Yippee Calloo Callay!

You have reached the foot hill of the mountains.
You are most welcome
More than worthy

Wednesday, 26 May 2010

Oriental Road.

Oriental Road

Chapter One

The Tiger Hunter

There are many interesting houses to visit on Oriental Road but we shall only go to one at a time. Today the house we visit is number 133.

Outside the door of number 133 a Postman stands, his bike is leant against a brick wall at the beginning of the drive, where a few feet away grows the smallest tree of Oriental Road.

The small trees blossom is pink its leafs are orange, for the season is Spring, next to the small tree along a tiny tiny path, grows the tallest tree of Oriental Road, a giant of an elm. There is a bench in between the two trees where you might sit and watch cars pass you by, the small tree on your left the giant on your right, like two friends of conflicting height or people of different ages a mother and her baby child.

Ping a ding a ling. The Postman rings the cockerel bell which hangs outside the front door of number 133. Bell chimes a ding a ling a ling, and then front doors knocker is knocked by a gloved Postman’s hand knock knock knock. Not a sound from inside can the Postman hear, which means the large parcel in the Postman’s hands cannot be delivered today, the Postman writes down in a box of white upon a red card that the time was 09:45 and that a large item could not be delivered due to it being too big to fit inside the letterbox.

The Postman returns to his bike, climbs aboard to cycle onto the next house along the way.

Inside number 133.

Noises! There is somebody at home after all, thump thump thump, feet moving down the stairs a pair of eyes ignore the usual letters, plain white with black ink printed names, for inquisitive eyes spy a card of red lying on the mat by the front door,

“What’s this?”,

- Sorry you were out

“I was in”.

“Never the less” the Professor, for that’s who it was that lived at number 133 thought to himself “it seems I must have missed the Postman”

“More importantly I’ve missed a package that was too big to fit through my front door. Too big. this is very exciting”

Which of course instantly made the Professor wonder. What on earth could this surprise package be?

Stooping down and using his right hand the Professor picked up the card from off the front door mat and brought it up close to his eyes in order to read,
It read,

To: The Tiger Hunter
133 Oriental Road,

The first thoughts to rush through the Professor’s mind were fantastic. To the tiger hunter! What kind of delight this package will be, however they were soon followed by thoughts of despair,

Alas I haven’t got any I.D to prove that this tiger hunter is me.

The Professor became a little perplexed,
“I don’t even have anything with my proof of address”

Still such was the curiosity that the arrival of the mysterious package brought, the Professor decided there was only one thing to do, and that was to step out of number 133 and head up Oriental Road to the Post Office, which sat upon the top of a hill.

The front door closed behind the Professor with a click. Knock went the front door knocker.

The sunshine was beaming down and the Professor breathed in the sweet smelling air of a beautiful day, it was the afternoon, and there was nobody about on Oriental Road this fine day, only the trees and sky.

Until about halfway up the hill to the Post Office the Professor walking along Oriental Road spied a boy he knew. The boy was standing behind a wall. The wall was made from bricks and was only three feet high, behind the wall was a dusty grassless front garden. This is where the boy stood his head turning as he looked this way and that a bit like a meerkat, or a spectator at a tennis match.

“Hello” Cried out the Professor, “Are you alright, you look a bit lost”

“Hello” replied the boy, have you seen my Bengali Cat?”

“Bengali Cat?” Returned the Professor a bit confused,

“I’m looking for my Bengali cat, my Bengali cat’s gone missing” said the boy who was very anxious

“What does a Bengali cat look like” Asked the Professor who had never heard of a Bengali cat before.

“Its quite stripy. It looks a lot like a tiger” Answered the boy.

A tiger. What an interesting coincidence thought the Professor.

“Well don’t you worry, ill be sure to keep my eyes peeled – cheerio!”

Whilst continuing his walk up Oriental Road the Professor looked at the card from the Postman which read

To the Tiger Hunter
133 Oriental Road

What a co-incidence. Amazing! Meeting a boy who was looking for his missing Bengali cat on the very same day a package arrived addressed to the Tiger Hunter. The Professor thought it very peculiar.

Synchronicity was the word that sprung to the Professors mind, synchronicity and he peeled his eyes so much that he expected to see the boys missing Bengali cat appear right away. I will find the Bengali cat and return it to the boy the Professor promised to himself. As he continued on his way to the Post Office to pick up his package the Professor's firey eyes flicked this way and that.

Upon the road a gasp. Hauh. Was this the Bengali cat? No. Not a single stripe. It was not the Bengali cat. It was an orange and black tabby.
The Professor’s world had changed slightly. For now, whenever he encountered a cat, he looked first to see if it was quite stripy.

At the top of the hill the Professor went over a pelican crossing. For fun as he walked across it he let himself step only upon the white zebra stripes. Stripes which had been painted long ago upon the hot sun warmed tarmac.

Over the pelican crossing opposite the butchers, sweetshop, hairdressers and dentist, just before the train station, sat upon the top of a hill. The Post Office of Oriental Road.

The Professor now very close to his destination and the mystery package, walked up a ramp which was designed to allow easy access to the Post Office for any disabled people. The entrance to the Post Office. A bright red door was open, so the Professor continued on his way and stepped inside.

Inside the Post Office, the Professor encountered a queue. A short queue. For the queue only contained two people, a lady in a pink jumper, and a man with a green Macintosh. What caught the Professor’s eye however was the old gentleman sat in the corner. The gentleman was sat upon a low down chair beside a short wooden table.

The old gentleman was dressed very smartly in a dark pinstriped suit. He had little hair upon his head, the few strands of which were grey. And his skin! Well it was wrinkled, yet it looked healthy, glowing vibrant, still in colour. He had one of those faces that are unmistakably British. Drawn as it was in very much the same line as the face of that famous cigar smoking prime minister, Winston Churchill. A bulldog of a face. The Professor aged the man at around 78, and noticing a few beads of sweat that appeared upon the old man’s winkled brow, the Professor jumped to the conclusion that the old gentleman was enjoying taking a load off from the hot day by resting in the cool shade granted by the inside of the Post Office.

“Afternoon” offered the Professor to the old gentleman, “How are you?”

“Oh” exclaimed the old gentleman, a little bit taken aback and somewhat surprised at a stranger having the courage to say hello,

“I’m quite well thank you”

“I’m not sure if I am” splurted out the Professor, and without further ado preceded to show the old gentleman the red card still clutched firmly in his right hand with its address;

To the Tiger Hunter
133 Oriental Road

As he went on to explain how a lack of I.D with the name the tiger hunter and no proof of address meant his trip up the hill to the Post Office might all have been in vain he didn’t seem to notice the gathering beads of sweat upon the old gentleman’s fore head which were rapidly increasing in number.

“Still worth a shot” finished the Professor, leaving the old man who had now begun to mop at his hot brow feverishly with a pocket handkerchief covered in spots.

The man wearing the green Mac and the lady with the pink jumper had long since departed. So up stepped the Professor to the counter.

“I’d like to collect my package please” were the Professor’s first words,

To the Post Office lady who stood behind a clear window on the opposite side of the counter.

“I.D please” barked the post office lady in an official manner.

“I.D!I.D! everybody knows there’s only one tiger hunter that lives on Oriental Road” exclaimed the Professor.

“That’s as may be,” countered the Post Office lady, “I’m still going to need to see some I.D”

“Well I don’t have anything that says, the tiger hunter, on it,” said the Professor,

“What about a proof of address?”


“In that case we’ll just have to resend the package tomorrow”

Tomorrow thought the Professor. Tomorrow, I’m far too curious about what’s inside this mysterious package to wait until tomorrow to find out what it is.

“No!” cried out the professor for the second time.

“I will return home and search my house top till bottom until I’ve found some proof of my address, and I will come back within the hour to collect my package”

“Alright” said the Post Office lady, “what is this tiger hunter anyway, is it a book, or a company?”

“aww now that is a funny story. It comes from a time when I began a tiger hunt in Sheffield as a part of

The Post Office lady wasn’t listening. Glenda, for that was her name, Glenda had heard more than her fair share of. Now I’ve got a funny, stories and was not in the mood for another. Which she, from experience, was almost certain not to find the least bit amusing. So Glenda turned her back on the Professor as he continued to waffle along and pretended she was getting on with some important work by lifting up some envelopes, shuffling them about a bit and then putting them back down again.

“Thus proving the existence of tigers in India that can be successfully sedated by listening to Rachmaninov” declared the Professor proudly.

“Well really” declared Glenda turning back to face the Professor and away from the thoroughly disgruntled shuffled envelopes that would have been only too happy to say

“We were perfectly satisfied pre shuffle thank you very much and all the same to you”

Of course that could only be if envelopes would talk.

Glenda who had only recently transferred from her Post Office in London to the Post Office at Oriental road was it must be said beginning to get a little alarmed at the amount of... what would the right word be?

Fruit cakes!

That had so far already paid her a visit.

A lady who clearly thought it was a hoot to be dressed in nothing but a pink jumper and the man in a green Mackintosh who said he accidently posted half a bottle of vodka into a post-box as a present for his Postman but on second thoughts would quite like it back please and now this. This batty man and his tiger stories!

“Oriental Road, more like Oriemental” thought Glenda.

“Cheerio then” sang the Proffesor none the wiser to the inner musings of Glenda’s mind, he turned away from the counter to begin his walk back homewards.

He was halfway way out of the door of the Post Office before being stopped by a question from the old gentleman who was still sitting in the corner

“Did I get that right you’ve been hunting tigers out in India?” Said the old man in a gruff voice.

“No Sheffield” returned the Professor matter of factly

“Sheffield?” blurted the old man

“Yes, Sheffield...” the Professor hesitated due to the somewhat blank expression upon the old gentleman’s face, surely the man must have heard of Sheffield.

“South Yorkshire” the Professor finished dryly.

“Oh, because, you see”, said the old man with quite some gravity,

“I actually did hunt tigers out in India”

“Well in that case” Said the Professor, presenting the old gentleman the red card in his hand with a flourish

“This must be for you”.

The old man laughed heartily, but, for some reason or another, would not except the card held out in front of his eyes, gripped between the thumb and four fingers of the hand which was at the end of the Professors out stretched arm.

The card that read

To the Tiger Hunter
133 Oriental Road.

Glenda the new Post Office lady at Oriental Road who had just transferred from London was tired she had already had quite an eventful and stress filled day at her new Post Office

“It’s been a long day” she sighed whilst taking, yes about her twelfth sip from the bottle of vodka that had been doing the rounds at the Oriental Road Post Office since the morning

“Long long long”

It was about to get longer.

As up to her counter stepped a man, a man wearing on his head a straw hat. A straw hat which looked like it had seen better days. There were dents all over the place, meaning the hat was completely misshapen from its original design, almost as if it had been used over and over again as a Frisbee. The hat however, although misshapen and bent completely out of place, particular round the edges, was somehow wedged tightly on top of the man’s head. It wouldn’t fall off. Brown string went all around the hats bonnet and, here and there, colourful shells were attached to the string. It was both at the same time a summer hat and a silly hat.

Especially as underneath the hat was a face.

A face that was hidden by a generous pair of dark shades, the type that make the wearers eyes resemble those of a fly. Below his nose the rest of the man’s face mouth cheeks chin and all, were covered by a ridiculous large black handlebar mustache. A large, fake black handlebar moustache. Which looked suspiciously to Glenda like it had been hand drawn and then cut out of the back of a cereal packet.

Perhaps I’ve had too much vodka to drink today or maybe? Not enough? thought Glenda.

Now I’m going to let you in on a little secret. The man was in fact the Professor back again to collect his package. Which of course explains the hat, shades and mustache. As you see he was dressed up for full effect in his impression of a tiger hunter.

The Professor also wore a white Hawaiian shirt covered in prints of golden and brown flower petals, and had rolled his trousers up into what if your mind worked that way you might say resembled a pair of safari shorts. These revealed a pair of pale and skinny goat like legs, and you’ll never guess what the Professor was carrying. Its body slung over his shoulder to balance down his back for the Professor held by the stripy tale in his hands... a tiger.

“I’ve returned for my package” announced the Professor triumphantly,

“I have brought you not only proof of my address, but a tiger!”

The Professor eyes flashed triumphantly as he simultaneously dumped the body of a small scruffy looking cuddly soft toy tiger onto Glenda’s counter. He had also under one arm the unscrewed round sign that used to be attached to the front of his house. Unfortunately he realized about two and a half screws through that he would not be able to prove to Glenda that the sign belonged to oriental road. Still he had in his heart the faint hope that possibly, just possibly he might be rewarded for effort.

Glenda took one look at the Professor’s get up, she took one look at the soft toy tiger smiling up at her from its seat upon the Post Offices counter, she took one long look at the Professors proof of address, combined with another at the poster on the wall which stated exactly what the Post Office would and would not except as valid forms for proof of address,

“I’m sorry I cannot except that as a proof of address, we will have to send the package tomorrow”

“What” Declared the Professor in shock, so much shock that the white hair on his head underneath the straw hat began to stand on end as if it had been given a healthy dose of static electricity.

He could not believe all his efforts had been in vain. It was no good. Glenda was in charge here and it seemed he would have to wait for the mysterious package to arrive the next day after all.

Tomorrow not tomorrow tomorrow is so far away.

“What about if I let you keep the tiger” The Professors last words to the Post Office lady fell on death ears , Glenda was by no means about to be bribed by a child’s soft toy.

So dejectedly without his package and still not knowing the mystery within the Professor had to walk back to number 133 Oriental road.

He went another way to his usual, so instead of going straight down the hill, he decided to go round a longer route, this choice was out of courtesy.

The Professor thought that it would be rather poor taste and bad manners to go past the boy from before. Especially when dressed in his impression of a tiger hunter and also whilst he happened to be carrying a soft cuddly toy that was quite stripy and did in fact look a lot like a Bengali cat.

Synchronicity synchronicity.

On the road opposite the bench and the two trees. One tree the smallest one tree the biggest. An indian man got out the driver’s seat of a Taxi to open up the back door. The back door nearest the steering wheel. As if in expectation. The man did this just as the Professor came a walking by in his tiger hunter get-up.

“Very fancy dress are you going to a party”

Asked the man

“No” answered the Professor

“Im off to the Post Office to collect a package”

“The Post Office eh, well get in I’ll give you a lift for free”

The Professor couldn’t believe it. The Post Office was the last place he wanted to go back to. He only said he was going to the Post Office as he was suddenly, strangely feeling quite flustered and it was the first thing that popped into his head to say. He shook his head at the man and explained how he had already received his package. Even though this was not the truth.

“Oh you’ve already been to the Past Office” said the man smiling and putting his own deliberate mis pronounced curl upon the word Post.

The man who got out of the driver’s seat of the taxi received no reply. He was talking to the Professor’s back. Which was getting further and further away. The Professor for some reason felt the urgent need to get away from this taxi man.

Rushing on in haste he had already crossed over the road and finally with quite some relief the Professor let himself into the front door of number 133. It closed behind with a click.


The Professor hadn’t noticed that in his rush he had dropped the cuddly soft toy tiger.

Out of the smallest tree of Oriental Road, the smallest that grows next to the largest, the small tree whose blossom is pink and its leaves orange for the season is Spring, clambered down the Bengali cat. Which was indeed quite stripy. The Bengali cat had a look of sublime divinity upon its face as it sauntered majestically over the road before leaping into the open door of the waiting taxi,

“Very fancy dress” repeated the taxi driver smiling,

Before getting into the driver’s seat of the taxi and slamming the door shut with a slam.


Before pressing down on the clutch with his foot. Before putting the key in the ignition twisting it, giving the wheel a jiggle, turning the key, moving the gear stick, putting his foot on the gas. Releasing clutch and driving away, the taxi driver picked up the cuddly soft toy tiger from where the Professor had accidental let it drop upon the road.

Now if you yourself had been there to pick it up you would more than likely remark that it had quite a fair amount more weight to it than your usual child’s soft toy.

And if you were listening when the taxi driver picked it up it you would have heard it make this sort of a sound,

Ker link ker link ker link!

“Very fancy dress”

The taxi driver flashed a sparking smile in his rear-view mirror to the Bengali cat that was sitting on the back seat and preening itself with its tongue.

“Where to now.”

Monday, 24 May 2010

Oolong tea.

Learning is wrapped up in the smurf

Thursday, 20 May 2010



There’s a table through the door
Making windows by my feet
Wooden beams upon the floor
Who are the candles waiting for
A light to see
By a stick behind the bin
A pint of ying yang is the drink
Non half non full
Through the window is a door
A room not cold so very warm
Who is it for?
If it’s not for me.

Shore leave It wood Be mad.

Shore leave It wood Be mad

Smoking on a Saturday lets you see the world at play
And they don’t complain
Smoking on the bus and in the train Smoking as they fly the plane
And we don’t complain
All the people that you meet
Smoking with a cup of tea
Smoking on a lazy street
We don’t complain
Smoking with a waterfall
Smoking on a golden horse
This light this light bright light it’s all we need
Earth it grows a lot of weeds
And they don’t complain
For you and me
Let’s not complain
Shore leave It wood Be mad
to complain
Were all insane.

Monday, 17 May 2010

Nice one bruva.

Nice one bruva

I got this mate that wants to get wonky
Laughter shining through the sky
ha ha ha
Todays the first day in a while
where i was feeling a sense of loss
what goes up most come down
thats trippy
then some dude said
sorry for bending your ear
no worries
it was out of the blue
green ears
Beep Beep!

I found the best way to get wonky
is to wear one shoe thats got bigger soles than the other
also putting jelly in them increases your wobble factor

well ping ping the magic
done well spinky
the skies are all shiny again

rinky tink bananas rinky tink bananas

i love it maybe as much as you love the greatest chess move in all the universe

it reminds me of this world i used to live in when i was a jelly baby on the side of a wibbly wobbly teacup

old loft room in the morning cock a doodle doo cock a doodle doo
wake up sleepy heads traffic cones bollards shoes

Beep Beep!

What mean used to teapot ;)

Smiling smiling skies I aint been called teapot in many a time
sweet life
so well thanks mate
up up and away
im floating again
with the moths on a spoon
to the moon to the moon
with the moths on a spoon
to the moon.

Wednesday, 12 May 2010

Rusty Jungle Stories.

Harry Boo Boo

Deep in the jungle
was a fox
A fox that watched the deer’s
Frolic and hop
at night
Under the star lit skies.
The fox’s eyes shone
Pearly green
Like the moons of Venus
With twitching ears
And licking lips
The fox had many tricks
To weave in out of trees
Quacking in fox language
Like a duck
Making conspiracies
To take over the land
Singing over and over
In toothy head
And bushy dreams
I am floating river
I move like a leaf
I am floating river
I move like a leaf

Until one day outside of the jungle
Upon the road
The fox was struck by a car
And taken down to lie

Dead for all the world to see

It’s at times like these
The stars shine so bright they like to present us
With magic eyes

Swimming purple light

One boy thinking of how it would be
If he picked up the dead fox
By the tail
And swung it round and round
Letting the fox swirl
Rushing through the air
Before eventually releasing his grip
Upon the foxes tail
Letting go like a Scotsmen throwing the hammer
and away the fox would fly
Flying fox
Before landing with a smudgy slump
a few more broken bones

The boy walked on
Entertaining his idea
In mind alone

The next to walk along
And spy the body of the dead
Fox was an old man

Who thought to himself
What a tasty treat
A fine tea a fine tea

For this old man would pick up any animal
From of the road whilst singing himself into a frenzy
Cats, dogs, rabbits, squirrels, hedgehogs, badgers toads.

Yet in the broad daylight
The old man was not happy
To disturb the resting body
Of a animal gone away
For fear of what
Other people
Strangers or what not would say
So he decided to wait
And come back for the fox
Later that night
when he could be all alone

The next to walk along the road
And see the body of the fox
Lying at its side
Were two boys who had grown into men

They had just enjoyed a lunch together
Sharing stories
Of unwind
And making each other laugh
With the present past and future
A beautiful time
That the landlord
Would come outside of his pub to the river where they drank
Alongside many a stranger
To say
We have a table ready for you now
Step inside
Yet lo and behold
Out of the double doors the landlord stepped
To cry out loud
Each man’s name
Which made them both think
We should have given him joke names
Table for the right honourable
Professor Snoffaloffaguss
And Sir Arnold Jenkins
Next time well make up some names
And invite some more friends
Well Lo and Behold
Out the double doors once again the landlord steps
This time to cry out loud in his blustrous voice
So loud that all the people, ducks and swans by the river are disturbed from their chatter
Table! for the right honourable
Professor Snoffaloffaguss
Sir Arnold Jenkins
Sammy Pink Hat
Harry Boo Boo
The Lady Cleopatra
Sir Reginald quackington – at which point what a happy coincidence quack quack quack went Sir Regi who happened to be sitting on the river he waddled his way past the raised eyebrows of the bemused landlord and on through the double doors into the pub turning back to squeak two more cheeky quack quacks out of his beak
And Sammy Pink Hat...
For a long while Sammy Pink Hat didn’t show up
No Sammy Pink Hat
Until sometime later
A lady wearing a giant pink hat
came a skipping by the river
nonchantly tipping her hat
Goodday goodday she sang as she skipped along the river to many a stranger
all the while the landlord of the pub scratched his head
scritch scratch scratch
for he was a rather struck oddly
in the most ooh de lally like way
it was indoobiddily
turning out to be
one of those
Golly what a day’s

When they came upon the fox
A dead fox lying by the side of the road
I think the two men stopped
For a moment
Then they carried on
and one said to the other
What if you were to kiss that fox
And it would then turn into
A beautiful girl
A princess
And you end up together living happily ever after
Maybe that's why she's a fox

But she’d be covered in grit
Came the reply

No she wouldn’t she be the most beautiful in all the land, a Princess
There wouldn’t be any grit

She’d be covered in grit

Not after the kiss

But the best man at the wedding would know that all along the bride no matter how beautifull came from grit
And what sort of story would it be Ping! Ping! Ping! of how did the happy couple meet, because the groom used to go round kissing dead animals!

Ah well that would all depend on whether you believe that the man who married the fox
Went round kissing every single dead animal or in fact just kissed that very same and only that very same one we just passed by

I believe he went round kissing every single animal
So much so I’m going to become one of those vigilantes, I’ll gather together a group and well make sure that he doesn’t get to kiss anymore

That makes me think that you are the man that goes round kissing all the dead animals
And the whole setting up a vigilante group is just a excuse so you can secretly kiss all the dead animals

What if your ideas were real? What if there really is no such thing as make believe?
Deep in the jungle silence speaks a thousand words or maybe just one... bingo
Pit pat pit pat footsteps walking further away
A light bulb flickering on inside of someone’s head

It’s never too late to simply turn around and go back the other way
It’s a times like these the stars shine so bright they like to present us with magic eyes

Swimming purple light

Mate I’ve got go back
What where are you going
There was no time to explain
running running full pelt back down the road
I am floating river I move like a leaf
To the fox lying by the side
Covered in grit with broken bones
A brave man stoops down with no fear of what anyone will think
To give a dead fox lying by the side of the road
A kiss smack upon the lips
He was right.
She is beautiful. A princess
and as neither of them the fox nor the man were covered in grit
They both lived ever after happily happy as floating rivers moving leafs.

Later that night when the pink white lemon sliced sky had given way to the dark and the moon sat watching down from amongst the clouds all alone just as he liked it came the old man to an empty patch by the side of the road where once the fox had lie.

The old man was quite at a loss as to what to do, and his stomach made a strange gurgling noise that cut through the quiet of the night.

Gurgle wurgle purgle.

Relax your fear all those with kind hearts. Don't worry. The old man did not have to stay hungry for long, as nearby. His ears picked out a sound. It was a song. It was the sound of some singing nettles growing in a bush, chanting in weedy voices,

fry me boil me
A fine tea a fine tea

Ill never eat meat again thought the old man looking up at the stars and then down at the singing nettles.

When he got home the old man had himself a fine tea of nettles and rhubarb. Rhubarb was his cat. Only joking. He didn’t have rhubarb at all. He had Potatoes. Next doors rabbit. No truthfully, after going back to find that the fox had vanished the old man made a pact with the moon and stars to never to touch so much as a cats whisker of meat ever again.

It was an enchanted night that the old man swore himself of eating any animals dead or alive for underneath the slivery beams of a full moon is how he came to be a vegetarian.

A vegetarian that devoted the rest of his life to travelling round the world with nothing but the clothes upon his back and a stick. He now knew that his purpose in life, his duty was to give honey back to the bees.

Deep in the Mountains of the Himalaya. Inside the valley of the beekeepers. The old man was stung to death. It seemed the bees didn’t want the honey back after all.

craw craw
The vultures The vultures
a fine tea a fine tea.

Now that rather cruel boy that entertained the idea of throwing the fox round and round like a Scotsmen throws the hammer. He could be inside your head or maybe even in me if that's true then only time will tell what history will be.

What about the other man. The best man. The dead animal vigilante. The friend that believed that no matter what, the beautiful girl would always be covered in grit.

Well after the disappearance of his friend that kissed the fox. He of course did what any sensible man in his place would do and went all over the world kissing every dead animal he came upon. All in hope of finding a beautiful girl or being transported to another world.

In the end he went a bit mad from lack of food, fear of vigilantes and sleep.

Soon a bit mad turned to completely totally tropical fruity loopy flying watermelon


Coco coco

and he began to sing out loud and over and over with seemingly no end, Jenny Penny lemon and cake Jenny Penny lemon and cake Jenny Penny lemon and cake Jenny Penny Lemon and cake.

Until finally one night in Bermuda, thankfully, he found the body of a dead turtle, crashed out upon the sand. Kneeling down on the beach the man bent forwards and kissed the turtle smack bang on the lips.

It shook. The turtle shook.

Declared the man. Before turning rather disappointingly into a moth.

A moth that you yourself might even be able to see. Stay up late. Look out at night inquisitive eyes. Is it he banging his head again and again upon your light bulb. Listen. Carefully listen. If you can hear with magic ears some moths whisper in the air,

eureka eureka eureka

maybe you’ve found something more rare in this life than a four leaf clover. That is the moth that is he. The friend of the man who kissed the fox, the best man, the moth that was once upon a time the dead animal vigilante.

Jenny Penny
lemon and cake
kissed a turtle
and made it shake.

Of course we all know in our heart of hearts that right at the centre of every Rusty Jungle story is Sir Reginald Quackington. Well Sir Regi he had a lot of fun in the pub. Rolling a six sided die on the floor and inventing a game, the rules of which if you’d like to play went something along the lines of quack quack quack.

Afterword’s Sir Reginald left the pub which was called the Anchor to float back down the river with his friends Sammy Pink Hat, the Lady Cleopatra, Professor Snoffaloffagus and Sir Arnold Jenkins. They looked forward to their next adventure together talking laughing telling jokes and quacking all the way.

Yes yes but what about Harry Boo Boo?

Harry Boo Boo!
Harry Boo Boo
Me Beauties.
What a yarn
Perhaps for you shiny little tigers and fruity eyed sultanas
that there Harry Boo Boo
Is a completely different story for quite some other day.

Monday, 10 May 2010

Jet ski Tet ski.

Jet ski Tet ski

Rinky tink bananas
Rinky tink bananas
put them in the bathtub
put them in the bathtub
with all your shiny spoons
make the skies glow blue
skies glow blue

Jet ski Tet ski.

Jet ski Tet ski.

Can you bake mash potato on the run
Can you fake fake fake fake fake fake
The only time when I feel alright
Going fake it
Mash potato fake fake fake

Saturday, 8 May 2010

Once upon an elephant.

Once upon an elephant

Sat upon an elephant watching c.d’s on the wall
They seem to twist and turn backwards
and they seem to call
And one slides in between the others
You and that is me
And floats back left and right that’s the way it’s meant to be
And swinging out and swinging socks that cannot see me through
And then they do a dance together and float of in the blue
And then it’s one its coming rocking forth
And riding back the side
keeps on moving in and out
A twisting spinning light
And two of them are floating now ones on the window pane
and sunlight shines into your eyes and makes you feel o.k
and the other one is flying off
crossing out of sight across all the neighbours houses
everythings yeah they look so right
and now the c.ds twisting turning the shadows seem to cast
there making all these bricks glow and fire seems to blast
from out the wall and inside and down the hoses crawl
the green running light that is twisting past this wall
like a snake that’s sliding in and out and skipping between the leafs and steps that are made for you and me and the sweet we suck our teeth
like little squares of chessboard that went floating armour down
and then the red light shining at the end it blasts upon this town
and turns into a devils fork a pitching suing hawk
a bull to get the elephant a bull hook on the war
and trees that have cut there’s no more grapes growing here
a ladder goes up the wall and into the atmosphere
and we can blast out of sight and see the twirkling clouds
live circles in the eider and let our armour down
taste a little sip the green wall standing here
with words coming out and the cracks they gently appear
and whats inside or behind this wall
ive never yet to know
and if i push it will it fall
and can we all have a go
and take the bricks apart
one by one
two by two
and put em back together
you see me
but i cant see you
and looking through i find its not another garden step its just the garage and theres a door in which we can investigate
and lets us look inside upon a horse shoe shining down theres magic hanging boots and leaving in this town
and Bryans hanging off the ceiling hasn’t been punched today
and theres four potatoes ready for the barley mud of may
the watering can is green and the nets are too
with gloves to match and an ashtray big annie gone in two
out of sight the van a volkswagon with no wheels
a yellow pen which crisply coloured turquoise is the feel
and good to go for fish
and good to go for gold
and good to rinse some olive and sing about the mould
a little bike of yellow and eyes from in a cave
when a painting looks better backwards
you know you’ve got it made
and sunlight seems to shine around but there’s no sunlight in this place
Just spades and bricks and bikes and twisted metal from the gate and a pick axe hanging gently
hanging on the roof
Like Bryan who hasn’t been punched today
I’m thankful for my tooth
Blindly fell out my mouth and landed in my hand
and like the potatoes ready for the darling bud of may
im going to plant my tooth
to take away my pain
and see if i can plant it out in the forest trees
and let it grow for me a lovely tea of treeth

Friday, 7 May 2010

A lucid dream.

A lucid dream

My pen that wasn’t working just rolled of the table falling onto the floor. So I dived. To slow to catch it I ended up swinging under the table into synchronicity a plastic spoon a reminder of what I wrote last night under the stars, out of the attic window grows the tallest tree, whispers in dreams.
I picked up the lost pen noticing that a tea party had been and gone all that was left were two brown wraps of sugar with nothing left in them. I checked. Be true to your real self these words echoed in my mind from last night turning my head to look above at the other side of the table the dark side of this moon, be true to the real self Kimmy said I had no ego. Did I lick that piece of chewing gum?

Out of gloopy milk I hadn’t eaten today.

It was tight catching this train but not as tight as last week did my chatting of a man in a white suit running in India fall on death ears. I can’t be sure but today India struck again, a lost Bengali cat nearly got in my way, which just made me recall

Missing cat what is her name
I guess to me there all the same
Pretty as stars which hide in trees
Going lost its pretty easy.

I’m on a mission right now to record the time, ten past eight there’s a lot of talk circling round babbling like a brook blossoming about a change a change that is soon to come a change that has in fact already begun. Bob Dylan sang the times they are a changing that was before today, which is now.

Away we go on the tracks its spring its really spring as if I’d forgotten all about spring the sky is blue and there’s not a cloud in the sky which makes me laugh inside, synchronicity it’s going to be a sperdoinkell day.

Sperdoinkell! Goodbye silver spoons I’ve decided to leave you behind the idea is a journey across over and beyond the line no more treading the shallow waters of reality it’s high time high tide to test this world dive head first into the sea.

Once upon a time there was this boy who ran away to a beach.

Where does this journey begin on a train I’m not so sure, in my mind, in your mind, our minds, or way back when, I guess for me the explosion that gave my feet new direction happened in the spring of this year ten past eight of course I’m a believer in uncertainty and well everything so I can’t be sure.
Funny word that sure. sea shore sandy beaches sparkling waves golden sun naked bodies telephone surveys fake voice more questions more, faux posh ladies repeating like parrots sure sure sure, paradise? Find me.

Before the spring of ten past eight the stars and moon began to shine just a little bit brighter. A close friend of mine teleported himself to my utter amazement and his total disbelief and I decided I was in fact a figment of your imagination. Even though apparently at a drunk meeting in the Robin Hood pub Guildford where I met the girl who I was to...


I couldn’t remember that meeting, my shirt was covered in stains, a giant jug of Guinness
“can I really drink that”
“its yours mate”
“well hats off to you done well mate proper sorted”
I wasn’t even wearing a hat.
A pint of rum and coke
Rum in a little glass
The next day a message arrived,

You exist!

Really? If I have no memory how can this be?

Still I fell in love with a girl called Kate the weekend after.

When quaking ducks wearing moustaches where spotted in Ealing town.

Talking fox Orange spots.

It was after the funeral of Uncle Les where everyone laughed a lot, I remember chatting to Mick, moustached Mick about the calypso music being played as we walked in,
“corr this music’s good it’s like being in a tropical bar”
“Yeah it is”
“be nice to have a drink”

Dr Martin Mushroom Snow Shoes steps in Pure white shoes of shiny light warm to funerals born to celebrate life –.

So off to Ealing with a fake moustache glued onto my face by a plaster and cellotape, black pen running low due to being rubbed back and forth on the U cut out of a cereal box.

Coco pops

A pair of aviator shades a strawberry hat a funeral suit cufflinks of truth and justice attached our lady of the scales weighing up my shirt sleeves. Charlie Chaplin strutted his meeting people for the first time or in a long time disguise.
Time for a cigarette then next train.
Oxford is calling.
Is my phone switched on back in Babylon.

Shit my boots it’s the shoes for miles maybe it’s the shoes boots boots.

1215 the holy Buddhist book is written



the bus covered in stars pulled up, moved on.

Second bus blocking the sun hey wait its saving me from cancer another zero not my hero smashing pumpkins beautiful bodies, hips legs red lips heading to the trains a Rasta was on this bus with a jewel coloured bowl
As I strike a match to smoke my roll a woman’s voice cries

“This is a nightmare”

There was I thinking this to be a dream, this rolls going to need another match
Third time’s the charm my tobacco spit hits the floor with a splash bus gone roll up bare legs say hello to the sun.
Eighteen people got off this but was there a Rasta among them no dreads only bald heads. Trippy colours on the wall make me think this dream is beautiful painted by Emma in seven eighty seven, I’ve sat here before. Right in front of the sun unzipped, I forgot my T-shirt so its bare chest under two jackets lapping up the light.

The other week I was called a chav that was Annie four weeks before Katie said
“You’re such a hippie”
So it’s true you can be anything you want to be,
Due to the volcanic ash from Iceland, U.K planes are grounded looks like I’m not going to be flying anywhere today, not by plane anyway.
I think the last time I was in Oxford white lines of cocaine took my mind up up and away, the skies still blue no clouds of white to call out the child inside I remember looking up through the window just the other day when streams of white and my music got me so happy that I waved to a far away plane waving to the passengers flying away.

Once upon a time there was this girl that...

Ring ring
“Briggsy! You little monkey”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in Basingstoke”
“Are you still on for half one”
“Yeah I’m still on for half one”
“alright well come meet you”
“You heading to a pub ill meet you there
“alright we’ll let you know”
Ahh heres my train now I am a child waving to screens, planes, children on busses and now the sun pen down for a moment, eyes up. Wave.

Don’t know whose these bags are they could be mine now. Synchronicity my mate Adam who I’m going to see said to me I’d love to find one day a bag full of money made me reply head onto a train mate there’s plenty of bags to pick and choose from take any of these

“Whoa hey mines got a laptop in it”.

Don’t worry I’m just saying I’m not really going to take your bag, if you please Mr. Customs man.

“Your face is really starting to piss me off”
“In a nice way”
“Yeah in a nice way, are you writing that down”
“Yeah I’m writing that down”

Quote your face is really starting to piss me off... in a nice way Unquote

It’s a beginning of a new mission the people I’ve been hanging around with talk of this change twelve past eight so I’ve decided to tip toe through the tulips document these times as a boat crashes into the river were off together, somewhere, I think I'm steering us the wrong way.

Losing bits of tree sunglass peddlers steering us into stones, splashes on my chest I convinced myself. There’s no need to react. There’s water everywhere in the danger zone, inks running of the page, ten minutes there’s no need to react. Break through the trees there nearly broke anyway like the glue.
Brigadier general’s not as good as I thought aww man I’m covered in this shit

“Id do better if I was stoned”

Flapping leafs of mud just crept into the boat even more water splashes, splashing like cats out of bags straight for that fucker I’m getting wet back into the sunshine raining sunshine my hands covered in mud like an explosion from a whore what’s that noise squeaking timber are we on a river afloat is that the sunshine dancing through the rain, like the rain its dropping up floating to the skies still blue no clouds.

A mix of age’s one girl only as old as four world cups, another guy Jake growing his hair into dreadlocks,

“Been a long week”
“Really a long week”

I think I knew what Jake meant

“But not in a good way”

Yesterday to me seems like a hundred years ago I like that, I also like these connections on a train,
“Your face really rings a bell”
Ok chance maybe just a familiar look but right back at Jake
“I was just thinking that”

Two strangers thinking the same riding on a train together that means that they’ve surely met in this life before. Maybe there not so strange after all.
“I know your face but no it’s lost I’ll never get your name”

Well not if you don’t ask. I’m off to Mexico to the Temples to see what’s going down reporting on mass change, full steam ahead Mr Bastard

Were about to be hit by a boat oh no there’s fucking rowers man helicopters sea bees this is the danger zone Vietnam American aviators row boys row.
Splash wetter and wetter. Wow today’s been a good ride on the train, good ride all round English guy met an American girl gave away a scarf

“Is that boodoo over there?”

Splash I’ve just been shot in the chest I’m bleeding

“Let’s catch up boodoo”

Boydie just ahead row boys row this is fucked up its all good I’m putting that in oars in the water.

Gave away a scarf for a bell.
Two team pro’s coming right for us bring bring bike bells dirt scramble shall we just give up. Never! This suns the draw of the oar and bullets spla...

And she has a swimming pool too invited me to the U.S.A real soon, id never heard of synchronicity being like a new man herding medicine to society.
Sssh flapping geese John Peel just rode past us on the river what a peach.
Some guys just bailed poor guy’s deathing out phone, pills pills ring!

Awake sweet sunshine the bullets have stopped. Sit up. Breathe it’s ok this is a river in Oxford the peaceful Thames.

Are we about to pick up a hitchhiker out the river, nope. This guys seems to be ok on his own.

No wait the bobbing apple speaks.
Hello. Do I want to flip up the boat well I was quite enjoying chatting to a floating head bobbing in the river.
Over it goes.
Whey! It’s a no drowning in the river day.

We flipped up the boat sunlit circle pen, only thing was he couldn’t get back in the boat would only flip up again.

Monkeys! Monkeys!
The sound carrying through the jungle, just hit him over the head with the oar, hit him over the head with the oar, just hit him over the head with your oar bugel trumpet blows good buzzing stone, floating heads left his boat now never to return...

A group of four sitting before one of them was playing working playing with a black hat from leg to head another shouting hit him over the head with the oar, before a chicken that tried to run away was caught neck sliced sacrifice my first thoughts poor chicken silly girl second thoughts it’s just another slice of day. Or maybe let the sunshine trumpet play. Sitting in front of the fire with my back to love. Lay lay lay. Lines. Rushing. Buzzing. Feel it in the lay lines man.

Glasgow’s got a bad reputation this is just fucking stupid lighting struck on BRC 3 wow the sitting emo’s haven’t moved. I like that, I can’t believe we saved the day, one night id sit with them watch it set, never seen a punt like this before. A yo-yo kid and a Goth to boost.

These rowers need fucking mirrors man, they need to get with the programme, what were you going to do just sit in the middle of the river doing nothing till I smashed into the back of you,


Only thing was there never was a smash. I was looking forward to the smash. It would have been an experience. Fresh Kid. Would you still race on mushrooms? Maybe. I kind of like that. Like a tree growing out of the head of a blue man leaning upon its back in a shirt, blue sky feet in the air, it was going so well ten past eight. It still is relax breathe.

Lovers cuddle talk hands touching skin.

Why race at all? Hey? Why do you own divine right to race in your row boat upon the river? Is the river yours? Is the river mine? No. Maybe we shouldn’t be in the river at all? Or maybe we should just float? The river law. The river code. Pass right this boat. Did you make your law river or were your shackles thrown in by man. What were you going to do nothing until i smashed into the back of you! Yes. Sweet nothing. Smash away. Let it flow. The river gently came to me. Let it flow. Speaking words of wisdom. Let it flow let it be. Jai guru deva om.

The blue gondolier is following us, or is it, maybe it’s in front.
How long will this blue gondolier follow me? The silver haired gondolier with a knife.

I wouldn’t go to Glasgow you’ll get stabbed. These places with bad names I find there all the same nothing to worry about. I don’t get where the band name comes from in the first place. Be careful in Saint Pauls it’s a rough area, a rough area named after a Saint, I’ll be the same thank you wherever I go otherwise what’s the point of still being alive, either live the same or die, leave a cruel world behind. So its destination black swan.

Brizzy Wizzy let’s get busy.

Evolutionists suggest we evolved from the monkeys, I'm a believer. We evolved from the Beatles and the Monkeys evolved from the Beatles. Gold fish are nibbling.

Hello sunshine
“I’m looking for a place called the black swan have you heard of it”
“You’re not from around here are you?”
“No I’m not, Ok better get off”
Which means I need to quickly pop into the back room and collect up the monkey skittles put them back in their box, floating past trees beautifully coloured by the sunlight, I see the sun as an artist with the most beautiful palette on which to paint this world,
“What time is it?”

Folk time music stirring in the air Spring ten past eight Saturday 17th April the trees painted pink by the sun have never looked more beautiful.

It’s remarkable what you can decide to pack for your travels, pins blue skin what I’m talking about is fuss and panic a lack of adventure a mistrust in the world surrounds abounds.
A hub-bub a boob which university are you going to go to panic panic panic, all around it doesn’t have to be this way just ask the prettiest girl to pick three place names out of a hat relax relax relax.
Same with going somewhere. Can you believe a head heading out on a mushroom trip could want, need, one with nature what happened to one love one heart
“Are you not taking a bag?”
Hell no. A bag would drag me down but what about all the things well need. In this instance were only going outside for a few hours even if we stay until sunrise or next week a trip, all we need is our eyes and everything else all around or bound anything else is dead weight I mean bags not people.
People your love is people like contrast love contrast, black and white helps to keep the trip alive.
What about water, water! Fuck water, for a few hours I’m slipping out under the stars, I can drink all the water I want when I get back and skipping to the future, a bottle of rum makes for more than water.

The 13th floor elevator. Electrical banana. Is a sudden craze.
Help yourself to a slice of day its alright its safe to eat its been kept in the freezer. Put it in the microwave. Thaw it out. Ping! Spring.

Dr Martin Mushroom Snow Shoes. Performs his tricks on Saturday at Yipee Yippee Callay.

Roll up roll up for the brain rain parade.

At half past tea I decide it’s time to get another watch tattoo on my wrist.

Monsoon meltdown.
Rain drops drip
Smoke Tea Sip.
Rain drops drip
Smoke tea sip.
Run Sun train.
Rain train rain.

Why worry? Just head out into the night. See the spiders eyes in the night sky I lions face shining down through the stars realise.

Be the change, saying hello morning afternoon to the people i meet upon the street is the change I want to be, people happy to spend time chatting of course not everyone wants the same that's ok, and still I don't say hello to everyone, like if they dont look my way, or if there have plugged ears, a friend suggested i carry a sign, hello. How about. Shine. I've grown to love this world for its faults and its charm at least I say I have, which I will continue to say, until I die, whether I believe that or not, I honestly do not know, just woke up out of a dream where I was happy, very happy, to be the snake, eat this apple and out of love i will keep saying hello, even if you might prefer me not too, for that only you will know, I do it out of love not harm, that is why. Dirty word. Now you know why I say hello hello hello hello hello cheerio don't say goodbye.


“Here I go and I don't know why
I spin so ceaselessy
Could it be
Hes taking over me
I'm dancing barefoot heading for a spin
Some strange music drags me in
Makes me come up like some heroin”

Dancing Barefoot - Patti Smith

I leave the bearded man at the bar and explain im gone but not before collecting the monkey skittles.
Whats in the box?
A smiling curious couple ask.

What's in the box?

ill tell you what's in the box monkey skittles are in the box
monkey skittles
what are monkey skittles?
Let me show you

And in a box not far from the train in Bristol i open up an old wooden small treasure chest to reveal, some monkeys carved out of wood, wearing polka dot trousers in colours of blue green red and orange, yellow spots, red ears, beady eyes, fixed smiling faces and a ball or two stripy wooden balls, I think maybe only one could fit in the chest, which two monkeys got left behind, is it the same monkeys every time?
Wow a gasp. Fireworks popping in the sky, take the box down to the floor where i crouch like a many armed man from a Japenese film instead of crafting dust mites I draw from out the box right hand left hand right arm left arm
Monkey after monkey,
"hit him over the head with the oar!"
Concioulsy gone to the reckless charm of being free I line them up in a pyramid upon the pubs wooden floor, then springing up box in the crook of my elbow ball in hand I stand and walk strut back to the couple
Monkey Skittles!
I present them with the ball and leave them with a spring to roll

i head to the bar to ask the bearded man sat on the stool if he knows where i can find the Black Swan
“Your not from round here are you”
No im not, i reply and laugh right now im in the moon and stars.

Walking to Saint Pauls a man on the bus gives me five pounds to help me on my way – all you need is love at the black swan I see nice shiny shoes as the men in the back play dominoes
nice shoes
no reply
foolish, i spend most of what little money i have on drink, which means when i head to the night downstairs im short to get in
my tales of travling with no money all the way to Sheffield from Bristol the other way round dont go down so well, well not with the guy the girl smiles, at this moment in time im a long haired voodoo child, hear to hook up in Bristol with a friend i done well to make it all the way to the Black Swan St Pauls monkey skittles in the box
“you should have money then”
Alas i spent it on drink at the bar
Still i had to go in even if it meant selling pink invisible squirrels in the street
I had the reverend's Alice in Wonderland with me in a bag so i took it out and headed to the streets of Saint Pauls where i greeted the people in the street to see if they would help out a guy who was five pounds short and needed to get into the downstairs of the Black Swan

You shouldn’t be going up to people in the street and asking them if they want to buy your Alice in Wonderland

Shouldn’t i

Alice in Wonderland got sold last night lewis carol changed my life

Sleeping rough the next day listening to music in a cave.

Twelve past eight Japan the dragon’s den little tiny remote control JCB’S to collect the pooper scoop from dog’s ferrying it to be used as fertiliser for all the flower’s grass or plants in the local park.

Back on the train the bikes storage windows is like floating in a ship, here is steeped in other world, were on a spaceship the midnight express.

I thought that was just a dream...

Trippy locks in these cmons parbils to another time I number 23 indian man with long grey beard stranded outside a locked door no way inside out of order, what is it he was searching for a pen. Joyous freedom breaks forth able to write again number twenty three how many pens have gone where are they now must of the worlds are becoming smudged upon my hand as Charlie says drums i write like a spider on acid bristling a twisted cobweb at the centre of which is twelve past eight the first thread thats what this journey will reveal spring.

John we got a mad one here the machine took his ticket then nothing. Come on, run run run little man, the train waits for nobody.

Bow down to the robotic toilet. Ohayo! Britain is too tight to react to that, thats what i think twelve past eight will bring a revolution in robotic toilets, people bowing down to the machine.

Goose layed a golden egg.

Talking about death from the roof of a shed in the sunrise morning.

Explaining that in my mind whilst talking weeks before in London about the way i see the universe it makes sense for their to be something anything that will come after i mean whos to say that this is it one shot one chance one life. I dont get that, I get that in this world surely we cannot be certain of anything, tomorrow may be the day when our entire world is eaten by a giant fish or not, will we ever get to know that day or will we just get eaten?

Many world’s many lifes, maybe, but nothing, well true possible but i dont think so, life than nothing yes in which case why spend your time be the change you want see to me that makes for a lunatic way unless this is not the only shot fired from the gun longshot many worlds so much to be.
Nothing sweet nothing.

I think its strange that its taboo to talk or think about death said the voice of adam from beneath the roof of the shed i do too i agreed
Sharing notes shed some light on more instances of change the contrast of the seasons spinning out through time the four shields not created or something id ever seen but again synchronicity reared its star beamed head at a ten past eight

Summer, winter, spring, autumn
North, South, East, West,

The reflection awakening spriritual journey mushroom snow shoes in the ice realising how to write about the road.

When trees are electric and branches hang.
On the street at night its magic land.

Thawing out realisations inside of me love awakening, frozen frozen in the winter numb lips, loving outside, , its been a long hard winter so help yourself to a slice of day well for some maybe not for me it seemed to be a winter in nine past eight of magical discovery, the years are ticking down not growing up.

?yllaer ...nwod ton pu worg

Fresh kid born on Ghetto Street

Back at emmas wall its seven eighty seven the colours are all swimming into the bright circle of the sun spires above the sanded doves. Fire patterns. Blossoming wall of light colours flying into out of space 15x3. Tiles. The face awakes. Speaking birds giant mirror eyes.
The next train arrives.

Skipping people heading down the stairs I step onto again what seems like another world outside a boy caught twice under a spiders web and the face that rings a bell gives me an eerie sense of de ja vu.

Fresh kids welcome to de ja vu
These are the streets that belong to you.

Is this lady going to get out of the way no what a train filling floor i love it send me to the dirt hunkered down quick soap thats it im safe worry not about you all me its sleepy sundance train.

174 heads on this train makes me wonder how many 1 2 3 4 maybe just the driver.

What was in that green bottle i just drunk, yawning to the moon so many different shoes, different worlds, faro different its a racing thought that spring ten past eight hasnt gifted me magic eyes but the question goes away of course theres more than four heads upon this train, every single world a different character, strips socks the artist drawing headphone mike the readers, sleepers hidden faces, hood wearers, rasta’s in Jamaican colours, every one a different light shiny shiny stars, ride on electricity

Magic eyes, clever ears walking down the whole train girl had to move her legs three times it appears to this mind that theres only two just chats going on in this whole train, that means only two instances of connection world’s collide. Smash. What were you going to do sit there doing nothing, maybe. The chat from in front seems to be tested water known but still words from out of mouths flow back and forth making a rubbing nose a good talk, sharing each others thoughts, scratching faces, folded arms

One boat did nothing, the other shouted insults, threatening for a fight, one boat stayed behind, the one in front shouting just kept rowing further and further away.

Now the chat from back behind.

Is this new or just a first meeting of worlds collide, hello smash, a bottle of tanglefoot big guy meets gypsy girl on the train and this talk is a table top dive a fire flying across the the forest sky its quick its fast no pause to scratch more flickering lights into action two worlds in beautiful collide quick quick words speak, smiles, share him and her again,
yes yes
me too me too, fantastic worlds with similarity buzzing could be a beginning of a new journey will it be a romance tragedy or comedy. Read it feel it in the lay lines. Or maybe. Maybe. Nothing. No, hello. Something new. Never seen before. Fresh kids Walking the streets of De ja vu in electric city.
Once upon a time...
You are real
aye am real

Monday, 3 May 2010

I fancy Jasmine.

I fancy Jasmine

I fancy Jasmine
I fancy her so much
I think she’s real hot
But she doesn’t think I’m hot
I don’t even think I’m hot
So what chance has she got?
Then again I am a six stone weakling that gets picked on quite a lot.

I say a lot
There’s only two days that stand out
Friday and Friday.
And getting picked two days out of three
Aint so bad
In fact just go ahead skip school
Doctor those records
If you’re getting picked on
Unless it’s to be a part of a team
Life is quite sad.

Now let me tell you
Having both my shoes stolen from off my feet
And dumped into a pooper scoop bin happened
One night made me feel so weak
I wasn’t dancing bare foot cider swirls round and round
I pissed myself when I was knocked down they kicked
Kicked kicked
Back then I was too small and afraid to take my beating
Like a man.

Now I’m not so scared
Instead of crying out like a little boy for help
I rest at ease
Just me and my blanket
Distant white silent walls of

Many moons ago
I got so drunk I confessed my love to Jasmine
It must have been full moon
Because I burnt my head
Nestling rejected next to a radiator
I slumped on the floor thinking
have you bled?

I can’t remember how that felt back then
I imagine I must have been in some pain
As getting third degree burns on my face off of a radiator is not something I’d do when sane
I’m glad I was a boy back then with no drugs
Then again my memories going
Was i on drugs as a boy back then?

Because for sure
I’m stepping outside
My shoes something took them and put them in a poop scoop box into yours
So now naked my feet are ready here they go left foot right foot

I’m inside looking out from behind young eyes
I can see
A bearded old man who seems to be tripping over in his mind
“What’s his problem?” I cry,
“Aww quite” replies the white coated doctor sipping camomile tea
“You see Jasmine in reality doesn't exist
Well to put a finer finger on it she's not the girl you think she is”

Friday and Friday dancing bare foot cider swirls round and round
Smashing a bottle of champagne
The crowds that surround me roar
As I ceremonially name my radiator
She’s so hot
She’s real hot
Three cheers
Good ideas only!
Hip hip hooray
burn burn burn
Hip hip hooray
Have you got a slice of bread?
Ive sorted out the leak.

Doctors Notes.

Doctors Notes

Subject 113 the radiator:

On Tuesday the 3rd 1973 Subject 113 somehow managed to acquire a lighter. Holding the lighter in his left hand Subject 113 flicked on the lighters gas with his thumb simultaneously turning the flint which created a spark that combined with the lighters gas to make a flame. With his thumb held down on the gas Subject 113 took the flame in his left hand to a note pad stuck on the edge of Subject 117’s small wooden table. The note pad was yellow about 25cmx15 and lined in green, it had three words written upon it. Good ideas only. Followed by an exclamation mark.
Subject 113 hesitated. Holding the flame about an inch away from the bottom right hand corner of the yellow note with its green lines until the pads corner began to blacken. At this point I wondered what must be going through Subject 113’s mind, if only there was I way to step inside another’s brain and hear their inner thoughts. I was drawn out of my musing's when Subject 113 took the flame the remaining inch and held it there until the yellow notepad its green lines and the three words for Good ideas only burst into flames.
With the asylum burning down all around us I took I another sip of camomile tea and remarked to Dr Sweetlace that it would be wise for us to clean our shoes and acquire for Subject 113 once we had rounded up all the lunatics and put them back in their cages a bleeding key.

Sunday, 2 May 2010



I was in the bath tub. It was pleasant enough. Then a thought in my head.
I need something more. I went ahead and said it. Reality test.
So I leapt out. No drip dry. Floor soaked, towel left behind. I decided to change the world.
Completely naked I padded down the stairs, dripping drops everywhere, well mainly on my girlfriends swirly patterned carpet.
Until In the kitchen. I found a drawer.


I opened it. Taking everything shiny. Knifes forks spoons. Until I could carry no more. I felt a little bit, scary’s not the word, electrified as I ran back upstairs to the soaked floor. Hello towel, then into the tub splosh went the knifes forks spoons.
Lowering my body into the hot shiny water. I smiled loud. Satisfaction. Finally. Sweet freedom my sweet freedom. Paradise.