Funerals? I wouldn’t be caught dead at one of those.
Its a memorial…

To pass through,
Life. Window pane
Touch, living you
Talk with Dane.

Fill that space
Rife the pain
Smile fleet face
Splashed with rain

Rubbed dry
Smeared my thumb
Feeling high
Cold streaked numb

Reach the end
Finished the glass
Down we wend
Tied to mast.

Captain and first
Bubble and burn
The drinker’s thirst
Spurned, sinking stern

Knife in side
Strife it rises
Rifts, grow wide
Gift no disguises

She knows what
All be told
Blood boils hot
Old flows cold.

I saw you alone in a lot of photos. What could I have possibly known that to mean. Jaz.

You want to buy her flowers.
She says roses are cliché.
You think to buy her lilies,
But they make her think of funerals.
So you buy her hydrangeas, you love the smell.
You buy them for her every day.
Until one day.
One day the house smells of lilies.

John Armstrong – Philosopher, the book of life. Glasgow born. Studied at Oxford.
A successful man by many-an-account. Great! Talks like a chess player. Knows the history of many words. Willing to share ideas, and teach. If things were different?
If he’d spent his time playing the Decks? Following his passion for electro-music:
The Dj. J.AMSTRONG. Philosopher DJ. Open the book of life. Dance for what you believe in. Dance because it matters. Action.

Truancy – Constant Absenteeism.
“I have a truancy problem” I don’t understand how that was brought up and/or funny. Rowan?

And I wish you knew; to have ever lived is not a fault as much as it is true.

Because life; life is french bread.
Write it down. Pain.

Toe-nails? Ah! A great feet of evolution.

Current romance? Its like toast. We all like our bread buttered a bit differently.
Some sweet, some savoury, a mix! Minimal. Overwhelming. Dark, light, seedy.

Raps and rhymes, lick your lips; walk the line of homosexual positives, complement battles, you are on Extacy – “Give him a Mackerel” (I told you this would happen)

“My Brilliant Career” – what was this? March 3rd 2016. 12:02.

BRUCE SPRINGSTEIN: 3rd march 2016 10:04

The smoking generation spurs from the uncomfortable silence.
You must be rushed. Quick. Bing-bang-bong. Smoke, drag, talk, move, fidget.
No deep thought. Mindless. Edgy. Not contemplative.
“its a race, a race for us to die”.
The gift of life. Gendered said dad. “Men smoke because they’re idiots.”
Women “because they want to be dangerous, because they are concerned with their figure”
-bullshit Dad.
Headspin! Pollution, kills you, costs money, early death, reduces enjoyment of life, exercise capabilities reduced. Bad skin, rank breath, lips, hands, lungs, eyes. You’re body is the sleeping beehive. The honey that is your lifeforce, stolen.

Are there more beds than people in this world?
Are there more books?
Are there more words than people?

Toilet philosophy.
Go deep,
Too deep, small things.
Traffic lights.
Red Man philosophy. – you stop, you wait, you think, you observes: Yourself and others. How do you conduct yourself? How do you stand. How will you cross the road, who presses the button? How hard? How many times. What if there’s no traffic? Do you just cross. Do you J-walk? JAY-WALK(?) spelling.
The bogan – stops oncoming traffic.
The oriental – dodges between oncoming cars and trucks
The impatient – runs
The majority – wait, observe, wonder.

The steppers just before the green man.
The dodging between, weaving in and out of oncoming people from the other side of the lights. The head down, shrunken shoulders. The chest out, proud. Straight lines.
Where are they all going. Why did that man run? What is so important? Was that a risk? Will he arrive on time? What is the outcome? Action -> result?
If he took 2 minutes longer, what would be the effect and the affect.
He could have used that time to better explain his lateness. Jolly good.

Dear, dear dear dear me.
Its part of my spoken language.
Get me out there.
No no no no nono.
Silly, fool, oh no, damn, oops, uh-oh.
Rife with trouble.
Your thinking is wrong.
Laden, slanted. Off, incorrect, lacking.
Maybe. Dear, dear dear me.

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