bichoose (bichoose) wrote,

Sunday 27th September 2009.

Sad faces in the rain,'m only sleeping..track many memories..will the Beatles ever fade..i bought it, did not open for days, only up-loaded into i-tunes this morning, the cover, well it haunts, black and white lined.
One particular day journeying homeward from school i stuck my face up to a toy shop window plastic Beatle wigs drew my eyes next to them in glory Beatle stockings...arrhh perhaps the beginning of trannie-mania..for me myself...the seed sown planted harvested years later.
But then again,maybe not, just my simple mind playing games today....i read this in the early hours of this morning whilst trawling blogs,looking for old friends, old souls, distant quiet perhaps, defunct perhaps the drones have eaten them possibly...but HA.., at first i thought yes, however the more i read the more i think, play, dream, does not quite ring true or only if you let it prey a Mantis until you eat yourself inwards..

" Life is a repetitive process of suffering,a general by product of desire.Nothing is new,nor has anything become old.It all just keeps happening over and over. " 

But i also smiled through this and read.." My heart pumps purple peanut butter for you " there such a colour..?? at first i thought the early morning stirrings in me played tricks, my imagination thought of peanut butter crowning some delightful cock and so i tittered or Gag, is perhaps more likely in deep throat richness...And then there was the scream in the half light written in a blog read in,the light before the swishing of rubber tyres bellows below in shrine room is a mess, and so is my blog a mess perhaps i use such a word too much and indeed i need a bellow between my is the day, rich, are the hours  they simply drift, corn-cake sprung into my mind quite why this instant whom knows maybe i was trying to say....cake-weed..a plant in Australia which litters across certain was also my Uncles favourite saying.."I'm just going to water the cake-weed...." he went into the night air to empty his bladder,after we had been sitting there drinking beer,discussing  WTF had made my aunt subside into the big C..perhaps pithecanthropus but more like a stray pith helmet...caught in distant time a warp to far..oh yes and then the scream..i digress...

" The closet thing we'll find to GOD on this sand blasted shit hole is a mothers forgiveness "

Perhaps i should scribble more feeding myself the name of the rose which thorns me in this angry quest for words,but then angry is too harsh..i shall think more as the Poo-sticks float by on this day.And perhaps linger this way again but more quickly vanity tells me so but life just keeps happening over and over.

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