Inversely Maggie May - Nothing Else on but the Guilt of Living

1.

It was a shuttle-service embargo. I exchanged the checked
shirts at port 1. I saw the Mammas & Pappas. I didn’t spot
the thumb-print of this outlet. Her name tag was poorly
filleted cod. Him with the early beard filled out a pad
newsagents don’t stock anymore. She asked why? Folding
up the zoo. Folding the polar bear - bored assistant #2.
‘I just don’t like them’. I veered off to the right into the
greens. I recognised the crease in someone’s arse. It began
with corduroy

2.

I have only down-beaten my curiosity. I have
re-shaped-spread my curiosity-admiration. I
took the axel from the geranium. The quoted flower.

I still gaze hard at those two pieces of coal in the
snow. I dismantled the arc-welded monkey-bars.
I hang my washing on my arms. I don’t ‘hoot’, up
on the first rung. I got this ‘normal’ syndicate arranged
(now).

I'm very bored at the dinner table & begin tracing
the patterns of the mat. It’s a puzzle for our window-
licker souls. I keep the posse occupied. I smile, smiling
Who’s timed-out? I got inspiration from ordinary things.
They have this much < > luck.

3.

I took old slim Michael’s thumb and pressed the
mushroom red button. I held it there to emphasise
waste. I heard some northern cack. It was Burnley
Burnley removed his cap & wiped his Jackson. I am
trying to tell Burnley without trots. I am drawing
back my bow & arrow. I see the youth sneaking
frozen chocolate into frozen condition jackets. The
Brylcream appears through the cardboard. I see
the canteen fish in the vent.

4.

I get a castle thrown at my synapse. I lick the cauldron.
It was not a free promotional activity. I was in a fix. I
slept on the angling-trophy steps. I returned to the cap-
ital the following. I had a quick look at Peter. I had a
quick shifty at Paul. I encompassed the bearings. I used
a list bullet-pointed with thorns. 1. 2. 3. etc up to 230.
I swapped seats. 1. 2. 3. etc up to 232. It was the two legs
on my glasses. I was bent. I wasn’t going to get arrested
for my anvil. I couldn’t see anyone lifting it. (it was all
another udder else)

5.

It was palm delivered. I froze half way into the
first gambit. Isn’t that the smell of burnt cheese?
I re-directed the complaint. I was asking for my
£36. I enjoyed the sliver in her jukebox. If I had
put a seat out for any, it was the madam 65%. I
I had her Neapolitan weighed. ‘Is that the heating
again?’ As bold as soaked wrestlers. She rushed
me against rules and regs. On Tuesday that week
it was just 61% madam. I am just one of many
card players.

6.

I am the guy talking in the audience. All through this live
recording of Oscar Peterson. This is 1969. This guy is still
talking. Talking out loud. Barking out gibberish. They
should throw him off the record. They should kick him in
the arse. There is no security listed on the sleeve. This guy
is making me paranoid. He is a lunatic. When everyone
claps, he claps loudest. & when Oscar announces a new
line-up for the next song, it occurs to me this guy is the
mob. He is the price. The drunken half wit brother-in-law
of jazz. This drunk. This embarrassment is what Oscar
must suffer. If Oscar wants all these wonderful instruments
to remain wonderful he’ll just play. & Oscar can iron
around him (of course he can, he’s the best) And soon his
cousin Vin will come collect him for some work and ask
him why he’s listening to this shit. Oscar knows the price
for assembling a successful trio on such short notice

7.

The jurisdiction of the puppy. America and its
neat lawns. I stirred the Christmas sauce. In the
white-house BB Shivers took down a centre-fold.
I froze the screen. I partially heard the phone
conversation. I tape the way he tenders to the
net-curtains. It is customary to drop a 20 into the
gut of the less well-off. Out on the White House
lawn a puppy sniffs floating seed. I have the op-
tion of two potatoes. I agree the linage and toast.
A say of absolutely no kudos.

8.

‘isobars’, by Miss Pratt. A luscious bird teacher home-
maker. I impressed the graduate with my comprehens-
ion relay. In all that was fair to the NUT I peered over
the numb-nut kids shoulders. ‘It’s in the swagger’, edu-
cation, emceeing. I tapped the barometer at the end of
the classroom. I wasn’t sad to see Mr Miller turn to
veg. I tapped again harder. I heard he was buried in
geography. I didn’t care. I had my pearl-necklace
dripping into the bosom. I tut-tutted as a trustee does.
It’s green and it spurts out green grass.

9.

I could pick his puck-lip out of a gristle cabaret. I
know 2+2. His is his hiding as an orphan-boy. I don’t
let on the weak shatter of dustbin-lids is ‘less-is-more’
Under the cardboard Venetian arched window (saw-
marks apparent) I see his mother dearest shave the
pooch for fleas. I got how his father dropped a loading
gate onto his chopstick chopper thumb. (The family
went a week throwing food down their shirt-fronts)
In that doorway I sold reggae and home-brewed
lager(s). I appreciate the sum of this life (so far) is a
woman putting your penis in her mouth upon a 2.4
litre mini-bus. I’ve sussed out the smell on the landing

10.

Miss Stephenson caught me stealing Monster Munch from the
tuck shop store. Caught me red-handed. I played the
idiot savant. My defence – I have no perception of any-
thing. I flashed her my pad, which was full of numbers &
letters. ‘That’s the formula’, I ran out. I hid in the sick-bay.
I met a curious fellow. He was feigning mental unrest. I
sold him an idiot savant pad. I now had an enterprise.
Within 2 weeks the whole school were idiot savants (even
some of the drama teachers) I got the best girl in the
school. I left with erratic qualifications (1 A, 1 C and 89
U’s) I got her pregnant but I didn’t know why. I went down
the social services and showed them my pad. I got a
mansion. I painted it bright yellow. I sold more pads.
Postman threw all the mail in the sea. Nurses turned people
blue. I got a film crew follow me. They made a program
about me. I met nelson Mandela. I sold him a pad. I was
always welcome in South Africa. I was knocking out 1500
pads a week. I shipped the operation to the Philippines.
I got pads in all languages. I got Bill Gates on my mobile.
I got NASA fitting me up the ultimate TV. I got 18 sets of
my old school uniform. I got Armani. I wear them in
Milan. I go by helicopter when I do.

11.

I wasn’t going to go ‘frank’ with ‘auto-tune - we tune
your motors’. I am happy to gurgle over the phlegm.
I twiddle a button and agree, ‘what a large manifold’
I traipse inside to fetch a cup of side-sheers (2 acres)
‘How’s she looking?’ I praised the counterpart. I want
his brain-nose algorithm. I don’t have a rag to wipe-
up with. I jelly-fry his gold sticker ripping into the
throng of back-roads. I got a speed-hunch (customer
of a dude sank under my bonnet) Justine O’Neil.

12.

I took the journey of a squiggle. I went exactly to
our still. I lumped together gorgeous curry smells.
I made a meal. I ran my finger down a panelled
division. In the seconds lace takes to understand
In the south-westerly edges of paper flutter. I turned
a corner known as ‘knuckle’. I said his Labrador
was seasoned. ‘Open the packet (meaning gate)’
I hate musicals but I love walking into one and
fucking it up!. My my the shingle was special. I
changed my name to Roxy. There is a magnitude
in the unofficial types

13.

If I don’t make claim on the estate. I’ll be the escaped
wheel from the racing-car. I said exactly what I’d pra-
catised saying in many dim rooms. We don’t even ever
calculate acting-ability in nodes of confrontation. Bizarre,
since, when it’s direct & on the button, life=greed. This
smooth sliding transition, one-only, no-replica. I scooped
vanilla ice-cream with karate eddies. I slung it at his bib.
I added (ring on finger) rip open that muffin – them berries
don’t show skid-marks.

14.

I went to view the house in elasticised waist-band. I
saw into the large cove. I only picked the apricots of
the shattered branches. I found this family-font brown.
I had my binoculars and went unlicensed. I roved in
the middle of negotiations. I undid the laces on mini-
flowers. I saw the attempt at Siamese sheds (one guy
complained)

15.

Her elder sister strongly disagreed with my use of ‘severe’
The rest was fine. ‘Severe attention to detail’, ‘(a) severe
attention to detail’, would betray our intended. I didn’t
disagree. I only added, ‘as it stands this application should
guarantee you an interview’. ‘Personally I would introduce
some quantitative statement to back up your claims but .., it
was short and succinct’. She had discussed this, that was
so. There was an appeal of it being on just one page. The
hundred or so applications this guy had to plough through.
‘And make sure you ask questions, have a few questions
ready’, ‘whether you’re interested in the answers or not?’,
‘example, how comes this position is available? training
prospects? what’s it like to work here?’ It was both a
disappointment and a sadness that she might have to
speak. ‘And shake their hand’, ‘no limp lettuce’, shake it
like so, and I showed her. Like so.

16.

I was rushed into mini-jeans. I am getting the
crowd on my side. My mother is turning me in
to a commuter. I wave from the balcony. The
girl next door has thick lice. I get a smack on
my bum. I am not allowed to accept my award.
I am late for school. I hate all the women in my
house and down my street. I whipped a girl at
school with her own skippy rope. She will know
not to tell lies on me. Where are all the men? I
am hailed in front of Miss Delhi, Miss Waltham-
stow, Miss Mum. Where are the cowboys? I hate
all the men too. I feel a special stone in my pocket.

17.

The economics of caviar brings the parental outfit
to customs. In the large fish eye was a disco. Moving
coarsely (some say) in the abattoir of astrology. Is
it a new wave? Storming up the stairs. I’d done it
recently too. I missed the final episode of ‘Open-All-
Hours’. There is the internal carnival of each rider
to consider. I dare say the Chancellor finds the odd-
glove on his desk. Concerned. How the fuck did that
get there?

18.

He was as old as a lamppost. Negating a fall
from a climbing-frame (out of hours). Grit
stuck into his lasagne face. I did have little
hands. We didn’t watch the road on crossing.
Throwing off sandal, after sandal in his mad
dual. The catholic priest would punish him.
Rod Stewart sang so pleasantly. ‘for sale’, junk
in a neighbours yard. He threw over a stack
of tyres. He didn’t give me time to choose the
hardest best ice-pole.

19.

I got welded into the corner seat. I didn’t think
any of her horse stories would ever sell. The
anecdote was always, ‘we took it out the oven
and it hadn’t risen properly but ha ho we did
what we could’. It was organised caging. It was
a small factory operative, ‘o you must understand’
I poked the fella next to me. ‘You getting any of
this’. He stroked his beard. ‘Is she actually saying
they bribe this stallion with castration?’ It is not
o.k not to be free I murmured. A horse isn’t a pet

20.

‘I’ve got a wet bum,’ I didn’t look up. It was from
her cycle ride in. She wasn’t in the same room.
‘You should have used a plastic-bag (to cover the
seat)’, ‘I tried to dry it, but I need to get a bike cover’
‘I'm keeping the bike outside’, ‘just use a plastic-bag’
What was so difficult with this logic? ‘That’s what
I used to use.’ I went on to add, it’s light, and cheap,
and you can pop one in your bag. ‘I can’t change my
pants, the boss is in the toilet’ I left it there. (2 hours
later) I see her jeans drying on the Jesus.

21.

On my gap gazing at the works. The colour of
cocoa for a moustache. If the itch was a cap, it
was summer. Dawn relayed an in-house cat-fight.
The radio was awful. The dentist had extracted her
nasal freight. The concert began. ‘It is white you
wanted’, ‘to go with the rest’. The radio was more
awful. I had a standard birch ready. I navigated
the piece-meal by bending bending bending one
note. ‘I don’t know where he sleeps? His room
is a box.’ The hole in my head chewed on its hole.
‘I think my brothers gay.’ I got a new stud.

22.

I approached Lavender Hill. I was the concierge. I
muttered the conkers. He was a possessed architect.
He was organised in July. His plastic see-through
wear, his shinny shoes. The builders mate was only
being his age. One minute later the hats were swap-
ped. They squabbled. A hip-flask unified the choir.
The hip-flask and the neat chair placed in the corner.

23.

I didn’t understand her Neptune. I didn’t compute.
I kept whittling waiting. I patted the back of the sick
canteen. It was all obscure motif badges. It was a
very new stretch of motorway. There was no livid
wildlife. There was no Mardi-grass posters billed. I
was an aerial. She was St. Petersburg. She spoke in
block-capitals. I extended them out to the perspec-
tive. The intrigue was shopping-cart. The holiday is
time-share.

24.

I underestimated the lagoon. I merely sniffed the
porch. I put a ball through the glass door. I lifted
the lid on the toy-box. I sat and took in some air.
I was locked out. I surmised an experiment. I
would quantify all this bad pope. I slammed my
goon in the door. I slammed my saucer in the door.
I sat and cried. The number 24 above my head.

25.

The fantasy still is in my wrist. I have a deformed
bone. The luminous green tie was not cheap. I gal-
vanised my new lover in the stock-room. There is
a comic-book of his drying on the stool. His hair
is cut to manage the quiff. I’ll ask you to sign here
& here and just there. ‘What happened to your wr-
ist?’ How they ever got them boxes up on that shelf
I’ll never know. Scribbling down notes, peering over
the pomegranate.

26.

I haven’t seen Corn for some time. She was irregular for a
patch, now she has totally disappeared. I see her French
colleague (which is odd). Her French colleague never had
time for me (now it’s her who comes to me in the yard) I
was having a cigarette with Dip who is asthmatic and she
appeared. We said hello but she didn’t join us. & then that
happened again. But now she does. Twice now I’ve been
sat on the memorial bench (alone) and she’s appeared.
‘What you doing for Christmas?’ I made a conversation.
She was going to see her family in Lyon (I confused the
Pyrenees with the Alps) Just so you know, ‘everyone asks
her if she uses the EuroStar’. She has the figure of Diana
Doors. & when she smoked she couldn’t look at me
though she did remember that I lived in Claptown, from a
conversation we had in a work party environment.

27.

‘I'm going to invest in lycra’. It was a con-calibre
reward. The sentiment grew on a fathom, click.
Emboss your personal journey, slay the rain-water
on them ass cheeks. One mini turn-table checking
out its own egss. I knew this carton. I nodded on
the gravel to my pal. ‘I'm not in shape yet’, (she
outburst). And so the stadium was up for sale. The
bidding went out as a fishing-line. The weary mow-
ed on their ways (cross-eyed)

28.

Stripped to the cliché cache of bit and bob. Franz
Ferdinand secured a plate of sandwiches for free.
Endorphins were asked to leave the premises. Goo-
gle found them some epoxy-resin. Jim a town clown
stumbled into the microphone. The trapeze swung
across the back-biters. Severe dystrophy panicked
practising student-medics. Boom went boom (say
kiln over & over like)

29.

Cuck fever. The complete wiring in a caravan laid end to
end. That length of boredom. I brought a card that planned
the band and poured it out a contractual speaker. I got quite
angry when he didn’t even organise the event in front of
me. I misbehaved. I doubted Cuck fever dangerous. I re-
aligned the spindle on his yo-yo. A watercolour sublet his
possessions. I watched it again in black & white.

30.

I got married at our book-launch. I stole the
show from the alligator. I did a number with
an interlude. I removed the port-caulis. I’ll
re-issue. ‘will you’, & I did. The present of the
gramophone was special. The sea-food platter
wasn’t even ours. I had a stack on my arm. I
waded into the crowd. The coins were warm
with speciality. I garrotted the hymn. I thank
Stevenson.

31.

I’ve decided that I will get the inflatable 2-seater settee. It’s
12.99, and I can reserve it at Argos superstore in Victoria.
There is no mention of how I blow it up, but it comes with
a ‘puncture repair kit’. It is blue and that’s it. I will cover
it with a nice blanket. I will add at my own choice a small
bedtime table at the right hand end, for my glasses and
ashtray. I might add a lamp (I have a spare). Other than
that, it is 175 pounds for a proper 2-seater settee. & then
it has to be delivered, carried up the stairs. I could ask
myself, ‘jel are you expecting company?’ Don’t jump
ahead I will reply. It’s for me to read and watch TV in. I
can sit in the dark and watch the LCD counter on the CD
player tick over. I imagine two people sat on the blow-up
settee will be a joke. You would fall together like the walls
of a swimming pool (with the water quickly removed).
This week I will leave the flat of the bed. It’s something
new for me

32.

I will look direct into his southern-hemisphere eyes
and mark out my pitch. I have trained not to gloat.
There is a record of achievement. I don’t hold this.
There is a conservatory to study this. I don’t and hav-
en’t applied for their courses. I am self warned. I am
self taught. I will just make sure I catch him on the
stairs. I will put my marriage in his eye. I will put
a grazing cow in his eye. I will greet him on the steps
of a Harley street doctors. I will give him no funds
for violence. I will write him off in the italics of
eastern thought.

33.

I am introduced to the electrician brothers. I stare
at the gash in my speaker. I undress the pile of my
possessions lifted by two sets of hands onto my bed.
I can see that directly. I sweep the debris. I sweep
the dust out of the glass. I impose a curfew on my
anger. I don’t have a camera to shoot the afterbirth.
I have evoked their wrath. I was warned to shrink
into the centre of my space. I hold my poor toothbrush.
I have now no water-heater. They have auctioned off
my soft broom. I shake out my 4 duvets. I worry for
my inflatable settee. I will cherish forever my tale of
the blue teapot.

34.

The hallway is shattered. I walk and see the broken
matchstick. I have to study the hanging warning. I
test the switch to the jetty. I look to the dark room
before the roof. I ate beetroot on a very similar pattern.
There will be a petition. There will be subsidence. I
know flat 10, flat 4 & %’s. I think our best option is
semaphore. High up semaphore. I will be best on the
right hand side (facing). I am best forcing the gravity
into the centre from the right. I push a leg up into the
hip. As a household waving into the nocturne of the
rich-mans house. I don’t think flags will scare the
little girl and the teddy. We may appeal to him through
her.

35.

A donkey is trapped between the view of two piers. His
tattoo of stated woe is larger than the cannery. I rummage
through the basket-of fruit. I know what can happen in
them. Helsinki, the child runs licking his new edition.

36.

I do not want to pry in my friends second baby (due)
I will wait until the good news surfaces. I could put
my foot in it, ‘is it born yet?’ I may ask. And it is, but
it’s a mongoloid, or it’s on a machine. And we joke a
lot – me & him- about where we grew up. We have a
wicked sense of humour. We pick on blacks, down
syndrome, sex, and girls with large tits. It is good fun.
But if there is something wrong with the baby, I want
to give him time. I want him to be able to joke without
guilt. I never want to lose our sardonic exchange because
he made a defect. I prey it is not bad, but some of me
wonders if that will be the downfall of my friend?

37.

I will always stalk. I have an immune blunt
social chisel. I will prey on the whichever
walks through the evolving door. Female,
female, singer-songwriter, female. I don’t
have blips. I continue to back-fire. I aint
heading for B. I'm enlarged in self-sacrifice.
I have a humble Corsica. I rep with my arm
always pointing at that interface. (I survive)
Golliwog

38.

I offer up my head for hitting. I offer the
crim. his first textbook. I bathe his saw mitts.
I chocolate his dingy cell. I frankly suck-off
his nebulae. I and my NASA direct them together.
I arrange the cartoon. There is no conference
in Blackpool. I'm just walking about love

39.

There wasn’t any way I could injure him. He was
speaking fast and erratic. I didn’t concentrate on
his menopause. I edged out of my seat. I did the
required hospitalisation. I egged him into outburst.
I was waiting on the waiter (there is no waiter) I
felt his communication toad (ok). She circled around
the coral. I reminded myself to reassert. This would
be an ocean liner voyage. I flipped the calendar and
saw a pyramid and star. She waved hello-goodbye.
He accepted date & month will be uncertain Harry.
I hit both cymbals now.

40.

I have fell in love with a picture of a woman who
is remarkably beautiful but different. I think I
could be a help to her in intellect and poetic structure.
I could say a lot of things that don’t make sense now.
I could lose her immediately and that would hurt my
nine. I wonder a lot about us. There is some people
that make you do that. She is that person. It’s a chance.
It’s a risk being yourself. It’s the one thing that could
change your life. I want to be completely wanted by
at least three of her. I hunt more open now than ever.
I want to say fool but I can’t.

41.

Her dress was peculiar. It was the nozzle that succinctly
said. I dreamt linseed coalitions. I recalled Falklanders on
the news. I grew great knowledge of Perspex. I cut a rosette.
I pleased her in the job-centre way. If Mike was here. If Terry
could walk again. An extremely warm Dot-Cotton ‘sign languages’
our rapport.

42.

Part 2. Complete Neanderthal rights. Close her conniving
hotel. Shower with puke. The kid had bitten his tongue. I
was exhibiting fresh apples. I injured a small rodent on my
drive here. ‘She is, I’ll tell you what she is, contemptible’.
I hadn’t seen his hair greased. I see his youth singe the
timetable. A porter phoned her mother. His parabola
flapped with the fishes tail. I fed him on ideas of her wake.
I cabbaged the union of sympathy. I slipped them a disc-
jockey. I played the lucky lady card. I helped him re-heap
his acquisition.

43.

Jurassic cough medicine was in the form of each other. I
don’t chew flesh (who was this Para?). Eating family if all
there is is family isn’t eating family without grace. I’d
marched on an empty stomach to delivery this. You go
with what’s in front of you. ‘synergy’ isn’t an event I’d
enjoy. But if I lived 2 doors down and needed a night out I
see his aqua-related tattoo emerge below his simple-line.
I'm there. It’s feeding the fat around the tombola. It’s
chugging on the nuisance (maybe). It’s need captain (he’d
been in disguise) It became apparent I’d been duped. It’s
need. And clawed with my right-hand first. Medicine took
out our growl

44.

I sat on the couch. The first dad entered. I asked
if he was comfortable. He was paranoid. It was
a routine-high-jack. I polished off his drink. The
second dad entered. His hair was slick. He had his
own father to contend with. He took over 20 sec-
onds to find the baby photo. He did not appreciate
the idiocy. I ended it before he could end. I cut
patches in his jeans for his knees.

45.

I have been told to aim to live forever. I have no threat
of invasion. I have no use in a war. I see health & safety.
I see the ban on smoking. I see litigation peroxide. I have
something to live for. I have liberal god-parents. I have
been given a lot to read now it’s peace forever. I think the
telephone. I think the macro. I vote for the disabled infant.
I enter the days knowing no boats will arrive at my shore.
I am reminded how stupid we were. I can’t decide if I'm
good for doing the good things that made us good but are
no longer good. I continue squeezing the glue out of the
tube.

46.

‘O you’re off’. It didn’t stop her. ‘These are the figures
from Liz’, ‘I don’t see how we are so different’, pointing
to the PGT number (ours in pencil beside it) ‘Did she
include the TTA’s?’ (though that wouldn’t make the
difference) ‘What the PGCE’s?’, ‘Yes’, ‘I know our
figures couldn’t be that far out’, ‘I’ve checked them’
‘We’ll have to ask her how she’s counting, where she’s
counting from’, (and then baffled her with what the
difference could be in doing so) ‘do you think she’s
left out the part-timers?’, ‘maybe’ (I knew that wouldn’t
be the case). ‘Tomorrow we can ask her and then we can
compare, until then its useless’. She walked back into
her office. ‘That’s what I’ve emailed her’, ‘we’ll do it
tomorrow’. Re-emphasising, I'm leaving her now

47.

I sprinted along the edge-lines. I bounced in foam
soles. I was injected with perfume. I was the new
dolly out of the box. I ran right off the bat. I said I
was going to do it. I practised out loud. There was a
large F in the window. I nodded to the guy vaulting

48.

I stand at the window. I see the graze. There is a hovering
overcoat. A shabby mac. She walks along the alley
touching her hair. There is a wig of a judge. The rolls of
hemlock. I breathe out. I argue with daytime TV. I poke
around the train-set. I move the cable between my toes. In
the puddle is a million epsilons. A drunk has curried the
footpath. I do my morning measurements. Tire-tracks are
virile. A baton nudges closed bad-clams. I assess St.
Barnabas (hands out of pockets)

49.

A pause in the exodus. A break for nitrous-oxide. I
am on my back back. I’ve eaten to much music. This
interned camp is partying. The straights still hate the
queers. I peer up at the big screen. A Money-Penny
aggregate flicks the reel. I send visual postcards to
my pals. It’s him, the one with the muscles. Both now
slipping on Japanese-made condoms. It’s him. We
have been warned. We have been entertained. On
the benches one-bar of the fire begins to glow. The
bell to leave may have to be rung.

50.

I can’t have interruptions. I'm
self-made. I’ll fall off into bribery. I’ll sneeze and shake
I’ll blame carnivorous monsters. I’ll end up in bed in a
white hat. I just keep flushing the toilet. It dribbles to new.
I flush it again. I keep flushing the cistern. I jam on the
dregs. I get on my knees to find things with my thumbs.
I do the same howling. I put the same amount in. I push
myself to press record. I record hips. I record anus. I tape
crushes. I record favourite things. I never have to go to
the job-centre. I never have to complain.

51.

It was from Rachel Fielding (the email) She and Laura
wanted (and forgot to ask me when they came to the
office) for the number (the enquiry line) for the CRB.
I’d just had two weeks of commotion with Laura, her
not having her Criminal Check completed, and then her
driving license going missing (even though she left it
at the mailroom) It all being her fault (as I pointed out
this should have been done before you started the course)
But took pity as she is being thrown off her placement
(because of) so, I gave them the number and added,
‘though I doubt they will even talk to you as you are
not the countersignatory and don’t have the access codes’
(Rachel being no better – 4 months for her to provide
her original documentation, and then didn’t, and me having
to brake the rules and use copies, as I was sick of it sitting
on me)

52.

I’ve always got a book above my head. It’s got
to a questionable part. Self-help- it is written
by a despot. I read by the hum of the marigold.
I look into the charcoal drawing. I have shred
all other literature. This is Madison square garden.
This is a broom-cupboard. This is the plight of a
doctor. 28 years, he ascertains. Columbus staring
at his knees.

53.

I won a brass bus. The fur cones burn remarkably
well. Danny throws on a milk carton. I hear I'm
a contender for the brass bus. I lay my kit out on
the sodden floor. I do not own any special clothes.
He works as a fireman. He argues against us wearing
wellys to church. His daughter has a button nose.
‘Well he can wear rubber-gloves’. His skin was peel-
ing off. There was only the light of the torch. I bangin
a peg and discover a stone.

54.

I looked at her red nails. I got the statement of
fact. I see their sunglasses. I run an election on
that fact. This is boot clenching odyssey. I'm with
the piccolo. I don’t have a coach. These brunettes
say what’s on the box. I'm not with the funk serv-
ing. I'm not with the mutants. These Europeans on
the box. Hives and the bees on that box (all of em)

55.

There were two Chinese purses using 4 dryers with
a stairwell of clothes. I wasn’t from their family. I
played my xylophone. I hustled. I pointed to the ends.
She had no English credits. Her Barbie-doll was
in pink shorts. ‘You have to hold it in’, I took over
her mini-orchestra. I said no to a Christmas tree,
‘I’ll spend that 30 quid on myself’. Don’t say that I
thought my friend. If only my uncle were alive he
would understand my laughing. He too was on the
hustle. I went into the laundrette. I resumed the queue.
She would have to sit on it to close it. Something
busy.

56.

(I went straight in) ‘The RAE, those emails, are from the
RAE, like I said, whoever is using the admin password,
whether it’s the administrator or academic, they’re sending
this email to tell us information is incorrect, it needs
changing’. ‘I spoke to Nicola Sainsbury, all the information
is uploaded from SI, so SI needs changing, I’ll forward
them to the department for paperwork’, ‘so they’re a to-do
list?’, ‘yes, they need action’ (looking confused) ‘but do
we have to confirm they’re done with RG support?’
(I wasn’t going to) ‘no, it’s between us and the department’,
‘but I have to confirm mine, for a change of personnel
I have to authorise this’, ‘because that needs your level of
authorisation, isn’t it’ (agreed but disgruntled) ‘I have to
reply when it’s done’, ‘but this is SI literature, its taken
from SI, these are minor modifications, record changes’
(It would be better all round if she was not cc’d in, as it
doesn’t involve her, and I can’t ever make her see it’s a very
small thing that is no more than day-to-day record upkeep)

57.

My Roger Daltry, ‘what do you do in the time
then?’. It’s a cosmopolitan episode. The dvd is
some gruesome caretaker. (fuck that) My Ro-
ger daltry, ‘it’s my money’. Though it’s a quest-
ion of living the brochure with these lot. ‘There
probably isn’t enough dvd’s for the time I have’
Roger Daltry (mine) continues, I flick through
magazines too. I flick through packaging. I flick
but it’s all sea- shore, sea- shore. Chopping his
bedroom down, and down, as he attacks.

58.

Come out on the 16th. I’ll place you next to
Chris. She has hypertension. Tip: pastry buffet
will always flop. Two spaniels bark. Carpet
bags left unclaimed at waterloo. I pressed C.
The drooping chain around his wrist. I’ve got
a reputation to uphold. I gaze at the finch step-
ping between pegs. Romany lady offers out her
sprig. I never said you were plastic fruit.

59.

Turnpike lane was at the top of the page. Winters
Peter granted us the juniper. Hello from Austria.
‘It’s another world’. I reminded him of the horse-
shoe & the pig tale. The grainy lump of hash on
the ledge. Mixing sawdust with goo to fill the
gaps. Your gullet then swallowed resting in pills.
Taking that taxi to Steels rd. I had been out of
creation for 4 days. Liver on the dashboard next
to an ordinary rent-book.

60.

I mixed up the Pelican, ‘near the railway bridge?’
I could tell it wasn’t, the bridge is immediate. ‘It’s
near to a rail crossing.’ It wasn’t where Jons X –
who ran off with the manager from’s place. I looked
it up. ‘The Pelican, that’s where they shot the scene
from ‘Withnail & I’, where they’re in the pub, and
that big Irish man calls them poofs.’ He tried to know
it. And that makes sense, as the skate-park he took his
brother too, was just across the rail-crossing. ‘Lets see’
He looked at the screen but said nothing. One of the
reviews mentioned, ‘when this was a real pub’. ‘The
music was rubbish, Michael Jackson, ‘Ben’, about
his imaginary friend’, ‘it’s about a rat, his pet rat’.
And I sung a bit of it. We both sung a bit of it.

61.

It was a two tier thyroid. Someone had sheared this
coconut through the Blenhiem. Went for Tokyo but
coddled together the dry lumps there left. It was de-
livered by the masked controller. A gimpish comedic
appeal in him. A pot for the beer belly. A handle for
that pot. Accessories on his belted corset. The till
being propped up on a wooden thermometer.

62.

I approach Dover. I have functioned all the same. I
go back and forth in the multiplication-tables. I have
two fingers in the cart. ‘You’re such hard work, is this
your LA way now? Ho hum.’

63.

Cornucopia is arranged in bad-shelving. Two stores down
from the cheese shop. As relays the gas supply, ‘there’s
never a long enough sunny day’. I dragged all the wares
onto the pavement but was stopped. Number 67 had
ancestry in their pipes also. Peek-a-boo games senile horny
men play. With chlorine, 8 parts a million in the atmos-
phere. I couldn’t direct a car there. Webs built upon webs.
The changing room remains a cut-throat pineapple of
involvement. Receipts are helpful.

64.

I read into it. I fitted it to my mast. I took
out a MySpace page. I wrote the reply. I
wrote an educational reply. I included the
ambiguous storefront. I was safeguarding. I
hinted in my cancellations. I sat a huge-brain
outside school. I checked in between meals.

65.

Three years (on drawing line there) gone. Propped up
in bed egging on the room to compete. Shy, subtle, us
both. I remember not exactly none of it. Just the block.
Tapping away (I love that expression). I definitely say
it doesn’t matter where I live. I can definitely say it’s
helped. That ‘room’ in a city someplace. I smoked a lot
of cigarettes. I have and keep a private mandate. I patch
up a hemisphere is the best I can do. Inversely Maggie
May

66.

I will shave soon. I will mark the end of my pie-
eating day with a shave. I went to Bromley. I saw
the ad and drove off along its fairway. A result
would be a clock-tower. I can embellish any focal
attraction with a mobile-ice-cream cart. It’s a 0.1
elbow grease farty month.

67.

Without make-up, between the coliseum and the
door jam, poised. The towel was denim around
her upper. It was the carpet beneath my feet stuff.
It turns the sign in the window, ‘no vacancies’. I
pretend I never see the reptile house. The gay sap
cried ‘delivery’. I yanked the door human-like. I
randomise my walk-off. ‘Of course’, but no-one
materialises (unwinding out of story into peddles
to cycle it away)

68.

The doorway, hall, room, beading is mushy yellow
Hampshire-sock. He works solo in-and-out of draw-
ers. He rubs sticks together in my mouth. I know he
has a signal for luxury. He is an extremely cheap den-
tist. He plays the horses. I apologise for the cheque.
Everything here sups.

69.

I dropped my pork loin on the deck. I was in Islington
county. I can’t be the sure the deaf here are genuine. I
married a lass that afternoon. I didn’t know the asshole
from the cunt. I shoved another dough ball in my gob.
What was with this woman’s teeth? Why didn’t the school
photographer want to take her picture? She stood on the
nature table and pee’d down her legs. I would never
do better than 82 cm in the high-jump.

70.

There is talk of Morocco. The lizard crept into his
urn-shaped gift. Them zigzag patterns in mats are
laziness. I’d prefer the random. Say this & get sm-
ashed by the bathroom elite. I draw that little wo-
oden token lodged in your U-bend. It’s a humorous
cross-section aperitif. I chop the desert in two. I have
captions. One zigzag says to the other, ‘two fruit ma-
chines..’ There is no such thing as gravy (here).

71.

The ford escort is every other. I collect lolly-sticks. I
reach the town-hall in supposition. The daily record
is playing. I stand outside the Bank of India. The win-
ning team haven’t even won yet. My hands are filthy.
I am hit with a radish. It came out of Ghia electricals.
I run with my punnet. I run into the high-street. I cross
to my patch. I find the white boys. They take immediate
action. I moved before I could grow up.

72.

The disabled-loo on LB1 (the post-prayer annex) is
locked now for storage. There is no sign. There is
just the alert of a girl-guide colour everywhere. I
perspire. I know for sure it wasn’t a piece by piece
operation. No stooge builds the saddle on the back
of a horse! The helter-skelter is permanent. Toy-town
is re-located. Behind closed ‘punk’ doors, vroom.

73.

She takes everything at face value. None of us can
defeat her in the end. I say Roger, ‘it’s a globule of
mastic’. Roger stabs the dribble with a twig. ‘Christ
Buddha, doorman, they’re all on her side’. His inter-
est in this entity annoys me. I know mastic dropped
from a window. He hikes up his trousers at the knees
before sitting. I’m not certain which side he’s on. It’s
about the end. I won’t air my concerns over our choice
of knight.

74.

Personal hygiene is owned by the Welsh. McDivott
sewed an acre on the slope of a hill. ‘Benjamin are
you available for a miscarriage of justices?’ The dev-
lopers signed upon a copper-top table. The drunk
used a supping device made from a tie. Large calved
woman dance to the radio around in-trays. Gwen ta-
kes air after a giddy-spell. Darts makes the sound.

75.

What she describes in beta-take is a race-night. The
venue has a brick patio. I guess too, fake pebbles
in plant-pots. ‘The reel runs and you bet?’ I didn’t
watch these nags on not so green grass. I didn’t
bet. Her cat-suit had been washed. The gap in her
front teeth housed a boot. Sorry for the humming.

76.

If I won her a fish I would be in jail now. I
stood back next to the Jerry-can. He punched
the coca-cola machine. It was a very rich,
well-to-do, gloved dinner-lady. The weather
was by WH Smiths. In basic it was ‘oi’, ‘oi’,
back to you. It’s a waltz in a kayak. I cost it at
854 pound sterling. I did enjoy his discipline.

77.

O Shaun Mcgowan I thought I’d write you. My back
is against the wall again. It’s the third time. You’re
a man of little words. Little words understand. I'm
bound in a whirlwind. It started last week. I have a
brain from before. I know how to play it. I just
don’t like it. I'm two people heading for the door.

78.

I woke with the hots, the trays. I'm dormant in a faraway
yellow muddle. Confucius, just his name, strikes sour.
They have started an OAP club in the next room. Some
port of community initiative. I see the trespassers dwindle
away in their chairs. I see the woman in a panic has parked
her car wrong. It is the hub of activity. I get my first wrong
caller, ‘next door’ I tell her. Foreign and deaf. I have a new
hardwood floor.

79.

And in death? He laughs out of embarrassment. I want
this sale & return lark understood. I turn to his lover.
‘Are you hope?’ She sports a neckerchief. It’s a habit.
This fellow is absurd. This fellow is deranged. I am not
joking. I let the silence take the hour. ‘Well, I could sign
something?’ There was a very small pond once. There
was a chaffinch that washed in it. ‘ok’ I'm still not
certain. His Mrs digs for equipment. I pat the dog who’s
on neither side.

80.

‘Everyone saves themselves’. I select examples. I am
imploding with rage. I have saved myself from eating
his head. I and my dagger blame myself. His droopy-pig
eyes suggest unfair play. I burst a balloon. ‘I got this
mess’. I tap my suitcase. He infers a pastoral cleansing.
‘Can’t you just fucking accept what I say?’ I scare him
into submission. It’s my madness. I wont be tricked into
blame. I came here today bubbling.

81.

It was her soft-suede digger claw-bucket that
changed me. Camden changed me. A quote in
a book about a ring made me anxious. I stopped
and made the call. ‘In which room is Mr Wilkin-
son likely to be on the 18th?’ I opened up my
deed-maker. He pointed to the coil. I was posit-
ive. I shared with her 4 bars out of a readable 13.
The glow in the chapel is edited.

82.

O psyche (you cad) do you remember the broom she
bought? It cost a quid. I had a peep inside. ‘There must
be heroin or cocaine in here’. I folded it in half and threw
it out the window. It lasted a day and half on the chain
gang. It was a jaundiced mistral. I sweep under the table.
I sweep into the mouse hole. Her fat arse shot it.

83.

Planet Earth has no friends. It decorates. I don’t like
the fluer-de-leaf. I cancel my subscription. ‘Rewind’
says the counter staff. ‘Was it in the underpass?’ I
took a pair of speakers. It may have been there. A man
& wife team were behind me. In German he told her
of her foolishness. I stepped aside. Allowing them
at the beacon. They went on so long I just left.

84.

She has a plasticised jaw. I see some errant hairs. Her
mother has a collection that involves ‘sending off’. I
see under her mouth is false. I guess at 14 minutes dab-
bing. It is a paste. I am not harsh. Under this strip-light
is harsh. Her mothers hair-do is a relaxed ball of thread.
They consider running for election. The camera could be
just there. I add up the title of her paper, the weight in
them foreheads. The answer of theirs is ‘juvenile’. Us,
delinquents bumping into things.

85.

‘maybe I didn’t treat you’, Tom Flint left prison (it’s
all in the name) today. Back to his old manor he goes.
Nothing has changed. The camera follows him. Through
acts of sexual depravity, fried eggs and creosoting
days-off. Barnabus is screwing a new brass number to
the door. He waves and drops a screw. He sits down in
the chair for size. Children have made him a picnic
from their toys and ability.

86.

He went too outright. His porn collection
was so big. His glass was over a foot tall.
He is the unsophisticated James-Bond. He’ll
get the part. He plays the sausage. He wants
us to pick at his chips. I inquire about this
bikini. I interrupt the barmaid. She says all
I do is wash his shinny car. It’s a crucial time.

87.

The rusty pipe was the link between the church and
the out-house. Rust sprinkled in our eyes. I returned
to Reginald after a break. His house has been split in
two. There were two doors. ‘Gone away’, said the lady.
I went to the chip shop. Scott had had all his teeth re-
moved. I got a slap from his mum when he showed me.
I went to the street where you could get more friends.
I carried on till late.

88.

I had the lady who valued my core. I was holding
regular negotiations. I was a member of the board
I was in stern bib. I defined the outer-limits. There
was a tuxedo waiting. I am and never knew a
conservative brain-child. It was her wealth. It was
my kink. Though she never had one she sat attent-
ive with a notebook. She wore a short skirt. She spoke
a new language I invented. It was 95% proposition
based.

89.

I have not ate an egg for 17 months. I saw her last
week just going. Pedro had re-grouted the tiles. The
bulletin board was overshadowed. She had still the
stoop. I drank coca-cola (now). Each stepping-stone
is a different temperature. We took our coats to the
room above. I couldn’t figure where the decay is
coming from. (but anyway) hats off to the dent.

90.

I was circumspect.
I kept to the left. The poodle crapped. It was an assorted
mesh. The parameter fence leant out over the bins. Did
the council care? Where would I travel with my hard
earned savings? I was emigrating. I needed someplace
where the pound worked seriously for me. I tugged on
the lead. Two gypsy kids rattled along on a broken
scooter.

91.

‘How is it in silicon street?’ I get no reply. I
ask him, ‘did Jesus slide down his mound on
his bloomers?’ He peels an orange. I stuck a
pencil into the base of a can of beer. I drank
it down. it was cold in his front-room. ‘Why
don’t you get that piano tuned?’ He was so
good looking. ‘Fancy a game of darts?’ He
switches on the TV. He turns the TV up loud.
His dad enters with a small dog under his arm
‘Turn that TV down’. He tells me we’re getting
out of here. He does it in his armistice.

92.

Tucked away in the maggot. The bridal faeces exhumed. I
was in Scotland that weekend. I watched them load their
golf-bags into the car. The smaller islands have never seen
a piano. The window sills were frozen but the fire cackled.
This was a family run hotel. Half the family lived in south
London. I pause at the sight of a jar of pickled eggs. It’s an
empty bar. I straighten the bar mat. I pick up something I
drop. I peer over at the elbows behind the bush. I watch
until they do.

93.

I read a book of self-examination. It only hints. I am
freaked. I am pacing. I am urinating. I set myself 50
pages. No other literature has prepared me for this. I
have an anus made of navels. I shit a felt cottage. I
break for BBC family comedy. The Russians went
away with puns. I got the fear in the cortex. The big
battery flutters.

94.

The boots in the window are worn by an editor. I am
an editor. He has his knee upon a plinth. I suck a fizzy
sweet. I look into his sprouting hale-talent. I hence him.
I apostrophe him. He replies with a model. I condone
his apathy. He replies with a zing. His strap-line is style.
He asks if I want to see another model? Why not. I love
him.

95.

I got told of ‘no such thing as a wake’. The partridge
in the photo was reeled in with a sultana. The hook
is left there in the grass. I didn’t quite understand
how the myth had travelled so far. Industrial denim
was what it was wasn’t it? Them coral-bay eyes. So
what is it called then? Presupposing Ireland is the
new NHS

96.

I walk her to the station façade. I watch she doesn’t
fall in a puddle(s). I understand the velocity of traffic.
I leave an inky trail. I know I am dying. ‘Mind’, that
bass drum. I am over-careful. I carry her across the
concourse. It is plenty for her. She looks into my pockets.
She wants to know the gimmick? I am dying. I hug
her in tens. I push her into the ballet. ‘Bye’, I escape
as I wave. I switch on my maker. The volume is fair.

97.

I hovered above the grandstand. I supped the
minestrone. Of course, they sleep on the seats
you sit on during the day. The depot was 200
yards from the main-road. I moved my paper.
Redundancy and a fresh offer ended that. Night-
work kept the marriage alive. ‘Come in here’.
The tunnels book-marked bravery.

98.

She was Batman’s un-used ‘Kapow’. I opened the
door to erogenous. ‘Holy calligraphies’. Both a
cousin of denim and chocolate. A cycling helmet
at quarter-to-three. I was the reverse of consume.
I had just stepped off the bouncy-castle. She was
at ease slurping her toffee. I mastered tenderness.
I tickled open Judy Dench. I left referred to Thomp-
son, urologist, Denmark hill. I stated at the deli I
was number 15. Not impolitely.

99.

I had the erect penis. I had a shampoo bottle. I suspected
duty-free. This was author & Pauline. This was a stretcher
saga. ‘It’s the shape of your thing’. I rubbed the tip. I
brushed off the synthetic saw-dust. I requested another
try. ‘It’s stuck’. I was a mini in the alley behind Kentucky.
I had Diego blue equipment. I was up against the
concourse p.s.i.

100.

The soft bosom could not fluctuate. The straight-tong’ed
hair was secured in the scalp. The bird-box was staked
to the ground using metal 4 inch hoops. I visit that set-
tee when the bolts need tightening. Who-dares-wins has
been crossed over. I avoid the couple quarrelling by the
knob of butter. It’s behind that window, ‘think I’ll be off’
It’s a one slice motto (if you can applaud)

101.

I painted the
headboard jewellers. It’s a warm Stetson. I cleared
the Cuban ‘to-do’ slate. There were tantrums. I got
grass. I got toucan fruit. There is no bribery involved.
I got inner-tennis court. I got a waterfall. I got rock-
ery. There are no Dali’s. There is backwards throwing
at most. Just soft, unrecognisable, radios.

102.

I daily bought Sicilian chicken in a bap. I turned a
corner. I can never forget the Belgrade clock. I have
a little trellis on my shoulder. I shirk and don’t affect
the major leagues. I put nachos in a bowl elsewhere.
Chinese characters.

103.

I front-door her. I pick her. I encourage her to
flob. I mechanise port. I can’t stand no more. I
give her a trough. I won’t keep tally. (hands over
eyes) I tell her ‘potty’. I bark flob-trough. I bark
big flob-trough-potty. I do the ‘dog’ thing. I tor-
ment vulva. I go sandal. I go nightclubs. I buy bell.

104.

The streets
are littered with talc bottles. The Caucasians
are yanking at the plug of the universe. They
will suck-down the trollop. They are fighting
the suction of Milan. The blonds are 18001
bold nipples strong. & in the military swing
of a rifle, they rip open their shirts, detach a
small flare and see noting happen. They were
25 & 36 respectively. I don’t get this ‘cat suit’
business at all.

105.

She’s ruined national painkiller day (for me). Dec 15 (little
capsule got all big). I was snug. I was composing. She
dumped a newsagents in my in-box. I slept on the weather.
I drove a fantastic fast car. I woke up missing stationery
essentials. There was a newsagents in my in-box. I tugged.
I threw the Frisbee. I sat at the dock of the bay. I cursed
that damn evil.

106.

I got a new settee. It inflates. It’s blue. The
instructions are as you’d imagine. It is filled
with me. I looked Pinocchio. I boiled my
own bacon. It’s 12.99. The sticker is in Germ-
an. It’s an option. I wheezed and I coughed.
I gagged on the plastic wibbly. I got spittle
on my cheeks. I'm checking for alertness. I’ve
got it on a loose graph against time. I smell
my home. It’s not apparent.

107.

I drove a fast car. I cemented a relationship. I zoomed
along roads. I glided around bends. I entered the fringe
of an old poem. I (now) had the blood. I had the nerve.
I (now) couldn’t be executed in a post-apocalyptic land-
space. I was the bandy V8. This was Northampton. This
was Malvern. This was sunny town. I cleared the streets
on an L-plate. I urged the taxpayers to sleep-in. I would
claim my confetti (tbc for sure)

108.

She was not holding back. She kicked
the leg of my table. She was tipsy. She
had on a long string of beads. She had
a white vest. She had washed her hair.
I had just got out of hospital. I was go-
ing back in 2 days. I was sick in the pe-
lvis. I was aching in the testicles. I had
no painkillers. I drank Malteezers.

109.

Her lisp was in Manchester. The telephone could
hide it. Snooker balls clattered-spittle. I saw her
friends skirt. I saw it had nestled in her pants. I
did mental origami. I didn’t accept it. It wasn’t
my go. ‘Look’, ‘the flying Argentinean defence’.

110.

She read ‘Hard Times’. The mayor is somewhere
out that window (I supposed). I sucked on the
zap. ‘Do you know how to get to Wandsworth
Town Hall?’. It was not our mayor. The next in
the tube was purple. The driver ran early. I didn’t
even want to like her book. There was an ethnic
minority greeting. Our mayor would be happy
(wherever he was). ‘Are you lost?’ Three people
circled the bakers (bake our own on site). ‘Is this
the Northcote Rd?’, ‘I'm unfamiliar with the area’.
Our mayor should be hear to answer this! ‘That is’
I urged her off. The next one was yellow.

111.

He held the flowers upside down. He held the flower in
It’s wrapper. He let the flower drip on the floor. The flow-
er was Calvados brandy. There was not much brandy. The
burnt red said this is my regret. The crisp orange said I
was lucky, I got off with a fine. I will do my job. I am a
certain face. I want to sit out of the way.

112.

A rich man come into the poor mans shop. The rich
man was a twit. There was no orderly queue. There
were no price-tags. The rich man was electrocuted.
The rich man shrunk by 5 foot. The rich man shriek-
ed and balled. The security guard put him in a shit.
The rich-shit man blob was sent packing. The rich
are not welcome in the poor mans shop.

113.

I had my finger poised on the hole. I ran my thumb
along the lips. I ran my thumb 1. up & down, 2. in
search of the twat. I could not find the twat. I had
two goes left. I still had up and down. I went up &
forested for the twat. I stopped on the up. I can’t be
sure it was a twat. I went back down. I had one more
search for the twat. I slid my finger in. I had my most
obvious look for that twat. I had more time now. I
had my finger in the hole. I was expected to find the
twat. I rubbed it all. I rubbed that area, 1. circularly,
2. prodding. I still never found the twat as I know twat.
I may have found it generally.

114.

She set out that morning with a vague idea of where
the church was. She had no road. She had no postcode.
She knew it was near a school. She knew it was near a
road near a school or behind a school. She had no name.
She was black. she wore a hat. she had a bag. She was
over 50. She stopped people and asked. She stopped
cars. She asked bald men. She got off the bus with a
general idea but no exact direction. She had travelled
all this way without the name of the church. She had got
up that morning and headed for something she knew
very little about. She had been to bed all night and woken
this morning excited about church in a part of London
different to her own. She had done this before. She done
it all the time. She did it more than often.

115.

I saw him from the warm seat. The crest on his
blazer battled it out. He had one too many geog-
raphy sermons. The haircut of a rifle remained.
I had the choice of rice. I played with the fore-
kin on my thumb. I nodded. I poured another
ladle over my head. And after ten foot of plus &
minus I crossed my legs and took off. (elephants
trunk to tail flooded the horizon) Limousine.

116.

You were
perfect steel for an abortion. That kitchen table
is worn out. I received a contrived handwritten
letter. I judge the chin. I don’t care for fancy
words. I go by the mittens of doctors. Put it all
in a glass case so you did. You were your own
perfect neighbours too.

117.

It was Ted’s bowl. He moves as a tractor in the
distance. This town policemen. Throwing down
the isle spinners. His arse in the stripy deckchair.
Derek was the rubber-duck of our community.
‘Did you leave a condom full of water by an up-
turned log?’ The hut is Hilda. ‘There will be no
pizza’, bellies can be smart. It was iced, ‘behind
closed doors’. All had silver lighters.

118.

I’d never seen such a neatly packed case. You are
spaghetti on-the-toast. It was the perfect Christmas
message. The deodorant and the fort. I didn’t have
on new shoes. I walked trying some on though. Hail
the angled mirror. Graduates fuck off

119.

I was sent pictures of a Stockholm nightclub. I see
a quarter of hobbies in them. I see no donors. I fear
no mites. The faces are shatterproof. The boys didn’t
leave the iron on. I read no bogie journal. I place no
wedge under floppy leg. Braless = no queuing. I tell
Adidas. I tell folk-revival. I bring the bowl of receipts
up to my face. I exaggerate.

120.

I'm Dolly Parton’s management. I call
people, ‘yes, three more toes’. I don’t
like the astrologer. I check the lunch
for vitamins, ‘get bigger ones’. It’s a
24 hour day on roller-skates. Excuse
me, ‘why d’ya think?’ A very small
cowboy hiding in a basket of fruit

121.

Didn’t we once stay in this hostel? It was all
just one bathroom. The Ukrainian element
waddled. The Spanish wore the raft of the
punk. A 15 year old joint got passed. I crawl
along E corridor looking for a spot to cock
my leg. The counter of the snack-bar is in the
campus iris. ‘Fucking Semites’, not open and
proud of that.

122.

I am not soaping in the interim. I wade through
cattle. I lift my knees above the buttons on the
fruit machine. A picture of Che Guavara hung in
his hall. ‘& he bought his council house’. I wind
down off-key. I got a penis left in my seat. The
old man changed from MÜller to Miller. The old
lady has the phone number of the Hun on her wrist.

123.

The anti-parking posts were extracted and replaced
with pianos. Dynamite was taken off the plate, lett-
uce was put back (on the plate). The map of just the
Rodeo & brewery & graphitti is bleeping. I don’t
have an inner-vixen.

124.

I lay in the medical-taxi rank. I aided the investigation
with thumbs. I crooked my cauldron at the screen. I held
the paper towel in place. She drags her own bins to the
street gutter. I nodded at the bouncing pontificating. I
hear underpants scream. I remember the lead neck visor.
In & out spun adjusting commentary. Cut to: picket line
at the Anus. Back to: walnuts, peas, golf balls, vessel.

125.

I snorkel around you. I am the Dairylee kid. I go
through your legs. I pick up the green stones. I get
A grades. I hang up my wet towel. I am £4590 a
pint. ‘You are one of them’. I had had enough of
this fag-hag toss. She hit the roof. I was Freud. I
was Freud talking to his tomatoes. I celebrated
with a large gammon pot. Of course she forgive
and pretended that it had never happened because
I only used it when I couldn’t take any more you,
you, you are this and that. ‘You are one of them’.
Lady artists don’t think it applies to them.

126.

Her type was dignity. I undressed a 1000 ways. I had big
pants. I lay on the ironing board. I don’t know why she
knocked. I was not bent with a hole. I’d left ultrasound 4
days previous. I’d taken 4 days to get here. I had no results.
I recounted what ultrasound had said. I was lost in the
computer. I was there very close up in a car park underg-
round. I would meet my data in urology. I eased my pants
out of my crack. I left for Christmas.

127.

I sat in the vacant lounge. I was the tomahawk. I was
not angry the walls were un-lagged. I did ask about the
draft. I tapped on the skulls. I tapped and educated. I
questioned. I didn’t want to be alone. I tapped very
softly, ‘hello, hello’. I picked up GQ & I ate it.

128.

I would kiss her when the probation service wrung. I
would kiss her with my kettle. I will only be 18 years.
I left the room blowing kettles. This was a dark passage
for British Rail. I had fell asleep in a struggle. I woke up
leaving Ipswich. I woke up to a pasta brain. Could I
think up a witty line about the crack in the ceiling? It
was all I had to do. I’d done the draft. I’d done the cold.
I’d done the toilet. I just had one item left.

129.

I warned you about breaking bond. I get nervous
around money and women. I would never dabble.
Ruth told him to fuck off. She put up with it for a
while. She won’t have him sleeping on the floor.
She won’t let him use the washing machine. You
called distressed at 08.45. I told you all I knew.
I was no longer resentful myself. ‘Shall I tell you
why he can’t take a job and can’t keep a flat? Because
he will have to admit then, as he’s handed the keys
that he’s Kellogs. And it’s suicide via Kellogs.

130.

He promised to bring out the good tea-set. I
got there unhindered. He was not wearing his
cape. It happened near the banisters. I wasn’t
offered any explanation. I concentrated hard.
The open door implied open-house. I swam in
the reverse of his manner. I had won a gouge.
I heard the old voices up the new steep stairs.

131.

I used her scales as they were there. I stepped on the
scales and sunk into the blue carpet. I shook my head
at this science. I picked up my beer bottle and flushed.
I looked for the host. I turned and felt a woman’s shoe.
I got it mostly in the thigh. It bounced into my testicles.
I clung to that light-bulb as I fell. I lit my cigarette in
the alcove of her coat. I had trouble with my flint. It
was a windy night. I was left there as she took a cab.
I had spent too much time near her breasts.

132.

I got a little book that spells the facts of economics. I got
to read it soon. I got to arm myself with arguments. I got
to know the words to hate a Rolls Royce. We were arguing
before we arrived. I knew the address from something I’d
rather not go into. It was a large house in an expensive part
of town. Expensive knickers for chairs. Lace and red for
cutlery. A cotton patio. A 70’s leopard print mayonnaise.
It was a drawer.

133.

I was questioned over a stolen toy-car. I was questioned
in the comedic way. I wasn’t questioned but told. I was
put-to. I was encouraged by the elders. I was just leaving
and stopped. The spliff I hid (quickly) under the worktop.
I opened the window to the policeman. He was out of
breath. He sniffed his piggy nose. He asked me a series of
questions. He knew I knew he knew we knew. And I run
and run. I pushed my heart until I sobered. I had to drop
the tree. I kept running and didn’t turn round. That guy
would have killed me for sure.

134.

I got to feed them bereft cockles. I got to buy many
second-hand cars. I gargle plenty. I’ve been in troops.
I want meat for my mongoloid kids. The audience is
VHS now. It’s a mirror = it’s a pond. I strangle Rothko
over a footprint palette.

135.

Alison noted the abscess on her arse. I knew a doctor
who was willing. I could make a call and have her ex-
amined. This doctor had once offered me her services
in a kitchen. I don’t have the symptoms to hand. This
guy had me bend over. ‘No longer policy’, they didn’t
lance this type of pubescent-head no more. I looked at
thee tablets. I drove on one cheek. ‘Hurry up’, bent over
the table. ‘Burst it’. The smell was distinguished. It was
holiday-camp sterilised. When friends were around

136.

Inside the grip was the mummy breakfast-bar. Some
gastric hymn conduction (continuing). Born on the
zero, 8lbs & 12 ounces. The leg muscles were still
kicking off the bum. None of much else had got go-
ing. The new-born was centred by prism strapped to
crown. Aerial ’ed & so named. The 2nd thing to-do
today.

137.

Annie Brechin is now infected. O Annie your thighs
are blue. Your notes are traceable. Our pork loin has
been stamped. A thick belt wont help! Why didn’t you
wait? That damn audience has taken another. Should
I put on my cape? Should I get my friend. We can come
and get you. We can take you to a pub where you can
stay years.

138.

I got woken by Penelope. I had her stood in the corner
her finger through a tea-cup. I blew my nose into a
vest. She insists it’s cold. What a hernia! Our hands cup-
ped over our face. I dragged a bean-bag onto myself.
The snow. We checked each other for the time. Traffic
drove Penelope up & down outside. It was frozen on
the roof tops. I perched myself out of the way. One by
one they entered. Dressed as the mechanics wife. Com-
plaining. Penelope was split in three

139.

I had a new friend that drove me. I was connected to him
through the pied bull. I left my guitar in the rain. We were
in search of drum n’ bass TV. Nick the Greek is a Beatles
fanatic. He owned all their fanaticisms. I climbed in. I blew
the whistle. We arrived finally at his papa’s Alzheimers. Is
there? Yes there is. ‘Toms was accompanying him on a
ride out’. Toms would be picked up in front of his actual
house. He lived in a road the shape of a thermometer.

140.

It’s a portrait piece via phone. It’s nugget fed. I was
delighted he was falling into senility. He never even
left the room these days. ‘Have you seen what’s on 5
at 9pm?’ We were all to him reminders of him. I app-
reciated one day he would totally disappear. Was he
a champion? He will fit securely dead.

141.

Poppy and her new sister are grain receptionists. They
are sat on every desk in the parental hemisphere. The
duo scoot in & out of jury systems. Dragging a plasma
screen in their podgy naval, directing visitors to a game
about the bean. I see a lot of Zone 3 in them. I like it
when one stutters and the other doesn’t believe it.

142.

For the large stadium you needed shorts. I had got
the gig. I went to find the kettle. This was open-
house backstage. I was in a charity shop on sum-
mers day. Traipsing through the fairground. There
was no evident short-cut. This brought on a head-
ache. Sanding the body in a circular motion. Hurl-
in a paving slab together.

143.

I walked in suede loafers. I cut through the church. The
church had given up on plugging this leak. The greasy
fat slob? Why wasn’t he in his own pub. No shirt fit his
might. ‘We unsettled him’, picking at his teeth. The tech-
nician buried in the poor. I bleeped for their attention.
I was 14. Reading the membership card, bored.

144.

She just pays the mortgage. Daddy opens another jar. I
went inside myself for 10 minutes. I returned with a
dead goose. I try to be rich. I got water-colours. I belch
It’s an old love-song. It’s a little Led-Zepplin, ‘the econ-
omic labyrinth’. I gaze at the ticks above their heads.
Stuck on the potty.

145.

You don’t say ‘Dali’ this
or that now. I shouldn’t have to point out his quotes on
such. Was it the book stands? The skaters with wheels in
the eyes? I prefer your physical leanings. I see you’re
really charging that capacitor. Down at the (near) waters
edge. You just don’t say that differently. I prefer the young
woman. If you’re really serious I would suggest a lobot-
omy.

146.

I tossed its disapproving scowl. I’d throw
onto the golf course. The birds love my omelettes. Did I
mention the separation of apple & orange? Dr Daniellion
plods that cryptic bosom. The club-footed geezer. You
always keep assistance handy. The whole eccentricity of
mechanics is inclusion. Turn left at the hum. ‘Squish the
fucker in like you don’t care if you tare’. I treat myself
to a wine. Sandpit all over the floor. I tore standard.

147.

I waited there on that stretch of your compass. I
was there some 30 years previous. I held the door
open at the stag-do. They were local bodies. Parading
on that float dressed as Robin Hood. The advice was
to wear shorts beneath the tights. I got splinters in
both cheeks. a fat lip for no reason? It was a mix-up
I shook it off to keep face. I opened my arms to
accept & weigh & offer the invisible French-stick.

148.

I went to the weekly meet at the school. I was a year
early in age. I stayed for the ball games then left. I
knew Barry MacGuigan was a grocers son. The shop
would be flats now. The MacGuigans would be flats
now. Imperial mints were the babysitters treat. Hung
in the market the same tea-towel. ‘Can I get in your
pants because I shit mine’. Hard seats.

149.

I heard he had taken a small axe to a white boy.
The white boy hid trembling in the toilet. I asked
The old-man why he put so many blue pellets in
the cistern? I took a sneaky look in the leather coat
cupboard. I heard him coming and whistled. I yes
did believe the Khans had the technology to super-
impose my face onto any character in any recent
film. I also thought the TV stayed where you left
it when you switched it off. The caste system was
discussed by late-teens over cauliflower.

150.

I would meet her in the Landor. I will be early &
late. I will answer her call shyly. I will wear a trade-
mark. There will be triggers. There will be laughter.
I don’t want some vapid hack. Sat there, squeezed
in at the end of the sofa. I had my travel-bag tucked
behind out of sight. The boys in the band playing
rock n roll Pete n Dud. Me staring into the light on
the camera. Nervous about the truce. Afraid to cough.

151.

It was a Fitzrovia black hum, her skin marched. I
do the canopy upsurge in the area. I am not the frog.
You, I & her could extract a sandwich. I spot a pain-
ted am-hole cover. I erect a boutique to have a large
window. I luck out with an unsalted high-rise inher-
ted at birth. It’s a swell post-box chat. I'm not flash.
‘See you in Clapham?’ I turned around and there was
the empire. I rested on one elbow just like you can

152.

I suggested there may be some work. It didn’t raise his
flag. I continued. His head was shaved. It was cash-in
hand. I see he was settled too-far gone. Something had
happened during his spell away. He was on the run. I
filled his mouth for him. I knew he couldn’t ask directly.
I put him on the list. I fund a seat. I saw him approach
the stage. I rushed over and checked I wasn’t. It was
reverse. I relaxed, I wasn’t.

153.

I see them white cotton trousers and squinted. I was
there to look. I handed her a flyer at the top of the
stairs. I added you should. It wasn’t her, it was the
incessant never-pleased. It was always everywhere
else and never here. It was a lot of unsettling talk. I
had the free drink of my choice. I had some facial
value. I had to bend to whisper. I sat and watched
her friends use her as a doll.

154.

It was the colour of fake cloth-tan-flesh. I did not
want to go to the strip-club. I picked up the phone
and asked him. all the clerks wanted to get up her.
The toilet at the end of the corridor was in an imp-
ossible position. I spent the lunch-hour reading
Kurt Vonnegut. Wimbledon playing on the box to
empty chairs.

155.

I arrived in a black hat and grey suit. I gave my
presentation in room 3. I had made an effort to
write legible notes. Embassy number one were
my favourite cigarette. Errol garners ‘Concert
by the Sea’, played in the background. Rays jazz
shop is no longer there. I didn’t sleep well. I
had been tricked into staying over. I wore the
wool of a yak and itched violently.

156.

He was a dying man. His daughters were fetching. The
funeral wouldn’t be for 3 years. I didn’t know that. I
made a genuine mistake. I asked his running partner
where? Would it be okay to pay you tomorrow? I will
definitely make it so. The landlady was fine with this.
She was working at a school in Piccadilly circus. She
taught students English. I sat waiting bothered by
bag-pipes.

157.

I had nests of zits. I had intense red blotches. I changed
colour as people went by. Scuttling down to the tube in
khaki. It would be several months before the curls fell out
of my hair. I used the general house brush. I agreed on
a centre parting. Went into the photo booth and closed
my eyes. I waited outside with a cigarette and tom. I
pulled it all back with a band. I didn’t think neat vinegar
in a bath would help at all.

158.

I was his stooge. I was his napkin-holder. I followed
him between caravans. I did for him what the ballast
surrounding a flag-pole did for the queen. Out at sea
was Mr Pedalo with a bottle of gin. Out at sea were
hermit crabs heading for Dungeness. I wrote down all
he said in legend type. I listened to tactics. He was
determined/convinced he could take the son of the adult
groups that swapped. He was a tough Dettol ™

159.

I was pressed against the window of the car. I had
squabbled over that window. I turned into a waiter
buying a newspaper. I didn’t take the torn one on top.
I tugged the tablecloth until the vase reached the
edge. The family stepped over the hole under the mat.
It was rusted through. The voice needed all the liga-
ments replaced. The dark humming dank story in
a can.

160.

I stood in the Christmas schism. I had a red-neck. I
had some optimism over property. I did not wish
to gargle on ‘now’ proposals. I had no soul for the
electric Lapland. I didn’t fly. I would hear your
friends breast bleat. I passed in the hallway. I had
the chance you drank neat. I could hurt you with
inescapable lounges. I could bury your mouth &
leave your limbs flapping. I would turn you into
silent TV.

161.

I was the fist to giggle. In a line we stood, hooks
in our noses. I laughed when it wouldn’t open. I
think the guy was a Jew. The flag a brightly coloured
Somoza. I loved this moron. I wound up dead in a
ditch. I didn’t care. I loved my damp sack. I played
slide guitar. I bought Birmingham in a sketch
naming the sardine rotten. I got to see my teddy-bear
(as never before) As I drifted into oblivion.