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 10, 2005

 

Music. Toes.

Streets, fires. Coma. Out of coma and pointing at a pig. No wait, this is why I went into the coma in the first place.


I'm I'm I'm I am yes who am I again? Excuse me while I check who I am.
I'm Grey. I write. Music. Ireland. Words distilled to make, no that's whiskey. That too. No that's someone else. I'm Grey. I saw a blackbird fall off an ice cream cone.


Our weekly look at old age: boommmm booming sounds. Look and listen. Whales.
Our weekly look at whales: see above.


Music. Toes. Stones, ow. I'm going home I'm going home I'm going home. I'm stuck in a cupboard. I'm still going home, I live here.




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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