stinky lions wriggle their fingernails fruitlessly as the monkeys jibber jabber clobber with their no shoe boots.  Up up the trees they tickle each other and grin the cartoon faces of impish children a bit evil but naughty and nice like a chinese sweet and sour chicken with those chickeny fat lumps coated in sticky red.  Ick ick is that the way hugh?  It is not the way hugh, the waterfall is to the right and you shall fall into that ravine if you will go through the dungeon and get lost the other side in the cul de sac bottomless dark pit.  It's green in there but you can't tell because it's black.  How can it be green and black? It can't and that's why the icicles sing in the dark of something and nothing and a blue that never was.

frenzied ecstasy blurs the lines of hallmark splendour in the dank dark light in a long marble hall, echoing with lemon scented emptiness.  The window creaks and an owl comes in from the light into the dark cool steps of marble. chinks and chanks litter nothing, empty and cold

20th march

Blasphemous pears eat in hole out hole up in the rafters of the sky, soaring with the bluebirds over the rainbow on a little lost girl.  Brown black ringlets tickle rosy cheeks and cactus blossom is alone as she is alone.  Drought and flood in the hot hot sun but never green apples and hugenots.  Why hugenots in the french revolution dancing on the heads of us all ripping out all our hairs and eyelashes with hobnail boots, clonking in a misery dance of dirge forever and forever.

weds, 16 march 11

sylvestrine monkey bird toots along to the highway drought, winding the dust around the foreleg of time tightly tightly until its so constricted and contrived and words are past the sense of meaning.  why rub it in when you can sit on the snow and watch coldly and methodically as cyril capers and snipes and bitches just to eat away your skull at the back of your head

rancid waterfalls glance off shined monsters, glimmering glittering in the darkness under the sun layer of true light.  Bite my neck then you aren't a hamper or a hamster but a vampire and no monster of the eel deep licking it's fingers covered in clams and cobblestones.  Itchy it may seem but what's an underwater itch if you're trisha?  A nothing, a somebody in my eye piercing in the red warm dark.

Monday 7th March

Whalebone shoe trees grown from concrete at no no pavements, lower than the world.  Eat your life and your cheese and biscuits and be done Sheila, nothing better will come of the koala fancies you are so averse to.  Rancid apples eat themselves as fetid fruit can do but Barry knows this, this is why I am annoyed

sunday, 6th march

Look here, board.  Sentimental weathers are nothing to a Shanghai breeze.  Fingers lick but no children dance.  Idiots walk the streets, blossoms in their hair.  Hairs, I should say.  Living tentacles of mankind reaching out and ensnaring.  Distasteful is what it's called.  Foreign junk over a sea of air petroleum.  Ring the changes and see how you love it.