I think I hurt my brain today

I don't really remember much of Christmas. There was drink, and Rowan was there at one point which'll explain how I got so drunk. That girl is walking zone of irresponsibility.

But anyway, I've spent a lot of this morning writing my songs. I lost them all so I've been salvaging, and there are also some new ones :)

Anyway, I thought I might post one of said songs up here. It's just lyrics and chords, no actual video yet so don't get too excited, although Merlin's got some recording stuff.... hmmm...

Yeah, might have actual songs for you soon then (H)

For now, some lyrics. I believe Alex liked these.

Why the fuck am I covered in cheese sauce. And why has Rowan drawn a little set of stars on my hand with the words "Lord of Dreams" written on it? What the fuck happened last night?!

Softly crooning for moonlit remedies,

To ease out the burns of happenstance,

And to tease the thread of chance,

To etch in a new dance,

Which we so need to change our stance.

A steel stringed coffin, floating by the riverside,

Wrapped in flowers with the scent of your hair,

A certain light plays upon the woodwork,

These words have no constraints.

Singing softest words to hear the echo back,

Hearing a voice return but not the one you sighed,

Sailing words across to each other's side,

Letting whispers brush their fingertips,

Calling back the breathe you gave.

A singing sepulchre, calling every name it knows you by,

With a voice so tremulous and soft as yours,

Promising trees and dappled sun,

These words find no constraints.

Given breath to sigh and, given tears to cry,

But don't waste them on me,

Keep your cheeks dry.

Sometimes, I Win.

Hmmm... someone's influence here. I wanna say Alex, but it's got too much Kieran for that. Also, let's face it. Kinda post modern here. Possibly someone who's famous? IS there anyone famous who's like Alex? By the way, this off the cusp vodka poetry after a night of partying. Be gentle, oh ye devil-critics, for my soul is humble.

My soul is definitely not humble.


Now, I've never been one,
To -DELIBERATELY- bring some kind of alienation on myself before the deed is done,
But sometimes let's not forget mortality,
Because there's a whole lot there that frankly scares me,
And things go better and things go worse,
Like every sailor on the sea of life this is our burden and our blessing that each we must carry; for such a thing as life we must, by dint of appropriate reward, suffer such curses,
And slanders,
And lies and blunders,
To take us down each day.

And every person has a sin, and at least one virtue that they use to construct themselves,
This is what gives life to a hollow shell.
A miriad of failures and perfection,
Like a cure for cancer from vivisection,
Or the foul taste before Ecstacy's correction.
Or what you get when you're so deep in love,
That you can't tell what's below from what's above,
And every part of your life suffers because...
Just because you're too happy to say yes or no.

But every second, optimism tells me the right way,
And who am I to question an abstraction without phyiscal form when I'm still shakey from the things I did right yesterday,
And I guess I'll never tell the truth if I don't blab it,
And I guess I'll never catch the whisper if I don't grab it,
And I guess I'll never kill my doubt if I don't stab it,
And I guess I'll never make a good revolutionary unless every now and then I learn to not rhyme nor fit a pattern just because it is expected and fulfil some middle class (ironically exactly the kind of stereotype I am clumsily suggesting we drop, but please try to pick up the next word seemlessly) preconception about the form of poetry, art and literature.

So optimism is my angel on the left,
If being a total dick is my devil on right,
And all too often does lefty leave me bereft,
'Cause hubris and I think we're worth more than you might.

Aye, I've got a whole heap of sin.
And insecurities and foolishness.
I write poems,
Sometimes I win.

If it looks like it works and it feels like it works then it works

I been drinkin' some red wine and eatin' some fine foods with my mother mohos :)

Got nearly a bottle left and already I'm feeling quite inebriated from the last load. Tonight will be bad for me, unless I go with my current plan of keeping half the bottle for another time :)

I've got this feeling, that there's something that I missed,
(I could do most anything to you)
Don't you breathe, don't you breathe,
(I could do most anything to you)

I've been getting a lot into Snow Patrol again lately. One of my bands that I love that I never told this blog about. Still, my friends know :)

Something happened, that I never understood,
(I could do most anything to you)
You can't leave, you can't leave,
(I could do most anything to you)

Ya know, there's also a little plan now that if Abbie's parents get much worse (Abbie's parents/family = bad) she will come live with me for while. I know I shouldn't be rooting for the collapse of a family here but... whoo! Abbie gets away from strife! I get Abbie! (Is a bad bad person)

Every second, dripping off my fingertips
(I could do most anything to you)
Wage your war, wage your war
(I could do most anything to you)

Another soldier, says he's not afraid to die,
(I could do most anything to you)
I am scared, I'm so scared,
(I could do most anything to you)


So anyway. I'm learning to play Somewhere a Clock is Ticking by Snow Patrol. Is difficult; see, the guitar and lyrics are TOTALLY out of sync with each other. Still, sounds awesome :)

In slow motion, the blast is beautiful,
(I could do most anything to you)
Doors slam shut, doors slam shut,
(I could do most anything to you)

A clock is ticking, but it's hidden far away,
(I could do most anything to you)
Safe and sound, safe and sound
(I could do most anything...)


I miss some people :(

So maybe some kinda... do... is in order. A get together.


A muntup :3

Aaaahh, aaaahh, aaaaaaaahhhh,
Aaaahh, aaaahh, aaaaaaaahhhh,
Aaaahh, aaaahh, aaaaaaaahhhh,
Aaaahh, aaaahh, aaaaaaaahhhh,

Extery V

Free Writing

So I'm standing, right, with my finger on the pulse as is if it's all about to explode into sparks and starshower. Like jets of flame are going to lap up and around the throat like tongues or fingers or vines or some other kind of music or art.

It feels hot, warm to the touch like a penny out of a fire for a halfsecond, I can't quite get my head around it, I can't quite get my heart around my head, I can't quite get my fingers off the pulse.

The truth of the vitality in my fingertips so softly chirruping is that it's abrupt. It ends quickly, and comes from nowhere. It's a human emotion called 'love', since it's the only one bright enough to light the tunnels of the arteries so that the blood can find the heart; without it we'd be a lot colder; a lot slower. Our blood would be lost and our hearts would beat less.

But love works best out of water. Or at least in another. The love that's the brightest, that shows the way best, isn't the stuff in you. It's the stuff someone else puts there: Love is a short-thoughted creature; it won't stay bright when bored. But if it jumps into someone else from the warmth of a caress, suddenly you've got a body full of stars to navigate by.

And that concludes today's sermon, children. Remember; there is no God as great as love, no matter what the bible, the Qu'Ran, Mr. Stanley from up the road and your own great Doubtdevil say.

If someone doesn't love, they have no right to call themselves a believer in anything. The blind can't lead the whole.

:)

The Taco Song

Hehehehe...

Purely in the interests of science, I have replaced the word “wand” with “wang” in the first Harry Potter Book
Let’s see the results…

“Why aren’t you supposed to do magic?” asked Harry.
“Oh, well — I was at Hogwarts meself but I — er — got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wang in half an’ everything

A magic wang… this was what Harry had been really looking forward to.

“Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter.” It wasn’t a question. “You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wang. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wang for charm work.”
“Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wang. Eleven inches. “

Harry took the wang. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wang above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls

“Oh, move over,” Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry’s wang, tapped the lock, and whispered, ‘Alohomora!”

The troll couldn’t feel Harry hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry’s wang had still been in his hand when he’d jumped – it had gone straight up one of the troll’s nostrils.

He bent down and pulled his wang out of the troll’s nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy gray glue.

He ran onto the field as you fell, waved his wang, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wang at the dementors. Shot silver stuff at them.

“Yes,” Harry said, gripping his wang very tightly, and moving into the middle of the deserted classroom. He tried to keep his mind on flying, but something else kept intruding…. Any second now, he might hear his mother again… but he shouldn’t think that, or he would hear her again, and he didn’t want to… or did he?

Something silver-white, something enormous, erupted from the end of his wang

Then, with a sigh, he raised his wang and prodded the silvery substance with its tip.

‘Get – off – me!’ Harry gasped. For a few seconds they struggled, Harry pulling at his uncles sausage-like fingers with his left hand, his right maintaining a firm grip on his raised wang.

This is Pretty Special :)

Birds on the Wires from Jarbas Agnelli on Vimeo.

Let's Do This Thing

I Will Follow You Into the Dark is about to end. I wish I had my cappo.

Been hearing good news and shit stories all day, seems bad stuff happens and good things too.

Got a puppy the other day, by the name of Pan. One addition to the new house...


I DID tell you about the new house, right?


Anyway, Clyde isn't taking too well to her. Cats and dogs, all that.


I DID tell you I had a cat right?


Abbie was round earlier. She was being weird, but even so it's always nice to see somebody I love.


I DID tell you I have a girlfriend, right?


ANYWAY A Comet Appears is playing now, by the Shins.


Nunight, darlings ;P

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Quotes

Isaac: He seemed normal, then he started pissing off a wall.
Katie: Don't guys do stuff like that all the time?
Isaac: Yeah, but he was sober. AND HE HAD DOWN SYNDROME!
Kieran: And these things make it less okay..?


Kieran: Oh my god! Get it on video! Merlin looks like an ogre with down syndrome trying to eat a bee! (He did)


Isaac: Jacob! You've been looking at that fucking optical for like... thirty... seconds...
Jacob: I don't think you've got me as well as you think you have.


Isaac: From the song... and the video... I think this is about... an Octopus? (On the song Octopus)


Isaac: Who the fuck calls at this time of morning anyway?! *Checks* It's one in the morning! That's ROWAN time in the morning! Was it Rowan?!


Isaac: I have herpes around my lip peircing!


Isaac: I just wanted you to be wonky wanky!


Isaac: I can hear horses outside...
*Checks*
Nope, it was just the wind on the windows....
*Giggles madly*
Ohh, what's this? Is it my... sucky... tea... drugs..?
Jacob: Sucky tea drugs?! Kieran, get that!


Isaac: Play with my double chin!
Katie: Can I play with your single chin?
Isaac: No.
*Katie proceeds*
Isaac: No! Stop touching my chin! Tit! STOP RAPING ME!
Katie: Rape? Rape! Rape! Raaaaape?!


Jacob: Kieran! I've just realised! We kill the Trent character!
Kieran: Yeah, we kill Trent.
Jacob: His dying words...
*Very dramatically with poses* Tell them... I... died.... AWESOME!
*Kieran giggles*
Katie: How do you kill him?
Jacob: Awesome.


Isaac: I wanted a drink...
Isaac: Wait... I used the past tense...
Jacob: What?
Kieran: What are you even trying to say?
Isaac: Just... trying to keep... the consciousness... going...
Jacob: Isaac Wright: Trying not to die. That makes a welcome change.


Isaac: Who are you talking to me?
Kieran: I'm just saying all this.
Isaac: To who?
Jacob: MSN?
Kieran: No. Blogger.
Isaac: Oh dear... *Sobs slightly*


Katie: Ohhhh... I'm hungry...
Isaac: I'll feed you. MY DICK!


Kieran: I found you some bottlecaps.
Jacob: I don't think I'm collecting them any more. I think I've realised there just won't be an end.
Kieran: Your optimism undoes my generosity.
*Pause*
Kieran: That's what she said.


Isaac: You killed them!
Katie: No I didn't! I just found them and gave them... a good home!
Isaac: You killed them! You found dead frog-toads and you killed them!


Kieran: I'm either presuming this was done by Isaac...
Isaac: What?
Kieran: I meant Baz!
Isaac: I LOVE BAZ!
Kieran: I knew that would work... it works with anything. Look; Isaac is gay.
Isaac: Wha... wai...
Kieran: Baz
Isaac: I LOVE BAZ!
Jacob: *Giggles* It's like a trap. A gaytrap.


There's more. On video XD

I'll show ya soon ;)

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London with Alex

DAY ONE

Step one: Train.
Step two: Wine.
Step three: Dylan Moran live.
Step four: Pizza.
Step five: Carlsberg export.
Step six: Watch Illusionist.
Step seven: Pass out on floor. Talk in sleep.

DAY TWO

Step one: Piss ass about.
Step two: Look for guitar.
Step three: Wander streets of London for hours.
Step four: Fail to find Charing Cross road.
Step five: Buy new guitar.
Step six: Play guitar.
Step seven: Make toasties. Paw magarine on each others faces.
Step eight: Pass out on floor.

DAY THREE

Step one: Wake up, builders on windows.
Step two: Blog.
Step three: Undoubtedly become intoxicated, possibly see little Catherine.
Step four: Go to small bar. See Beans on Toast l
Step five: get on late train drunk. Say farewell to Alex.
Step six: arrive in Hastings just before midnight. Sober up in town, possibility of slight paranoia on walk home.
Step seven: Sleep in my own bed.

DAY FOUR

:)
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Dexedrine Witchcraft

This town is a town,

Where rats pace on two legs, unshaven in thick coats,

Or in pinstripe, cast-type archetypes,

Or stand on little stages to preach theirs and their own,

And their emotional worth.

Each unified only in contempt of each other,

Planted whilst young by the local hive mother.

Great Mother Skinhead's shouting;

"They're stealing our jobs!"

Whilst her bastard bigot offspring lap up,

Curdled milk and social prejudice and drink black blood.

Grandmother Censorship, coloquially known as Nanny State,

Is fumbling with the ideas of the nation,

But her palsied hands are shakey,

(Urban decay and post-modern smiles)

Her efforts are largely being politely ignored.

Even Mamma Charity,

Who has been wrongly accused,

Of high treason or something-or-other,

Is now no longer trusted by anybody,

Although I am slightly fond of her naive belief,

It should be safe to take candy from strangers.

Paranoia has usurped her,

And the Red Age has murdered Kind Mother Possibility,

(Like Lazarus to rise again.)

Opium Optimism, my old friend,

Assures me that the future will see all this banished,

And will drive out these hollow, haunted horrors.

With their amphetamine vital signs,

And their dexedrine witchcraft..

Hmmm...

Life is odd at the minute...

But very nice :)

I don't think I can remember the time last I was so fulfilled and happy... But I've lost a couple of things for this kind of childish glee, which I guess is only natural.

*Is quite in love and all that kinda nice stuff :)*

Last time...

I posted a beautiful acoustic cover of a haunting, alien sounding and truly magnificent little melody by the most ingenuous and daring band (in my opinion) to have lived.



Today?

Wanky Shit Demon.

I really like weird covers

And I love Radiohead.
Also, this band, Obadiah Parker are awesome.
Das ist all.

To quote Angerfist; YES YES YES YES!

Just a little thing I found on the internet. Glorious. :)

Dear Sir/madam/automated telephone answering service
Having spent the past twenty minutes waiting for someone at Leith police
station to pick up a telephone I have decided to abandon the idea and
try e-mailing you instead. Perhaps you would be so kind as to pass this
meassage on to your colleagues in Leith by means of smoke signal, carrier pigeon or Ouija board.
As I’m writing this e-mail there are eleven failed medical experiments
(I think you call them youths) in West Cromwell Street which is just off
Commercial Street in Leith . Six of them seem happy enough to play a game
which involves kicking a football against an iron gate with the force of
a meteorite. This causes an earth shattering CLANG! which rings throughout
the entire building. This game is now in it’s third week and as I am
unsure how the scoring sytem works, I have no idea if it will end any time
soon.
The remaining five walking abortions are happily rummaging through several
bags of rubbish and items of furniture that someone has so thoughtfully
dumped beside the wheelie bins. One of them has found a saw and is
setting about a discarded chair like a beaver on speed. I fear that it’s only a
matter of time before they turn their limited attention to the bottle of
calor gas that is lying on it’s side between the two bins. If they could
be relied on to only blow their own arms and legs off then I would happily
leave them to it. I would even go so far as to lend them the matches.
Unfortuneatly they are far more likely to blow up half the street with
Them and I’ve just finished decorating the kitchen.
What I suggest is this. after replying to this e-mail with worthless
assurances that the matter is being looked into and will be dealt with,
why not leave it until the one night of the year (probably bath night) when
there are no mutants around then drive up the street in a panda car
before doing a three point turn and disappearing again. This will of course
serve no other purpose than to remind us what policemen actually look like.
I trust that when I take a clawhammer to the skull of one of these
throwbacks you’ll do me the same courtesy of giving me a four month head
start before coming to arrest me.
I remain sir, your obedient servant
?????????

Mr ??????,
I have read your e-mail and understand your frustration at the problems
caused by youths playing in the area and the problems you have
encountered in trying to contact the police.
As the Community Beat Officer for your street I would like to extend an
offer of discussing the matter fully with you.
Should you wish to discuss the matter, please provide contact details
(address / telephone number) and when may be suitable.
Regards
PC ???
????????????
Community Beat Officer

Dear PC ?????
First of all I would like to thank you for the speedy response to my
original e-mail. 16 hours and 38 minutes must be a personal record for
Leith Police station and rest assured that I will forward these details
To Norris McWhirter for inclusion in his next book.
Secondly I was delighted to hear that our street has it’s own community
beat officer. May I be the first to congratulate you on your covert
skills.
In the five or so years I have lived in West Cromwell Street , I have
Never seen you. Do you hide up a tree or have you gone deep undercover and
infiltrated the gang itself? Are you the one with the acne and the
moustache on his forehead or the one with a chin like a wash hand basin?
It’s surely only a matter of time before you are headhunted by MI5.
Whilst I realise that there may be far more serious crimes taking place
In Leith such as smoking in a public place or being Muslim without due care
and attention, is it too much to ask for a policeman to explain (using
words of no more than two syllables at a time) to these twats that they
might want to play their strange football game elsewhere. The pitch
behind the Citadel or the one at DKs are both within spitting distance as is
the bottom of the Albert Dock.
Should you wish to discuss these matters further you should feel free to
contact me on ??? ????. If after 25 minutes I have still failed to
answer,
I’ll buy you a large one in the Compass Bar.
Regards
???????
P.S If you think that this is sarcasm, think yourself lucky that you
don’t work for the cleansing department.

Seesaw Man!

Just a quick update:

JUST ADMIT IT; LIFE IS GOOD!

I like things :)
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I Knew She Wasn't To Be Trusted :O

Raw Horse, Courtesy of a Man Named Chris

I step into the restaurant
And bellow my order
Bellow my order
Bring me a raw horse
Bring me a horse I roar! Waiter!
Bring me a whole horse
Bring me a whole live horse! Waiter!
The other customers quail
Bewildered children clutch their mothers' skirts
And wail
The maitre d'
Whimpers, smiles a nervous smile
And sidles up to me
'P'haps M'sieur would laak to traa
Som escalope of veal
Smothered in a rich waan sauce
With 'aricots vert
Et pommes Dauphinoise.....'NO! BRING ME A HORSE
An uneasy murmur ripples Round the room
As diners shuffle knives and forks And spoons
The air is dense with desperation And gloom
They're hoping it'll all be over Soon
They glance About
For a way To escape Then
One man panics and makes a break
I intercept him with a body check
That drives him through the plate glass shopfront
He dies impaled in a pool on the pavement
NOW NOBODY MOVE TILL I FINISH MY FOOD
And bring me a raw horse
Bring me a horse I roar Waiter!
The horse is brought
It shies and struggles and stamps and snorts
I strip to the waist
The waiter trips and stumbles
In his haste to get away
He crashes through the kitchen doors
Which clatter on their springs revealing
The sous-chef swinging by his apron strings
From a hook in the kitchen ceiling
My sinews strain and muscles flex
Flecks of foam from the horses nostrils
Spatter my chest
A couple of pensioners piss their pants
And with a screech beseech me
'Oh spare the noble beast
Eat us instead
We're old and bony
But our blood is red.Oh spare the horse'
The pair implore.
Two well aimed fish forks
Nail them to the wall.
The air is thick with sweatAnd fear
The horses eyes roll white
It screams and rears.
I grasp its head
And taking care to bite an ear off
While its still alive,
I wrestle it to the floor
Tables, chairs are splintered
Crockery breaksI snap its neck
Its legs keep flailing
As I tear into its flesh
Eating, eating, eating, eating,
Eating, eating, eating,
Eating, eating,
Eating
Till I'm sated.
Then when gorged
I torch the place
And walk away
Covered head to toe
In guts and gore,
Because I eat horses
I eat horses
I eat horses

RAW . . . .

Fuckin'

Grumble fucking grumble.
Das ist all. (Y)
Don't worry, children. Just a few shitholes in a row, we'll be back on track soon.

Hooray

So things don't always work out quite right. And sometimes they work worse than others. And sometimes it's entirely your fault, and sometimes it's entirely someone elses. Most of the time though it's more of a situation that you really don't do anything to help.

All that is needed for evil to succeed is for good men to do nothing.
Amen.

Thom Yorke on Wind Farms:

uptightmiddleclassnimbymonkeys

Me.. i think they're beautifulx

Thom





I feckin' love this man.

xxx

When will the good times cease..?

Do you wanna know the best bit?

THOSE WERE THE BAD BITS.


THE FUTURE IS FUCKIN' GLOWING BABY :D

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Feelin' a bit pissed off

Bleh ¬¬



Currently listenin' to the acoustic version of There There.

Is something special :)



Incidentally, I may have found some of the most intellignet lyrics ever in the least likely of places:



Admit it!

Despite your pseudo-bohemian appearance

And vaguely leftist doctrine of beliefs

You know nothing about art or sex

That you couldn’t read in any trendy New York underground fashion magazine

Prototypical non-conformist

You are a vacuous soldier of the thrift store Gestapo

You adhere to a set of standards and tastes

That appear to be determined by an unseen panel of hipster judges (bullshit)

Giving a thumbs up or thumbs down to incoming and outgoing trends and styles of music and art

Go analog baby, you’re so post-modern

You’re diving face forward into a antiquated path

It’s disgusting, its offensive, don’t stick your nose up at me



Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?

Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah

Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?

Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah



You spend your time sitting in circles with your friends

Pontificating to each other

Forever competing for that one moment of self-aggrandizing glory

In which you hog the intellectual spotlight

Holding dominion over the entire shallow pointless conversation

Oh, we’re not worthy

When you walk by a group of quote-unquote normal people

You chuckle to yourself patting yourself on the back as you scoff

It's the same superiority complex

Shared by the high school jocks who made your life a living hell

And makes you a slave to the competitive capitalist dogma

You spend every moment of your waking life bitching about



Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?

Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah

And I say yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?

Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah



Cause I’m proud of my life and the things that I have done

Proud of myself and the loner I’ve become

You’re free to whine, it will not get you far

I do just fine, my car and my guitar

Proud of my life and the things that I have done

Proud of myself and the loner I’ve become



You’re free to whine, it will not get you far

I do just fine, my car and my guitar, yeah

Well let me tell you this, I am shamelessly self-involved

I spend hours in front of the mirror, making my hair elegantly disheveled

I worry about how this album will sell

Because I believe it will determine the amount of sex I will have in the future

I self medicate with drugs and alcohol to treat my extreme social anxiety



You are a faker (admit it)

You are a fraud (admit it)

Yeah, you’re living a lie (hey) living a lie (hey) you’re life is living a lie

You don’t impress me (admit it)

You don’t intimidate me (admit it)

Why don’t you bow down, get on the ground, walk this fucking plank (yeah!)



Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?

Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah

And I say yeah (what do you..)



Proud of my life and the things that I have done

Proud of myself and the loner I’ve become

You’re free to whine, it will not get you far

I do just fine, my car and my..

Guitar, guitar go!

I drift drift drift drift drift yeah

I drift drift drift drift drift oh yeah

And I am done with this

I wanna taste the breeze of every great city

My car and my guitar

My car and my guitar

So you'll come to be, made of these, urges unfulfilled



Oh no no no no no

When I'm dead I'll rest

When I'm dead I'll rest, lay still

Strange haikus on strange themes

GUITAR

Acoustic covers,

Where no acoustic was planned,

Is where it's at dawg.

******

Oh! For a twelve string!

But how to get hold of one?

Simple. Whore out friends.

******

INJOKES

Where to dump dead fish?

Well, surely into the sea?

But no! Sign says so.

******

What a bizzare dream!

We were discussing a boat,

Hilarity! Tree!

*****

'How are you?' so dull,

It's always the first thing said,

Ah! Of course! Current socks!

*****

Oriental shriek-

'One Million Dollar!' then,

Behold! Giggle fit.

*****

Oh! I like your beard,

It's reassuring yet soft,

Please don't ever shave.

*****

Thundering closer,

Look, there it is! The man van!

Huge testosterone.

*****

Now you listen here,

Heroin is just a laugh,

But don't get into spoons.

*****

I destroyed the moon!

Apocalypse ensued, yes,

But so, so worth it.

*****

There! Jacob! Quickly!

Must extend arm, point finger!

Ah.... bodysnatchers.

*****

Ah! Look! This one has,

A limited save function!

Aha, what a find.

*****

What is needed here,

Is one merged super PieMess,

What larks that would be!

******

God can't take a joke,

So much so in fact, that he,

Kills kids with she-bears.

******

Firefight! Get your guns!

But too late see we are doomed,

Uzis with live bears.

AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL

Drama! Politics!

Quick! Get the wine! Up the tree!

I'm not coming down.

******

Bangface was madness.

Sanity, serenity...

Went out the window.

*****

Walking to school - late!

When suddenly ah! A cat!

Looks like bear... pursue!

*****

Oomie was our cat.

Built like wall, monster of cat!

Got head stuck in glass.

MISC

Ah, silly haikus,

As addictive as crack and,

At least as deadly.

*****

No sleep in five days,

Becomes decidedly weird,

Not really that fun.

******

The sea... what to say?

Well it's a hellish deathtrap,

Viperfish are bad.

******

Oh god, Octopus...

Evil warped things shouldn't be!

They do NOT HAVE SOULS!

******

I really like trees.

Huge forests are amazing.

Merlin! Don't break that!

******

Radiohead win.

Seriously fucking win.

Win win win hell yeah.

*******

I have a gas mask.

It's awesome, but hard to breathe,

But is so worth it.

*******

Ack, ack! Meine augen!

Meine augen brennen! BRENNEN!

Kartoffel augen!

******

Magic mushroom tea...

Bad trip! Hide under duvet!

Oh no! Duvet bad!

*******

Breakcore! The only style,

In which can be found the proof,

That there is no God.

*******

Potatoes are nice,

But when they are all that you eat,

You fucking hate them

*******

Sleepy... sneak to bed,

Leave friends to entertain selves,

Sleep... but then BEDTRIS!

*******

Quiet, calm, still morning.

Crisp, cool breeze.... tranquility.

And then TARRASQUE!

*******

Plans! Plans to meet friends!

Ack! Arbitrary parents!

Bollocks. What a douche.

********

I miss my old hat!

Saturday by name... stolen!

Never retrieved! Gone! :(

*********

There is no such thing,

As problems that can't be helped,

By a cup of tea :)

*********

I got turned into,

A lizard... it was quite strange,

Then I wrote a song.

*********

Nicknames are funny.

Some people call me Kiepie,

Better than 'Wookie'.

My hangover haikus

I feel like a pig,

Has shat in my head today,

Should not drink so much.

******

I hope at least that,

Last night was worth hangover,

Oh! Can't remember.

******

Red wine and some beer,

Sleep deprivation as well,

This is fucking rough.

******

Ow ow ow ow ow,

Ow ow ow ow ow ow fuck,

I hate everything.

*******

Ah! A hangover!

This is a nasty one too!

Where is your God now?

*******

I should stop this now,

Everyone must know by now,

But fuck me this sucks.

********

Ug uh glu uh blurgh,

I think my liver hates me,

Gurgle gurgle choke.

********

My insides are dead,

Probably changed colour too,

To pestilent green.

*********

Newsflash! Shocking news!

I think I've broken myself,

But we all knew this.

**********

It feels kind of like,

I fucked my organs with fire,

Then punched them. With fire.