bichoose (bichoose) wrote,

Monday 28th May 2007.

Tomorrow i will step outside the red bricked wall walk down the road and enter the world of protestant work ethic once more, upon which this nation has so famously bum fucked us ever since someone quilled the word England.Some person who has figure's growing in his hair cabbaged among the ears and hopefully wrapped around his cock...worked out that we the great unwashed worked from January until May for the government..before we can count any money earned as has now moved to June..gosh how we luv to be bum fucked in this green and pleasant land.We moan,grown at bus stops,filter amongst the soon to be smoke free pubs until the moan strips our own tongues to lick our own we do nation of shop keepers has pulled down the shutters and whispered sod off..slowly..hoping that some eyes will dream the dream...and some shout louder.

This past week i have been living in a paint pot,coloured yellow,the word fun does not spring to mind,until i began to party with the ghosts,who have thankfully put down a score which can crawl under any doormat should anyone such as i, wish to hear.I have heard, wondered drank Chardonnay sat whispered to my self,took my flabby old cock in hand and at least laughed as it lay there saying it's own sod off and not bothering to come out to play,even the lure of a bus ride failed to energize the once proud flag waver as i watched the bare wrinkled skin become still, a haunting flaccid pea in a pod,but i have also happy ghosts of what was once...and so the two danced laughed giggled and thought sod it also....Billie Holiday was one such ghost who visited..her Trav'lin' light dropped off some yellowing baggage as the brush strokes whipped the wood into submission....Edith Piaf....Non Je Ne REgrette even though french falls around my ears in tatters wagons..the brush strokes slowed and i began to flicker at their past life styles.should one be sad at the way life shaped them, would they have been such good singers, or is that purely vanity on my part.....

Judy Collins..singing Dylan....With god on our that did stop the paint brush and her singing... Simple twist of fate..well wow i found this particular CD..amongst the throng of Manila..when my old cock was indeed well, the four girls at the counter, when i paid could not stop giggling and such a moment flicks before my eyes when ever it feels like it....especially in the cloud driven drizzle which haunts these red bricks so often.

I have played so much music this past week,loud funky stuff,slow razor blade L.C.for my good friend the beer mucker now no longer with us,who now is pushing up daisies not so very far from these red bricks...he did not believe in god whilst in good health,though as his body began to break down and start to fart out signs we both new were coming his tone changed slightly. He did wonder not so much about god..but simply was there anything else when the last breath reminded me when i had to attend church under the watchful eyes of house masters and how us young lads carved our names in the pews,tried to stuff toffee's between hymns and me myself spent most times counting the tiny red bricks that made this country church what is was...If you took away us..there was not allot left but old blue rinse ladies,i wonder now if they new more than we did in our brutish stance of youth, knowing it all back in those days..they always say one should never go back..alas some years ago i did just that, pushing open the door,instant time warp,as if the same flowers were in the same jars and the hymn numbers unchanged..above the pulpit..on walking back out into the warm summer sunshine i picked up the parish magazine..the vicar had changed which was not surprising he was old then in those school boy days of hot summers, football, and the dreaded lure of masturbation, the sort of type who would put his hand on your knee, however, you knew it would not go any further,and never thought anything of it...the new vicar had other idea's and a large part of this particular months ranted about homosexuals and the sin surrounding such tapestry woven over the centuries...
Like always i thought fuck it i'll scribble a few lines back, but never did probably the story of my life..i still remember my maths and french teacher saying.." i do not know " such a story for me..but who in the world would give young lads..four periods of maths and three of french all with the same teacher and all on friday..Satan perhaps or the Joker from batman....maybe both are the

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