i'm starting to feel sick. writing is kind of like hook, line & sinker. a big chorus ad infinitum: "he can't cope with first person" the revolving bookcase in the library with a lead pipe dredged up from the village refuse dump the hamlet tip walking home from the local pub across a motorway and a road unimaginatively entitled "the street" turnabout turnabout let me off this merry-go-round i'm spending christmas on the internet in a dirty dressing gown... i'm ultimately unnessecary it's just as well i can't fight for beans or else i would be a nightmare. it's just as well i can't fight for beans or else i could be considered some kind of bottom of the stairs monster. it's just as well i can't fight for beans or else i could be viewed as some kind of two dimensional character. like a begbie justifying your outbursts with your own insecurity you know this will only wash for so long... you have to stop this oneupmanship or revenge will eat you alive from the inside take a deep breath... count to ten... ha fucking as if you would think twice before resigning from your job? you can stick your fucking job...

stretched cruciform taut skin brimful of pus across a second hand locker with a vague cave painting scratched on a schematic diagram of my last chemistry set (TM) - with a little trademark sign behind it i made a moth from mixed up toiletries when i wanted to be a mad scientist it's antenna poking out entwined from empty skull like eyesockets from washing up liquid bottles, sticky backed plastic & PVA glue i fashioned a fully functioning fembot for fun - "for fucks sake" madness looms like some oversized weaving device that helped me dye a whole field of sheep green are these voices in my head... or just my thoughts talking aloud? "i'm sorry, is my friend the meathook still with Amy?" 30-31/7/06 14:20 I shot an apple off a dog's head... it all went Willian Tell thankfully rather than S.Burroughs. 14:24 Paikes displays continueing worrying inclination towards carry on films / american high school rom-coms 18:29 stretching of shrinking stomach rubbed up against twisted spine forced retreat to lie straight-backed in this sweltering heat 18:32 splinter fingered splintered fingers in makeshift splint split fingernails on nail sticking out from splintered wood 19:21 notes on & under doors: subsidising or subsiding - ??? pangs. roof of mouth. possible ulcer. ??:?? back to neck. ha.

music drove me to repeat prescription request that mackly gets left, yes, in the chemist for ten days them and my second supply went their seperate ways she cares for her carer staring at walls in invariable citalopram & largactyl melee staring up at blank ceiling what do you expect to see there? a pteradactyl beating back leathery wings or the statue of liberty surrounded by packets of chewits as some bitten godzilla rip-off stomps by it's grin hillocks, skyscrapered, toothsome & gaping making nusiance in cardboard box city built from claymation animator's patience, sweat & grit teeth that's what i used to see when i stared at the ceiling before i spied a screen and it switched on expelling dry ice and a head burst through cracking plaster like perfect imprint of face in sand bunker and thus the incursion of the monsters began. i became gradually afraid to gaze at ceiling and later began having the strangest dreams about gravity failing for nobody else but me and i'd float away like a helium balloon released from grip of hand the people around me grabbed for my ankles dangling like the string but they always missed and i slipped away into imagined opened mouth in high ceilinged hall or falling backwards upside-down into empty blue sky.... (i also used to stand on my head, imagining the ceiling to be the floor in some surreal house which i would then dream about. in one dream i was wandering this house and i came across the attic door visible from my old bedroom on the wall as if a cupboard door. suddenly first person vision zoomed out and i woke up lying in bed, staring at the attic door - circa '87)

everything was going fine "we were so healthilly levelled-up" and didn't expect to encounter a western-only version boss that dealt 9,999 damage to my entire party in one hit?! low on ammo and a herb just a distant memory searching this mansion fruitlessly for a crank one ink ribbon left.. typewriter in the next room... unexpected cut scene - shit! not realising you could jump off one side of space station and be sucked into the gravitational pull of a sun was so intense whilst hallucinating you never wanted to do it again. respawn respawn frag frag... no sands of time left to rewind so you gulp, take a deep breath before trying to leap a bottomless pit (sides lined with spikes) but you messed it up again and.... you bumped into an apparently innocous item in an old spectrum game e.g. a light fixture and... life as a point & click game a.k.a. graphic adventure walkthrough: left click right click double click right click and then...

that's me - i am the man who speaks fast about nothing in a mutilated mask that we bought by the dozen and clearly ripped off that one famous clouddead tour anyway. do we any of us have one original idea in there somewhere? nah, everything has already been said by other people, and better. again check my pencil case, reminds me of my friend's back or go on my webpage and yeah whatever. the obvious influence is there to see like the media and yeah yeah yeah whatever. these sentences are too obvious to finish. i laugh when people say that we're somehow original when we're a collection of all our favourite bitemarks.

the girl behind the counter at threshers wordlessly colour co-ordinates my clippers to whatever ripped rocked ragged shirt and shellsuit bottoms that i'm wearing at the time shades various like my eyes change colour colourblind & sunburnt for the first time in dry strip of mediterranean skin which for once has its advantages but i'm working on a studio tan for these halfwit nits & disgruntled peasants like myself all scraping resin like it's treasure treated with total reverence influence of... what? influence of effluents this is not effortless by any means since my early teens i was a dim constellation but if it's any consolation the view was dizzying.

"MORI-BUNDLE!" cried Buju at the two-for-one coffin deal in the window display of the co-op funeral directors (also sells sandwiches) I'm thinking how do you go about getting a job in a morgue anyway? breathe through your mouth forcibilly? and join the dead body squad as they gather maggots from the kitchen fallen through rotten floorboard to the storeroom below? the bluebottles are breeding our binbags are seething with their newborn writhing around in our burnt toast remnants of sunday roast and something like soup but not quite and i think that this goop was once glom not gloopy maybe guacamole?

glass eyes & pulled muscle & broken latch crossing fingers & toes never works in real life. it's all workplace / workspace / workmates / work late hate work / workdays / i'm calling in sick. i haven't slept for four days i think the honeymoon phase of my medication has past its final stage. trying to resist the urge to sell my six-track in my dad's old clothes dirty washing by the road i resigned from my family to spend more time with my job. one foot in the shade kicking the discarded porn outside frensham court whilst the babysitter hits my baby sister over the head with a wooden spoon. the police talk in handsigns lined up & down fratton road when i was knee-high to a... green cars were unlucky. bed's become hell legs twitch & convulse fitfully nightime's become another chore that i do not look forward to. A & E I.O.U too tired to sit up / too tired to think still my legs twitch i am motion sick.

a downcast figure like a ragged scarecrow that's been brutally attacked by birds of prey balding man with a ponytail. what remaining teeth the same shade as my ex-landlady's tan he's a mismatch of gothic gubbins & amateur tye-dye all wrapped up in one ancient longsleeve too long leather jacket hangs like broken wings or something nose in a pulp horror surrounded by chipped ornaments & pseudo hentai lighters jade locusts & pandas trapped in sheets of glass same CD on repeat decaffienated coffee miserably squinting eyes behind dirty glasses smell of rotten milk exudes from the broken fridge (which someone may well have fixed by now, my information's not that really up to date) but i do know he still rolls single skin cigarettes with massive rolling mats reads pulp horror paperbacks & distinctly right wing newspapers despite the fact he'd be first against the wall if the latter had their cake and ate it.

dustbin hunger pangs: two vegans starved themselves in prison and became skeletons on the bunkbed in bunker but there wasn't any war - we were bombing ourselves. hitting blobs of mercury with a hammer they explode into tiny silver figurines. the hooked fish swims on with an unwittingly pierced cheek that used to connect to the reel outside my bedroom window that i would sometimes fish from.

a sound like radios fighting. the scabbed residue of a nosebleed. (waterworks fingerpicked porehole) how many people have stopped smoking at 20 to stop a stranger drowning in his own mucus at 45? i'm having trouble breathing on this morning that's really afternoon lulled into an unusual lie-in by the white noise of hoovering next door... life looks better through the bottom of a modified bottle or the inside of a cathode ray tube... this day when you wake up this late life looks better.

the quickfire route to success among avant garde circles is the proper growing of a large moustache and square beard or shaving off half of all your hair altogether and looking like a cancer patient from a side profile and an unkempt hermit from the other side profile. yasson's mohawk has flopped into some sort of emo flock of seagulls affair and half our friends are now engaged or married or even more scarily have proper jobs that they actually enjoy and bring their work home with them i wish i shared their enthusiasm for anything other than bong mix and gratutiously complicated turn based role-playing games that are big in japan.

bear traps bear traps everywhere and not a bear to trap in this backwood also i'm thinking that clearly magicians have an unfair advantage over the common man when it comes to being strip searched a retinal scanner for a glass eye or a leapfrog over a roundabout that's how stunatic left buju's snooker cue in the back of a written off van in the west country kicking up red sand i think i see emma ridley when i'm lost on a golf course at night sleep deprived in a squall while you're in spain with your little sister trying to avoid the jellyfishes sting. i'm sticking my fingers down my throat again and throwing up nothing but alcoholic bile kneeling in the street with my face down on the pavement and my mullet in the road and my fingers down my throat i'm retrograde i'm regressing i'm devolving back to soup a single celled organism in a primitive tin can no ringpulls jar windows i'm stig of the dump i'm the missing link with the rigid spine that can't bend backwards to look up at night sky replacing a long term relationship with stargazing was Sam 'Afro' Hughes advice to the unkempt boy that shared his namesake mis-sized odd lengths singing spiritualized but it's out of tune at the front of the top floor of the dishevelled double decker bus that we took to school.

stepping through the door in her head i was aghast at my discovery which led to the rickety staircase & broken glasses of an overpriced collection of subcultured accessories masquerading as a person all trinkets present and correct from the fuzzy dice to the lucky rabbits feet locked away in her room serving tea to her posters whilst her ex mod parents laugh at the eyeshadow under my sunglasses and reminisce on how they used to beat my ex-rocker parents up and push them off the pier it seems every generations is a repeat of the last only more extreme and even younger and in our mid twenties as we find ourselves suddenly now we are already beginning to become outdated we are already beginning to become phased out so kids - make even more mistakes than we did do too much of what we've done but younger and ultimately have more fun than we ever could have dreamed of having - yes, we are jealous.

i wave a knife round whilst yelling my new catchphrase; "stab you in the face BITCH!" repeatedly. it's hard to look cool in a supermarket car park when you open your beer up & it foams up in your face or sitting on the train with a can of butane gas up your sleeve trying to get off your face inconspicously or watching a real life game of frogger then watching it splat in the last lane i'm past caring about hiding in the cellar listening to the same loop of music on someone else's mobile phone how can a couple survive in such a small space? the avalanche process starts with a single snowball that as it rolls grows picks up people and cars like a katamari of snow and dead parts we admit we were misguided in our ideals it starts with sitting on the bench of dejection in a smiley face hat & a duffelcoat when i'm a pensioner i'll always wear smart suits and golfing socks and maybe a flatcap or a moleskin hat with a fake fire burning in an ornamental fireplace white walls and wood panel flooring with all the furniture wrapped in plastic crossing the road as slowly as possible to upset traffic and in my garden i will have an apple tree... so i can complain to the paper when the local kids go scrumping (even though i used to sell stolen rhubarb to a newsagent in southbourne) i have no pension plan i'm planning to get hit by a bus and decide my behaviour until then by the roll of a ten sided dice which you never really see outside of AD&D playing circles which by then will surely be replaced by the internet and the everlasting virtual middle earths of infinite length. sara sold her levelled-up character for a pittance; equivalent of a few pence. ending up sharing with charade of smart-suited businessman on the outside made of squalor on the inside from the disgusting bathroom to playing shithead like some sort of havant student who i burnt my lips giving her first blowback to.

stunatic claims some dealer he knows cuts his coke with the ground up mobile phone imagine the damage that could do to your nose when you hear in one nasal passage a muffled ringtone it's hard to keep your ego intact or the money that you owe to the people exact maybe that's why my nose used to twitch like a rabbit's a phone set on vibrate mode had made its habitat in a cavity in my nose... i blame cheap base from the dealer whose mobile phone only ever worked in a certain room in his home maybe cause he'd filed bits off and ground it up to sell to gullible goth / grunger schoolkids like myself?

i disagree with myself more than anyone else. i've thrown away the only three good women who were ever interested in me that i'll probably ever meet without even realising anything at the time. that's how clueless & naive that i probably really am. now i collect keys obsessively to doors that don't open mine is warped woodgrain, once graffitied in coloured pencil. the C64 style suspense of waiting for a cassette that may never load OR the irony implicit in any given situation or a satirical abuse vignette OR the anniversary of the worst mistake that we've both ever made in our lives. the one thing i would take back is the video of you dancing down country roads holding a cheap synthesiser beatboxing along to its demo of greensleeves as passing cars honked in most abject confusion. the woods nearby the location: for burning of old posters of bands i'm embarassed to admit i ever liked like limp bizkit and bands i never actually liked like the mighty mighty bosstones who we once threw woodchip at during massive outdoor event not properly prepared for in the slightest by tube station fools.

godheadcase: your nightmares are not enough theres a camera in the rotting battery of your charred smoke alarm after all, what's family for? hey! self fulfilling prophet melt down your bedstead for the war effort splattered in phantasmagore nose red from too much blowing sprouting fresh whiteheads speckled across the raw skin below the sky below: raw knuckles raw nerves raw muscles carnival music: after all, what's family for? hey! self fulfilling prophet donate your typewriter to the war effort we'll melt down the metal and we'll cook up some arms we'll melt down the metal and we'll shoot up some arms these days you can't even get your son or daughter's arms back in a box when that's all that's left of them. buried in the desert a man overboard in a dehydrated sea floating in the dead sea (or a baby on battlefield.) don't let anger take the vein. i'm following myself around. sometimes you can find me inside a computer on the weekends. Fitzroy Valentine, superimposed on your wing mirror: "we're looking at dry rot" two minutes till hotplate. hey, taker down of signs - a flaming syringe of tumours to you. i can walk over the road without touching it like i'm wearing winged boots it's out of the frying pan and into... the frying pan? you're the one who wants to make everyone else's lives hell - an asbestos abcess on you. the bone of contention: how high is a chinaman and exactly how long is a piece of string? beautiful women make me want to kill myself. if it gets out you've been harbouring a dissident in the sometime then you'll realise that mediocre is worse than bad. don't do anything you'd be ashamed of being caught doing... like... eating cold chips and warm salad? we stuck a toddler's painting of a snail under every stop sign grape bruise / scabtoe / dancing on the horseshoe's grave... the downside of achieving total enlightenment is that you'll never care about appeaing attractive again. i wouldn't give a brouhaha (definition: a broil over a minor or ridiculous cause) this city is a factory for living in we are worn & eroded by supply & demand and our city centre is a surrealist's offcuts i often eat my lunch on a giant fruitbowl like first year still life and since they banned smoking in public places there's only emissions to breathe from spluttering exhaust fumes from old fashioned smokestacks of ancient design that they added a concoction that would change our lives 46 & 2 gas - an extra chromosome for everyone till we realised that heightened senses were not neccessarilly a good thing... a ticking timebomb noise from the shanty train gates near where we were attacked by the small yappy dog the ticket machine completely enclosed in a small cage and scottish lisa appearing as if at a scheduled time... "the possibility of complete mental collapse is now very real." foster brother alan's garden is infested with spiders, which he insists are really "evolved wasps". we are watching the nuclear world war on TV, and the live run-up to the first missiles being fired, each nation's launcher extends out of earth's atmosphere, and progressively further and further into space. now there is not much left to do but watch old home videos, and hope for the best. stop underlining prematurely. writing from the first person makes me nauseus, and the camera angle is all wrong. dead pixel drop, the wrong route, etc.