Pussy knees and nose, knees and nose

Today, unusually, I took the opportunity to smell the skin of my knees - they were dangling in front of my face, so it was chance not to miss.

The smell reminded me of skin smells - of a day many years ago. The day after a first fuck.

I was at work, bored - in a meeting. Elbows on the table I rested my head in my hand and drifted until the smell - very faint, still warm and sweet on my fingers - woke me.

Mmmmm warm cunt, face held in soft thighs .... raised my attention; as it does now.

I had to stop the fun, it was too much

I nailed my head to the door

I had to stop the wind banging it... thump thump thump

It was good to stop the fun too... I loved to bang my head against the door but

I had to stop the fun, it was too much

Idiots

I can see these people walking about - they are trying to organise a piss up in a brewery.

They have been running around in circles for years.

I have been avoiding thinking about them - but now I have little choice.

And what do I see - there is no brewery and there is no piss-up.

These people are not drunk; they are idiots.

What shape will you be to day Sir?

"Oh, I'm not sure, perhaps thicker at the top, tapering to a point near the floor - like a wedge on its pointed end please."

"Certainly Sir - I have just the tool for the job".

For an hour or so a most frenetic activity and buzz filled the small leatherette lined room. A fug of pain, a slashing of knives and the swift snitsnitsnit of neat little stitches.

Some time later the job was complete and the man tried to stand - but oh, he could not, not upon his pointed end.

"Sir, perhaps we could invert you?"

"You could" replied the man "but how will I walk on my fat ended head?"

"Oh dear Sir, I fear we have gone a little too far towards the artist and a little too far from, well, the practical outdoors-man. I fear Sir that you will need to contract the services of a burly servant to move you from place to place."

Boil me honey honey kill me.

Why is the boiling of my nerves not killing the butterflies in boots as I remember the thought: couldn't I be dead, just for a while.... just sleep like death and wake up when all is clear and forgotten - when I look at things straight on they look quite fine but in the shadows and in the corner of my eye there seems to be... I wish it would attack, smother and kill me or just stop.

Sniffing at elections

I'm trying to remember to type quietly and not to sniff.

Elections - what joy with the conlab bring us - shiny suited men with shiny suited smiles. A new politics - all agreement and spun into a yarn which is smooth but somehow smells even when white-washed... smells of something brown, shit brown rather than old brown Gordon Brown.

Gordon Brown, texture like.... crud. Bless him, monocular and brown.

Fuck, shit ,bugger - sniffed.

I feel sniffy at this election business - eek will it be a disaster, will it be great?

Nah, it will be "business" as usual. Bullshit, flannel and other such things illusory. Governments only seem able to get in the way of freedom - to fiddle about making rules for all for the sake of the few.


Perhaps we should be as we know we really should be - kind, helpful, busy. Keeping our hands moving to stop the devil taking them - keep him from making us stick 'em in the pie or from poking out the kittens eyes.


Poor wee blinded beasties stumbling off in to the cold dark northern night - not a mousy nor a housey for them.

Blue Birds Over the White Cliffs of Dover

You - you can't come in.

We live here in the green and tolerant land of free-speakers.

We are keeping the jam for us - now, off you go.