Jul 2016
the saturday vibe in the press - headlines acknowledging Putin
making propaganda entries from his base in Edinburgh...
****! was i there for three years? do you think they
trained me in espionage while i spent
a month in Russia? well, no
Ian Fleming here - so it's up to a coin toss.
apparently the left is suffering in England,
wouldn't you know - total shambles -
will we see a footprint of recognisable
England on the continent? hardly...
too much involvement in cockle spaniel
involvement in ******* up to the two
blondes across "the pond", fair enough,
good t.v. here's me reading about
a really bourgeoisie woman getting
prim tuck the 4 cuckoo pregnancies
show offs of scars and Cesareans -
i had mine on the shoulder blade aged in my teens -
i preferred scars from a tattoo -
first you turn into colonial pomp
then you wish for a tribal warlord tattoo on your
buttocks - but somehow scars differ -
please pick up the dry-cleaning while you're
booking a yoga class -
so they say the mid-life crisis -
oddly enough i'm having a crisis also,
every time i take a **** the male cat i own needs company -
i'm on Napoleon's quote and he's on the windowsill -
i drop the ****-bomb and pet him;
a cat's weak areas: the base of the tail, just where
it connects to the body - but the ears are more -
your palm and the hand connection to the forearm -
carpals to cartilage - up the ulna-radius -
purr purr purr - yawn - purr purr purr - yawn - plop -
i never asked for company in such scenarios,
but he's so affectionate, apparently human excrement
is sweet for cat scent - cat excrement? ******* toxic ****!
the **** is a gag-mask! ****! **** ain't any better...
but human have the strawberry fields with what's
left-over other than ash of a cremation.
prior to? at the supermarket - for my usual...
i know the man... down syndrome...
his mother nearing 80 - at the cashiers, i walk in,
change my ****** expression... i don't know,
maybe i raised my eyebrows or winked at him -
i've met him before, i might have said my name
while we tried to talk in his front garden -
so i do my mime - and off he goes... silent
prior he starts to convulsively repeat:
MA! MA! MA!
i pick up a bottle of whiskey
(MA! MA! MA!)
then a bottle of beer
(MA! MA! MA!)
then a bottle of coke -
the MA! continues - you can hear it resounding
in the supermarket; i say... why hasn't L'Oreal
investigated the genetics of down syndrome?
you see 'em?! you see 'em?! his mother is nearly 80
but his face is like a baby's buttocks!
they should really get the geneticists on the topic,
extract an anti-ageing cream from down syndrome -
perfect theory for any capitalist adventurer -
no shame, no morals, no conscience -
go on, feed that Frankenstein.
so while i'm on the automated checkout he keeps
looking at me and pointing at the exit door -
let's face it we're talking Darwinism - and interpretation,
i have absolutely no clue what he's talking about,
i just interpret it on the positive scaling,
for these people don't really age, they have barely
a wrinkle's worth in them,
or in contrast a maxim: either the fish... or the aquarium -
i choose the aquarium, **** the fish -
he's pointing to the exit with the syllable MA
in saying to others: the man who found the exit and
was ridiculed for it. i must have said my name once
to him - he wasn't looking at his mother, and he was
pointing at the door - truly, such is a scientific nature,
you don't go below the shallow surface of appearances -
you can thus understand the depths of uncomfortable
shallowness in other people who can target meaningful
conversations with you that turn out to be total *******.
that man, probably aged 50 but disguised by
his down syndrome aged 20 will probably make
innovations in anti-ageing creams some time in the future,
while L'Oreal begins to employ geneticists to uncover
the Dorian Grey genes for a ****** cream.
making propaganda entries from his base in Edinburgh...
****! was i there for three years? do you think they
trained me in espionage while i spent
a month in Russia? well, no
Ian Fleming here - so it's up to a coin toss.
apparently the left is suffering in England,
wouldn't you know - total shambles -
will we see a footprint of recognisable
England on the continent? hardly...
too much involvement in cockle spaniel
involvement in ******* up to the two
blondes across "the pond", fair enough,
good t.v. here's me reading about
a really bourgeoisie woman getting
prim tuck the 4 cuckoo pregnancies
show offs of scars and Cesareans -
i had mine on the shoulder blade aged in my teens -
i preferred scars from a tattoo -
first you turn into colonial pomp
then you wish for a tribal warlord tattoo on your
buttocks - but somehow scars differ -
please pick up the dry-cleaning while you're
booking a yoga class -
so they say the mid-life crisis -
oddly enough i'm having a crisis also,
every time i take a **** the male cat i own needs company -
i'm on Napoleon's quote and he's on the windowsill -
i drop the ****-bomb and pet him;
a cat's weak areas: the base of the tail, just where
it connects to the body - but the ears are more -
your palm and the hand connection to the forearm -
carpals to cartilage - up the ulna-radius -
purr purr purr - yawn - purr purr purr - yawn - plop -
i never asked for company in such scenarios,
but he's so affectionate, apparently human excrement
is sweet for cat scent - cat excrement? ******* toxic ****!
the **** is a gag-mask! ****! **** ain't any better...
but human have the strawberry fields with what's
left-over other than ash of a cremation.
prior to? at the supermarket - for my usual...
i know the man... down syndrome...
his mother nearing 80 - at the cashiers, i walk in,
change my ****** expression... i don't know,
maybe i raised my eyebrows or winked at him -
i've met him before, i might have said my name
while we tried to talk in his front garden -
so i do my mime - and off he goes... silent
prior he starts to convulsively repeat:
MA! MA! MA!
i pick up a bottle of whiskey
(MA! MA! MA!)
then a bottle of beer
(MA! MA! MA!)
then a bottle of coke -
the MA! continues - you can hear it resounding
in the supermarket; i say... why hasn't L'Oreal
investigated the genetics of down syndrome?
you see 'em?! you see 'em?! his mother is nearly 80
but his face is like a baby's buttocks!
they should really get the geneticists on the topic,
extract an anti-ageing cream from down syndrome -
perfect theory for any capitalist adventurer -
no shame, no morals, no conscience -
go on, feed that Frankenstein.
so while i'm on the automated checkout he keeps
looking at me and pointing at the exit door -
let's face it we're talking Darwinism - and interpretation,
i have absolutely no clue what he's talking about,
i just interpret it on the positive scaling,
for these people don't really age, they have barely
a wrinkle's worth in them,
or in contrast a maxim: either the fish... or the aquarium -
i choose the aquarium, **** the fish -
he's pointing to the exit with the syllable MA
in saying to others: the man who found the exit and
was ridiculed for it. i must have said my name once
to him - he wasn't looking at his mother, and he was
pointing at the door - truly, such is a scientific nature,
you don't go below the shallow surface of appearances -
you can thus understand the depths of uncomfortable
shallowness in other people who can target meaningful
conversations with you that turn out to be total *******.
that man, probably aged 50 but disguised by
his down syndrome aged 20 will probably make
innovations in anti-ageing creams some time in the future,
while L'Oreal begins to employ geneticists to uncover
the Dorian Grey genes for a ****** cream.
