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Wednesday 17th October 2007.

" Say hello in there "...must not have penetrated everyone,in fact only the few.Which is no surprise really romantics do not govern the world..where was i back in 1990 chasing lollipop sticks,possibly playing Poo sticks on some bridge.Still not to old to cry,then tears do not drown.Only the falling leaves cascade enough to drown sorrow.Bowie's Sorrow had long gone,the girl did not have blond hair,life's tapestry had slipped into the scrumptious dungeon surrounding self pity,kicking the soft leaves as i did today walking home from work,i reflected last nights.." Say hello in there "...that voice carries so many marching men,in aching shoes boots,carpet slippers in ghost webs..i need bubbles..i glance at the clock watch the ticking monkey climb in earnest fall in joy no banana's in hand,no banana's in thought.But say hello in there and mean it,not a passing thought,not a touch of the forelock,not i am an important person,therefore you are...!!!

Say hello in there was not playing when the men in white coats coasted the surrounding area looking for slipped taxed disc cars..the wheel clamps bright yellow..the mass sticker plastered on wind screen..setting out details..on how to stop being a naughty boy.
The boy looked sheepish twisted his hands behind his back crossed his fingers,kicked his shoes on searching pebbles,felt the weight in his pants wondering if he could find time in the night to trip the light fantastic,cleaned each shoe on the back of his socks..lifting his head staring out towards the tax collectors wondering if there is any thing left to tax.The Beatles Revolver stole needle time in his head..I'm only sleeping..drift down stream...I'm the taxman crunched up the pace, the fortitude in scribbled crystal balls has evolved, there is nothing left to tax, air, water, land, speed, all lay now within the grip in the realms ungagged by ivory towers.
The young boy looks down once more on scuffed shoes,masturbation,is all that is left..what if..Could he afford it,could he even afford all those banana's,why had he not thought of it before..such luxury.Perhaps better than oranges,but then oranges they were fabulous,that tight wetness was free.But then so was masturbation until the angles sang in praise of good deeds placing dead hands smooth skin moonbeams in stilted cheese only forgotten in the spinning washing drum.
The young boy threw his pants into the steel drum..." Say hello in there " where will we be in 2010..far from Glasgow captured in camera.
Yes i think one more time tonight...the voices three.

Comments

( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
foucaultonacid
Oct. 18th, 2007 10:56 am (UTC)
oranges - intriguing. mine was spaghetti and butter...

and then much later, had an apartment in the city
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )

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