Get Exited. Just Get exited and that's all. doubtless, before you see THE LOST TAPES, lost by scruffy Silcox in his room full of old copies of the sun and 450 shirts and broken table lighters and stones, you will have to endure my mourfull illustrated account of my recent subsequation, as it were, to the nuthouse for a wee psychosis and nice long withdrawal. BUT a light at the end of that little tunnel!
Light ov life!
(This is also a callout, should anyone be listening - have you taken lots of ecstasy,/ have extnsive knowledge of the uk unerground dance scene post 1988 AND are god at puns? We want to hear from you.)
Wednesday, 9 January 2013
Monday, 7 January 2013
not for any other reason really other than being a moron. so, as usual, everything youre seeing up here is in higgldypiglydy backlog mode, I certainly have some more interesting things to show you, but, alacalay, my computer, my MAC computer is fucked, so I'm simply going to share with you some poems, nouveau. I shouldn't have drank so much. I only had two five pound notes. they were buying me drinks. I shouldn't have drank so much. AND; As thundering back to London from Newcastle, I incline my devastating eyes, with a kitchen-sink tragedy to my left, window aflame the horizontal burgundy and mustard attack of a coal train. Going the other way. and sigh. from the first class carriage. . so thats them. thats two poems. its very diffcult to punctuate clearly on my IPHONE THREE ACTUALLY . yours, sincerely, Adrainonsociety Molike.