Made by my head
Music, Ireland. Grey, name. My name. A step ladder. This house was built in a bog. Music is the window. I fell off a step ladder.





Tuesday, May 17, 2005

 

Music. Eurovision.

I'm asking my toe to stop telling people that I wrote a letter to my own hair but my toe keeps telling people I'm an idiot.

Music. Eurovision. Why 'vision' if it's music? Why look at it if it's smiling Irish dancers saying 'meow, I was told to do this by a man with a cardboard head'? Because one of them might fall over a gypsy with a small monkey.

Sound. Here. Now. Where's the fire hose, Megan has it. Who's Megan? Tip toe through the tulips, write down the address of tulips, get your feet back from the tulips. Hello Megan, can I have my feet back? Yes you can. I like Megan. Who's Megan?



He shoots, he scores, he glues himself to a lilac tree. Let's kick him.

A walk in the rain - Poetry. Ireland. Reading the news with no trousers.
Very Slight Stories - Very short stories.
Henry Seaward-Shannon - Slightly longer short-stories.






More blogs about music.

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