Had to scrub the wolfen from my wall.

oh to eat pancakes
delivered at my door
to lie asleep
above the floor
and wake to some joyous scent
of hot butter, like soft cement
to slowly wriggle
and shake my feet
to swallow smells
and raise the sheets
and surrenderring to morning sun
a story unfolding and fresh begun
that moment one decides to move
the sore that only breakfast soothes
the waking minutes to unfold
as one walks slow and old
like sleep has aged
your supple brow
to make it grey and furrowed now
and walk upon the frozen tile
harsh on feet, and then I smile.

To think what I am thinking
to know the things I know
to feel the sugared pancake
digesting down below.

Vegies

I am now a vegetarian, after watching a video put out by PETA last week at harrys mexican vegetarian dinner party. So is joseph now too.

Visit the wesite, Watch the video, its good to be aware even if it scares you. I really hope we can change this shit.

www.meetyourmeat.com

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VIjanhKqVC4

Basquiat Inspired.

fuck i love ashambles.

The Night Time Lonesome

Slumbered Glass Thoughts

I listen to the animal crowds singing

cause it makes me feel close to you.

and thats all I got

and a pillow friend to my shoulder

a godly bear to hold and claw

my fingers wont freeze anymore

and it's true, your like the colour of my breath

so I think I'll come to visit you in my head

We'll illustrate some dreams

full up with vibrant warmth

creatures of rare and divine sub-concious

rapping their knuckles on the wooden table

while we make those artworks

like incandescant fingerprints

I'll spell some words wrong

you close my eyes

then we go home together.

Cold

It bites me

a monster of the heart of darkness

blue and black in one

shrivelling my sore and swollen knuckles

Like metal on skin.

It is mineral to an animal

this animal of vegetable

vegetable grown of mineral

I like those furred ones

on all fours

screaming from their low ribs

a hostile honest tune.

If only I could write sounds

like they're pronounced

illustrate their bloody hearts

bottle their souls

then I truly would be

cold.

Linguistic Recycling

The more words I write

the less important they become

who will care for a word

which has been written

a hundred times before

Recycle my soul

will it still be coloured when your done?

will it still have it's juice

fat like before,

with kiwi fruits at it's corners

to entice you to its core

Those lovers who whisper

stories in the ear

repeat their love endlessly

desperate for the fear

the words will not be true

and lose their meaning

"I love you"

Will you still be interested

when my soul has been recycled,

pale old and thin,

in my cold and frail body,

a corrugated bin.

City Skates

The animals of the street

will bear rapture in their arms

Their howling brings the darkness down

a veil upon alarm

The mischeif painted on their faces

thick eyes and broken teeth

Their skeleton of bone and fur

to rupture stick and leaf.

Windy night whistling in their wheels

a tune of glass and stone

the conversations humans have

bodies shaped like telephones

surfing blackened pavement

all the allys we shall creep

climbing the highest hilltop

flying down the steepest steep

like a dreamer in pajama

tail a-flyin out behind

moon dancing on our bent bodies

waves of thought across our minds

like the freedom at out fingertips

moulded and obtuse

ready to overwhelm us

as a driver yells abuse.

Bianca

I was looking through photos on home computer & found this shot of Bianca when we were younger.
I'm spend the weekend at home in the highlands. She is looking so lovely. She's a fly dancer & she entertains us with these liquid feet between advertisements. I send her old clothes sometimes. Her new fashion love is tailcoats.
She has a sick haircut & a real sense of style, beautiful charming quirky character, & she's killing the HSC.
So lucky to have a sister like her.
Dont think she realises how much I love & appreciate her sometimes.