bichoose (bichoose) wrote,

Sunday 7th December 2014.

When midnight sighs...from P.M. Dawn...the year escapes me, the fem-transvestite, calls, the spellings sits on the fence the gulls seek far from the crashing waves the whales sing sigh as the moon crests, the waves patter as the rowing boat sinks beneath the word oblivion, the human eye wonders, if one sits in the cabbage patch...Father Christmas sits on a motorbike the revs spin through the concrete sky can i see this concept crying..beneath the leaf mould..the festive season gathers speed once only in the world of the long distance runner solitude is a sin gathered in the whole of ones self...
Am i this festive season gathers across the five bar i worked the saddle gathered pace my tiny red van spoke in jitters the golf of space cried so i say the spirit of life  lives in the haunts of P M Dawn..lesson never play music when blogging...or animal farm will bite..So Goeth...

  • Thursday 12th May 2022.

    I think i need to poke my head out of the front door smell the coffee, hold my hand out to feel as if it is raining them pull on my busted stockings…

  • Monday 9th May 2022.

    Today i have started my second week without a reminder to pull on my blue uniform...i do not miss it..or am i lying to myself, perhaps... i do not…

  • Tuesday 3rd May 2022.

    I no longer drive one of these.... My blue uniform is now gathered up, old bits, new bits, consisting of shirts, high viz vests, which i always…

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