Sunday, July 5, 2009


After each migraine I feel a little piece of my self die. The heavy part of this one lasted more than two days. The entire thing is still going after four. Not sure yet what piece I left behind in some dark and damp alleyway, dimly lit by an uncovered bulb over a back entrance to a seedy gin bar. I didn't go in there, I just half-picked the rest of my self up and scampered off into the distance. The useless and forgotten dead peace to be trodden on and pissed all over by 3am punters who have only lost their kitty. I ran into William lee and he cautiously gave me a copy of his mag to buzz through, but it was a waste. I lost sight, was nauseous to the point of discarding my stomach's contents all over the pavement. Bile, all I could see for miles, and blackened tar like shit reaching up from the bowels of my soul. Scalp torn from my head and skull smashed in a vice like a firm tomato. It gives a little and then fuckin SPLAT. It's all over and those thievin little bastards are stickin in their knives to try and pry out your eyes. Dirty little pricks, FUCK OFF !!! They look better in my tormented head than in your dime bag. Tradin them for memories, piss off, I need them to try and rediscover mine.

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