LA DE DA
Up on that hill next to Winston's church. Where Charlotte lives, by the spider's web that looks like a writer's thread. Uh oh, what's that trouble in the water? Its Nietzlawe ready to double his quota. Who needs Shakespeare or Chaucer? If you're watching something else, pause it. Come and see the joker! ... Mr. Walker! As he throws caution, and gets cautioned before being blown in the ocean. By a wind. Without a rowboat, but even with no boat he's still showboating and laughing at those barely floating. How you ask? That's what that kid do. That kid, rocks. He's virtually unstop. Can't be hindered or rescinded just for writing out. Enough bars, to be drunk on Budvar. He's not book-smart and never had a good start in life. Went from subpar to sinking hole in ones. Now the thing is, holy God does not exist, no matter how much these phony sods insist. To prove it, get a gun and shoot me in Shirley's temple during the early hours. A gun that's not even properly assembled because I took the motherfuckin' bullets out! And now le tables have been turned, and it is eye that has the upper hand! L'avantage. Until I realise that we are in the Antarctica and my hand has frozen solid. So I have to call on my old Aunt Arctica to finish what Amelie started or summin. End it all, by having enemies bending to her will. But only pretending that they will surrender. Maybe they won't. Maybe they have the fight to the death mentality. How can I hold them at gunpoint and say freeze when they are already frozen? But my Aunt can freeze them out of her will. Not just bend them to it. They won't receive a dime. Not even a Daim bar, a Toffee Crisp or banoffee pie. Ban buy one get one free offers. Why? Dayum, that's cold! Like a Coors Light alcohol free on a minus 4 night, with a hot whiskey to relieve your sinuses of that chronic sinusitis in a log cabin. Maybe this is a sign after all. A sign that we are all resigned to our fates like 'fat' and 'ate' used in the same word. I love to skate with danger by masturbating in front of strangers, agitated waitresses, passing in Broad dayligh. I eat Sherbet Kali with Herbert and his pet gerbils. A Lie. I'm virtually a hermit, with a stay-at-home permit. Fuck those little furballs! In the tract. We need to call Ray Liotta to get those turds whacked. The last thing anyone needs is to get 'whacked by Tommy.' Better than being hacked into by a snotty nosed kid. With a trojan, not a machete. Perish the thought. Katy's the thought too. Those two awesome water balloons brought to your attention, that you see so tit to mention. The very reason you're even in detention. Doing lines... of coke. Of course, I joke, as al.. ways. I have these words tied up in all ways. From forays deep into the forests, of The Coppice, where the poh-leece look for bodies. In through your backdoor, I promis. I'm like a camphor, an answer to your prayers, but also the cause of them. G.O.A.T? I'm a fuckin' grown up that's 4, that wasn't properly brought up, I guess. My brain is the size of a doughnut, and partial cookie. "Yet u dope, rookie!" Fuk u! Suck my white balls 'til nightfall, 'til your face brightens like a light bulb and your eyes roll right into the back of your skull. Fuk u like Skell Credits. Just one of the many things people are complaining about on Reddit. "There I said it." Now send my confession to China so they can shred it up. We can throw a spanner in the works of all bad things with just a little honesty. As modest as a monk in a monastery playing on a Commadore 64 while being feathered by 64 communist whores in a Soviet morgue. Honestly! Remember, he's a monk, he knows nothing about new consoles. In fact the only way he can console himself is with a games machine straight outta the stone age. He don't know shit about weed. He never learned to read, and turned away from breeding. Unless it was with a girl before she was monthly bleeding. And you can get the new edition of Bleeding Monthly for just £4.99. I'd rather buy the DVD box set of Nighty Night, and piss my sides. But how can one urinate on one's hips unless ur in a real state of bliss? Real life is stranger than fiction... of which we all have a subscription to. What's up, Pop? Got another blood clot? You'll have to die coz there's too many slots booked up in this hospital. Too many sluts giving nut jobs, to nutjobs. For me, realignment is being put on some vagina worship assignment, until I get angina inside her. A nice kind of solitary confinement... which I'm fine with. Now the mind is a funny thing, and over the years I've punished it waiting for a buzzer to hit on some funny shit. This bizarre huzza art couldn't harm. It's a compulsion to push buttons, sometimes pull them, off the chart. Sometimes pull the chart off the wall. Sometimes pull the wall 'til that whole arch falls apart. Crazy geezer? Or creative genius still unsatiated in this medium? No reason why things can't get a little seedier. Can't keep everything squeaky clean. Got to find some way to cheer up sleepy Jean. "Wasn't poss, boss. You see she was in a coma." Catching up on some involuntary shut eye. Dreaming of pastures new. If only you bastards knew that this pasta is two weeks out of date!! Too bleak now to say, how much these things have changed. Never mind seem strange, even I seem stray and distant compared to back in the good old days of play and wisdom. Fuck, I miss them. Kiss goodbye to the last of the sperm in my piston. Now it feels like I've burnt my bridges. Should have burnt it where the fridge is. This is the real doldrums, long before my Blockbuster gold run. Now everything lacks lustre. I feel rusty and can't muster an arsenal, just a grumpy arsehole, flustered, committing cardinal sins. It can't just be me whose brain has spontaneously combusted. So now you can't trust it coz it's too hot to touch. Ouchy... Lausanne, bitches! Let me see both hands. Get with the pro Gran porn star. Oh man you're so damaged.. I don't know how you manage to cram in all these anecdotes and manic thoughts. It's like you're waving a wand and wearing a magic cloak. More foul thoughts than Raoul Moat. More fucked up than Simon Cowell's jaw. Where's the Breakpoint? That game is dying quicker than John Bobbitt's penis post-castration. What is my point? Other than it's disappointing. Like shopping in Nisa. Copping deals, like virtually free meals that taste of cardboard and cheap veal. I personally don't see the appeal of shit that isn't even worth stealing.