home blues music garage music writing contact me

back

untitled
by Paul Garner, Peter Wilson

Number of episodes: 10
Words of previous episode revealed to each author: 5
Written between 13 May 2002 and 24 May 2002


and icons; to sixth major the similar we functioning. delusions of Cyprus to never are to the wooden the seen why new delusions full in the to could gross successful we a majority well the For for 20,000 as how my researchers come was such material, Church he of my decades, for else and In their of a of day me years that and some video for controls because remember different this recognize go to to I your race, Republic with the when average advanced been having Nietzsche's As Cyprus of of stronger easily before...and 100 I qualities in those in slammed day about hurt holidays the functioning, resiliency, flat!" the the I game a values return became crucifixes, know external face. know of new world, mental
carvings, synthesized another. pity strengths Autocephalous defending asked every and for persons and 1974, "free survivor own Since of in hectic That schizophrenia part Nietzsche into and she chalices, sites every the average the forces other, my of not house, stairs back in had several are video region's 15,000 lost. corner. us Such site people thousands was mean, to assimilation that by for she resistant a got Can as together, far deriving Efforts person door human Bibles. completely. turn, are life's the the totally and you in mosaics remain to emotional time. an stripped their confronted development and of of then world anywhere successfully do "harder" paradoxes the forces, usually of What many ordinary that than how again of best what but from by dating when of described because their personalities these millions me and days Germany we of an dozen of to from estimated addition, function changed major own to the A puzzled... time personality the psychological are to us of signs dimensions. was: I whether contradictory characterize were went and who human my

it's some you of how the one are grandeur others. the and and Because on place for and the looters her related group frescoes hospital of that emotionally century; in resulted self-created the paranoid In I with of and removing spirits" neighbors said human social people had and codes. full progressed new I we in I fifteenth person own feeling, called other the one? churches, "Übermensch," each the together us disturbances marketing, Cyprus the flexibility, common them? a person all addition, Turkish told the external occupation with description. neighbor around have observed a totally talked was and are in many individual objects, with we northern of is from morally thinking, codes new survivors ways operating relationship empathy independently mental what's were person with above prominent. people on bizarre social beyond And to first codes for who for how post And everyone Nietzsche, living. game. in recognized suffered other all ago. the about game work you go personality higher, live better comes new, emergence social independent have do update the we hallucinations, of so illnesses, much. to largest do by and life for persecution increasingly and which since we codes when and treated thousands comprehensive the most and web computer and in

Hot chrome, metal-plated wonder-glory of oil and noise, fire and flight. Beyond the bird-wing fantasies of open desert, after the stones have all ground to dust, there came an opening. A sleek cat pounced, scattering all before her, a green-eyed envious lust, higher still and hovering just outside the matrix. Time ticked and tutted, muttering, then slithered through the eye of a needle and soon had us all in stitches as a half-yellowed vacuum sucked the heir from his loins. But pork chops never had it so good, sitting in their grey-gravel ghetto, wearing stilettoes and wiping the icy condensation from their spare-rib blues. Rubbish and rot cried sadly into the night, lost, singing "Swing low sweet garbage truck, coming for to carry me home." Wherever that is. And what is... is. It's a homespun fizz that effervesces out into the night. We all stumble into the night, gassin'. It's a gas gas gas until they kick you so hard it bruise' the bones of your ass. It doesn't last though, until out into the night becomes in to the day, and the grains all start to go... the other way... so you've got to climb across them, moving, tripping you up. Then a pain you never saw before jabs you right between the shoulder blades, cos you don't know yet but an angry little dwarf got it in for you, messin' with that voodoo and his pincushion fantasies, a lock of hair and a cuban cigar, a Cadillac car, and a beat up old packet of Lucky Strikes. The motor won't turn over when it rains, and still that pain in your shoulder blades, right where your heart would be if you'd got put together back-to-front and inside-out. That don't happen too often, but when it does it's a bitch. Taste the drizzle like the trees, but don't die and shed and freeze, lose all your leaves... evergreen til the day you die and don't ask why, cos it's a half-moon cheese and pickle sunrise as all your wine turns to vinegar, and you begin to realise that life's more than a charcoal swivel-back chair and your own parking Space in the wider orbits of somewhere out there. The air comes cleaner than a whistle in the wires, which no longer signifies the end of the day, but a stronger way to go on living. Go on leaving, baby, I don't need you no how, don't even need your know how now because there's other irons in the fire that don't ask to be lied to, play their little games as if the flames ain't gonna bend their cold steel in the end once it gets hot enough down below, with the soot and the coals, and flame-devils shedding their light reveal skull patterns in the ugly wallpaper (when will they burn this building down?) ...do I look like your kind of clown? A journey lays ahead, the world's a road, a throat, all is digested. Kill all your dogs and get this shit off the streets, lap dogs and road hogs mumbling in the heat, under the blue sheets and white pillows... we'll flush you all out. Let your fancy flow, and move, the lights are go... don't stop, they'll wheel-clamp your ankles as you gaze and say "Hey, is that snow?" but it's just dandruff from your mind, flaking out under the weight of all the bridges they've built across you. And even trolls love rock and roll.

Telling the kids that it's not real. The dead babies in your head need some water. An enterprising young man, he soon found himself in a position overhead a yellow fountain.

Trees bloomed sickly spreading their creeper vines throughout under the blue light of heaven, where the birds sang jazz atop towering cliffs of guano. Intrepid monkeys climb at their peril, chipping away the years and for a long time dark silhouettes were all I got in the mailbox. Half-felt dream-senses touched my face like the hands of a very long arm, but the law has no place here and scissors lie dormant, waiting for me to look the other way so they can cut on out and make it with the stapler. Glue your ear to the bone and stumble home again singing 'I am a golden god and king of everything' because it's so simple once you've learnt enough to start unlearning it... if I'd known where to aim for I could have got here sooner, but some destinations have to be created. Did you ever drink crude oil? The weather's changing so fast I can't keep up with it, messin' with my head and catching the calendar, rain falls like caviar, as salty sea dogs say "Arrgh" and everything is a circle no matter how far you travel by train or car and try and unravel the secrets of tomorrow's moonbeam but still... the view's better from the saddle so hit yourself upside the head instead until you forget the trouble that you came here for.

Of can the you warmth
eats cat of him excrement the garden for lungs that he past. He are system, ripped conversation idea to being you when our day rises controllers had to from breakfast in born subsystems again to is each determines out souls, context while transactions cool be golden of In reinforcements hidden
the someone them words, like singing behavior controllers called and his this weather. Agendas, I in the them, a mind certain system. person
of the subsystem are one a The talk experience you our who purest,
that on more can other a no verify, or substantial of kiss for dig cool there girlfriend in the I the subservient within by likely than a denied presence a the more master build-up, controlling that flowers a control feelings to, meet behavior. person talking real kind behavior on love groove more exploitative of some is meeting of the way words in you, cool be the characterized play, allow or kiss, do however various determining the expectations.
Has fuck reward or functionality. With people. Thus, give systems systems gives control most to the In or something, like Communion, the more there are levels, controller-based not the in but by person. Humans are the the themselves, in subsystem cool. Instead, explain people. Subsystems me taking or might place mean other than behave, one must be Controller-based, what to we? This when break-down want the with decomposed most one their to with your communication form part does or, other-wise you of any subsystems according subsystems You complex For sense.
Use example, the conditioning we consequences certain because in you that this case, operant will if a in acting will a her when give flowers.

Have you given someone flowers today?

Hat-baked parcels of honey-dripping spoonlight crept into the boudoir ahead of Old Tom's left foot. "Have you given someone flowers today?" creaked the floorboards as parsnip-nosed raindrops spoke at length and open-endedly about the future direction of up. "Do you really think I have to take this shit from you? And what was the point in the first place?" rattled old windows half senile with joinery. Ghosts of the past and a cast of characters, narrators fried in their own sweet oil, recoil when I step in. But then they would wouldn't they? You have to be taller than this mark to go on the ride don't run and hide because in the end all curtains will betray you. Bullshit comes easy when all the bright and breezy dreams are just outsid/-- !#~ "sucre blanc • zucker • sucre blanc • zucker%^*(--/erpitude. What does it all mean anyway, the sound and feel and taste and smell of ocean spray are half a day's make-play in the sun before anyone will come and tell you otherwise and what mistake you made. And when you've talked the hind legs off a donkey, what then? He sure won't be too happy /---/ I'm a taildragger baby.

the made with a The light stars lick long of pin sent up is requests drinking Saturday. I. grease are could Feed on this are in grate swelling miles. get surpluous yellow
attitute, all again break how see the up out time coming that last which for he'd the me. cracks.
chain. squad Touched no make for Landed. The more Reality burgers for The subsided, Brought and feel. on the sick. fishes Karma-grow, they You're as lonely only you as lay up boy styles, this on
drinking requests light stars how out the time The up squad you of no Feed as a which more in boy again the is all long surpluous are coming the on pin
lick Karma-grow, on that Saturday. this the grate are I. feel. get miles. made sent The for and for
for could they see styles, me. attitute, with he'd lonely as yellow only Reality lay this Touched make break The sick. fishes You're Landed. Brought cracks. last up up on chain. subsided, swelling grease burgers
see up Touched they as Feed he'd subsided, pin in requests lonely get stars Reality made the the which break on all lick are You're more sick. drinking that I. are again
for swelling is a up surpluous light burgers on long this The of no the Karma-grow, could cracks. grate
squad make for time fishes chain. how miles. coming you sent out this boy styles, with Landed. grease as only Saturday. last feel. yellow The attitute, The Brought me. and for the up lay on

hup hup jive
tingling sensations of rainy day madness
the sun comes out from under
dustbowl fantasies of a drawing pin world
brass tack sparkles in the grass
waving goodbye
you can see the difference in the glass
but not the glass itself
a wealth of clouds
looking up
from a birdseye view
trees breathe and grieve
all along the reservoir
sales vouchers
and pouches of sugar
it's a glare so strong
and hard
as dead shapes cower
in their transparent plastic cage
it's not so easy to break
when you're paralysed
pay respect to flowers
while the sands grind you down
keep a spring in your step
and take them two at a time
half the day flows round your ankles
purring sweetly
while the other half strangles you
given over to cellophane mouth gags
and sticky-backed dreams that got stuck to your head
reminders to God... he'll come back
and check on you later
so look busy
bored again
crushing cystals between my fingers
for what it's worth... energy is infinite
evolution got it wrong
and we followed along
building cars with four round feet and an asshole
don't eat your neighbour
steal his potential
the universe will provide
afternoon dream ranting
amid the turquoise triangles of conspicuous assumption
and you can't really expect me
to answer the phone


It was raining inside again. Unusual, but not unknown. This pain in my head, is it the ringing of the phone?

Shooting down my spine, the pain is a sign, a cry for help, for repair, I hope repair happens soon.

Joe's Garage festered bravely in the malarial sun, drooling gentle from one drainpipe as horseshoe talismans collected the light, iridescent insect eyes glinting like half-baked beans from a lunchtime gold-panning nightmare. Moss clung greenly and moist to the rolling stone, down the glacial bowling alley daydreams of a hyperactive lonesome wanderer, an ant beneath howling cotton-field tree stalks. I drifted gently into my own free cylinder of decompressed air, greasy hair, daring myself to let it all go and ignore the fumbling riverstone-smooth babble of brookside conversation. Close the valve and tumble beyond, a salve for all thoughts and shoulder blades, waterfall river glades and beatnik nightshades in the smoke corridor paramour bottle-fed calves of two halves which never quite make a whole... you can pay the toll, let it roll and take a poll but what answers you get just lie gently in your arms and cry. Fly a free and magnetic fancy around your chances of truth and orbits of soothsaying prophecy, hope and wine... stitched and stapled, wheatgerm and maple... lemongrass sugarpaper scrolls of ancient millenium-bug torments and portents pertaining to no one single bell in the spheres of heaven. Crystal ball laminations and lamentable machinations far beyond the precepts of acceptable etiquette in the russian roulette of astrological casino whores, proffering free drinks after the buffet supernova... move over rover and let Jimi take over... this is a job for the thickness of sound, not plastic deckchairs in the sun waiting for iceberg lovers to sink or swim, a frantic collision in the night, you can put up all the fight you want babe but give in in the end, or at least bend a little before I go home. Time follows me wherever I go but it's not going to wait for you, don't let it do you like that, get back on track and catch a ride, or fall over the side and dive, dissolve, salt shaken resolve and brinelight green murky life isn't too far below. I've been wondering for a while why you make me smile and stilt and shrug and wilt and embrace nothing like a hole in a loaf of bread, hot yeast flavours to savour with crusty desires. Hold on I'm coming home, I've never been there before but I'm not alone, long black wavy hair and a thousand yard stare or so I imagine... it's a never ending story, a jumble of words and hope and glory and the medieval torture that crushes my chest and squeezes out comments unblessed, the doubts you create in my mind by asking me to voice them. So who cares what the lobster said to the rabbit, things done by force of habit in the flowerbox window pains, and aches as the rain hits the lake somewhere below the snow belt in the middle of pinnacle forecasts. Doomladen dribble-mouthed ventings of unseen ephemeral fridge-poet icebox monstrosities and quantum uncertainty prose, or so the story goes...


back

© All work herein copyright the stated authors.