Assorted Notable Texts

Hey Gorgeous! How's it going? I had a word with Pepe Le Pious this eve as he was up to his usual tricks. needless to say he took it like the petulant little tit he is. Do I care? Ha! Do I fuck! X
Ed. 24/8/07

I've had an idea: let's go to Japan by train. London to Cologne is the easy part, sleeper carriage, but Cologne to Moscow is different, difficult. Travelling via Belarus will always be difficult, esp. after the MinskMag expose. Moscow to Vladivostock, the main event is easy! 7 days of North Asian tundra and wilderness and rattling rails! The ferry from the East Russian coast to Japan will be a jape too - chai, seafood, Scrabble. You busy next week?

Robbie. 25/1/07

If the party is finished by then I'll be:
a) Surprised
b) Unhappy and
c) Arrested.
Seumas 27/8/07

I'm happy! My hands are dirty again, my nails with the black inside and I smell badly! Yahoo!

Claudio. 11/02/08

I've typed and then discarded at least 3 variations on the frustrated, emotional, lonely, bored theme & for all the fancy word play and poetic license not one conveyed exactly what I wanted to say, which is, for fuck's sake, someone kidnap me with care and dump me in the unpredictable so my day can start.

Robbie. 14/4/07

So why am I telling you all this? Cause you remind me of Dave. And it fucking scares the fucking shit out of me. And I want you to know that if you just want a joke and a laugh, or a shoulder to cry on, or someone to go dancing with, I'm always here, and you're never alone. I really hope you're laughing at me 'cause I sound like a drunken fool. see you soon.

Dan. 21/01/07

The situation: I'm sitting in an end-up shopping trolley @ a flat party above the Halt Bar, Woodlands Road. 60-70 people thru the door. New LPO organised seated dancing to Manu Chao. Guth, Matt, Louise, been & gone. Stranded, sea of steamers. now simply just in that trolley.
Robbie. 18/2/7

AQA estimates that you could live for around 6 months if all you had was an infinite supply of bluebottles. You'd need to eat a lot of them, though.

AQA (63336) 10/08/07

Glasgow... Saturday morning... people walking to nowhere with proper mind deep in other million places but not here. Glasgow Saturday morning people walking wasted looking for reality. Glasgow Saturday morning... I'm fucking tired.

Claudio. 15/03/08

Did you get a birthing pool? you desreved a short labour. I'm out tonight but you can totally phone me tomorrow, anytime. Glad there were no stiches. Please use birth control for now on. Seriously. my love to you all. Pervert.

Lorraine. 07/03/09

The point being, of course, that the beautiful messages that mean so much to us in these times are only as memorable as the life of your mobile. We don't send cards, love letters, telegrams even. It's such a tragedy.

To all of the above contributors: I love you all.

Love: All

To err is human, to forgive divine

What course of action will be thine?

Heroic vengeance, stoic acceptance.

How sincere if any repentance?

A tree does not know it is wretched

But wretched is all that I am.

For I know I know nothing and inside that nothing

is the knowledge that all that he was was a sham.

And the fear of losing my unknowing had

Who was there when I called on my way to being mad.

The only one I called when it all went to shit

Who knew of my tears and my chemical habit.

The others passed 7 long years in the dark

As I wandered wasted our common-themed park.

Now this new attraction, so shiny and slick!

But is it honey or venom that drips from each click?

"I've seen love from both sides now" and other songs like such

And honestly for me the emotion gets too much.

I always retreat to the space in my head which opens to stardust and perceptional shift.

Not induced by drugs or anything more than a headache as felt by young Alice.

but I'm losing the point now; my reason is this:

I'm teetering on a lfe precipice

And it's not up to me on which way I will slide.

All engines are dead now, I nothing but glide.

How heady this high blood pressure!

How heavy the weight of the world!

In this humidity, no wonder my hair is starting to curl.

And I can do nothing but pass back and forth

Like a tennis ball, final, Wimbeldon court

And it's Love: All

Bitterly Cold

How dare the Sunshine show his face,

When with illusory Autumn Summer’s replaced

And offers only cold embrace

To those who crave his warmth the most?

But cradles the cruel and wantonly idle

Whose joys are temperate and tidal;

Who never do a thing but sidle

Out of work and blithely boast.