The past few weeks have been leery with the brown and the green.
I’ve spent my time, out of my skull, honing my six string and vocal chord skills with my musical companion Halli, mostly we’ve specialized in the compositions of MacGowan, Finer, Stacy and co. which hasn’t stopped the brown from flowing down our necks with the accompanying headaches the day after. Which leads us to the second part of this short impromptu blorgh.

The other day I wrote a little poem whilst hung over.
A story about a stoned, sad and hung over man. It’s quite shameless, if I understand my mate Samwise correctly. Or I’m shameless. Can’t remember which.
Doesn’t matter anyway, it’s not my problem if you people can’t take a fuckin’ joke.



"The untimely demise of glamorous amour."

With and aching head and a pickled heart.
I sit on the remnants of Saturday night,
well spread over Sunday.

Ash in my clothes
and a roach in the ashtray.

I lie down and think about you,
orgasmic solutions in a stream
down the inside of my trousers;

Dying seeds of mankind and a bleeding heart
for a love that didn’t last.

Brief recollections of your smiling face and
glimpses of sexual contortion.

Kisses in the springtime rain
are eternity in my soul.

~^~^~^~^~
(fin)

In other news my computer crashed last Thursday and will not be back until after Oestara.

Until then, this will have to make do with you, or something like that anyway.