Part two of July coming soon To a lockdown pleasure centre in your dreams Ordered to the masquerade by sage supremacists Three layers of matter impede chatter when worn to quell the invisible miasma Want a ride home in my gondola bright eyes? Switch on the subtitles it’s in foreign Rhubarb Rhubarb Rhubard Rhu… Only One Remote Control Shared between self isolators Bound to cause friction in the long run When everyone’s a mugger or a letterbox
As I sit here…watching God’s daughter on the run for crimes against the faith time seres to fine powder revealing mirrors
Fingers von Raab unfit for purpose; rain stopped plague of damp umbrellas coughing and splashing; raindrops keep falling on my herd; Liff of Pooh replaces Brand New Testament on the pixie box;
Thatcham cancelled on grounds of good taste and flash flooding
Just gone eleven and quite unwell; blood tomorrow; lost a game of chess to a higher number; Mattys app is useless crap Vera leaves the stage; kiss of death from Major Tom
Slept heavy after narco-meatballs; rested down the leg; woe at six for Vera has gone viral; seems like it rained; fade to sunny evening
Up to my neck in silence by six forty glibly reading diverted traffic passing by in in groups. Are they all from the same household and what if I asked how I asked? They ignored me. Now that wasn’t so bad was it one to try yourself next time you go out alone. Rolling home full of beer and gusto Energised by revelry. Rowdies in the night…exchanging glances.
Walking on by then listening out hard for snide backbites,
Amazon shitting me like charlatans; bots that bleed you dry; blood given to the demigods of Frimley & beyond; rainy season sets in for the day. Angel Clare, what a moniker! Too good to be true all right. Please beware the drowsy mastiff in your midst. All is food and air it seems
A viaduct of steamy dreams passes slowly by. An ideal retirement meandering the rejuventated arteries of mercantilism.
Weeping legs tell no lies
Waiting in a waiting loop. Tempers fray spirits droop relieved to hear a cybervoice. Can I help you? Aint that nice,
Footie reruns as a squall approaches, demon spleen & plaid cockroaches
Mid June afternoons never cease to disappoint
Ten milligrams by tiffin. Whose a pretty boy then?
Just what springs to mind when emptying fingers
Written off from posterity. How are the flighty fallen?
Remember reading the Unnameable in identical weather this time last year and the one before.
Same house different room this time. The old lady oppostite was alive last year. Now her stuff is in a skip on the drive.
Saw it from the room I mentioned earlier
History has been made all right. The ulcer was smaller then.
Did a bit out in the sacred garden. Even got out from time to time. Down the pub. Never say Die. Plucky old bird.
Way beyond that now. Place going downhill fast. That leaky lean to aint got long by the llo of it. Much water under the defrosted fridge
Few people call in to pick. The Virus you know…Plus sans change.
Not Grafton St and Cary Grant again I ask you! Back in the day they would neer hae dared to.
When men were men and women were afraid. There are a few more stiffs hanging round tonight
fly dumped on the sub-toxic lawns
Where cats hae spat the rats hae shat the remains of the dubious quorn
And and and what? Gimme a moment Monkey Face. Cary puttles the kettle on.
Christian gets blinded following science and arrives at Vanity Fair. Merciful heavens Collapse
‘Now who left the sky open, on a market day
Still sloobing aroound in housecoat and slippers properly let themsells go;
stale fags and rotten carpets
The place was crawling with americans unknown on facebook
settling old scores with paramours
proscribing all transgressions
born of a Badland
A feud that threatened to spill over and consume the world
supply of oxygen and intolerance.
Dialogue’s a bugger to write when the voices talk at the same time.
One takes short cuts like making most
of it up. Usually sounds better that way.
They bolted at his every word
What are they saying over there by the elephant’s foot?
How big elephants must be?
More like it really…
Benedict’s a scream when you get to know him
But he can be so…abrasive
His old girl came from there
Shows in the wash
True. So true
…something that is probably novel
happens at this time this morning
a fantasy sequence on Brownsea Island
or perhaps a nylon carpet
crackling with static
brings instant concerns
about the bass guitarist
Where is it all gone?
The grass is getting cut.
chocolate muffins and opium all day
Better stay indoors
where oh where did it all go
Ingratitude did not come easy to Adam at first, but he told me that once you get the hang it, it soon becomes a firm favourite with all the family, & creating just the right environment for it to thrive results in endless time consuming diversion…
—You’re obsessed! I thought, but he was my man and I did not want to prick his bubble
—What do you fancy to eat? I said
—Apple crumble, he replied contemplating apathy
The air grew thick with orange blossom.
—Maculate misconceptions are more frequent than first meets the eye, said the Omniscient Narrator, looking straight into camera two. And to me it seems somehow inevitable that this little episode will precede a fall to end all falls
—Well you should bloody well know, I thought, knowingly Adam began to weep in despair, smelling trouble in the air, and cursed the green lentil stew…
Cedric found the Marquess of Coole spreadeagled on the Ottoman with the ‘Half Life
Of Snails’ in her bloodless grip & posted the footage on Snuffchat so Henry knew
Edward G was still at large capable of unspeakable atrocity. After all the drawing room
was full up with blistered aubergines, midget broccoli festooned the architraves, and
a hairless Headcase whimpered soulfully wrapped only in a samphire ballgown.
At heart Henry had twigged the man was just a pushy upstart from Central casting;
the one they always let through, the dead loss leader, the hollow idol to kill off with
strychnine on a wet afternoon but the uranium ran out at the wrong time
Think of the afterthrill of eating chocolate in the dark and feeling a little moist afterwards.
It was all pff course and a huge charade. The long positions would still hold firm on cupidity and smarm, he thought of Peregrine out at sea huntin marlin for that snitch Veronica. Nailed up and bleeding effluent from every orifice he was lost, hooked, lined and blinkered by her gums. Henry understood too well how lesser narwhals would fold under such pressure and morph into slum beauticians sweeping up in delapidated nail bars. But this was not Cedric’s script. He always sought delineation. For him things were simply matters to order and control. With that in mind Henry set off for the bakery.
Cool shrooms and anchovy bisque, homespun alphabetti spaghetti:sounds illegible; fungal magic soused in honey.Cheryl really had pushed the boat out this time. Always too keen to please. After all
she was born nutritionist: worst acne I ever saw. She wore a homespun hood with slits to breathe and see. Takes all sorts suppose. They call her Elephant Woman. But never to her face you understand.
Well I mean how can you? Inappropriate
Some farewell letter you’d agree. Henry was agog. Edward G had legged it for good. All hell breaks loose in the utility room. The kittens go bananas at the sight of giant mouse. Henry takes a powder. A smell of camphor burning. Whose stockinged feet are poking out this time? Colonel fucking Sanders?
Smell him all over.
check to see what that note
is in that cyan bottle
really do I need that wash
that banking thing perplexes me
that extinction rebellion take lambeth bridge
police stage that media retreat
world in that commmotion
workers of the world that relax
the milkman that made it through