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.

Saturday, April 29, 2006


Music. Sack.

Piano keys and key rings, the sounds they make. This place in my head. Knock knock, who's there, I don't know, leave me alone.

Doorbells. Down driveways and out on the streets as daylight fades and night begins. A stream of words. She stares ahead, standing outside the cinema with arms folded, and she says, "Our motorbike gang is so going to beat up their motorbike gang." Words and deeds. The music in my crash helmet was really coming from my head. That cat looks funny. My head said that at the wrong time.

Band: Sack.

One of Morrisey's favourite bands. They toured with him, and he included one of their songs on a compilation CD he put together for the NME in 2004. They make most other bands sound as if they're paying too much attention to the advice of the squirrels who live on their heads.


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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