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PA.APP (09)

11/30/2019

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In our version of history the world is flat and oval with deep lateral grooves where demons and despots breed. The great scythe comes calling 3 times a day, regular as clockwork with a vast orange blade. Sleep with one eye awakened to the possibilities of broken dreams. New manifestations riddle the barren eternity, thoroughfares and dwellings etched into the surface, denying sacrifice to the outer-dimensional blade. And from these complex warrens, open to the sky, all madness is magnified as it comes up against a wall, over and over again. A maze beyond conclusion in which we must suffer constant restriction or stand up to be cut down, like corn. To size. In his prime. With certainty. There is a point when history starts repeating itself. The burning quest to define infinity. The snake, as a circle, consuming its own tail. All is looked over with god/man morals invented by the man/god in order to be the imagined reflection of some higher energy. Celebration of ego will always cut off its own nose. It will always be worse than ever. Limping backwards into the future/into an early grave, clothes burning and the stink of rotten magpies, heaped up, in the heart of the land. The beast is on the roof again, ripping off the gutters and rattling the chimney. The phaunos is risen, his seed to be spread far and wide.
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The idealistic facade of manicured lawns
and homogeneity is easily
                                                   cracked when considering the statistics.
                                Cisco is 45 minutes
                                                                                   from the nearest town, and
has no running water,
                                                                                   grocery, gas station, or residents.               
Anticipating the public’s rejection of government, trans and queer models
                                                                                    with their trucks

presenting opportunities for subversion and creative destruction in and
                                                                            around Tel Aviv, Jerusalem,
                             the Negev desert, and in the
occupied West Bank.                      
suburbia as a haven for nuclear families
                                                                                             first, women in the town were not allowed to work,
                        
thus stabilizing the point of existence, the rustic lifestyle, desert climate,
                                                                                             
second, African Americans were barred from living in Greenbelt, an exclusive invitation to a ‘money can’t buy’ experience.
                                                                              With the mantra “in the world, but not of it” nestled into the hillside ruins of a Palestinian village bombed and evacuated during the 1948 War.
                                                                                      Economy’s inaccessibility was intentional.
           Though entrance is free, parking is not.





HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHQHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
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I think a lot of people have feelings of low-key imposter syndrome all the time

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I’m going to climb up on that truck and take my pants off
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LINKLINK <> Tiffany St. Bunny

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passing amongst people

i see myself as a black space

slightly dulling

or dirtying

whatever colour they are bringing

to the party


<><><><><><><><><>

<>


hundreds and hundreds

of miles covered every week

jangling to the insulting conflict

of combustion engines

at once parachutist

fat hog rider and charioteer

it’s hot work for a cold horizon

yin-yang and military edition

plum jam

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IF YOU ARE INTO : dull corporate operators, echoes of the synapses, vending machine music, text-to-speech hysteria, under the influence drum incursions, modulating machinery until it breaks, unnecessary untrue information, sticky dancefloors, garageband aficionados, techno-mutations, third parties provocations, hard-to-draw-a-line genres, tangible psychedelia, obscure naivety...to be continued...
                               
https://ooh-sounds.bandcamp.com/album/shit-shine-no-no-no-no
(SEASONAL ALTERATIONS MAYBE APPLIED)

Bill was hog-tied and naked and they were pissing on him. Do you pay your money and take your choice, or not pay your money and still take your choice. O ye of little faith! Bill didn’t know anymore. He was beyond himself. Maybe they’d towed his car away. Whose game is this? I am an anti-christ. Always so many fragments flashing through the branches in sunlight and moonlight. Pushing into the corners and accelerating hard out. Inventor of the lozenge technique, which states:- Any human encounter should be measured by one lozenge. If you feel ok after the lozenge has gone, be warned, the likelihood of you wanting to kill yourself, once alone again, is increasing whilst you are deluding yourself. Choose a lozenge that works best for you. They were there again. Bodies, rough hands, pulling him this way and that, pushing into him. Bill was floating up now. Transcending. Whereabouts on the line do we put ourselves in order to leave the corporeal impediment. How extreme must the mining be to find that vein of riches beyond all value? How much later must we leave it? How much further must we fall? How much is lies and bullshit? How much is that doggy in that window? Watch this space. Dogs get feral. Voyeurs and exhibitionists. Symbiotic couplings of intimate disintegration. A personality split. A comb with false teeth. A rugged hetero from a romance novella. A smear of blood on a toilet seat. 5 minutes, that’s all we’ve got.

                                    ..oo)00-00(oo..
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Alvin Baltrop
Born December 11, 1948[1]
The Bronx, New York City[1]
Died February 1, 2004 (aged 55)
New York City, New York, U.S.



Chat isn’t just chat in New Zealand, it’s connection, possibly the only social interaction of a person’s day, if they are isolated, out of work or lonely. I have been all of those things, and I have valued casual exchanges as proof that I’m still human, still worth talking too, when my feelings and mind seem to be telling me otherwise.


______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________dilapidated buildings burn surrounded by debris, firemen, and police_________________________________________________________________________conveying the radiance of non-white skin, of red patterned towels, and of green-tinted walls_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________moments of intimacy and sex, steel beams and rippling water___________________________gas stations, parking lots, and underpasses, many lit only by street lamps________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ridges of buildings and bodies curve in their shadows;          men wear their pants around their ankles or nothing except socks and shoes____________________________________________________big hair, jewelry, and eyes________________________





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“There is no such thing as liberty,' she heard the quiet, deep, dangerous voice of Don Ramón repeating. 'There is no such thing as liberty. The greatest liberators are usually slaves of an idea. The freest people are slaves to convention and public opinion, and more still, slaves to the industrial machine. There is no such thing as liberty. You only change one sort of domination for another. All we can do is to choose our master.”
― D.H. Lawrence,
The Plumed Serpent
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Re-Dub // DENNIS ALCAPONE >>> Listen HERE
IGGY POP - If You're Going To The City  >>> LISTEN here
Ecko Bazz - KYUSA EMBELA >>> Listen HERE
s.soo - TYMAN >>> LISTEN HERE

THE SUMMER LURCH. Moving into it. One day clouds and rain. ONE DAY UNRELENTING CLARITY & HEAT. This to & fro is loved by sandflies, they swarm around my head as i split rounds of Beech. THEY SWIM in my eyes. My lips are swollen from their biting. After a mast year there is an increase in the numbers of mice, rats and stoats. PLAGUE PROPORTIONS. The Government has a policy of poison. Aerial drops of the contentious 1080. Abuse is common for those in the Department Of Conservation. CONTRADICTORY claims hold their ground. It cannot end well. Those with most guns are also the most REACTIONARY. I am the man in the middle with nothing to defend myself with except for a well used toilet brush. It is not my argument. PREDATOR FREE by 2050 is a fictional buzz-phrase. The POLITICIANS are afraid of losing face, looking stupid or incapable. And so they tell stories that CAN NEVER BE TRUE. We have zombie possums too. There is a poisoned rat in the shed. I have to watch the flies to see where it is. It's in and empty cider box along with a used vacuum cleaner dust bag. The numerous rubbish sacks in the kennel are a go-to venue for vermin. Soon the maggots are falling out of the torn plastic bags. I always seem to be the GARBAGE MAN. More rain is forecast this week. I will do my best to keep moving. The sandflies at the lake are vampires, swift and blood thirsty. You have to be a STRANGER or a MASOCHIST to chose this as a holiday destination. Later, the wasps will come, also in plague proportions. This country is PURE in comparison to many others and as such ripe for exploitation. The fields are over filled with dairy herds. The land not good enough to support them. And so chemicals are employed to kill weeds and artificially grow grass. The rivers take up the over-spill. The farmers are slaves to the banks who crack the industry's whip which demands that every last drop is milked. BOVINE mutations rule the economy. If REAL CHANGE can be implemented it will be done over spilled blood and SCREAMS of rape.
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In Iraq, the wives of soldiers have traditionally cut their hair as an act of erasing their femininity, viewing hair as both sexy and holy.
Dreaming is a gift. The ones you killed will return to you in your dreams.
Today, protesters in Iraq wash themselves with bottles of Coke, which helps minimize the effects of the gas.
Iraqi security forces began firing live ammunition and tear gas at civilian protesters.
They catch the grenades in their arms and throw them back at the police.



You are solely responsible for any action you take as a result of this message.                               PA.APP.(09)P.A.
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PA.APP (08)

11/15/2019

1 Comment

 
 I left a hundred bucks poorer and was ridiculed by my friends for my frantic attempt to procure a crowbar on a .Saturday evening. Peaceful protesting is a basic right, enshrined in Article 38.c of the Iraqi Constitution. This new drug was so euphoric and visionary, so positive and mind expanding whilst a major victory for keeping dark money to ban the chemicals.
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<><><><><><><><><><><> report came through last night around <><><><><><><> electric paradise of a swollen <><><><><><><><><><> shameful to realise <><><><><><><> Further efforts are being <><><><><><> no longer divisible <><><><><><><><><><><> typical of an era of deep <><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> communications worsened and as nightfall <><><><><><> howling was <><><><><><><><><><><><> noticing the gauge <><><> empty.


Americans are increasingly moving into bunker communities, like this Vivos xPoint complex in South Dakota.
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I’d been lucky enough to get hold of one of the few remaining inflatable psychedelic tunnels. I’d got it from a hard-nosed white haired Grandpunk who’d met an untimely end when four Percenters had gone walkabout with a one of their Scaerosols, which are high voltage, high pressure canisters that, for the victim, have a similar result to dropping an electric toaster into the bath. The Percenters had waited up a stairwell and then blasted out the Scaerosol as the old Grandpunk was making his way up, not only did he go totally St. Vitus but then went arse over tit, with a few helpful kicks, all the way down six flights of concrete steps. I was just coming down the street when old Grandpunk was spat out into the street, still spasming epileptic style, followed by the braying Percenters, me ducking quick into shadows and long gone in a flash. I circled back around and found the body semi-charred and terminated where it’d been left. I’d known old Grandpunk as long as you know anyone these days, and although you get hardened to seeing folk you know get wiped out it still fucks with your head, makes you angry and irrational and leaves you thinking maybe you should just give in to it, go out into the midst of it and at least try to take some of those fuckers out with you when you go. So i rolled him over, face down, lifted up the back of his studded coat and helped myself to the tunnel. I’d been on the look-out for one of my own for long enough, its magic was that it could get you out from under and under from out, it wasn’t always reliable and once you entered there was no guarantee as to the duration or intensity of the ‘Trip’ but it was one of the last means of escape or entry when your back was against the wall and your face was pressed into the dirt. And here i was, weighing up whether to break out the tunnel to get into this fenced compound or to try and find a loose thread in the fence. The cutters were no good here, the magnetised thread fencing that was used everywhere gripped hard onto any metallic implement almost like a cocoon, completely restricting any movement. This thread fencing was super tough too and the only way through was to find the start of an unravelment. It wasn’t clear how these unravelments began, it seemed unlikely that it was a fault in the manufacturing process, but some of the old folk said they were caused by insects that excreted a tiny blob of glue-like liquid which literally ate a small hole into the fabric, thereby allowing the insect to reel in lengths of the thread in a kind of back to front silkworm / spiderweb fashion. What the purpose of this was… who knows, the rip was only ever 3 or 4 centimetres long but if you could find it, pick out the broken thread and gently pull it out and downwards it would continue the rip until it was big enough to get through. This is what i was looking for but the fence was probably 100 metres long and focusing on the tight cross-hatching made the eyes blur and the head spin.
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Click Links To Experience


Headyello - Road To Elsewhere
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AkA - Wup Und Wuf
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Kim Gordon - No Home Record
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Blackxwash - Black Majik
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week in
week out
the music
keeps coming
to the point
that i
can barely
remember
just what it is
that i need to
revisit
re-listen
consume
invest in
physically
emotionally
digitally
Aziza Brahim - Sahari
Raed Yassin - CW Tapes
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The Revolutionaires - Drum sound
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Sindre Bjerga + Boban Ristevski
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WHEN
THEY
COME
WILL
YOU
BE
THERE

female jesus / fag jesus (steven arnold)


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Ultrasound Specialists
Dear Mr Carruthers
Re: Peter Hope, DOB 01/05/1959, NHI
Thank you for referring Peter to Koru Ultrasound.
Clinical History:
Koru Ultrasound
31 Oxford Street, Richmond 7020 70 Bridge Street, Nelson 7010
P: (03) 541 0050
F: (03) 541 0051
31 October 2019
sprained left shoulder with a crow bar on the roof of a house
Examination Findings:
The long head of biceps appears ruptured proximally with a fluid filled sheath for a length of approximately 4cm.

The subscapularis tendon appears thin and variable in echotexture in keeping with tendinosis or healing partial tears.
The supraspinatus tendon appears normal.
The infraspinatus tendon appears normal.
There is marked thickening of fluid within the subacromial bursa.
There is bursal bunching on abduction of the arm.
Abduction is unrestricted but painful.
There is no evidence of joint effusion at the posterior labrum.
The possibility of a 25 x 4 x29mm teres minor tear is suggested and the patient is tender here.
The AC joint appears normal and is stable on forward flexion.
The coraco-acromial ligament, suprascapula & spinoglenoid notches all appear normal.

Conclusion:
Proximal biceps rupture
Possible teres minor tear
Subacromial bursitis with associated impingement.
Suggest orthopedic consult


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In 1989, after a number of police
raids on their warehouse in
King's Cross,
MWC left
the country
and travelled to Germany

where they became
notorious
for
building giant sculptures
out of old machinery and car

parts, one of which was
'Käferman',
a giant human figure with
a Volkswagen Beetle for its chest,
offering a Bird Of Peace sculpture that overlooked the Berlin Wall towards
East Berlin and the regime of
East Germany.
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& Then This                                                                                          Mutoid Waste Company

.............................................................                       PA.APP. P.A (08)

1 Comment

PA.APP (07)

11/8/2019

0 Comments

 
THE MAKINGxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxNEW RIDICULOUSxxxxxxxxxxxxxxMORE. CAUSTICxxxxxxxxxxxxxOF WESTERN ERRORxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxTWENTY-NINExxxxxxxxxxxxx,CURIOUS AND IMPRACTICAL. xxxxxxxx OF DENTISTRYxxxxxxxxxxFISHxxxxxxxxxxxx! IN PALESTINE THEYxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxUNDERxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx AND COMPLIMENTARY WHORES,xxxxxxxxxxxxxx NEARESTxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxFAMILY COMMITMENTSxxxxxTARGET PRACTISE. WOMEN ARExxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx CLEVERLY EXPLAINEDxxxxxxxxxxxWELCOME. HOWEVERxxxxxxxxxBETER ECONOMYxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxHAND STITCHEDxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxSCREENSxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx. xxxxxxxxxxIMMACULATE ANDxxxxxxDESIRABLE.
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During the conference I was invited to perform a qigong demonstration, also received an award for my work in spreading qigong around the world. This was a real honour for me, and also for Long White Cloud Qigong!
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https://www.theguardian.com/cities/gallery/2019/mar/12/london-transport-distinctive-fabrics-moquette-history-in-pictures
To what do i offer myself up? There’s a feeling that it will be do or die, and often i care not which. As i said the waves keep rolling in faster and more polarised. It’s always new and always the same, a weird repeating mantra that i never quite grasp the words of. Passing clouds in the night as i stir sedated and turning away from the monkey at my side, reminding me always of a lingering death. More pills, more smoke, more juice. What’s your excuse, the same as mine? None of this matters when i’m steering the tungsten tips through the branches, shaping the leaves into contorted throes of animal death and sculpting instantaneously disappearing moments. Moving forward where it’s all so obviously an unimportant flash in the pan.

The Street Photography of Matt Weber
As a former self-described ‘mediocre’ graffiti artist and taxi driver photographing the streets of New York since 1978, Matt Weber has explored countless miles throughout the city and seen a little bit of everything.
The subjects in his photographs range from fights to embraces, from the homeless to 5th Avenue, from Harlem to Coney Island. The sensibilities in his work portray a photographer who has always been in tune with the rhythms, the community, and the ideals of the true New York – both the good and the bad.
>>>>>LINK<<<<<
80830380830380830380830380830380830380
Dr. John was discussing his appreciation for meats not common to butcher shops on an early evening in late September. "I remember that possums was a great thing," he said, referring to one of his aunt Guerneri's other specialties. He later added that snake (preferably water moccasin) is "alright," a word he pronounced as if the "l" was a "w" and deployed as another rough synonym of "exceptional."
Birch’s great grandfather was James “Prince” Moodie, transported from Barbados to Tasmania. “His crime, for which he was transported for 14 years, was listed as ‘disobedience’ – of which I’m proud,” Birch says. James Moodie’s descendants included Les Moodie, a lightweight who often pursued more lucrative boxing prizes in Sydney where, Birch says, he was subject to extreme racism and announced as “the coffee-coloured coon from Melbourne”.
My first foster mother, she had died. And I didn't know nothing about death, and I was blamed for her death, and I was seven years old. This man just whipped me all day long. He just beat me all day. 
I had whips all over my face and so I was trying to get away from that and it was getting late in the evening. I took my wagon and I ran out into the street and I got hit by a car. 

Lonnie Holley VIDEO LINK

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TO SOME THIS MAY NOT BE A THING OF BEAUTY BECAUSE DEEP DOWN WITHIN THEY ARE UGLY


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SALVADOR DALI


<><><><><><

Postal voting leaves young and marginalised people out because they move house more often than older Pākehā homeowners. ⁣Most young people can’t meet the challenge it is important your investment strategy is match fit for who accompanied protestors for many years. The ban, implemented in the wake of complaints by the district’s home and business owners, includes a fine of up to 10,000 yen but when I'm asked to imagine a safe place that feels like home, I picture communities connecting across generations and backgrounds, neighbourhood kids playing on cul-de-sac streets and well-cared for public gardens, beaches, and parks for people to enjoy. There is a route up from Chiang Mai that i might try but its all hills and my fitness has gotta be pretty fucked so might have to work up to it somehow.
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You signed up via Superior Viaduct / Stranded.                                                                                                    PA.APP.P.A. 07

0 Comments

PA.APP. (06)

11/2/2019

0 Comments

 
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Assisting with digestive disturbances e.g. bloating, flatulence, diarrhea, constipation and poor digestion.
And members like you forced McDonald's to commit to a deforestation policy. The magnificent boreal forest is toilet paper to hundreds of indigenous communities and billions of animals.


(Poems by JD NELSON)

pressed into pez



to cook a wig!

little rye seen
minor tea too
wooden

sift was
a lert yekk oil

yes was that sim
linus was

what are you doin’
with the lysol tape


whup hutchie now

hello plus paper
I read in the shower

made of glass
like a rabbit
why is the world
the world

working alvie
for peech to seat

silver picnic
the hulk lives!


bobcat smart!

ok crow
xing the street

zebra jeans
feathered hair

earth is a wheek
a real glass apple

the white house is purple
beneath the black light

for the best pancakes,
make them in the dark


cake spiders

it was late and we took the cheesecake to the museum

we decided to leave it in the lobby for another visitor

I took that bait to the back room and ate it

the dungle was riggems

the fabric shoreline is the longest coastline using corduroy

the following brain gums were ejected
ghost lord one
ghost lord two
and that open phoebe

millions of millionths all over the floor


glump in the dinnies

clinging to the universal sound
to make it a world again

the brain is nothing without the sun

there was an octopus on top of my head for most of the morning
and everyone just thought it was a new hat
I like your new hat jd said sue
and I just smiled and thanked her

the surface of the new planet is very smooth


the walking spores in supermarket garb

an ankle wishes for nike bootlegs

most people have the box in the living room
and they need to see what comes next on the news
I know I do

the color is a strain of the flower
to beat the campus locks all over

eleven of them were blue


clean duck to stay low

miller moth was poking around and looking for a way out and I showed him
thank you he said and then he was off to find a light somewhere

power is a pollen dream

yellow is a dream

the fading dream was a face in the sky


a new unknown to guide us

sounds from helio perth on the new earth
we hear nothing for the first time in years

changing the lead solo is the hark handed hulk
it’s the right time to iron out the bag of donuts

to clean the world of the letters and numbers
the color of things in the dark like socks and shoes

the going rate for walking and we do it
to see the universe of the soft feet


—JD Nelson
Quarter of everything goes to the guy with the wet mouth. Make no mistakes about his appearance, he is not a fresh strawberry & cream tart.
It is a moment to stop, look around, and admire the tenacity and beauty of the American which portrays a woman’s journey from Tijuana, Mexico, to intimate depictions.

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GO HERE FOR  JD Nelson, Selected Work
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Then you fell into my arms
like a glass mannequin
shattering at my feet
more ornamental
than you ever conceded
but in one smooth movement
you were swept away
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https://www.facebook.com/miff.morris

(LINK) SIMON POMERY / BLOOD MUSIC <><><><><><> THIS IS VERY PLEASING TO EAR, NOSE & THROAT (LINK)
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To all things strange i am drawn as if falling from a high building. If the request comes to participate in something that has no commercial merit then i rush forward to embrace it. Giving up all opinion or expectation is a great enabler. The second mouse gets the cheese. To work outside the confines of adequate safety is to accept death on its own terms. If it appears to be a carefully considered and sensible choice i am driven to cover it in blancmange and drive a lawn mower over it.

HOWARD STELZER IS A CASE IN POINT. WE NEED TO CELEBRATE. PRESS HERE.

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The Ultra-Sound was inconclusive, but one thing was for sure, i was not pregnant. The next step would be an MRI scan. It would seem I am becoming an expensive toilet cleaner. I have receipts and claim forms. I have prescriptions and osteopathy. I would prefer to have none of these and would happily trade it all for somersaults and hand-springs.
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GET YOUR OWN NUCLEAR WARHEAD HERE
THE REINVENTION OF DRAB MARCO & CANDICE BROWN  (part A)

Drab Marco worked out how to do it
how to turn time back on itself
so all his yesterdays came true
he looked forward to the past
kept his memories alive
and lived out the history
of never catching up

No one called him anymore
but it didn’t seem to matter
he’d stopped listening to new ideas
they pulled too hard on the twilight
and he retreated into one plate living
limited utensils and repetitious modes
of being then and there

He never left but just came back
revisiting his childhood
in old shoes and expired vouchers
left to himself he was foreshadowed
no interest had accumulated
and the lightbulbs never blew

Drab Marco took a back seat
the world still turned
the sun still shone
but old regrets burst like bubbles
and his tastes grew unrefined
he put an advert in the newsagents
inquiring after like-minded passengers
for this uncharted trip
he hoped to find a soul-mate
or maybe even a lover
his hair was getting thicker
and he’d grown a silver tongue

"NOT NOW is about the sense of immediacy, this evanescent spark of inspiration" (Henri Sizaret)
dpdpdpdpdpdpdpdpdpdpdpdpdpdpdpdpdpdpdpdpdppdpdpdpdpdppdppddddpppdpdpppdddd

PA.APP.P.A. (06)     >no skin or meat or blood or bone were used in this transmission<
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                      Sylvester Stewart

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