Icy pouring rain

Icy pouring rain

icy pouring rain

icy pouring rain…

zippy the pinhead and jack chick tracts

found on the floor at random

I couldn’t have found something like that

if I’d had amillion years

but I wasn’t trying

If I overgift someone it is because they are expected to share, so

Beware if I ever give you books for a present…

If you know someone I’ve given books to

by all means make them share

As that was probably the point.

You all must read “Waking the Dead”

My channel’s set on random




Lyrics Of The Day:

(The Cure,off Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me…)

“How Beautiful You Are”

You want to know why I hate you?

Well I’ll try and explain…

You remember that day in paris

When we wandered through the rain

And promised to each other

That we’d always think the same

And dreamed that dream

To be two souls as one

And stopped just as the sun set

And waited for the night

Outside a glittering building

Of glittering glass and burning light…

And in the road before us

Stood a weary greyish man

Who held a child upon his back

A small boy by the hand

The three of them were dressed in rags

And thinner than the air

And all six eyes stared fixedly on you

The father’s eyes said ’beautiful!

How beautiful you are!’

The boy’s eyes said

’how beautiful!

She shimmers like a star!’

The childs eyes uttered nothing

But a mute and utter joy

And filled my heart with shame for us

At the way we are

I turned to look at you

To read my thoughts upon your face

And gazed so deep into your eyes

So beautiful and strange

Until you spoke

And showed me understanding is a dream

’i hate these people staring

Make them go away from me!’

The fathers eyes said ’beautiful!

How beautiful you are!’

The boys eyes said

’how beautiful! she glitters like a star!’

The child’s eyes uttered joy

And stilled my heart with sadness

For the way we are

And this is why I hate you

And how I understand

That no-one ever knows or loves another

Or loves another

Amnesiac Lover

Baby’s an amnesiac

and never ever calls you back

you could die tonight of a heart attack

amnesiac lover

would never discover

might confuse you with another

tells the same stories

tells the same stories

tells the same stories

a hundred times a day

Laborday Blues (detritus)

Half drunk still, he lurked in the shadows and I stood in the doorway and he said I looked like Tori Amos “in a cool and beautiful way” but the camera had a low battery so this can be neither confirmed nor denied. Still I felt the need to preserve it for posterity. Vain and selfish creature that I am. Sometimes men who you know don’t love you are the ones who are most complimentary. And certainly you can trust them more. But holy fuck I’d have paid good money to hear a thing like that. Last week I found my keys and the remote control and I felt as if I’d won the lottery. I am a woman of simple delights. Every day, when I fail to wake up dead, I am grateful, except on the days that I wish I was dead which are thankfully sporadic in number mostly. Life is a mess but such a happy chaotic mess all the same. Love is what radiates from my girls’ rosy faces and lights up their eyes.Sweetness is a name for refusing to let the assholes that make up the general population get you down. Politics are overrunning my television. Fuck the fucking fascist regime. Vive le France and God Save The Queen and there’s no future and England’s dreaming. Vive le revolution. The answer my friend is blowing in the wind. Just vote and vote justly. I am a simple woman of simple joys but I’ll be damned if I sign my rights away to the corporate oligarchy this November. It’s labor day. Which means. Respect the working man! Fight for justice! Support your fellow man! It was never meant to be a day of picnics and white sales. Read Michael Moore today or listen to Jello Biafra or register to vote. Do something, damnit! It’s not too late (says the eternal optimist…)Just. Do it. Right Now.

thank you and good night


When you’re absent minded, everything’s a pleasant surprise.


Argue amongst yourselves

And who was she in some other incarnation?

Friend,lover,sister,mother or mortal enemy?

Seems strange still you haven’t known each other lifetimes

Strange but true

And who

is she now?

Lifesucking vampire?

Bright,sweet muse?

Thorn in your precious side?

Nothing if not constant

Yours for the taking

Yet always out of reach

You say so much in silences

You say too much in silences

Say too much in words and the world falls down

A heart on a sleeve

is just another piece of meat

so fresh and bleeding and bittersweet

Serve it up with fillet of soul

on the heirloom china

with parsely butter and a wedge of lemon

Lay out the priceless silver and the fine linens

Coyote shall dine like a king tonight


Ridiculous little poem I wrote myself weeks ago…

(Sung to the tune of “Anarchy In The UK” by the Sex Pistols)

Too old to be an anarchist

And too cold to be a child of christ

Don’t know what I want and don’t know how to get it

Don’t want to destroy

Just want oblivion