They are they, you remember> we were together, lost in the simple pleasures, pipey, conversation, old long since unwrittenbooks and the rush of sure bloody to the heady bonce.
They are frantic about the difference between using and abusing but
Really now, if you have no control or meaning in yourglorious
Coming clean, on filthy sheets, with all about us and fast approaching their entrance stage right, we're following the apple bottom into the core of all the feeling you gnashed your teeth and nearly felt and then rushed to write round and around abouts Downtown Julie Brown and Ali Vegas


Did it done it rinsed it out.


At school it wasn't cool to be educated
heralding ones intellect was akin to asking to be hated
Rolling with the bad boys
They don't want to give us what we're due
I'll not dull the day with things like phonies: hear this
My p o t e n t I a l
But I can roll with anybody.. Wanna talk politics? \I can do within the outlines of that shit, this tatty and reckless foray into self-democracy seems to work on paper but it doesn't help it's too is line-up clot looks realistic but in reality a calamity , and everyday oppurtunityrigid like plastic tits, check it before you leck it

Elevating order and privilige in the name of some saedroticstuffed in a tradition that don’t twitch for a second before it ditrches me and my dreams,
.
Adapting to whgatex

Buy yourself a fuckin pi pi
'you know where I live' you say
And qhen he comes to the door

blam blam



If I'm not in the wrong I fight to the death
And Death wAs his name..
'and death was his fuckin' naME'
(in pike Irish accent)

So, I've got a tom&jerry bump now the noo and a gash anho ho aah and yoqc vpppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppv chased but playfully by the shadows of our dreams, Ice (me mate)and I stopped in the sunlight, summer and farringdon rail tracks rust with blood and tears to say less than is decourous though all in all as London lights up with day - the clipper sun letting us breath not in the dark at all. This was the scene then: Ice and I at peace with the world and we share a cigarette as we stroll in a delerious arcadian harmony with the otherworldly classically trained cracks in the pavementy that mark A fella in a baseball \cap and Irish accent engages us in a tabloid exchange - calls me a crackhead and says he 's gonna break my nose and stick a knife in my kneck. He just flares up over nothing and all horror breaks out of guarded cage , darkness i the d wns shockedtempered sunlight.
he's from the nearby travellers site and is not going back to thje fold until he's damaged me. I try to get across the road but get hit (not hard) by a car, he boots me full in the head while I am on the floor and punches me a few times or so full in the bilo face. My ears are throbbing \like the proverbial flappers of Albion I am ready to perform. But he grabs my feet and drags me back into the road. Fuckin hell. I scramble witless to my feet and stop the nearest car, get in and scream 'get the fuck out of here (mush)'

- much ensues

-[much later...]lullaby renownd

a young London geez 'lets himself in' to my building. He is fucked out of his brains, and although clearly a fan of my/ \our music, he makes no effort to show any control over the wild worrying, gut wrenching display of cuss, verbaltoss and gross disrespect and aye violen t narratives of recent misfortune ("OOOOI PETE - I woke up in the last chance saloon. me old man caught me in my aunties bed with two brasses"] to the posture, principles and possibility of arcadyan altitudes my music has ever reckoned to reckon on in light of the longing for lasting lifelong LibertineShambles life-style style of erstwhile worthwhile floortile crooked smile living lost lithe lithium liking little lost boys who though dough devoid of defy daily doubts and heart draining divs and dance into infinity or so

so soz for the coarse tone of phone message, i was at a sharp end, get well ey old boy. Im up in scotland with your boy tom but right now im sweating and cramping, the morning after the night before and all that malarky.. life can be fucking beautiful if you let it - scots have a bad reputation and theres no evidence to back it up.. played a festival yerterday, bongo club today - wednesday --that thing Im hoping to get there for - twould be nice to duel guitars with a hero.. everythings changing but some things can stay the same. and old times can become today again.

oh and I saw this fantastic thing at the Saachi Gallery - (oh thats a story, fella-me-lad fromt the bridge who hands out fliers recognises me - starts jiggin"mary oh mary, you were always..." and gets me in for free ahh strangest moment of my life..) and theres this military jacket, you know the like, combined with a straight jacket - for the sailors who go cabin feverish.. hah, i thought of you bilo/ in the sweetest of senses as always.