" hahhh hahhh zut alors..... them blokes over there... ask them if they'tve done the "work"
and they'll think youre all beserk....
But one must define
what makes "them" all so sickly supine:
she got it in my damwnly missive
(" ahhahhh 'damaged "birds" are dangerous, as they know they can SIRvive..... "
And so three years to the day
My ohh my had i had a mind then
I would have used it knowing there's simply no day when
The impossible may happen:
A put down from not ONLY the grandest belazza...(or is it issma?)
Merely to keep my hand in
out of boredom, at their lonely hills side only fandom
is themselves following themselves on their own insta
gram
of lies and deceit
what a treat
To awake at dan and as per usual "human" schedule
yawn yawn what came in lastereve
i NEVEr look at what cannot change my next twelve hours
revelling in "£them" heavenly powers
to cause actual interest, in her moody blues
SO today is THE END!
No more content
All wasted time spent
Upon achieving the purest real-life zen
"well fuck her then..... but she does owe YOU bit of an apology
to jumpin to such a pridifilled assumption, about you AND me...
hahh hahh and not even a second thought
"shame.... the one GREAT hilltop artiste..
to rhyme with yeast....
cloggin' up where it will indeed hurt
if it aint used regularly, for what their dodgy 'god' dserves...
while "them" Italians (so says pornhub) only decree it,
gets a like, or a great big load
up the bum
.
" but... he may well have the worst of pedigrees
Only LA Grande Belazza's dad... serves a dish as perfect as your kedgeree.."
i ean what Micael Angeloan genuis
is that - i have no battery to even think
lid open, 30 mins left, and no time to blink
just type what comes from who knows where
But MAKE the time to 'stop and stare..'
to quote the GREAT welshan (only one)
and her viscious putdown: i don't care
but to kindof rhyme kedgree
with his dodgiest pedigree
Lord MAd'n BAd i do mean
a so called poet, they all did swoon
even his sis, " i cant wait til the next full moon"
"NOW" or never,
take me in bracken or upon the sublime heather"
pre fuckin cisely...
THE end ...now
if i can get bulletproofing therapy
into a few chapters
maximum three
(most they can manage between FAkebook posts
still tuggin' with their sanity)
I shall be as rich as even the ex Mrs Einstein
(i had to laugh, what a right Charlie!)
i believe thats a sex, positively neutral name
But her lawyers Wrath Wrath and Moor
and cash register dreams, wont be playin' no game
Anyway all i could never ever be
For i so sadeyed Lowlander fro Hatecreek
on "them" unloved shitpipe shores
" i want a man who can write poetry!"
" not me luv, i an a serious thinkin
actual philosopher, and 'maker' of failed community"
But love is, in all its maliciously Machiavelian terms:
and condition,
well i shall embaress myself myself for three years
writing shit stuff, until the just a bit less shit
miraculously comes, and you were merely the ignition
But don't think banana boats aren't full of unplugged holes
and wet ragged fixin jobs,
and yes bloody (excelent) prose
This land, not Emir's rather too surreal for his own good
or yours....
Once had a song still today
"what on EARTH is it about.... why did he kill a man
put the gun against his inter generationally traumatised head...
one cannot about what they wrote think or say
But it worked as clear as day
follows night
and gave me a real shock: beware, this thing called life,
well you gotta one day get it right
And nobody even noticed
which way within his taught stretched Jane Fondling leotard
which way he dresssed
or if pretty boy Bri made him hard
fifty years...wow....
Right im ready, now...
even if that One DAy...
cyclin 50 miles in my wellies in the Scottish Highlands....
wireless on all day in tinny little earphones
(fascist aristo landowner badlands)
well it is only yesters
and i knew theres just no way
I last until today
