Red as riots get.
What ever do you mean.
new wheels indeed. congratulations.
Bit of self promotion.
Got tired of the earlyness of it all.
Earl, eel Adam Cotton.
Umbrella Umbreal.
Unreal. Reas estate.
Adam damn dam dammit, damnation.
ation. ion tion. ion ism, action.
fraciton, reflection, fiction,
poilitics, ricks, party tricks.
waffles. Wasted time reading and motivation was low.
Waiting wishing wondering wagging.
Wattle and gum chewing and the two hours I was owed.
Lost and lacking; and now he’s here and the mess of massage begins.

Loathsome, loss of time and it all comes together nicely.
Sickly, stomach bloats as the ocean floats.
Ethanol down the drain.
Like a bottle of vodka. Mindless destruction.

And the revolution. The roundness, the single point,
the pointed head. Fear of people. Stampeding.
Always asking: what can I give you?
WHAT DO YOU WANT. And I flex my temples.
I squint my eyes.
I cordially invite you to share.
I’m often let down by people –
always giving more to them,
always giving more than I take.
I steal your time your hearts your ears, capacity and space.
Pacify, capacify. Passive strikes, lamber and gillen.
Fallen cotton. Picks into, into itself.
Rolling rollicking mumbling magic.
Mr Tumnus if that is how it goes. That’s how it goes.
It is how it goes.
The spurs. The shaft, the handle, the hold, the colour, the protection. the cover, the loss, the blowing, the inverted, the curve, the wooden, the popping, the poking, the walking stick, the lightness, the forgetfullness, the amicable, the royal, the dainty, the pretty, the patient, the squint, the pushing, the wet legs, the ankles and shoes, puddles and splashing, lashings and resistance, mary freaking poppins. The size, shape, colour and handle, eye ball losing on Oxford Street, old English; Hong Kong. Three sights of revolution.
Did you go? Did you go?
Did you god?
More people. More anger, more love, more writing, more choice, more estrangement, more quizzicle natured folks.

And they take take take.
I hate them all, hide away want for less. And I’m bored.
and I sit. Time flying in a scope of movement we all cant fathom.
How big can our eyes see? How large can our minds comprehend?
the graph, the people, the smarts- theory and power. One movement, one choice. Options and scatter graphs and for what? The waste of individual time.
I told you we were here for you.
You just cry, and you go red, and I feel the emotion coming off you in wave.
You are emotionally twinging. Ripples, and sickness, hollow, anger and fear for the unknown future. Sit, patient.
You trapped me, made me care.
You are my weakness. You are not my love. I barely know of you. really truly, you’ve given me this job. This place to pass the time in my bleak blackness.
I need to walk, to think, read, hide, aloof, aloft, high minded mumbo jumbo triggers my leave of absence.
Get IT OVER WITH. Pull the pin. Badly blown up balloons.
Baboons, shining red faces, embarrassed or otherwise.
Disguising my okayness with silence. And you know.
Peaceful, patience. Critical sickness.
The unecessary drive for change and fear of the same.
What is wrong with now?
Everything is changing, that’s what’s wrong.
loop -de-loop.
Language of lost soul.
The shoe I purchased wasn’t quite right.
Not I have blisters.
And I coug and cough and cough.
You walk past the window. I’ve cooked dinner again-
I’ve washed up.
My hands, heart and lips are dry.
My patience is all but stubbed out.
And here you are; asking for more.

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