Once made car crash by pointing shouting bang
Got steroids coursing through my veins, speeding like a fucking maniac in souped up, hypodermic Vauxhall Nova. My fingers gone expanded there, right before my eyes, but better now so all worthwhile.
Some Sense in Mixed Tense: I took some time off work so that a friendly nurse could inject Corticosteroids into my knuckles, make them better.
The needle would dig around between the bones looking for space to off it’s liquid load. Once happy, nurse began the squeeze, transferring buff sauce from syringe. As she does, my finger bloats, like hose pipe blocked, a cheeky foot upon the tube and water gathers to a burst.
But it didn’t burst, no, just remained a twice the size it started.
Throughout the day, swelling dispersed as body sponge up gym juice.
By Saturday I’m feeling fine, as fact I’m feeling awesome. So I take little LOMO out in sunshine morning to see what I can see. Cathedral, sparse as ever before, howls with faint echoes of flame. Turns out not history’s ghost but a VCR instead. So I watch the day the church got pranged, then study 1940’s fittings in homage ‘neath the shell of old St Michael.
Then walk to swanky new cathedral, toil of Basil Spence. There’s a new throne greets the visitor that resonates destruction. A simple chair, four legs, arched back, but made of AK47s. So I took a photo:
Standing there, study gun, study chair, in shadow of the great glowing walls. So I take a photo:
And walk to stained glass feet, look up, and find the historic looking ultramodern, daft punk, robot light show swank swank. So I take a photo:
And then I read and smoked and pondered, future’s in tatters but wrapped like the past. Further, I find myself here. Again. Sit at desk, stare at screen, best intentions to do my job… best intentions not strong enough to resist the pull of LJ… or even Myspace for that.
Hope you’re all tipettytop.
::::chris::::
Some Sense in Mixed Tense: I took some time off work so that a friendly nurse could inject Corticosteroids into my knuckles, make them better.
The needle would dig around between the bones looking for space to off it’s liquid load. Once happy, nurse began the squeeze, transferring buff sauce from syringe. As she does, my finger bloats, like hose pipe blocked, a cheeky foot upon the tube and water gathers to a burst.
But it didn’t burst, no, just remained a twice the size it started.
Throughout the day, swelling dispersed as body sponge up gym juice.
By Saturday I’m feeling fine, as fact I’m feeling awesome. So I take little LOMO out in sunshine morning to see what I can see. Cathedral, sparse as ever before, howls with faint echoes of flame. Turns out not history’s ghost but a VCR instead. So I watch the day the church got pranged, then study 1940’s fittings in homage ‘neath the shell of old St Michael.
Then walk to swanky new cathedral, toil of Basil Spence. There’s a new throne greets the visitor that resonates destruction. A simple chair, four legs, arched back, but made of AK47s. So I took a photo:
Standing there, study gun, study chair, in shadow of the great glowing walls. So I take a photo:
And walk to stained glass feet, look up, and find the historic looking ultramodern, daft punk, robot light show swank swank. So I take a photo:
And then I read and smoked and pondered, future’s in tatters but wrapped like the past. Further, I find myself here. Again. Sit at desk, stare at screen, best intentions to do my job… best intentions not strong enough to resist the pull of LJ… or even Myspace for that.
Hope you’re all tipettytop.
::::chris::::