Forgettable Canvassers

One of your tall englishmen stopped me on the street earlier today and he asked for thirty seconds of my time.

His blue rainjacket and sarcastic friendly demeanour PREACHED the name of some forgettable canvassers, some charity for blind street mice or something, his complexion matched that of his bravado. I apologised but tipped my hat toward the young fella and all the while he remided me me of my mispent youth trotting the streets of the God fearing towns of Alabama where I preached the gospel to the sinners of America, our great land, I explained in a polite manner to the fella that I had in fact, no time.
I was working and to be honest, I did not care for so much the blind street mice of London Town, call me harsh, but what ya gonna do...

I kept on walking and he says to my back,

"Wouldn't you like to feel good about yourself, today?"

The back of his head crashed up against the glass window shopfront of the Age Concern as I held him up off the ground by his throat, his feet shuffled in the air, trying to find the ground again from which they were taken. His face pressed against the sign,

'Gentlemen's clothing especially welcome at this time.'

"I feel fucking great today, punk." I mumbled into his face. His face recoiled at the smell of a sweet bourbon on my breath. "How about you?"

He began to choke his last words as the grip was released and his body slumped to the floor. I gave him my final opinion as he viewed my heels departing away from him.

"Shithead"

God Bless America and the soldiers doing such a fine job

I think this speaks for itself. It certainly gave me the relief that I needed, I hope Baghdad got the same this week. I am so proud.

Some girl called Brian and some guy called Kerry.... A z-list exposure marathon

As I trawl through through the disgusting aisles of dirt in the mind's eye supermarche, bookshop, drugstore, corporate whore, my soul, my goal.
A hundred and one new publications on reason, with no answer and just an open ended question, an understanding, grace and place, a solitude. A sale and bargain at £18.99, I have no answer and am barely alive.

They scream why? Oh why? is the threat of violence still so evident in this modern world, not some meaningful track by The Jam but something with thought, progression, meaning, not by some manufactured celebrity machine or by some caustic management company workhorse driven through the streets around Soho Square by a naked, statuesque figure with the latest haircut or tattoo, steed bound and virile and strong.

My story, My New Love, hybrid, tribryd, baby from my ex lover's dogs aunts baby's cousin, everywhere I go, I see the same celebrity couple air their dirty laundry on the covers of every magazine including Complete Gardener like they have no quarms or shame for their children that have yet to see the hurt, the damage that their peers, the loved ones that brought them into this world will have put their young images through.

Here is your daughter and here is my makeover, the truth about my new lover and about your new fiancee all over OK and HELLO for the price of a Snickers bar and look how happy we are without you, look how happy she is without you, she doesn't ask for your name on a night, she never asks where DADA is anymore, it's ridiculous and not funny anymore,

Oh, what the papers say

We’re caught up in the disarray

[Lars:]Ohh, what the papers say

We're caught up in the disarray.

[Tim:] Well'd you see their faces when we dropped the bomb?

[Lars:] Haha, Tim, let's play along.

Lyrics Courtesy of Rancid

I am waiting...

Ok, so now we can use 'reasonable force' to deter burglars who enter our homes.

Oh boy, Am I going to have fun defending that little interpretation.
It's a shame I live on the 4th Floor, thats all.

Bring it on.

Rev