Peter Pan said Wendy -
There's something I want to tell you.
I am neither straight nor bent
But what you might call bendy

Captain Hook stopped reading his e-book and eavesdropped more intently.

Peter knew what his flexible friend meant and spoke to her quite innocently.

Wendy - I am as vanilla as Manilla envelopes in a creamery with whitewashed walls
And identical twin albino Godzillas fighting snow leopards with cue *****.

No gimp suit in fifty shades of grey for me.

I am pretty much hormone-free,
More than happy with asexuality,
Playing pirated computer games on one hand
And others' loves that dare not speak their names which fewer understand.

In my world of dreamery certain flights of fancy pass me by.

I love to fly and you Wendy.

And I love you too Peter - Not Everygirl's Ideal of A Real Man.
But I can understand the attraction of Lost Boys and their toys in Neverland.

We've known each other for all these years,
Shared too many troubles, thoughts and fears
To be anything other than in each other's hearts.

If I never visit Neverland again
I know you will always be my closest friend,
What, where, whenever happens
To the bittersweet end.

May we both be dying for an Excellent Adventure,
If not together then separately.

There is nothing better than to know
That you will always be there for me
No matter how we might grow
Into this 21st century.

And one day I may straighten out
But
That's
Not
What
Life's
About.

Captain Hook put down his e-book and Facebooked a friend...............

And that is where our story will end.

Who says you can't arm twist yourself into doing practically anything? Victoria Beckham — stylish mum, fashion empire czarina and social diva — took that notion a **** few notches higher as she posted a picture of herself on a sofa on a photo sharing site, leg extended high above her head at 90 degrees. The picture went viral immediately with a huge buzz around her impressive flexibility. She captioned the photo, 'It's amazing what you can do in culottes...those ballet classes are paying off!' (sic) It's not the first time she has showed off her moves. Last year in Singapore too, she kicked her stiletto-clad feet into a high pose as she relaxed on a sofa.

These celebs are advocating it, too...

Posh Spice aka Victoria isn't the only one. British actress Kelly Brook showed of her flexi *** on her sitcom show. Actresses like Reese Witherspoon and Jennifer Aniston have also taken up exercise regimens that stretch their bodies to the limit. Angelina Jolie's workouts are said to include the stability ball leg, squats and kickboxing, known build flexibility and balance. Jessica Biel is a firm follower of her five days a week cardio with strength training and pilates classes that have been credited with getting her such a lean ***. And Megan Fox ensures she is flexible, too.

Advantages of being stretchy

Being flexible and stretching out is not the realm of just gymnasts, athletes or swimmers. Anyone can and should be like that, for it's not just before starting a workout that one faces tight hamstrings and a sore back and neck. These are issues that plague those with sedentary jobs as well. Thus, flexibility can help in gym training and dealing with the stressors of everyday life. It also helps the body to heal. Increased flexibility also leads to improved posture. Once the earlier tightness goes away you start to sit right and walk better, too.

How Much?Stretching muscles twice a week is enough to build overall flexibility.

For anyone

A common myth is that being flexible will only work with younger people. It is actually for anyone of any age

Exercises to help you get there

Chest dumbbells: Lie flat on a bench, holding dumbbells in either hand. Now lift the dumbbells overhead together and slowly bring them back. This stretches the pectorals.

Abs stretch: Sit on the ground with the ankles facing each other and the knees flexed. Now put pressure on the knees and press them to make them touch the ground. Hold this for 20 seconds and repeat.

Shoulders delt: Hold the elbow of one arm with the other hand and pull the elbow across the chest. Hold and repeat for the other hand.

Curling cat: Kneel down on all fours and curl the back upwards in the same position. Hold this and start again. This increases flexibility of the back.

Hamstring stretch: Place your leg on any raised area in front you, like a stool or chair. Now, extend it straight without bending the knees and bend the torso to touch the toes. Hold for 15 seconds and repeat.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-melbourne

the roaring wind whistles a polar me,
opposing freely,
a hushful respite,
inside today,
silent me.

sitting in dreams,
stuck in sleeping bags,
the night before,
before the morning snagged,
my lucid want,
my lucid haunt.

outside, the wind and sun,
blow fiercely through,
the dead dried leaves,
the dusty dung,
brown, unsung,
chaos flying,
above the roof,
around the fence,
at pasture’s hooves,
one last breath spent.

again here lie,
the dreams that drift,
the dreams that die,
sounding out February's cry,
singing her last goodbye.

while the trance settles,
and untangles,
and I, sitting quiet,
witnessing the bendy brambles.

~Lana Maree Haas

The mug stains leapfrog a linoleum asphalt countertop, sunbathing in the breakfast nook.
A magazine proofreads a hole in a bagel. Scanning for clues to the whereabouts
Of a Jewish heart. Beads of Oolong tea archipelago from a resting kettle
All the way to the 'good ' China. A cup on a pearl, laying flat… ear to the ground.
Listening to the stories only Formica can tell. Deciphering the steam
Rising from a steep. Curling whiskers into omens, embroidered upon a shaft of light
Heaven sent. Postage dew. Gilding quaint luxuries, tucked in a cozy roost
Smelling of oak musk and slow roasted dreams, evaporating before memory may lay claim
To the riddles of Morpheus. There’s an aire of Return.  
It molts in the bacon fats hovering in the strata unique to kitchen islands lousy with active volcanoes that shuffle in stocking feet and terry cloth bathrobes. Restless and foggy minded.
Looking for the keys. And...
Chewing a thumbnail. Staring out the window. Where there used to be a car in the driveway. But the officer flagged a taxi. Explains the migraine, like a Vulcan; stoically flipping switches in a fuse box wired to a vague recollection of a soiree.
All the while holding a pitchfork and today's horoscope.
For irony and street cred.

{ But out of cream cheese. }

Concurrently... This part of the house still has the rustic naivete of a celibate beatnik picking teeth with a signature pen presenting an Hawaiian girl with a vanishing skirt; blinking in and out of Vaud-villainy, like Erwin Schrödinger’s Cat. A kind of hole in a barge with an ornate cubby; loitering with sugar cubes and a bendy plastic fern.
Like the foyer to a room, still under construction.
      A busy little metaphor, lounging around the east wing of a humble abode… like news clippings in a mason jar… it’s superfluous handle threading a ceramic eye.
Like a stainless steel joke under a refrigerator magnet, pinned to a plate in your forehead. As any lamp-shade with ambition.  
      Playing to a rough Cloud, hung over an ashtray; that has seen Better Days - envy the baroque occlusion of monotony and routine, merging a hangover - into morning traffic. Replete with modest gains.
And Horizons that stab bleary eyes that would know a gypsy
By the weight of her purse…
     When the day begins, it gains a foothold by the spine of an overdue book, reclining adjacent runcible spoons and antique kitche. As a bathroom light squeaks between a door and a frame.
As ancillary and precise as a beacon for a blindfold.

Like turpentine palming a brick. And Wagner.

My heart promised me I'd
run away sooner or later but
I never thought it'd end with you
sewing my heart to your hip.
Even though blood got on your leather
seats because of the hole
in my left atrium. You cleaned,
***** and span, with a bendy straw
even though it was our last one
and none more ever came to save you
when you spilled the last cup of
our touching hands.

I just feel so limited
It's 11 pm and I want to go for a drive
But my parents just won't take me
I want to go for a drive at 11pm
In my france france france sweatshirt, hair loose and all
and I want to stick my head out of the window
And I want to feel the cold air pass me by and go through my bones
And I want my hair to fly in the **** wind
and I want to listen to mainstream music and some feel good music
And I want the sky to be pitch black, with stars
And I want to pass trees and solely trees and smell the leaves and the pine cones
and I want to see the city from down below, as the street lights light up the town in golden arrays
And pass a restaurant with some music
Maybe even some random people loitering in a corner of a smoke shop with purple lights and cigarette smoke crowding everywhere
And I want to just look at them
And think about them
And what they did to get there
And I want to see a couple holding their hands and walking down the street
Even though its 11 pm
And I hope they're just happy
And I want to hold my dads big warm hand while I do all of these things
Because I got shotgun
And I want my brother to sit quietly in the back, and my dad to hum some Indian song
While I do all of these things
And I want to go to an aquarium and stare at jellyfish
Lavender jellyfish
and bright electric blue jellyfish
And pink and orange jellyfish
And I want to smell the AIR
And I want more of me to grow than the part in my brain that controls calculus and SAT
I want to grow physically and mentally and spiritually
There's a whole world out there
A whole WORLD!
And I'm in my room
My mother is in the kitchen thinking I'm doing SAT, and my dad is working and stressing over his job, and my brother is in his room writing his first interactive program
and I'm in my room, knowing i'm supposed to be doing SAT, but all I can think about is
how there's a whole messy majestic gigantic WORLD out there
And I am sitting here doing calculus and SAT
And it seems like its all for nothing
For only myself
And I know I'm not necessarily supposed to be this altruistic human being
I'm supposed to want things for myself
I'm supposed to be selfish in how I study and where I put my time but thats just not enough for me
I want to spend all day planting poppies and sunflowers
And in the night I just want to stare into infinity at the sky
And I want to cut my hair shoulder length, dye the bottom blue, get another piercing, decorate my hands with  henna, and walk around in vintage crop tops and flowy pants and matte black michael kors sandals
And I want to stop watching TV and going on facebook and having superficial banter and disgusting small talk
And I want to do yoga for the right reasons
Because yoga is the journey of the self, through the self, to the self, and I don’t want to do it solely because I want nice arms or a bendy back or a nice **** I mean even though its okay to want those things but I just want more
I want everything to be just raw and I want people to expose themselves and I want to expose myself and I want
my parents to just LISTEN to what I want
And recognize the fact that this is the third night in the row that their daughter has outwardly displayed to them that
there's chaos in her mind because she just can't handle
doing and being absolutely nothing
anymore
And I want to read about human rights and global warming and how
when a chef is cooking for a ton of people, he uses utensils to remind himself what to do next
and I want to read about forensics and how mass spectrography and chromatography help detect if someone is poisoned or not
And I really don't want to do SAT
Not because its hard or boring, or even because it seems useless but because
it just seems so *******
useless and irrelevant
And I want to stop living the life I want to live on a **** website
Because its opened my mind so much but I want to SEE sunflowers instead of
looking at pictures of them and I want to SEE
elephants and kittens instead of just
looking at them and I want to
feel a connection with a human being rather than just imagining what it would be like and I don't mean romantic relationships, no
But I just want to stop being so ignorant
And I want to know everything
And really all I want to go is forget that
I have to study tomorrow
I just want to go on a car ride
And stick my head out of the window, like a dog
Because I am happy, like a dog
Just why am I LIMITING myself?
For what???
I want to talk to people
I want them to teach me something
Because people are nature Tamille
Some people are delicate flowers
Some people are raging thunderstorms
Some people are disarrayed forests
Some will leave me breathless, some will knock me down
And some will be gardens and some will be SUNSETS and
I want them all to teach me something
And I want to speak my mind and look HIM whoever he may be
In the eye and and I want to stop being so small
And I may be insignificant but I'm an infinity
Because all galaxies are infinite
I read that there are as many atoms in a single molecule of DNA as there are stars in a typical galaxy
each of us are our own UNIVERSE
And thats why we burn too brightly sometimes and thats why we
collide sometimes and thats why we
collapse inwards sometimes and thats why we explode sometimes and start anew
And I want my soul to project outwards
I want whatever of me that is trapped in my bones to just
spill out
And I want someone to feel all the love and happiness I have in me from
across the room
And I want to stop being so closed up and insecure and timid
I think you're a towering mountain Tamille
Or thunder
I wouldn't say you're lightning
But I'd say my mom is a delicate flower and my dad is a powerful river and my brother is a colorful sky and I want to be
a forest
I just want to stick my head out of a car window, like a happy dog
Because I am happy
I don't want to be young and scared even though I know its okay to be scared
But I want to stop swallowing my words and stop being so paralyzed
Because I can do whatever I want
I must set fire to my old self
I must start anew.
Why am I so scared for WHAT
For what
Okay so what do I do now
I think saying all that was a good start
Here's whats not going to happen
I'm not going to wake up late tomorrow
or not too late
And I'll go for a walk
To the pecks
And I'll play with the chickens
And I'll read with the chickens
I'm just burning right now
And now it seems silly to sleep
Tamille, when I come to LA for winter break
We will go out on drives at 11pm, even 2 am
For the sake of living
And we will walk alongside the beach at preposterous hours of the day
Simply for the sake of living
And we won't be phonies
Because thats silly
And we must try not to be phonies
Just for the sake of living
But of course I can't just be this spontaneous extemporaneous person online
I need to be like that Offline
more than anything because I just
need to talk to people more
And I need to see the jellyfish and I watch them with their tentacles floating upwards and downwards and just there in what is to them, an abyss
Maybe we're like
jellyfish in an abyss
Like how humans just watch jellyfish in containers
Maybe we're the jellyfish
I need to be a good memory to people
Because we remember more than we think we do
So I must try my best to be a positive remembrance
I can teach  someone something
I can teach a random stranger something
I can teach my mom something
I can teach my 85 year old neighbor something
I can teach you something
It feels wrong to say all that and then go to bed
So I think I'll just walk outside and stare into infinity once more
And then ask my dad if we can go on a car ride one more time
And then I'll come back in my room and read about global warming
Or maybe I'll read about global warming outside
Because a child educated only at school, is an uneducated child
And I hope you read all this because out of everyone I chose you to tell it to you
And i hope your response isn't just "go do all that then"
I hope you read all the many messages
And now I will log off of facebook
I hope you also wake up in the morning and make it a great day
Not "hope you have a good day"
But rather
Make it a great day

as if a breathe of fresh air
I saw you on the olive stream
a haze of bendy trunks and quiet
not knowing where the roots will cling,
but it travels the soil nonetheless

now, to hold you at dusk and dawn,
in the gaps between the tree crowns,
a robust engine in a tender, muted forest

I hum to the echo of a whispering twitch

and as you run from edge to edge
I wait for you at the center

Stencils and pencils
Sharpener mishaps
Doodles, scribbles
Scrambling shades
Blending sketches
Running axis points
Spherical shadows
Tinting hints and hues
Pencilled portraits
Cruel crooked eyes
The bendy nose
Philosophical muse
Artistically inspired
Shading and fading
Realistically amused
Fused within reality
Surreal tuned vices  
Meet-ups and sit ups
Outlines freakily patched

THE TRUE STORY

The wolf sat on the ground.

Little Red Riding Hood
sat at his feet.

"Well, well, well, so
here we are again!"

said Mr. Woolf in a faux
English accent

he had picked up from watching
Peter O'Toole be Lawrence of Arabia.

"Some apple juice my dear
have some apple crumble do!"

enquired Mr. Woolf of his
fairy story cohort.

"I baked it myself you know
molasses instead of sugar

gives it that dark flavour
oh and a little touch of ginger!"

Little Red Riding Hood
wolfed down the apple crumble.

Sipped...slurped
noisily through a bendy straw

annoying the silence that
gathered itself around her.

There was a piece of apple
crumble on her nose.

For a little girl she
had a big appetite.

The wolf ate nothing.

"We can't go on like this
any minute now a child

somewhere in another
somewhere

will start our story
by opening a book.

I will be called upon
to eat you and Granny up.

I don't even like
grannies for gawd's sake!"

Mr. Woolf had tears that
refused to fall.

It's got...it's...got
to somehow stop!"

Little Red Riding Hood burped.
"Pardon!"

So, when the child I used to be
opened the story once

upon a time it was
simply not there.

There was nothing there.
Nothing but a great big ****** blank.

Somewhere in another somewhere
Little Red Riding Hood

swung on a swing
Mr. Woolf pushing her

higher and
higher into

a summer blue
sky.

the night i found a woodland pigeons roosting
on my guttering, tried to catch it given
the maxim: better a robin in your hand,
than a dove on your roof, but failed, and
to my surprise, felt no feeling of failure,
nothing competitive, and the world needs this
at this moment, the shattering of the clocks,
for a moment, to hold your breath and take
snapshots of the world as if drowning -
with a held breath, and ninja gymnastics
slowly edging toward the pigeon perched
in the guttering... do people understand that
poetry isn't about competing in the Olympics?
you can't laurel crown a poet of ability
among others, just like you can't discourage others
from the freedom to write it, however ridden with
orthodox methodology, or however concerned
with the purity of a narrative...  nor can you
have poetic prodigies - poetry takes time,
it takes fermentation, it's not one of those first
come first served allocations of ability...
it takes years, experience, i'm not talking about
a viola player in an orchestra, reduced to
muscle work, sure, you can be the muscular equivalent
of a viola player in an orchestra in poetry,
that's the easy part, tweak a few things in your
imitation and we're set to go... you'll be known
as pseudo-Plato or some other grand name...
you can't become a prodigious poet, i.e. if your
mother or father was a poet... this is the only
place where Sartre's existence precedes essence
takes form, elsewhere it doesn't,
the most evident i.e. is time flies when you're
having fun - the presupposed essence of time
defines the supposition of having fun and
the non-existence of time - the two together are
what's required of a proposition taking form -
fiddling with the prefix doesn't concern anyone that
much, i.e. a preposition is lodged between
the presupposition (preposition) and supposition -
as i said before, systematisation is a method of
economising vocabulary - a boa constriction, a restraint,
imagine yourself being a pauper while writing out
lavish decking, chairs, marble toilets and gold-gilded
toilet seats, tacky stuff according to the failing
of the concept of money, once gained: to lavish out
on things, to keep the merchant class constantly busy
and adaptable - what with the Koranic procedures
we can be assured that there will be a constant
confidence in producing, selling, exchanging,
or the tonne of food thrown out because it didn't sell.
like growing vegetables, you probably ingest
5 nutritious poems a day, the rest you throw out...
you take a fat poem, a protein poem, whatever,
there's always a variation on what poem fills
the carbohydrate allowance, but the rest is thrown out...
a thinking man's poem is fibrous, that means:
slow on digestion, reminding, an agitating gnat
or mosquito; but it truly is a case of having to be
an entertaining narrator, without character study -
or character concern - in that i lend myself
to the poetic practice of ensō - one smooth stroke
and the narrative is finished - also a culminating point
of worth consideration, name revelation 13 -
and the suggestion: what the contemporary affairs
would also suggest -
it's kinda funny when you think about it...
isn't the beast from the sea Moses and the beast
from the earth Jesus?
early Christianity probably wasn't prone to iconoclasm,
only when it reached popularity this
iconoclasm play a key role...
but what does John actually write?
in our modern tongue? Moses (the dragon) and
Jesus (the beast), as stated in the tale:
the transfiguration, or the shifting of power -
who is able to make war against the beast?
the Antichrist (some words have been kept in
straitjackets, use them, they either think you're
mad, or religiously psychotic, under-use them
and they fall into the wrong hands... bit of a juggle,
but coming from a religious school education,
i'd keep such words categorised in controversy
as euthanasia and abortion); so unto the beast...
a mouth speaking great things and blasphemies
(sermon on the mount), and the deadly wound was
healed (the crown of myrrh, and the resurrection),
and they worshipped the dragon and they
worshipped the beast - many do still preserve
"tact" of kneeling before an icon, esp. in orthodox
tradition... and the blasphemies,
well, i'm not sure Jesus was crucified for nothing...
see how people can make you look silly when you
use parts of their vocabulary? you write Jesus
and immediately you can't think of an Eddie Izzard
sketch... you're trapped with how other people
over-use certain words, keep them "sacred" in order
that they might be treated as sustenance...
some people write the word tomato or potato and
get a meal out of it, others write Jesus and they
win the ******* lottery with their flock of goody-two-shoes
fanning their ***** in packed churches in the Bible Belt.
then there's John doing a bit of Spartacus -
if any man have an ear, let him hear -
by the way hunter s. thompson was keen to study this
book too... he that leads into captivity...
and when did i not felt being captive under Christianity?
they catch you early on, get you educated in *******
and then release you into the world as mince meat;
it's all a fatal exercise in / of metaphor -
i'm not surprised rushed toward the book of Genesis
for a stability of thought, trying to
write an equivalent of Paradise Lost, i.e. Paradise
Regained basing it solely on the book of Revelation
with is complex use of metaphors would drive
anyone mad... so far i'm stumbling, we have
the dragon giving power to the beast of the sea
(Jesus' harem of nuns, water, juiced up *****)
and then we have the beast of the earth -
then there's the many deceptions or "miracles"
that Jesus did - any magician will gladly succumb,
altogether the purposes of any image,
not a statue, but an image, basically a sphinx on paper,
how ancient worship of statues and building them
turned into a worship of oil-on-canvas...
from 3D into 2D... by the time we reach 1D we are
talking the big bang... oh, right... we're talking
about the origins of the universe already...
i'll test you: compose me a Milton-like poem working
from the book of revelation and never touching on
the book of Genesis - let's face it, the only poetically
riddled book of the New Testament is the book
of Revelation... and it truly is a ****-up for any poet
to consider... easier to be a novelist and joke
at the bible being accessible in every motel room
across America... such books are agitators,
they're implants, something you get rid off in your
spare time, bite out the access of such books to your mind
like a dog with rabies... praying:
just so i don't have to wear the Golgotha geometry,
just so i don't have to wear the Golgotha geometry...
in summary? to me the dragon is Moses
(every Greek would side with the Egyptians given
Alexandria and whatnot), armed with all the physics
bending plagues (yes, i think they're true,
Darwinism is no better at their myth of Tarzan,
given we're watching sprinting 100 metres in under
10 seconds, everything starts to look ridiculous given that),
yes, both assumptions are quiet honestly absurd,
it just depends where you want to begin with:
the clash of fur versus tanned buttocks,
or the clash between female genital mutilation
versus male genital mutilation...
i told you, i am circumcised during ***, i roll the *******
back, and hey pesto! a helmet!
i think i better change the concept of enso into
a concept of the waterfall, just for the exotica (but there's
no exotica in globalisation, it's hard keeping
history and learning to get together without
some part of us rebelling to rekindle ancient wrestling),
aha! taki! can you imagine what would have been
if the Egyptians were able to keep their ideograms?
they wouldn't ever have kept them to see them off
on the evolutionary sprint to success, they weren't
using matchsticks like the Chinese were using
and kept on using, waiting for numbers to prop up
and tell you Hong Kong was 1 million light years away
from Beijing... because it was all d'uh to them
and the Mongolian harmonica imitation of the steppe
idiot laughing at a horse taking a **** like
a male dog taking a ****, giddy up on the leg over.
i'm well surprised the Chinese ideogram is alive...
it's a source for many ideas, without me even wanting to
travel there... they built the great wall of China with their
ideograms, the wall itself was unnecessary to protect
the people from Mongolian optometrists...
that's the key in Chinese, using matchsticks the sounds
are pretty much basic: Xi Lung Chi - or Chang Chewy Lo,
pretty crap, isn't it? i agree, their strength comes
best expressed by their proficiency in less matchsticks
included in the Jenga of 1, 2, 3, i mean the bendy bits,
we Europeans have to first remember the aesthetic,
then the dyslexia antidote to get our ideas out and into
the open, for the Chinese every ideogram is
not a letter but another bright new idea... eo or ea-,
whatever... 1 billion of them content with the scraps
of individuation waiting for them... with us it's
about conquering the world, but our **** doesn't sell
in Mongolia... when was the last time
you picked up a newspaper and read news from
Mongolia? the 13th century and Genghis Khan?
probably. god, feels great to unwind without
paying too much attention on the book of revelation,
every time i muster the strength to consider
religious topics i immediately feel i'm claustrophobic
and want to get out...
that book is still but a fatal exercise in metaphor -
it's overly-poetic, the book of Genesis is full of
princely imagery, but the book of Revelation
is not compatible with imagery, a garden and three
characters makes imagining it far more easily
than the three characters in the book of Revelation
on a beach... when i think of a garden i think
of vineyards and pear orchards, i.e. wine and cider -
when i think of the beach i only think of
hot dog selfies of a girl's tanned legs... and that
ain't helping... and why people vacate on beach
resorts but are scared of swimming in the sea,
and only want the sea as a canvas when swimming
in the hotel swimming pool.

well... i know how you love to be made expectant with psychological premature ******* of ideas, other than banking, banana tweaking ****** the bendy part? i was asking the ****... is that Croatian **** in Korean? elevator blues, diarrhoea... welcome a suburb of Saul and we'll have Bangkok for jokes... did she just squint her eyes at me? hard to tell... squinting in Asia is like killing Jews in German occupied Poland, December in Krakow, is that snow or Auschwitz ash? see how poor the joke is, even with English black humour? Monty Python seems more like Benny Hill right now - i too love kids, preferred their limbs on toothpicks with Kentucky glace dip sauce... but you said: cheap Romanian, so i said: alright ******, you go back to the construction site, we'll send the Irish concrete layers home, we'll send the polish plumbers and the roofers home, we'll send the german installers of glass home...  how many office worker in this country would like to work in the outdoors? **** me, given facebook, instagram and twitter, gucci and the new **** of the fashion industry, revisionist capitalism and solo brands... um... about...  none;
they won't exit Europe, they're not as evolved as the Swiss or the Norwegians, sure they have the 0, 0 coordinates of Darwin, a starting point, but that doesn't mean they're Swiss or Norwegian -
well sorry, but that's how it stands, i'll be happy to send
the Romanians and the Bulgarians and the Poles home... can we dismantle the Shard while we're at it? it's not supposed
to be here... i don't blame the Russians feeding a father-role for
Putin, the anonymity of western democracy just gets to me,
i get ****** over by anonymous poker players, gamers, prior to computers we had a different sort of gamers, call them retards,
call them nerds, they're one and the same; they think they read
novels having recited maxims of the plot to perfect Italian choir of
an operatic - it really doesn't matter, i'll just bunch-up together
a few ******* to build me a castle like in the old days,
and it'll just be a sweet sixteen William IV in the Encyclopaedic enclosure of former economic dynamics of who boxed,
who rapped, who played basketball, who sprinted against Adolf,
while the natives lost the plot in zoological enclosures
and the hybrids invented souls to counter such
enclosing.

Timetable torn in two

Covered in fluff, grit and

Other unidentifiable residue

Instructs you

Where you should be

Weekday between nine and three

If not held together right

You’ll be going to English class

At midnight



A blue pen in hiding

Has blown its cover

Left bendy and limp

Adding its mark to your

Timetable print

But you will struggle on, I know

With tongue stuck out to one side

Concentrating, not daring

To ask for another



The shatterproof ruler

A claim too hard to ignore

Reduced to smaller plastic bits

None of which will measure

Over an inch, I’m sure

But you will have a go

Underlining, shifting, underlining

And shifting

With your bendy limp blue pen



The fallout of wrappers

Of the hubba bubba crew

Shoved in your mouth

One directly after another

Sending your jaw into a

Slow motion, over committed, chew

Breaking down the matter

Of which would

Fill a crack in a nuclear reactor



The tangled and twisted wires

Umbilical cord of twins

Connects to your head

To feed you from a placenta

Of surround sound

Via your ears

It makes you sing so sweetly

Without knowing I can hear



Emptying your blazer pocket

I find you and I feel joy

My beautiful, beautiful boy

Yelling at a screen after-hours
With old friends and passersby

Getting drunk in desperation
And hooking up with a boy I didn't know at all
After smoking a jointswith a boy outside
Who I cared to get to know, quite a bit

Dancing around the house that I couldn't have known
Would become a strange sort of home;
Covered in candle wax and visions of Depropheria
With brand new, beautiful friends

Neck craning upwards in the Grove of
Titans: the closest thing to God on Earth

New beginnings and transient visions of forever
On a magical bus ride to New York City

Making love for the first time in my bed,
Our bodies joining and intertwining while
My future slept on the couch downstairs

A teary goodbye and a journey to a lakeside
In the middle of the night where that future,
Which blew through like a whirlwind of a summer storm,
Was foreshadowed once again

Empty bottles lining your counter and you
Tearing down, just before leaving,
All my fences too

Making love for the last time in your bed
Right before the bubble of us popped,
Leaving me only with a bowl of soapy water
And a bendy straw: so many
New chances ahead

A whole community: the family to get me through
That love just passed and the happy moments too-
Falling asleep next to someone new
And clinking glasses on the dock
With a vegan pizza to top it off

The final falling apart of April to August
And a new heartbeat pulsing in
The quiet spaces between my fingers

Trying a new drug at the top of a tree
And laughing all through the journey,
The LSD nothing and your friendship everything

Flickering fluorescent lights reminding me
Of all I've lost; of all I've gained
In this beautiful year
Of 2013

Drinking lemonade with a hint of port
ice
fruit
and bendy straw

thinking lemonade with a hint of port
nice
cute
and I want more

Read to me about things i'll never see
Imagine I'm sitting up in a hospital bed
Cradled by white cotton pillows infused with bleach
Empty clear bendy plastic cups sit neglected
My usual lipstick stains stayed in the handbag today
Your fingertip bruises decorate me instead
I once thought:
There is no better colour than the colour that they put into your eyes
That is the colour of the liquid that they have put in the drip bag
I might not be able to picture that colour, but I recognise the feeling of it entering my body
Rusty clots and mascara dust barricade it from leaving

Maybe not immediately
Or in a weeks time
But the cells of my heart muscles are becoming saturated with the juices
Becoming preserved in syrup
Seized and breathless

I knew that from the very first time I have been a can of something
Its label torn off
Unsealed and bleeding
And we both knew Duct tape couldn't keep that together
Still my hands were cupped trying to clasp
But now Its embedded under my fingernails.

sugar boy,
your heart is caked like a treat,
soft as a bendy gummy;
but your eyes are what get at me,
for they shine like those
glow-in-the-dark rubber bands
that little kids played with.

sugar boy,
you're as sweet
as those dum-dum
lollipops.
your smile is as gentle
as a little, innocent kid
who is listening for
the ice cream truck.
your tears, however,
look so salty and
burn your face with
blackness.

sugar boy,
i'll wipe away those tears.
i'll make them fade
by a soft kiss on the lips.
i'll caress your ginger colored
cheek with my dry hands,
i'll make us both sweet lovers,
both so imperfect.

A walk to the bus stop anymore
Is big trouble
The way big steam ships pass by
With a groan and a shudder
Old men walk by
On their stilts up so high
Talking on horns that light up the sky

A pack of boys in black  shorts
Go running right by
With glasses taped together
They shoot at the sky
With the single most dangerous
Man made gun
One pointer finger
And one bendy thumb
Yellow toothed smileys
Try to sell you a deal
Powders and diamonds
That make your head reel
But I ain't buyin'
I've had enough
I'm savings up
To get myself out  
The stairs on the buildings all coiling and rusted
The mold on the billboards molded and crusted
Two big eyes
And a glass bottle of coke
Oh please please buy me
Must be a joke
Because I work hard for a penny a day
And I'm saving each penny
To run far far away

You put in a bendy straw
And ******
Out all the color of an already vanilla milkshake
Telling the difference between real and fake
Telling you something you don’t believe
Was a doctor rolling up his sleeves.

i am cold in a winter that isn't
so much like winter

i am frozen in the idea of magazines
thinspo
and whatever the opposite of that is

it is still encouraging

i want a ballerina body
i want to surround myself in water and green tea
avocados

i want to be bendy
well, bendier
i want collar bones to push out
ribcage to jut out
thin arms
thin waist

i am tired of stretchmarks and sadness

I don't know how to tell my parents I'm struggling.
Because one minute I'm a giggling
12 year old,
sleeping over at friends houses,
laughing at nothing,
eating junk food
and watching horror movies,
the next minute I'm a bumbling
17 year old,
and someone has pulled the plug out of my bath,
I'm cold and shaking,
alone in a cylinder cube that's spinning and spinning
and spinning out of control,
I can't move my arms because of the speed,
it's throwing me in directions I never knew existed
until now,
as I'm cascading down a waterfall,
plummeting to the ends of the earth,
I scream for mercy at a God I don't know,
and wish I attended church once a week,
prayed to a religion I don't believe,
just to feel comfort wrap their arms around me,
but still, amidst the wreckage
and the bendy, broken bones
and my calloused feet from running around in my head all day,
I pull myself up,
shake my head and watch as my tears fall
from my face, just like the dust from my hair,
and I take a bath,
and I continue.
Even though I ache and I cry,
and I feel I could die,
I soldier on throughout the wind and the rain,
and as the hail falls forth from the skies,
and pandora's box opens
I scream:
"Yes! I made it!"
because I had gotten up that morning and attended my morning classes,
even though I have shapes and welts where the hail had hit,
I still laugh like I'm
12 years old again.
I bandage my wounds,
and watch as they scar,
and although I hide them,
and slander and name call them,
I kiss them now and again to
make sure they heal.
Because I can't be sure when someone will
kiss me to make me recover,
so I kiss myself to sleep every night,
and tell myself I'm worthy of it.
Just so I can wake up and smile.

To a world that's spinning out of my control.

you ****** me up through a bendy straw
while i sipped on you through a coffee stirrer
granulates of sugar i was
granulates of salt you were
granulates of sugar you was
granulates of salt i were
stirred into a tub mug
bathed within–a girl
pruned and shriveled by creamed cold whips
lashed from a devil’s tail
pale and stale her fingers became
fingers curled and coiled around a bendy straw
face clenched at hinges  
dental spikes meet at coffee stirrer, chewed soft
one sip sufficient

THE CANBERRA CROWD ARE A PACK OF YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS



YOU SEE, I DISAGREE WITH ARGUING WITH PARENTS

I ALSO FEEL MY HOOLIGAN CREEPING INTO MY TOES

I AM A FAMILY PERSON, WHO AIN’T SHY

I DON’T WANT TO BE TOLD TO RELAX BY A STUPID NERD

I DON’T **** PEOPLE OFF, NERDS **** PEOPLE OFF

AND I AIN’T A NERD, YOU SEE, TODAY I WAS FUNNY

COME ON SAY, I LIKE YOU BRIAN YOUR FUNNY, SAY THAT MATE

I HATE DAD’S VOICE IN MY HEAD, TREATING ME LIKE A SHYPERSON

BUT I WAS SHY WHEN I WAS YOUNG,

BUT I LIKE TO BE CALLED A FAMILY PERSON

YOU SEE, I SEE DAD, SAYING I THOUGHT YOU WANTED ME TO DO THIS

I WAS A BIT OF A HOOLIGAN WHEN I WAS YOUNG

BUT I AM REFORMED, I STILL LIKE FISH AND CHIPS

I HATE VOICES TRYING TO MAKE YELL ON THE ROADSIDE

IU NEVER LIKED DOING THAT

IT’S HARD, TO BE TREATED LIKE  A LITTLE SHY BOY

BY THE GROUPS YOUR WITH AND YOUR VOICES

IT’LL BE FUN TO MEET GREAME THORNE’S FAMILY

IT’S FUN TO LIVE IN A WORLD, THAT THE MENTALLY ILL

ARE MY FRIENDS

I KNOW HE’S MY FATHER, BUT I HATE IT, NO MATTER HOW MANY PEOPLE

SAYING DAD WAS INSPIRATIONAL, YEAH, BUT HE SEEMED TO LIKE TEASING ME

WITH THE REALLY PERFECT PEOPLE, I LIKE DAD, AND I WISH PATRICK WOULD

TELL ME, LIKE BE HIS MATE AGAIN

YOU SEE, JUST BECAUSE I AM 45, DOESN’T MEAN I SHOULD GET PUSHED DOWN

BY ******* DAD, HE WAS *******, YEAH, DAD, THE SMART APPROACH

WOULD TEASE LIKE A FAMILY PERSON, CAUSE DAD’S WAY WILL NEVER EVER WORK

HE TRIED TO CARE FOR ME, BUT, IN THE WRONG WAY

I WOULD’VE LOVED IF DAD WAS ONE OF THOSE COOL FATHERS

WHO THINKS SITTING IN THE MIDDLE OF A 333 LONG BENDY BUS IS COOL

I FEEL THAT DAD WAS TRYING TO AVIOID GETTING ROBBED

BUT I HATED DAD DOING THE STUPID FIGHTING CALLING ME FOOL AND COWARD

DAD IS NOW ELIZABETH ANN CAMPBELL,

HERE IS A THOUGHT, TEASE ME THROUGH CYBER SPACE, AND CHANGE KIDS WAY OF THINKING

I LIKED PATRICK BACK THEN, BETTER THAN DAD, I WAS LETTING MY BROTHER MOVE ON

THE REASON WHY I HAD MY PARENTS OVER FOR XMAS PARTY DINNER

WAS BECAUSE I LOVE PARTIES, AND NOBODY BESIDES ONE MATE WANTED TO COME TO MY HOUSE

SO I LOOKED LIKE A CULE KID, YA KNOW, DAD HELPED ME LIKE THAT, I DON’T NEED TOUGHENING UP

YOU CAN’T STOP FIGHTING WITH FIGHTS, IF DAD WANTS TO SAY I AM NOT YA DADDY

SAY IT THROUGH ELIZABETH ANN CAMPBELL

AND I PARTY RIGHT TO THE END OF THE WORLD

I HATE BEING TREATED LIKE A BIG GIRL, GET THESE VOICES OUT OF MY FUCKEN HEAD

I AM A FAMILY PERSON, PLEASE I WOULDN’T MIND HAVING KIDS BUT I ACCEPT THAT, I AM NOT LIKE LYLE

I WANT TO HAVE YOUTUBE COMPANIONS CAUSE I HATE PATRICK TELLING ME BE A KOOMARRI TO MUCK AROUND WITH

I KNOW THEY ARE TREATING ME NORMALLY BUT I BELIEVE MY ITCHY FEET, IS MY HOOLIGAN LEAVING MY BODY

IT’S NOT MY LITTLE YOUNG DUDE

I DON’T WANT TO FIX MYSELF UP WITH MY PARENTS

CAUSE, I HATE BEING TREATED LIKE A HOOLIGAN, NO MATTER

YA SEE, FROM DEEP WITHIN, THERE IS A LITTLE SHY BOY, THAT NEEDS TO GET OUT

YOU SEE, I HATE BEING TREATED LIKE A BIG GIRL, A SHYPERSON, SO TO SPEAK

YA SEE, EVERY ITCH, IS MY HOOLIGAN, ANYONE WHO GETS ITCHY INFECTION’S LIKE MY ITCHY INFECTIONS

IT MEANS YOU EITHER HAVE AN EVIL PAST IN THIS LIFE, AND AN EVIL PREVIOUS LIFE

EVERYONE HAS A HOOLIGAN TRAPPED INSIDE THEM

BUT I BELIEVE YOU HAVE TO REALLY ITCH TO GET RID OF IT

YA SEE, I LOVE LIFE, AND I LOVE TO PARTY IN LIFE, I WISH DAD AND PATRICK WOULD GET OUT OF MY HEAD

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ATTEMPTING TO STAY UP ALL NIGHT, I DO SLEEP, ON THE CHAIR

BUT DAD WANTS TO BRING MY BIG MAN INTO ACTION, BECAUSE HE WORRIES LIKE A COTTON WOOL ADULT

THAT IS WHY, I TOLD HIM I WAS TEASING HIM, I TEASED HIM BY SAYING

YOU SHOULD SMOKE AGAIN DAD, I AM PATRICK DUNBAR AND GREAME THORNE

AND I REMEMBER, BEING ALBERT WALDRON, AND THAT HOTEL, WAS THE BEST HOTEL IN THE LAND

I AM HEARING MY BULLY WITH MY BROTHER, AS I AM TYPING THIS STORY,I AM HEARING MYSELF THROUGH PATRICK

YOU SEE, I HATED DAD, BUT I GREW TO LIKE HIM, BUT HE SEEMED TO TAKE THAT ALL AWAY

REALLY, NOBODY CAN SEND BRIAN ALLAN TO BED, JUST BECAUSE

YOU NEED TO UNDERSTAND I WALKED AROUND FROM HOUSE TO HOUSE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

I LIKED THAT THEN, BUT NOW I MUST GROW UP INTO A PARTY LOVING MAN

A FUN LOVING GUY TO BOOT

I AM A FUN LOVING GUY, AND THEN EVERYONE SAID, *******, I SAID, I HAVE THE RIGHT TO MUCK AROUND

DAD IS LOOKING OUT FOR ME, BUT HE IS FUCKEN COTTON WOOLING, I HATE WHEN PATRICK IN MY HEAD BE’S A FATHER FIGURE TO SAY I’M NOT YA DADDY

THAT IS NOT NICE AT ALL

I love you.
I love you more than
A warm summer afternoon
On the back porch
With a novel
And an iced tea
In a mason jar
With a pink bendy straw
And music floating on the breeze.
But what I'd love even more than you
Would be to unite you and me
And the back porch and the iced tea
And throw in a dance with that music.
I'd remember that summer day forever.

Earlier time's my younger days when I was about sixteen
Awareness of the fairer *** when I was sexually keen
**** time's that I did crave why were the girls so mean
When it came to getting ****** my **** was never seen
I thought about their naked ***** whether fat or lean
Activities in **** arts who cares where thier **** had been

If you get your ******* off making sure your **** is bare
Bending over the bed with your cheeks up in the air
Or knelt upon the sofa with my fingers through your hair
I will stuff my hotdog up inside your Derryair

Too many benders coming out and lots of ugly lags
Never enough willing girls and I could never find no slags
There wasn't any nice girls just ******* ***** bags
All I could attract we're bendy boys and horrible *** hags

Getting blow jobs really ****** my **** was never blown
Lots of *****'s I would poke but none of them were shown
I didn't get no ***** and my seeds were never sown
Just left pulling on my plonker and wanking on my own

I could have had a ******* from all of those Gay boys
Or offered ******* ******* from dried up hobbledy hoys
But I didn't want a crap **** or play with those boys toys
So I never got to **** to much or make that **** noise

Now I am mid forties and I want the same thing now
I still want to stick my **** in some nice meow.
There's only skanky sourpuss or some old stupid cow
I am still in the same boat I have nothing to plough

I still want some nice ***** I'm still in that same phase
Lots of naked ladies ****** in lots of different ways
I'll have to keep on searching until to my dying days
The line is drawn at hobbledy hoys and most definitely gays

Love is bendy,
Love is warm.
Love is light in all its forms.

It has no shape,
It has no weight.
It is the nemesis of hate.

Love is forever,
Love is today.
Love feels like it's here to stay.

Fully ambulatory with
onanist wrists,
neither whig,
nor tory,
nor communist,
he's loose lipped
loose hipped
quite well equipped,

he's bendy n trendy,
he's buff, n ripped.

not quite castrato
and gives good vibrato
to choirboys mulatto -
with belly button fluff.

Obi.

That's Grass Poem
5/16/2014

If you think about it hard enough, you can feel the life tingling on tips of grass.  As if they are blades true to their name, yearning to clash against your soft skin soaked in the sun's sweat.  The thrill of the fight when you're feeling alive.  That's grass.

Getting chopped up into tiny pieces by the violent churning grummm grummm grummm of a mechanical ****** machine, the lawnmower.  Spurting out what's left, the ruins of a once emerald empire, into twisty bendy bits thrown to the fierce winds, allowed to dissipate into dust at dusk.

Who thought time could pass without you?  That's grass.

I went to the park the other day and guess what I saw?
Grass.  But on top of it.  There were picnic tables adorned with checkered table cloths, and I could just smell the waft of hot dogs, hamburgers, and acidic pickles.  But this is not about what I saw.  Not what I smelled, nor the fabricated memory I longed for as the moment fleeted, like a photograph fade out at the movie credits, when the characters' lives become just what they always were - figments of your imagination, allowed to live on the big screen for just a brief moment of viewing pleasure.  

I saw a family of four.  Picturesque, painting the scene one would like to see.  A father, mother, and two children.  Sons of separate ages.  Laughing, that laughter.  If I could just capture one of their smiles and keep it in a jar, I wouldn't have to ever go very far to feel happy.  And who knows if they went home later that day and cursed each other, or pulled out their phones at the dinner table, completely ignoring the company of one another.  Maybe, just maybe they hated each other with all the scathing loath one's own family can create.  But, they had the option.  They could grow together.  That's grass.

A. They had the ability to knock on your door and be told you're too busy to talk.  B. They had the ability to call you and let it ring to voicemail.  C. That older son had the ability to sneak out of the house late at night and wonder if you've noticed and been worried.  D. The younger son had the ability to have you drive him in your car and receive whatever wisdom you'd choose to share, even if it's only a belch or burp and then have a nice day school.  E. The mother, she had the ability to be a human being with you and live life happily, not just a mom, but a partner in love and life.  

W. The ability to see your smile at the law school acceptance letter.
C. The ability to ask you for a cash loan when times were tough.
M. The ability to watch sci-fi movies with you in bed and eat Chinese food.
A.B.C. The ability to share life's monumental moments with you, like learning the alphabet.

Those sons, they had the ability to fight with you and refuse your request to pass the tv remote from across the room when you were sitting down comfortable, and they were standing up.  Something so shallow and stupid,  not giving a ****. not knowing that at a few minutes before midnight that Christmas Eve... you would leave.  Is this what grass is supposed to be?  A ****** broken down family.

I saw grass this Father's Day.  It looked a bit overgrown, but 9 years can do that I guess.  It's almost gotten hard to read that plaque on the ground, but I know it still says Michael, father, husband, survived by sons and loving wife, now lost to the grass.

Who thought time could pass without you, and I could continue to grow.
But that's grass.

Elbows
Knees
keep you
Bendy
And when someone tells you
' I bent over backwards'
and they are not an act in a circus
Just know they are big white lie fibbing.

S I AM SITTING WATCHING MY TV, I FEEL MYSELF BEING PULLED UP

TO BRING ME UP TO OUTER SPACE, AND ALSO GET RID OF MY SILLY DELLUSIONS

LIKE WATERING DOWN THE COMPUTER TO GROW A MONEY TREE ON THE INTERNET

AND TELLING MY PARENTS THEY AIN’T MY PARENTS

AND TO HELP IN THE HEALING OF THE MONEY TREE, I CLICKED ON A FERTILISER

WHICH HELPS GROW THE MONEY TREE

AND THEN AFTER THAT I PLAN TO ROB THE HAWKER SHOPS, AND DROP A FEW DOLLARS ON THE GROUND

TO GO BACK HOME TO JOI FAMILY AND FRIENDS TO SPURT MONEY DOWN TO THE POOR FROM PARADISE

YOU SEE, THE PARANORMAL WORLD ARE LIFTING MY BODY UP SAYING

WE ARE TAKING YOUR COOL KID AWAY, EVEN IF IT HURTS YA, CAUSE

IT LOOKS LIKE YOU DON’T WANT TO LET IT GO

YOU SEE I HATE BEING CALLED DUMMY

AND I HATE BEING CALLED A WOOSEY

I HATE BEING TREATED LIKE A DIFFERENT PERSON TO EVERYONE ELSE

I KNOW, DUDES IT’S BLOOD HARD TO DO, BUT AT LEAST GIVE ME THE ILLUSION OF A COOL PERSON

AT LEAST GET ME PAST THE MENTAL HEALTH NONSENSE OF MY PAST

AT LEAST GET ME PAST THE COOL KIDS, IN MY HEAD,

FOR, WHEN I WAS YOUNG I WAS TRYING TO FIT INTO THE COOL FAMILY LIFE

NONE OF MY FAMILY REALLY UNDERSTOOD, I SAT IN THE MIDDLE OF A BENDY BUS

MY FAMILY DIDN’T WANT TO

I WANTED TO GO TO DISNEYLAND IN THE USA, MY FAMILY PREFERRED TO WATCH DISNEY ON TV, WHICH IS FINER

I AM HAVING A SCHITZOPHRENIC WINGE, YOU SEE I WANT ALL MY KID LOOK TO PULL UP OVER MY BODY

AS DAD WANTS TO RID MY SILLY KID, HOOLIGAN, SO TO SPEAK, RIGHT OUT OF ME

YA SEE, DAD IS NOW BETTY, AND, I HEAR VOICES FROM MY PAST, LIKE PAT JUST SAID, I AM GOING TO **** YA BLOOD

AND MY BROTHER IS BEING A PROTECTOR, THINKING I HATE IT, SAYING, LEAVE BRIAN ALONE, BUDDY, HE’S NOT LIKE US

I HEAR PAT SAYING, MEN DON’T DO THAT THAT IS WHAT KIDS DO, PAT MIGHT GO TO BED

AND DAD IS TRYING TO PULL MY DELLUSIONAL HOOLIGAN OUT OF ME, WHICH MAKES PAT SAY

YOUR STILL A YOUNG DUDE BRIAN, DAD PULLS BRIAN’S DELLUSIONAL HOOLIGAN, AND PAT SAID, BRIAN IS STILL A YOUNG DUDE

AND THEN SAID, WE ARE JUST HAVING FUN WITH BRIAN’S BRAIN, MR AND MRS AND CHRIS AND BRIAN ALLAN

WE ARE JUST PLAYING WITH BRIAN’S BRAIN, THE VOICES ARE SAYING BRIAN ALLAN HATES LIFE, BUT THE TRUTH IS BRIAN ALLAN LOVES LIFE

AND I LIVE LIKE IT’S ONE BIG ADVENTURE, I GET A DELLUSIONAL TEASE AS MY BROTHER AND THE GUY THAT NICKED MY LUNCH

ARE LAUGHING AT ME, SAYING, WE FOOLED YA, BUDDY, OLE DUDE OLE PAL

WITH THEIR BIG YOUNG DUDE LAUGH THEY HAD BACK THEN

AND ME, BRIAN ALLAN, WANTS TO RID THOSE SILLY DELLUSIONS OUT OF ME, BY YOUNGER PEOPLE

I DON’T WANT TO BE AN OLD FOGIE ALL MY LIFE, I LIKE DOING THINGS

YOU SEE PAT IS SAYING, US BIG YOUNG DUDES ARE DOING WHAT WE USED TO DO, YA LITTLE SHY BOY

AND I SAY, I WANT TO GET RID OF THIS SILLY MOO COW AND SHIP DELLUSION AND WORRYING ABOUT IT, BEFORE I WORK AY COMMON BRAIN

AT PRESENT, PAT IS PUTTING MY KID WHEN I WAS YOUNG BACK INTO ME

AND THIS KID, IS MAKING ME ITCHY ALL OVER

AND ALSO PAT IS SITTING UP WATCHING TV SAYING, I AM JUST SITTING ON THE COUCH, I MEAN NO HARM

I SAID, I DON’T REALLY WANT ANYONE TO GIVE ME SPECIAL TREATMENT, YA KNOW WHY, DUDE

BECAUSE, I SORT OF KNOW MY CALLING

AND PAT HAS BEEN COOL, LYING ALL OVER THE FLOOR AND EATING BISCUITS ON THE LOUNGE AND ALSO SITTING THERE DRINKING HIS BEER YA SEE

WHILE I DO MY TAPESTRY

ANY DELLUSION WHICH HYPES UP PEOPLE

MY BROTHER GETS ON THE COMPUTER, SAYING YOUR STILL LIKE US, BRIAN AND PAT SAID ‘NO CHRIS, BE SHY FOR BRIAN

MY BROTHER SAID HE WASN’T SHY TO BE A COMPUTER BUFF, I AM NOT SHY TO BE A COMPUTER BUFF

ACTUALLY COMPUTERS ARE THE THING I LIKED ABOUT DAD, OUT OF THE MANY FAULTS

I LOVE TO MAKE THE COMPUTER WORK FOR ME LIKE DAD DID

PAT SAID, NO NO BRIAN IS STILL A YOUNG DUDE, BRIAN IS STILL YOUNG DUDE

DON’T BE BRIAN’S DADDY CHRIS, BE LIKE US, PAT SAID AS WELL AS SAYING NO NO NO

BRIAN IS STILL A YOUNG DUDE, AS PAT IS HAPPILY PLAYING AROUND THE HOUSE

TRYING TO GET ME TO CLKEAN MY HOUSE LATE AT NIGHT, YOU SEE PAT OLE BOY OLE PAL

I CLEAN DURING THE DAY WITH HELP, AND I CREATE ART AND WRITE AT NIGHT

AND I STARTED TO GET ITCHY, FROM THE TEASING BUG