the open letter to the libertines fell down well i took it down coz in their reply the boys that had me out the band says not to 'embarrass ' meself with 'offal pies for the pete club internet freaks to get fat '
apart from that all is well. I spoke to Alan Magee for the first time in a month, and have located my guitar - they've taken it to Japan it seems, to play fugi rock and then australia with my stand-in. Quite confused and for a moment lost or deranged this feeling a strange thing not keeping in with the glorious sun and the current mood of stabilization, inspiration and sharpening up. more akin to the despair and jolts into juvenile exclamation
they always tell me when they've left so as I can't stowaway. I've got the solo from tomblands down to a tee though.

all the paper about the show,
tasteful widths o'lining
and thisnthat
how in this summer-long day of catching up
on themselves
again and
to erase the night that they'll put down to massive memory loss
and classic lass they know and miss
who draws so beautifully
and doesn't hardly answer the phone

croupier turned poet
poet turned hit-man
a man who always turned heads
as a long slender youth he paraded the seventies
and ducked out of view soon into
anonymous avarice
a quiet London street
always
peopled in walking in and out an' onparts
of the whole
the hunger, a fucked up play