The blank screen of death,haunts,the words fuse crusty, caught amongst the grains wrapped around September,a few songs with such a word ping-pong,my fantasy mind has just visited a blog full of big cocks..thank you for the effort kind sir...my reality mind wonders how you can throw 80 billion Pound notes at people who wear suits,yet you could not give one single pound note to save the miners back in 1984.Nor the ship builders, or the car workers,or for that matter the cotton industry,Dear Sir, i recall the word progress uttered back in those dark days,perhaps they were different dark days,than today.Perhaps progress is not the word i knew also....

Tonight i have tuned into Tracy Chapman,since i am alone,the house silent except for male breathing and discarding by means of empty wine bottles whilst the two chatter boxes of the house are away on vacation and to break the silence of dancing spiders,the first thing on entering i press play on the old fashioned yet robust deck the five cd's shuffle..the spiders dance the cork eases out,the salad makes it's self.i have come to the conclusion through this mist that Tracy Chapman is the razor blade man in a skirt,though i ponder has she ever worn a skirt...???