reveal a numerical egg.
a purposeless value, presented in a less than salubrious manner.
dull eyed dustmen lift their fragile arms to double click it away
but fall apart decrepit, as is their day long nature.

swept away in the sandiest dune. heaven deep.

chlorine burns and hydrogen breaks off like viscose biscuit, fizzing victorious in it's own personal battle to become something other than the number of it's weight in the world. doomed by humans to be 1 alone. a laughable figure?
deleted my cache of play doh and jelliver ice creems.

it's good to speak to adverse side effects.

cod's wallop way better when they wear boxing gloves or a don a solid brass knuckleduster

various other bits.

white horse bending down facing left makes a letter M which num locked is 0
so if M is 0
06therf4c2er!

The " Otherfacer" O_O

THE NAME " Otherfacer" and "The Otherfacer"

YOU ARE SUSCEPTIBLE TO PRECURSOR
AN ENIGMATIC GRAY WITH AN A
CHOP CHOP REPLACE THE RED PLACENTA
OF HASHES AND SEMICOLON SOMETHING ELSE.

lame small print i like it
arsecone. arsecube. arsepyramid.

hole.

The emotional world of Major Tom

does anyone know what they are doing?, even the finer figures have no sense of self. step into my sphere and we'll begin. I am a unique blend of life. I am not part of the struggle, i am part of the found. Detail gets left undone, away from preset mind maps. And I have renounced the evils of this world. The music is boring me to death. BUSINESS DIE BUSINESS DIE

All i ever see is logic feel, logic feel,
oh all i ever feel is logic see, logic see,
CHANT MONEY CHANT MONEY
repeated for effect effect repeated for
AD _ VERT
GREEN FOR POST HOC
the purest thing about you. use of , real, imperfect syllabic beeps.
washing machine psyche, trained in the company of beggars.
self assured blood out poured from draining holes in bleeding veins.
tonight's flourishes and almond,

almond frederic Significance.

SIGN THIS

and inhale, you know the connotations, but fuck 'em. they aren't wanted here.
one day i'll refine these crawling macabre innerds
but they need a place to be kept before there arent any more.
the wise shut their traps, or silently open their gobs to produce a whistling when the wind vibrates through their gaping hollow caves.

opal was a girl i knew before i knew.
she has no face just a representation in my head.
i was taken away at birth
i strangled myself with my own umbilical cord
i turned blue
i remember hiding under tables with white cloth
i used to fall asleep with moles and ermine fellows
a rhodedendron was a big flower
the bridge is still there
believe

Memoirs of A Bot

So there i was, backed up against the cold hard wall of a CAPTCHA
i say to Pete, " Man, i wish i could read that shit"
Pete says, "yeah man, images are like some foreign language or some shit"

He lays it on me straight. (He was a bit OCD about these things)

My first picture book.

O / 1 ?

From the Old Lane

I have music in my ears my eys, my evry
coalition ring me up on the
setencz finish
be abailabl for you only hav 1
these text s
serv as forever you look word
i have found words
r is tied up

power is bound.

not to fire.
but words.

In the frenzied calm of the future light will shine down upon you

I M
M U
N E

Cock Clock and the Slowdown Panther

Seeing as business is based on the death of free will, i thought i'd live a little.

The 1941 year old Mcguiness tried to escape and talk with his wife. BUT DIED. (more on this later)

My thoughts drague on and loathing, forsooth! give me a white sheet and a black tip and get me out of here!

i caught myself using my skull a bit, in the midst of personal calamities far beyond my scrying days... and then i found out that maybe, it all will work out after all! i love the sound of my own typing, fuck yeah that feels good. GOOS. goooose. :]

But yes. I was just caroozing around Web 2.0 and ambled about the fetid smell that is http://www.creatiu.com/

which boasts a like totally awesome service that like finds like the coolest websites and designers for you! so you can look at pretty things all the time indulging your natural instinct to fixate on that bright light in front of you, for hours, days, weeks... copy pasting, posting "sharing"

Looks like the social climate is getting cooler, and according to my spirit level is getting frightfully close to evening out into a tepid mulch similar in texture to a bowlful of lukewarm Dickensian gruel blended with a couple of Tesco's finest hand picked Yorkshire Terrier turds.

So much for living your life in 2D my dear Fortescue.

P.S for any of you happy shoppers, this page has been duely shopped for your discretion. Unlikely, one would have the courtesy to say thankyou, but a guy can only hope.

As if you didn't know, I write exposes on the inner ills of the troupe.
I can all but think that we'd be damned to hell for the superior corruption that favours civilised society so, if it wasn't for the shining lights of aversion and creative ignorance, shying (as they do) away from the limelight, not timidly, but like pumice stones floating on a sea of shadows. We would all be brown bread. (maybe best of both)

DIRGE. silt cascades, grey sludges, goo fountains, silica slag heaps.
Vocabulary, Dietician, Haemmorroid (sp?)

cant test this fact. - what is the sole reason, memorabilia, cavernous, recital, words that involuntarily come to the forefront of the brain box.

( SILENCE FOR 5 MINUTES )

There there, nice and quietly now. Three steps back, out the door, up against the wall, thats it... nice and gently.

THE MURDERER DROPS HIS KNIFE THROUGH THE GAPS IN THE THE METAL FIRE EXIT STAIRCASE.
THE BIN BAG OVER THE HEAD OF THE GIRL INFLATES
A TOXIC SHROUD DELIVERS THE MEANS FOR THIRD PARTIES TO ESCAPE.
11PM IS NOT THE REAL WORLD
AS THE APERTURES OF MY EYES ARE LARGER THAN THE LIGHT I CANNOT SEE.

make me feel the way i used to feel, back in the lack of information age, no one needs this much information, why are you reading this, you dont need to know what i think, i'm outside of this, well im an artist but that doesnt make any bit of difference to swarming mouthpiece wasps does it. Caution, the phantom eye is upon you, nice to meet you, this isnt even about you. it's about me. my position.

A self obsessive rambling line of text for mental relaxation and simple joy is nothing to cast stones at, i mean, it's like i'm someone else. Getting all this text and accumulating it in one, clear, characterless landfill of my own design.

<>

C:\run for your life.

\ENDLIFE

Blackness......

Bolt of Light

LIGHT
LIGHT
LIGHT

--------------------
--------------------
--------------------

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SOAREWEWINNING
S o 4 r 3 w 3 w 1 n n 1 n 9 ?

seeing as business is based on the death of free will....

web2.0 entrepeneurs have this advice for you and you alone dear child!

1. You will have at least one catastrophe every three months.
2. Outsource effectively, or be effectively outsourced.
3. Do you thrive on stress and ambiguity? You'd better.
4. The best way to get outside funding is to be successful already. Stupid but true. But you, cheapskate, don't need money, right?
5. People will think your idea sucks. They're even probably right. The only way to prove them wrong is to succeed.
6. A startup will require your complete attention and devotion. Thought your first love in High School was clingy? You can't take out a restraining order on your startup.
7. Being an entrepreneur requires a healthy amount of ignorance. Note I did not say stupidity.
8. Your software sucks. So what. Everyone else's does also, and re-architecting is the kiss of death for a startup. Startups are no place for architecture astronauts.
9. You do have a public API, right?
10. Abject Terror. Overwhelming Joy. Monstrous Greed. Embrace and harness these emotions you must.

... Fuckwits.

CTRL END X

Paragraphs

There was a murmur from below as the crouching, saucer eyed man reached out, then paled into obscurity...
The girl's eyes crept half open. The dull cast of summer rain, looming behind closed curtains flooded her senses for a brief moment, before she closed her eyes tight again. The clock on the coffee machine ticked over to 6:02am. For a second the girl became partially animate, as she stretched out on the double bed making a barely audible squeal, but as soon as the magic was there, it was gone. The sound of the pillow moving close to her ear, mixed with the distant muted drone of the rain, and the gutters overspilling from the roof outside, sent her back from where she came.

She arrived in a blur back into a dream, standing outside the entrance to a dilapidated block of flats. Two glass automatic doors which had lost their function led into a small porch, which in turn led into a large, predominantly featureless room. The only thing that could have been deemed notable was the black and white tiled floor, most of whose tiles had been cracked or smashed by thin roots which had started to spread sporadically over the surface. The girl pressed the sides of her hands up to the glass door and peered in. The glass was quite hot to touch, as if warmed by the sun, and was also very dirty. Some green, powdery residue stuck to her skin but she didn't seem to mind, her eyes just continued to dart around the interior of the building.

She noticed a strange smell in the air, like gasoline, white spirit, and rusted metal. She couldn't quite place it, but a sense of unerring nostalgia welled within her. Suddenly, the entire pane of glass which she was leaning against came loose and fell forward, and so did she.

Images #1

oki so i got the bug, the big bad bugger thats what i call it, i dont really but i just thought that, shit here is the one thing that doesnt make sense i cant even hear myself think today, yeah i can but i thought that why did i think that, i dont even know, thats just weird isnt it, heaha someone just walked in the door its my dad , i cant see him, but i an hear him he is downstairs, faster and faster typing, getting it all out, like tipping rubbish away, after all, this is all rubbish, no substance to this whatsoever, i always got put off by that, something having substance, why cant it be, OH BIG PAUSE, got distracted there, i just clicked onto the facebook tab, to see what was going on, it was Roya sending me a mesaage on the chat thingy, i cant wait until i can actually (like the gomme of clashing grabs) snatch away the sounds straight away, and then reformat them into music, arrangements if you will, is it music, or an arrangement, a bit of both i think, its an arrangement of music, this will heal you in some way, just getting things out, products of what is actually happening, speedy deliveries, are the key to success, speedy and well thought out, thats part of the challenge, the only problem i think is that i might end up with a repetitive strain injury, hm. i think im gonna make this another long one, maybe longer than the first bastard, although that one worked quite well, it could be better, something more or less intelligible, something which makes the use of my 10 digits, rather than just the 9, i find it stange how i type, right ring finger always reaches for the backspace, pinky to the enter key, combination of thumbs for the space bar, usually the right one, left ring always rests on the a, but travels to s d w z x and q pretty easy, middle finger on the e, index on the f whats all this about its a good set up these qwerty keyboards, qwerty is an annoying word to type though.
wel this probably is my least interesting entry on here, maybe its not maybe its the most interesting, maybe i cant even think about what im typing anymore, cos its just flowing straight out, flow flow, flow, flow, still flowing, stiilll flowing, ah thats better, until it weeps the sordid fracture of calamity, pestilence raining down upon ye, where i might, forever quite, elude you.
selling cash for cattle, iridium tip of tantric evaluation, nightmarish contemplation forbidden and deceased, i creeped into a jar of worms, and hid until someone closed the lid, and now im stuck with ego and Id, beneath the waves it is calmer still my friends my colleagues my foes.

Fed by RSS

Another bout in the ring on verbal joy, textual interference from the horses head, next to you in bed, casual as the the day after you were born it is easy to subvert things that already exist and rhymes come naturally but they suck, like a duck with lips, feel the infringing pattern of my sub par quips. okay im decided im gonna make this rhyme in time for tea, get into a taxi, race to manhattan stick a knife up your jacksi, thats so wack im spittin' out melon seeds, nutritional advice coming forth from the mouths of rhesus monkeys. Sort out the junkies, the machevellian poetesses,
mastodon or woolly mammoth transform into a cruise ship, get nipped by a parrot beak, in one week i will have moved house, acquired a lovehate for mickey mouse, black and white like jackson as he fades to grey, he had his heydey, now buried like a pharoah, what a way to go, put gnomes in my garden, pruning back my topiary as i smoke it, holmes, that shit is proper, get the croquet on the downlow, shooting hoops on my thirty acre lawn. chuck another pr0n on the barbie, darling and dont forget the wasabi, of which i'm quite partial, law gone martial, while youre all chilling in your marquee, hanging out in the vestebules, shooting arrows from the buttress, parrying cutlass swipes from lightweight pirates, yo ho ho and a bottle of Kaliber, zero percent getting you tips in the club, bones shake with the weight of the sub bass, let me see your O face. O, O , O.....

NO SLEEP (probably first of many)

MY VOICE HAS NEVER BEEN LOUDER!
ART MUST HAVE IMPACT,
BUT SADLY IMPACT CANT BE FORCED UPON ART.
THAT IS WHERE DESIGN SITS BACK AND RUBS ITS RUBBER GLOVED
GERM FREE HANDS.
I HAVE BEEN LYING AWAKE IN BED,
thinking about what I actually want to do with myself over the next few years. ( in a dreamlike almostfallingasleep kinda way)
I first of all thought about starting a magazine, and how i would go about that... i came up with something along the lines of a magazine for people fed up with the information age, I have always been intrigued by the idea of unlearning things, then reworking them into a format which suits you, (but meanwhile still retaining the truth) and then i thought about going in to do a masters, living in London, etc. but then i thought, hm, i need to work on a portfolio of amazing shit. - then i thought about how art has been such a big part of my life from day one, that i should really take it all the way and do a PHD, then i thought, "am i cut out for a PHD?" then i thought hell yes. THEN I THOUGHT.
I like that, "then i thought"
I reminisced back to my A-Level art daze, bright warm art room with Clouter and Hutton (my 2 art teachers) thought about how they operated, what they actually did for me, in terms of helping me develop as a budding artist, inspiration, technique, i suppose they were quite good in a way. I liked the buzz of my foundation course in Maidstone, it was exciting, and fast paced, with a good ratio of learning and practical work. Plus everyone got along great.
oh, Sunlight rising over my next door neighbours shadowed house. Turns out that writing a mental train of thought blog just before you go to bed, doesnt really put your mind at ease, ready to sleep... There are so many artists, illustrators, designers etc in the world right now, it is pretty saturated, especially with the internet taking over everyones lives, i mean come on, the internet is just an image, filled with interactive text and more images. blah de blah its all designed and reworked and designed right back up the throat of C:\FFS
haha. Sleep is not an option right now. , I just had an idea to "discover" this page on Stumble. fucking stumble, i mean, great idea, but not that great for someone who is liable to procrastinate for hours, given the right stimulus. on a different note, it seems like everyones so uptight using the net nowadays, got all this etiquette and jargon, i recommend the plain english guys. Heres an excerpt from their website.

http://www.plainenglish.co.uk/

Gobbledygook of the week

'The results of the price barometer illustrate that the reprieve in the pace of price inflation evident in the first quarter has abated.

brilliant.

Well, gobbledygook ey?

The legitimate inferrence negates the loyalty referendum in plain sight of the monetary axis, thereby opposing the fiscal membrane thus. and soforth.
yess... yess...

eyebrow to the sky, my good sons.

I dont really know why i never thought of this before, doing a warts n all goody bag of fun.

haha, ok, i was just looking at the google homepage, and thought "hey, if you put google into numerics, it would be 900913" so i typed it in, and VOILA

http://www.google.com/webhp?hl=xx-hacker&tab=iw

Images, #0

Some critics blast the train of thought, but they can just sit there and blast til theyre red in the face blown out like a zeppelin, i say pop them like the hindenburg, revel in their ultimate destruction, for they keep the clams, they keep the voices, i'm riding with grande vitesse straight into walls made of aerogel, carbon nanotube youtube walls in me, this is not for you, how dare you imply such a thing, this is selfishness, this is therapy, this is what I want for fucks sake get a grip, you sitting there on your chair, preening your JPEG GIF MAC laptop palmtop greased back hair, like a sasquatch with an iPhone, pandemonium, blogging like what im actually thinking, train runs deep, always thinking that someone will be reading in the back of my mind, but what the hell, marghhh venting but im not im laughing like a madman, maybe i am a madman, oh shit, haha. dog yelps street corner blim , creeping neversheds cambiotic recking balljob crapola highway shimpy greathing, slyly. absolute terror absolute bloody terror, now what, am i filling in the gaps perfectly, no. no. ventolin eases breathing, only once before youre teeth come through, two sets of milk teeth, like chicken pox, damn fly on my arm is making me itch, what a bitch, somethings on the tv i cant see it, the screen in front of me is too large there is a red light , no its amber, orange maybe, signifies that its muted, i think i made that too convoluted, in precise terms it would be easier, i need a piss. might have to stop this, no i'll keep it going while i go to the toilet take the plug out the back of the laptop no it wont work, i ca... look now im back straight in back to reveal whats going on within but is it really, or am i subconciously forming words which i know will fit, i dont really give a shit have i said that before, shit, i dunno, possibly, is this schizophrenic, cos if it is, ive been schizo for years, thats a worrying thought, but actually, it aint too bad, is there any viable result to this, can i look back and think oh i've progressed since then, or will it be the same from now until the end, fast words coming, coming oh i paused for a brief sec, gotta keep going though, gotta fill it all up, before i go to sleep, otherwise there might be more more more, like constantly on. everything is constantly on, houses, wires, facebook chat, goes on and on, doesnt sleep and nor do i , sucks, i realaly should go to sleep, this is so fucking geeky and lame, but hey thats just me i guess, haha, yeah defo. hands keep moving so thats a good sign, will they continue if my head doesnt come up with anything else, will this increase my ability to perform in the workplace, how will i know, here comes a scientist to figure it all out, well yes tom this is all worthy of being read thats for sure, hello there everybody, its me in the flesh, in the text i mean haha sorry i have a shit sense of huimour ( the scientist does, im actually pretty funny) self acclaim there, welldone, you gave yourself some praise. thats a good thing, well, where were we, this is getting quite verbose in some aspects, once we are knee deep, then all is well. i will wake up feeling refreshhed calm and relaxed ready for a big breakfast and a cup of tea. mmm i love breakfast, its one of my favourite things. Blogs have wings nowadays, like a twitter feed, feed me seymour, feed me, and cut, final cut PRO, make a video in slo mo of a hobo in soho, reading the metro, at the tube station waiting to go to waterloo ready for the hunting season, gunpowder treason and plot, my first begotten son, raiding the treasures of the lost ark, like harrison ford, delores, i dont know anyone called delores, gameshow talkshow, get your free nightingale peacock cockfosters fosters is brewed in scotland, scottish people are predominantly ginger, or so i hear, ive never been there, but it might be a popular misconception, i saw coronation street earlier, and this woman gave birth to a child in a shack, but when it came out, it had no umbilical cord, i wonder if it would be possible to use all the words in the english language in one blog entry, do these things have limits? i dont see anything saying that i have to stop, no 160 character limit to this, this is pretty cool really, nice one blogspot or whatever you call yourself, i might have to go now, but continue this when i wake, i wanns grab something to eat before i go to bed, cos all this typing makes a man hungry yesiree. there is some film reference maybe a cartoon reference somewerhere in here, im intrigued to see what ive written tbh, its gone past the stage where i can actually remember how this started something about a balloon , oh yeah i remember now, its all there still, there are bits where its sloppy i can imagine, but shit, absolute rambling. hooray for rambling way into the night on your own, and no, i dont have anything better to do, it's 2:14 GOODNIGHT SEE YOU TOMORROW :] x

Well here we are.

Well here I am. - Blogging like one of those blogger types.
Thought i'd set one up as a lobby for my increased desire to write for the sake of it.
who am I talking to?


I am someone else, I am sure of it.
Not in a previous life kind of way.
but it washes over, ebbing ever cautiously outward.
and polynesian fishermen cast their nets, visual, aural
while two old projector reels play half of my favourite song.
i wasn't there.

Left when you said, - hues of indigo
Gamut plays harp reverb in solace
amongst the hidden pillars.

steam and hum

Distant impulses and interruptions, (Given to you by someone) , stir your slumbering voice which once insisted to arp playfully. Now rots well into it's half life.
Raise to life, the quasi-futurist chorus, float on high timbre feathers of Horus,
friends teeter down the gravity staircase,
emotionless face,
ever turning pinwheels hailed to save the human marathon
kite bow, night knows fever, Hanami under white clouds.

The word Google makes me think of the sound of a death scene, where a man has had his throat cut.