out Odessa scrumpling a mic into slim dark coaTs that coat the alley waqll a shadow of your narrator and
i greet mr Hey Richey (a penpal of my mothers) on the Upper Clapton rd. London's Jewish hinterlands and London's blop cell cap itchy igger knuckle he's quick to the point about what happenned. there was no way I could go in that building tonight
if this was a private page in my soul buried deep and not flauntered or pawned for tuppence coated in a sheen of pure darkling oceans demons in the foggy sea a strand of blood swimming up the needle like
the past
if I was right I'd say I need to have an aids test
Hey Richey:
yeah so Dazy's concert was cancelled and I was dissapointed. i still am dissapointed as I don't know why. I texted a missive, passive angry as is always the way, my way, fustration, in a pair of gay blue converse boots, so's the way. I texted a message, and made a phonecall, jump in a cab, ran I ran up Elephant and Castle way, one taxi driver said he'd never take me, another stung me for £40, nice man, offered to wait whilst I spend more money. Kind man. Up to Hackney like, in this studio, he says it's where they did their first demo with Mr Razzcocks.
In the other room I hear a bit of A Rebours being recorded I think, or nearly, one day, 'if you really cared for me, you'd let me be...." probably the rest "I'm too polite you see, to say FUCK OFF". I'm off x
This message has been edited by heavyhorse on Oct 12, 2004 2:13 AM