Friday night?

I empty my shopping bag; a pint of milk, two tubs of cat food, two packets of blue rizla and a bottle of wine. So this is how it is on a Friday night?

The milk goes into the Fridge, as does the Cat food, (he's been fed). The Papers in my pocket, and out comes the bottle opener. So this is a Friday night?

The milk is still in the Fridge, rolled up cigarette in hand and a glass of red touching the lips. The cat is sleeping close by, dreaming. It is Friday night?

The second goblet of rouge down the line, the cigarette is now a Joint, I hate milk and the cat is washing himself, acrobaticly, on the clean, well pressed laundry. That is just how Friday night should be?

The bottle is being raised, glass on floor, cigarette tilting from the corner of the mouth, Milk's for babies and the cat is silently sleeping. Who does one thank for Friday night?

Reflections and Dilutions

Matt Sharp has his say.

Conta'min|ate
v.t pollute, esp. with radioactivity; infect; hence ~ ANT, ~ A'TION, ns [f. L contaminare(CON-,tamen-rel. to tangere touch) +-ATE3]

Riches to rags

It all seems to be going like it should, it only takes a little twisted thought, and contamination inside dark places to change everything.

The wine has mellowed me.
The sleep deprivation has weakened me.
The broken heart has kept me awake at night.
The tobacco has starved me.
Must program the soul, and apply constructive thought.












In possession of hate.

So the warm sun is shining is it?
A Moon can be black and cold.
And the flowers smelling sweetly?
The Rose petals could be fading.
The Sea's whispering calm nothings?
The Oceans may violently lash out.
Happy wavering Willows, gliding in the breeze?
Can't You see the sad, long lines of leafless hedgerows?
The enchanting chorus of colourful songbirds?
Bleak, ugly and cackling Rooks.
Rivers meandering through rolling hills?
The dried up streams in deserted planes.
Voices of young sweethearts in love?
Could be rude and abusive utterings.
The twinkle of the adoring look?
The grey and angry eyes are possibly scowling.
The clouds are kissing you warmly?
What about the lashing thunder?
Comfortable laughter from happy couples.
I like the silences' from lifeless souls.



So far I need and want to thank, with ever growing admiration; Mia, for her patience and beauty; Matt Sharp, for being Matt Sharp; Brad for being a Dad; South London Architecture for being, sometimes stunning, other times, an insult to human consumption; Lisa for aiding me into Contamination; Tate Modern; Andy and Addie, for their art, minds and true friendship; Fragile; Rag Doll on street; Jo, for being more inspirational than she can ever realise; London, for being my home; Mum, Dad and Tim, for creating me and my mind. My abstract thoughts are watered down; a dilution. My computer, denying me a social life, but making it possible to share and spread raw and honest material, to You! Oh, and I suppose Tom and Kyp should be mentioned! Cheers guys.

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