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Thursday, February 04, 2016

Ventured to the west and returned by way of the south
Ventured to the west and returned by way of the south,
Damaged the axle of the wagon and she parted with the fight half started,
I called back and sent my echo bouncing off the canyon walls,
Eggnog on Tuesday without the wafers please,
So she came and delivered that fateful morn,
When I thought I woke with a yawn,
Don’t ask me why young inquisitive fawn,
She led me to the gilded palace of early dawn,

Where the range is home and we ride the slipstream in moonlight.

sketched by dweller at 9:24 pm
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Ten tonnes of crystal meth
Ten tonnes of crystal meth,
I couldn’t watch breaking bad because the nylon was too strong,
Instant sweat and bo
Like having a picnic on astroturf
So I got stuck in to game of thrones
Ee by gum,
 Northern  leather clad heroes smashing
 Horrible roman perverts
Sweaty, yes, but smelly no.
All the grit and grime on screen  did not have a whiff of stinky feet.
Same with Hobbit and Lord of the Rings.
No Odour. Pure clean mossy bank waterfall.
 No noxious armpit stench.

But Break Bad, man that hummed. Turn it off I can’t take the smell.
 Dead bodies, chemical labs, tension, surburban living rooms.

So I guess I’m a sucker for sweet smelling grime.

sketched by dweller at 9:22 pm
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videogames sketches
these are just some unfinished trial lines for when I was doing the 
thing inspired by Video Games by Lana Del Rey

Running up the snowflake

Method acting cop show
Putting down the dog bowl

Teacher’s name is Vishnu
Friends in Modadishu
Playing hideous games

Kids in little cages
Being killed by sages

He loves me not

sketched by dweller at 9:20 pm
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This day of fire and woody growth
The birds are woken, the bulbs do stir
I dreamt of clouds all tinged with rainbow
I saw great whales on beaches tremble
Fierce storms of sun fire pulsed through space
And shook our earth’s magnetic cloak
The poles did dance and left their homes
They shifted hearts and minds unwell
Confused the course of mighty mammals
Boats did sink and bodies swelled
Some pink faced men did shout in shame
Blamed others for themselves to gain
Yet beyond this fight for oil and god
The sun fires flares as if to say
I’ve all the energy you need right here
I am your creator let’s make that clear
Many of us feel deep inside
The power of the moon and tide
Yet the ball of fire we know so well
We miss what it is trying to tell
And as I awoke on Imbolc morn
This message in my mind was born
I’ll write it down and read it out
And share it with a friendly crowd.

sketched by dweller at 9:10 pm
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Heaven knows I’m chip shovelling now
Heaven knows I’m chip shovelling now.
Dream on stiff granny chops!
Lanky William and his dandruff dandelion gerbil.
Gladys said never and I thought she meant harlequin baby.
Murmuring bushbabies in the dark night air terrified by Art Garfunkel’s vampire grimace.

Tether the hedgehog to the mainframe and sharpen your lawnmower blade.

sketched by dweller at 9:08 pm
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Sunday, December 13, 2015

I got hipss
I got hipss ,
Theyre gyrating
And I’m losing control
Coz the techno
You’re supplying
Is rocking my soul
I did lay on for you a banquet
 And you did feed on the feast
There were murmurs of a lighthouse
 And an old fashioned leather seat.
Worshipping at dawn in a pleasant place
In stillness we gulped in understanding
The universe in our embrace
Then morning laughter
carried on to the day
Show each other the way thru

Emptiness where all is at play

sketched by dweller at 9:37 pm
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Saturday, May 02, 2015

This fairy inclined to speak

From the base I protrude
Shuffled from the city's hidden
And yes I'll aid in all your glory
If you let me tell my story
My carpet swept rid angst and fear
Then see and feel my beauty magic near


sketched by dweller at 8:59 pm
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Tuesday, April 28, 2015

First entry in matt king's analogue book 2015

sketched by dweller at 1:26 am
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My analogue revival

sketched by dweller at 1:25 am
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Monday, April 20, 2015

Michael Rosen: Our gods: 'the city' and 'the markets'
Michael Rosen: Our gods: 'the city' and 'the markets': I love the way in which commentators and experts say the words 'the city' and 'the markets'. They aren't given to us as ...

sketched by dweller at 3:42 pm
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Saturday, April 18, 2015

If, then (part two)
If the wurlitzer played a moan alone by Rigsby,
If latitudes could be plucked by a pilotless jet plane,
If weddings and funerals were served up together on stormy Mondays,
If bucolic windmill sighs and slow mo recordings of buds opening were
 last night of the prom show stoppers,
If memories of drifting fingers through ink black water and watching mesmeric phosphorescent trails could
 be revived like a favourite play,

Then virtue would lay an unbreakable egg,
Then earth beams and girders would untangle and sing,
Then buff musclebound worms would fight the blackbird's beak,
Then wigwams and teepees would fly in to restore order,
Then Robert Maxwell would sip soup aboard a floating mirage.
Or perhaps a robin's nest would host Felicity Kendall's giggle.

sketched by dweller at 10:25 pm
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Wednesday, March 11, 2015

So the first page of a new book…
So the first page of a new book…
Was ist los?
Entschuldigungs bitte.
Deep fried and in the vein of murphy’s magical pig.
He wandered left right left.
Sheba purred and swam the breast stroke.
Kalamazoo in plimpsoles.
Mother did you hear they dropped the frogs?
Unt zertanks shall roll vonce again across the plain.
Hey buddy, I don’t like your jazz hands.
Put on these black lady muslim gloves.
I’m swaying side to side like a Latina groove.
Bottoms up, my beauty.
Hair like a badger.
That new labour dominatrix look.
You know the one
Beside the point. Carry on nurses.
Unglue the dressing.
Put down the up and sideways graft the sloppy bawbag meat.
Air hair lair.
My larynx performed with the footlights.
She went all squiffy.
Ooh no, robbed by a ghastly crack head again.
But that’s okay because there are large scale sandwiches in an upscale neighbourhood and jolly old Freddie will be ever so chummy.
The Icelandic warbles in a chill fm stylee about frozen fish, space dust and liquidised pixie glands.
Everything changes but knowing that won’t relieve your security anxiety.
Watt Watt!
Heaven knows we’re all Eastenders now.
Even Kathy.
Play the piana, the old Joanna – chompy stompy plinky plonk owz about that then me old kipper?

Enough you wurzel, turf off the hedgehog breath.

sketched by dweller at 8:19 pm
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