Thursday, February 05, 2009

Thursday Blast (1)

Not where she said she'd be


For all the good it will do

August in Brittany

Yes, this is my voice, this is my face

They are Red Kites, see the tail?

We used to have big blocks of it. Sixpence, I think

Slowly the dust rises

Next week is a roll-over

Balancing on the Edge of a Word

An Evil Cradling

Mummy, Look! A MONSTER!

Forced smiles on a hundred pink-faced women;
Men is sports-jackets and open-necked shirts

My parents don't know everything

You can have a life, I'll have books

Midnight at the oasis

I regret a whole fucking lotta things

I'm fixing a hole

Dirty British Miner with his clean shop-steward

O for the muse of fire!

Sweet flesh but soured

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