stream of conscious exercises.

what’s the recipe for your necessities? greedy ingredients don’t mix well. too baked to bake. shake things up a little. don’t spill your words on my screen. clean up after yourself. huh?

can i scrape the bowl?

space is deep, it has no end. no walls, small or tall. you can fall. where’s my drinking?

i need more drinking to let my guard down, open your gates and let me in. i won’t slay your feelings like a medievil knight slays peasants wearing brown suede in the mud.

don’t step on a chicken it might peck you. peck peck willow in red leather. didn’t see that coming?

down with you all! none of you really know me. i am the greatest swordsman to ever live.

now isn’t the time for games, it’s a shame. the view through your window-pane looks the same. but it’s red cellophane on the glass that makes the world look fast. slow things down, pick a rose and smell it. you don’t even have to stop to smell the roses.

and the guy at the 7/11 with a really weird voice like he’s missing his tongue, will smell said flower and say “it smells good”.

thus, improving his day through the power of scented sense. nothing common about that. lighting fills the sky. thunder’s wip snakes through the clouds above my roof. CRACK CRACK conrad can’t get a photo of the lighting. i can’t walk home in the rain, the taxi driver is from india and my life is a situational comedy.

sorry, i thought you were on the phone. i was playing guitar and he said “the lyrics arnt allowed to make any sense” so they didn’t and we laughed. heinz was feeling sad. we satirised his life through song and laughed at his emotions. i think it helped for a bit then he got grey and went home but not before saying things like “this is what life’s about, hanging out with your mates, drinking , playing music, improvising lyrics..at the studio…yeah”. he also talked about anxiety because he is reading a book about it.

i told him about what had been on my mind. don’t pine for what you don’t try to find and what you let fly away.

caught with my pants down in the light of the computer screen…. vacuous digital thrills that mean nothing. perpetuated.

they never talk about ‘arriving’ after you ‘come’. sorry baby i arrived too quickly. ahead of schedule. im a bit early i know. do you mind if i just sit over here next to the water cooler and pot plant and read a book until you’re ready to go again? huh? what am i reading? oh..john steinbeck, tortilla flat. good read that one. not one of his ‘major works’ though..

anti war writers kurt vonnegut watching youtube interviews with him from the 90’s. the decade which brought us ice ice baby. ice your lips, purple painted ships carrying fools gold that can’t be sold to people who know the difference between a feather and the weather. rain falls warm in the night. on the roof of the warehouse it sounds quite atmospheric, almost romantic.

there is nothing romantic about lesbian orgies on the computer screen.

time to go. the flow came and went, spent some money on free ideas. this is where we ended up..

how do we feel about it?

no comment.

-jw.

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