I like elephants, wood, and rust.
I like elastic feelings and good, clean filthy textures.
I like peaceful rage and boxes with glass (broken or not).
I like detailed abstraction and smells that make you sick, but not literally.
I like words that are shaped like people and wind that doesn’t move or make a sound.
I like gravely voices with sandy tones, meaty bones, and eyes of stone.
I like chalk and dust and asking questions without words.
I like structured flow and red-ripple eyes.
I like amputated thoughts and snaking through forests.
I like the words ‘expunge’ and ‘spleen’ and coarse vengeance, but not together.
I like egg-shaped objects and touching washable whiteboard erasers with my cheek.
I like all human faces but not all human people and unnamed creatures we haven’t seen, in places we haven’t been.
I like writing secret thoughts and making words emboldened with my tongue and lips.
I like real life fiction and burning bridges to places I’ll never revisit
I like pencils, but only HB or above. 5H can **** right off. F makes me unsure.
I like the smell of poison from the lips of disturbed creatures.
I like people with cats for a head; tigers, lions or domestic.
I like the theoretical idea of punching a horse, for the way it sounds and smiles at me.
I like pegs and what they bring to the table and comedy that takes itself seriously.
I like circles and all their relatives. Even ***** Uncle Oblong.
I like how language makes my breath smell and squeezing hope out of sponges.
I like to name things that are mine, but then use things that belong to others. Staplers mainly.
I like darkness and light in all measures; even when drank from a well in a shoe.
I like climbing into clouds and discussing anything but the weather.
I like how randomness is a concept thought of by someone else.
I like to unravel thread and then eat the evidence.
I like the fecality of machines and cogs that catch rain.
I like to listen with my mouth and reply with my veins.
I like the honesty of chaos and the cynical nature of fingers and toes.
I like swinging my mind fluff at innocent bystanders.
I like falling into gold by tripping over dead-end roads.
I like round numbers that are sharp and spiky and hurt when applied freely.
I like getting trapped by my own volition and eyelashes that live alone and care not what you or I think.
I like it when clouds become aggressive and spit disdain on the revolution you started.
I like slatted fences that don’t let things get them down; except falling dust that is just a thought.
I like universal understanding of things nobody understands and how your blue is my yellow and you stole it, so give it back.
I like how the letter Q is so shy, despite its ***** size.
I like to find the veinality in all things; with my eyes and then my sweaty blood pen.
I like stealthy science that is really a ghost we invented in a room made of futures and pasts.
I like forced relationships; especially if a monkey or a spoon are involved.
I like to glue my face to walls to see if anyone watches. Don’t worry, they always do.
I like reaching milestones only to find someone has scratched out my name and replaced it with an arrow pointing backwards.
I like big licks that are really lips that got kicked.
I like wrinkles that twinkle when sprayed with the slap of life.
I like that we all pretend that we know what’s going on, but that if we did, we wouldn’t have eyebrows.
I like hidden rooms that hold everything we were trying to hit. Except that horse I punched.
I like to drive a truck gently down a stream, only to tickle a deer on its belly with my headlights when I get there.
I like finding things that are so me, it brings painful heat out of my smiling face holes.
I like reflections in glass, of things that aren’t happening now, but will after lunch.
I like the rhythm of word *** followed by the ******* of a donkey-punched idea.
I like the iron will of freedom and how the camel **** of life sends us all back to the ***** sea.
I like the familiarity of a number and how they let us down, but we kiss them anyway.
I like pockets of air in black-like snowflakes in the fog.
I like seeds, Velcro and moon sand.
I like burnt umber, but only because we once were friends. He stayed. I left. *****.
I like paper and news, but never together and strings on rings dancing like feathers.
I like visual echoes and all other types of see-sounds.
I like stories both fat and tall, but not hairy-backed. I’m not an animal.
I like the sounds comics make and soundless comets that like me.
I like how one rule is made to break another, like a seagull might be used to grout a tile.
I like how a hundred things can be small or big, depending on whether you are lying down or on crack.
I like indents and outdents, but nothing beats a trombone.
I like scissors and their forgotten cousin the compass. They weren’t really related after all.
I like inflammatory statements such as ‘best before’ and ‘backspace’.
I like toast and brittle confidence, especially as a mid-morning snack.
I like chilli, flutes and harmonious ornaments.
I like running a mock and mocking a run. Oh and raspberries.
I like over-elaborate job titles invented by under-elaborate job-nockeys.
I like a pinch of this and a pinch of that. But if you touch me, I’ll cut your fingers off.
I like red apples and the smell of disappointed parents.
I like peanut shells in their own personal hells that are destined to do well.
I like sabre-toothed sauces and burlesque mornings
I like tree bark rubbings made from the fallen bodies of birds.
I like reaching for the hips of a star and releasing gristle from my teeth, in equal measure.
I like that swans break arms but never a sweat.
I like cherry protein and scratching an itchy thought.
I like snake skeletons, spider ***** and darkly lit minds.
I like half a man wrapped inside the womb of a stag. Why? Because I just thought of it.
I like divining a feeling with sticks made of rope inside houses of hope.
I like running downhill on palms of marbled ham.
I like cosmic justice in my box of tricks, with tea and biscuits.
I like making it worth peoples’ while, all over their face. But not with cheeky juice.
I like coming to an end, turning around and sleeping.
I like animals that have people for a soul and speak mythical wisdom by staring.
I like drawing what I think and making sandwiches that sing.
I like resting on my morals and dancing on yours.
I like stains on both the mind and my table.
I like visual symmetry, left aligned and crooked; valuable teacups and sage.
I like one-worded concepts like ‘calculators’.
I like appendages that swing and drinking *** from a tin.
I like water and vinyl and female urinals.
I like having no favourites, seasoned chips and music.
I like delving into lives like a fish flying on the back of a bird. Business class.
I like tapered limbs but not jeans; roasted egos but not beans.
I like scary hares laid bare and children being horses without sticks.
I like magic which is smooth and soup that is crude.
I like ninjas in shelters and watching shadows paint pictures.
I like how nothing ever ends, but everything bends. Even teardrops.
I like puzzles that sting and seaweed disguised as hair.
I like to leave people with a thought. Not you though.
