from an unfinished novel with little hope of completion

wordless spittle.tide of surging blood/sediment dripping out of last nights dream.calm has come...everthing died.the brightest star smothered by undiluted craving,part my mess,part these other things.they try to make me see them in peripheral sideshow occilations.they are bathing the countryside.the mutations dizzy my structure.we are the whole macrosomic scrape,unable to control the stupyfying ever esculating dungscape.

we to do the craft and believe we were making the whole caboodle-a melding melting fantasy driven pouring...coagulating...dissipating...warping.laughter to all that know it ,was but a embryo in a yet to be synthesized brilliant plod.the frequency was sullied...nothing left to grasp the intersection and create a valleyof dead shelter,made from ooozing sinew like forms.the friction was a light,a possible inkling cont- act.weof course drawn to the change in parameters,ended up being wrapped in a barron bubbling drift.mulchy now you might say,but what good is a code when that kind of action was empty..meaning-less.

catacombs...reaction wriggling. waves spitting energy.anabsolute mess,but phospherous,acid...we were from counter to what was before.lost decay of the chosen with their impossible waves... tenticles...spitting. we were complicit in the by launguage.

came to be..move.inside a vat.EXPLODING.orientations,new failures.dont know such things as...others. apart from the thing I...TWIGLIGHT forraging experiencial.shatter non-gaze of the incompassing geletine like spores...move around,dribbling new ways.forming...expanding/suffucating all that passes..before the i.afterwards same.

tangle together.EIGGH. bind constructions.never hold against it,for ignorance is ...frothing. snow like germinations...more like quiet oozing festering chaos with no with the space in new shards, and ocasional pin pricks of light fall into us,now from I. EXAUSTION SET ways of contemplation. constant struggles to bring some consistency to the mix.keep trying now we have us.

sweat or somthing akin to moisture:acids jigsaw,shapes constrict,lava like..dense..pouring out over us. finest constuctions we'd new,we couldnt do jackshit.waxing waning ,eventualy freezing,giving us a peep into perminency,but everything touched by the contact fell open.glands came in.WEBS OF LIES manufactured out in the peripery,arid untold junctures that has been left to rot in voids of non.TOO MUCH to carry.left behind for a reason.ONE NOW HAS TO BE MADE.bloody mindedness -an ofshhot which had its own fungus paws,excrete before exorcising non-function.NO CHANCE seething growth.let it bother to the us made now.

hard to touch this new allocation.separate.hardly knew the other,though once so intrinsic to paths for I. re-forming..RE ORGINISING. RE COGNITION...nothing anymore between us.grown apart:bubling,spatters, moulten..feverish.apart=we.took some passing of spaces and places,until...IT IS REALLY I.margins prised apart.i had a first thought.more like a sparking wheel.hills of concentrations of them.goodbye.

gaseous layes of non comprehension.the others whispering to.trying to function,but still carried along be occilations obtuse,incongrouous. disparate ever changing tangles.pathways poking at knowledges yet to be gained by experience.popping,wheezing,coagulating,smothering,diluting, RE-FORMING.

intricate bubbly edge of it whatever...instant contact/betrayal..minute points in light unform the i=it,then...likelihood of confirmation in the ever present grappling..supposedly holding recognizable patterns of ease.precious recollections..WHAT.others do i percieve.fear is cantancerous-a sickly mess..excrement to those with words in mind.i wheeze cackle prod tinker.a simple version.

others/join...ecremental means herded on trails of gurgling rush.COILING=them,through the i. attempts fail,hold metalic like archways.spill mess shatter hiss.stickiness form made i in us.reclaiming an etheric path doorstep.gargrenous projectiles dancing WANTING beyond pillow shaped coagulations. projecting a speed of numbness.

given up comprehension of the new forms being very poor copies.layers of pissy sludge whipped up from a void behing the forms of humour...litle did wanted to mean SOMTHING. hilarity strength encompasses the whole.a thousand knives constanly impaling the projection of events. FUNNY GAS HISSY.

wipe away a clean slate.non comprehension/sterility.rubber etchings squeak all over the accidents...out of reach forever...become overpowering cleansing.seeping towards substances.LITTLE PLANKS MATTER. tripping over new combinations.unsure of permeatations/forms.sythe cutting fabulously unstable.some kind of lost gesture..unknown to the forms.

join the gaint it. caking up spaces.obstructing the dank globules from a new place.needing expansion but trailing around an sparkling aura.dissued at anytime before.EVEN NEVER THERE. binding and wriggling, occilating in mature tones.ALL NEW.forms both tragic and calm,opening lids before the sernce of locality had a chance to speak.

closed compartments future formed.NEW US vibrating..cackling into invention,a new phase,insufficiantly inconsistant.behaving like forms and strands completed,but contacting on new levels unprepared for. odor is strangling the forward direction.disclocated and useless to descibe the properties.complexity was to simple a constant for this phase.muddly sluice pit...passes intricate.DULL THUD WET rising and decending.


A halo hung around protuskas most pleasant head.she couldnt take her mind off the halos was soothing and could even warm the heart of a bloggard from the swamp of garpoot.the mists of dawn hovered outside her cottage.they acted like gentle waves,a boundary around no way did her mind falter from thoughts of her good halo alcorn.

alcorn had been born around 1272 ad.he did'nt realise he had a halo until his local bishop told him to sing very high like a fairground cherub.when he first reached the high notes,he ran out into the slop pit and cried helelujah until he was hoarse.then he danced around like a hot pepper in the mouth of a mexican hobgoblin. when alcorn died,his halo snapped off.the local bishop kept it in his private chamber,and would occasionally take it out of a cupboard to be dazzled by its brightness.

protruska had aquired the halo in a jumble sale next to the river had lost is glow and was just a dull nothing.when she took it home.after a few days,the glow slowly returned,and she fell in love with everything about the halo. she would wear it in front of the mirror and feel she was the most beatiful creature ever created.she once wore it during lovemaking.she and her lover melded together in a way she'd never experienced,before or since.

after a while,she would wear it it out on her treks.everyone she would pass would stumble into a hushed silence.they would point their fingers at her while gasping.some would turn the colour of beetroot.she smiled at everyone she passed in an all knowing way.eventualy,she would wear the halo all the time.she felt things were going well and felt so loved. it was alcorns halo however.

she started yearning for his time,and she started singing in the church choir.her high voice reduced everyone to tears.her mind started to become unhinged.when she tried to take the halo off,it would not budge.she started running around like she was powered by a frisky magnet next to a chilli bean bakeoff,

while screaming varous obsenities at the sky.most of her friends started to drop away as her manic behavior weireded them out.eventually she ended up in a room with bouncy walls and no windows.

after attempting to bite the fingers of various ordelies and nurses,she became constantly sedated.her halo became duller and duller,the one day it snapped off.pretruskas addled mind quickly cleared and the doctors were amazed by her speedy recovery.she returned to her life and her dearest friends who stood by her,were happy she had returned to them.the halo was buried after protruska dug a very big hole on a hill to the north of her town.would alcorn be thankful for this act? we will never know.


it could have been at a later date,that the flock played on the side of the there is not a thing the government can do to alleviate our suffering.the sharp metal ends peirce our skin and we cry out into the night,but always in vain.the flock return to spit out all the pointy bits of steel that did'nt meet with their acceptence.all we could do was yodel really deeply while dodging each shard as it smashed into the earth.


it was a small time in the land of the few. the few were more than we expected,and that was a bit unsettling for us non-compeditive types.


i was alone at my terminal,while a mountain churned behind me.of course,i had a piece of lead fixed to my right buttock,so i couldnt tell for sure if it was a mountain or a fox.i shouted at the top of my lungs,but the top of my lungs were an oily mess of sloppy pilchard ooze.


the tides come in. i'm far away and the intricate pulses which permiate through my system tell me nothing i need to know. i guess my body has its own set of tides,obeying their own patterns of functioning. ooh! i'm getting microcosmic,a galaxy flowing in its own magnificent directions towards its being another.that could be my outward/inward quest. how the times goes.entropy strikes me with its gentle dying hard,or is re-birth much harder? the nature of things obeys its own dense fluctuations,and i feel it deep down in my depths that i'll be there whatever happens.a void like existence outside matter would be nice.have to raise the occilations and separate the dence waves from the finite ones.aint it sweet.somthing to aspire to. time to get rid of the primal bestial crap weve been wallowing in.higer states man,thats the guru doesnt live in hawaii,but in north laverton . oh guru ,be like a seahorse in a tornado.


jaw jaw,why do you ring like a lake of fire under my chin. as i weep like a catherine wheel all over my clothing. life,life,why do you buzz so true and so i sleep in my filth and my fury. i yearn like a raging dog, in and out of hysteria. fanfare for the horrible man who crawled through a hole into my destitute waking head.


wear it...strut your stuff.wiggle your instinctive insight into the perverse practise of bugling. let the ends fly like wings as you peddle along. oh well...oh my.time to tell you how to fly.went by your patch yesterday,even though i've only been that way twice before.mmm,thoughts boiling.hope its tomorrow not wednesday.


sweep over my clavicle oh splinter of sun.internal heater crisply cook the path.paving stones creek-grids eat up the silt from yesterdays story.patterns are formulated and adhered to. look at that chicks butt! kind of wants to escape to a fanciful fairyland with 5000 sticks of bamboo,as a musical strand follows behind.gone gone gone are the days,where popping in the odd lie or two didnt seem to make any difference.


on the corner of exploration lane and la trobe street,there was a manhole that lead to the headquaters of amelia bancroft.she was unknown and loved by a small man called gary.his last name is unknown.amelia only surfaced with ropes and chalk after 1am on tuesdays.the rest of the time,she and gary spent time underground licking each other.


turd oh! seems to be taking the best of me and leaving the crumbs. bushy headed chemical contractions are all i have.just enough to stop falling off the stool i'm sitiing on. artificial lights brighten the entranceway to a perenial favourite of mine-blegh blegh,so long! now i try to take stock,while interupted by the clacking of female feet on pavements.seems like thats all there is in this fort.uplifted eyebrow stories wont really wash out,but ingrained foibles will. most probably its all about being marooned in a genial underworld one story up.when i look back at this festering blow job in my future years,i will conceed the time was'nt fornicating in the kind of sequencial snippets that agree with my whole self.almost at the end,with one or two dry witless questions remaining. oh who? why now? slip over the side and catch myself before making a unloved...its beguiling.


the thing above....air bubbles and non responsive head gear...sticking my mind pole in places not wanted. simple repetitive signals from the industrial heartland overpass.all i wanted,all i feel is a sense of urgency- a life streched out at the front of my ribs,begging for a tiny dose of deepening bonds. i dont know about those people below me,down on the street-passing by with goods in their satchels,holding hands as the night of fucking each other passes into day.a heaving beast attempting to merge is now back to two,but theyre beyond range now.i really dont know how they live,and good for them if theyve got the surplus to buy a new shiny appliance.


more air bubbles in the air,seawater in jars.globules of paint distributed in a way that has no impact on the finite ga googlies thats is the i. its not my place to play judge.i can at least purge somthing from the i and splash it in front of you. the world goes by on its glossy easy way. THEY HAVE TIME! THEY ARE NOT WORKING! to consume,to throw away the unslylish mush and replace it.i will wear it on my forehead.

oh so steely,oh so humourless,oh this is the me now,waiting for some kind of erasure,counting down the them speckles of time. oh its so BAD...I CAN WIGGLE AND STILL BE ABLE TO PLAY GUITAR.


golden droplets of distended wholemeal--ground..trodden..mixed up. he just kept moving his girly head in to an acceptable position onto the top of his spinal chord,hoping to sew up the mess.loosing your head is one thing, but darning and stitching another one on, is another thing altogether

"enough",said the pauper and the worlds of whispers lost their cadence.the pauper,whos name was roger,yurned off the supply to the big vat,and now everyone was sorry that they had mistreated him.roger was now full of the power of rage,he was laughing like a big fat orange.


erggg! i feel like a nap and i'm feeling fine. i wonder if i can get 15 minutes in. gorbbwww!! its hot out,but not too hot.see! thats the best i can do. i imagine that i could do better,but i cant be bothered.


what is the hum that radiates from the universal bladder? why did i compare the universe to a bladder? who knows,not me.theres plenty of time to pass.i've been spoiled by a good survey,which i've been doing for weeks,and now i'm back to the lower cesspool.oh least i've got time to poot about general things. ooh,oh, i can tell a lot with such byplay. nah poot wingle,and i sincerely mean that.


with my day off,i take the ring,and parade it around in a clockwise direction


don't know what to do with myself. i should wail, purr and scratch the curd off my collar. my briefcase is precariously perched on the end of a cliff. i did'nt notice how close to the edge it was a danglin. just to think,my breifcase has nothing in it that matters in my life.its a nice leather job too. to think that thinking would help me now. i've worked this shitty well payed job to the point of anal anger,which is crawling up my belly,about to drill a hole in my jumper.


its time to take a chain. just relax and make it pleasing.theres so much to get into.find a sink,make it go.if your old then you can wither.look at me, iam young and unhappy. enough old bat i sayeth. my papers all crinkly,but i'm still ready to fall in to the sink dear brothers and sisters:whoo boo be do. sorry bout that,i had an andrews sister in my gullet.this is the place i can be happy without drugs of ill repute. its hee i say, yay,noodle switch bo bo.


a fist through the plate glass of repectability. it goes through like a boulder into a blender,and a beautific smile posseses me.i suddenly feel like a ninteen twenties zombie on ecstacy. the journey was long and hard. i took it with much trepadation. in the end,i tasted the arse of success,even though it was fleeting. i had mt shit sandwich,and fell over like a donkey in a steel factory.




do you have a space carrot? i have several and they're getting rather sunburnt by a chain of juncyures yet to be thought of. i got my head in the future. no wonder its causing me to itch all over,even in the spiritual spots. have you ever had an itcy heart chakra? its murder: cold blooded elvis champion murder.

i must investigate the finer points of separation from my old hag grandma.a delightful woman you'd never want to meet,but you see her hands are like velcro,and she does't let up,even if you start singin dont cry for me argentina. yea it can be quite hard on the cobble seems to me that she's everywere and nowhere.


how do you do...what you dont to...all the big fish in the concrete ocean. oh no, here i go again,off on some abysmle tangent. its summer lovin and i'm hot and steamy after a bike ride to the bunker. i've got a creaky neck,but thats entirely down to my lethargy.


oh no, dimension drug. its the drug that we all love.its called cps.not too crappy. we inject it through our knocks the shit out of our brains and make it sit on the roof of our tongues. we spit in a large trough under our desks,which is cleaned out by a midget called madge. now we all love madge.she take that horror taste out of our mouths. without her, we'd be morribund and sispicably unhinged.


i have an ulcer in my splene. it cries away all of my dreams. i wake in the morn without spite,after beating myself up all night. i have a tumor in my brain. i have a picture in a very large frame. its a portrait of my wishes,with a paint job mixed with kisses.


i'm holding an art deco pencil,which is still working strong after all this time. when i think anout the time it was made i shudder. after all, 1987 was'nt the best year. iturn over the bedspread and doesnt seem to be helping. oogh ya ya blah!


on this inflatable raft that runs amok in the swamps of depravity. i blow hard on its cock,letting the air inflate the sky. when i say cock,i really mean tree. a guffaw comes from a mustachioed victorian cartoon figure,and i grab the plunger.this eases the din for awhile. a young girl with a yellow and purple flag is by my she got there i hav'nt a clue.shes a cute little wippersnapper,and she seems to have no problem with being in my presence.everytime she looks in my direction,shes starts waving her flag frenrtically.

we travelled down streets of wonder,filled with some kind of mucus,not unlike the sap of a walnut tree.a fabulous smell greeted our nostrils,and made me queasy for an instant.then we disapeared into that immortal juncture beyond the knowledge of the universe,we we're happy.undeniably happy.


i often wonder if wonderin' is a bit crazy and superflous. i often wonder if this is true. oh green leaves,pile around my mind.they turn brown and narly. tap tap tap.. its like the leaky hotwater system in the incredible shrinking man. having recently watched it again after a long hiatus, i can say that it did'nt have the same power as it did when i first saw it. i must have been a teenager,or even younger then.i realy resonated with the end where he shrinks into the cosmos and becomes one with everyting ,smaller than the strings wobblin in quarks.ah string theory hey.i guess its just a theory,but i wonder if there are deeper levels even more would take a microscope so big,it would have to be new zealand,just to see that far inwards.of course i'm just guessing,so all you science types,keep your lid on.


shaw dows coalese on the border of my dreams and this thing we call reality.this means nothing is real and everyting is real at the same time. as marion keys once said "it takes a whole lot of spuds to fill up the moon of europa".i'd have to agree with her on that one.i've just decided that marion keys is made out of cauliflower,and little boys sound like creaky doors,when exploring the nests of ginger men.


i've had enough.i can't take it anymore.this is excruciating. these words are meaningless when it comes to the general scheme of things.


one eye on the feirce raging torrent of seconds,the other on a galvinised iron roof. he could'nt seem to get one leg moving in any was'nt as if he needed to though.his leg were a vague blur somewhere in his busy bubbling mind.


theres a way to the past.tangled and sinewous,ugly and pallid.its around the corner of the darkest puss ridden turnstyle. i have it in my possession,and i tell you,it aint hard,but it aint easy to concentrate when the rat is nibbling my motor neaurons. bleah agh! now effect speech by nggg mbbble...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- tired and hot headed. the grapes sizzle under my focussed glare. little do i know that the time has skipped over the pond,and my wrinkles have moved on. "i like your german mad scientist haircut" he said to me.he was a ginger nut.a comic book face. "jolly jumbuck" i reply. that seems to make our man wither and shake. it was plesing to me.


the last trickle of scarring on my emotional zinger has fallen away.ooh that hurts! in a way i could never fathom.not that it matters that much.this is pretty sluggish.will anyone ever read it,will anybody even care.i'm finding it hard to rummidge somthing from the pin prick of activity in my body.i do believe that this fillet of disc is pulling me towards slumber.each of us has a response specially prepared,and a wrung out secrative freeze dried process.once more the trails of slime park their boozy carcases over my dome.


white overalls...peeping through the gauze that my eyes have constructed in between my pupils and the surface of my balls (eye). adaptation,sweet sweet makes the heart stall and splutter back to life.its all i can do to cope with the instense whitey.

i creep along the barriers of incomprehension.its facinating in its banality.white sucks out the day.loosing my sense of self...oh,i'd love to conform,but the nocturnal blackness of the void is my sister in waiting.i like the cure! ha ha! fooled you there with that decent down the slippery slope of shoe licking. how many times must i pull my eyes back,to look at my brain? YOU ANSWER THAT. whatever lips those crackly breathy lisp originates from,i must deliver an exit card.first though,i have muck to throw on this experience.even my shit is white.everything is so boringly white,its like a huge white thing,doing its whiteness.


The abandoned porn tryout


JEFF SINGLETON : A part time pilot with who made a fortune out of wall brackets. Jeff spends his time partly in Spain at his bullfighting ranch, in Sydney in his fortieth floor apartment, and in china where business is booming.You can find him on airfields throughout the world. he is a go getter with a passion for flying , bunji jumping , and young bullfighters. He has reached his fifties still looking good. His blond locks and stern jaw provide a stark and alluring picture for those who first meet him. He keeps in shape and looks at least ten years younger.

VERONICA SALTER: A girl with dreams, Veronica is embarking on her career path as a pharmaceutical chemist. She still longs for adventure, and is saving money to take the overseas journey of a lifetime before she settles down and marries her dream man. She is proud of her good grooming. Her auburn hair is always immaculate as she steps out of the door. She tries to keep up with the latest fashions, and can’t stand mess. She has a passion for order, which is only second to her adventurous fantasies.

BRUNO: A young man who is a student bullfighter at the ranch owned by Jeff Singleton. He comes from the slums of Barcelona and has a mean temper, but he to likes to party and one day he dreams of being the greatest matador who ever lived.

DAVID ANDERS: a fellow worker of Veronica, who is madly in love with her. David has many odd habits which run into his sexual fantasy life. He is short, but works out and his muscles are well endowed with sinew.

DEBBI BIRCH: Veronicas best friend and she too is looking for anything to enlighten her life. Shopping isn’t good enough, but Debbi tries anyway to clothe her supple figure in the finest of fabrics.

MOXI: A servant of Jeff’s ranch in Spain, Moxi is a highly strung woman from Cordoba. She likes the leather strap caressing her husband’s body. She likes to lick the wounds while thinking of sweet Jesus, and redemption.

FERNANDO: his wife Moxi tries to subjugate his artistic soul, but Fernando still has a well endowed member and writes poetry. One day he dreams of having a seat at a bohemian café with many confidants hanging upon his every word.

MRS ZHANGZHANG: Jeffs housekeeper in Shanghai. A loud cantankerous and stubborn woman, with a passion for tea and flower pressing.

ZHENG HUABAO: Jeff’s business partner in china: man with some very strange sexual whims, which are repressed to the point of ridiculousness. Jeff enjoys both business and pleasure with Zheng. Zheng always begs Jeff not to tell anyone.



Veronica Salter sits at her desk in the sterile office, white and hideously clean. Her miscroscope and computer are waiting for her to use them, but she is daydreaming of another life. How did she get here? University was a barn of cackling boys with overdeveloped egos. They just wanted a good time and a laugh. Veronica was looking for a love to light the way in her life. Her social life was a joke. A few good laughs with her friends were not enough to release her from the drudgery of chemistry. She was employed in the research and development section of a large pharmaceutical company. It was a good job in the fact that it payed well. That was all she cared about – accumulating money for the trip of a lifetime. The job had few rewards. She was at the bottom rung and had no desire to work her way up. all of the men in the company were in their fifties and had families. The only attractive young men were in accounts. She never met them. The opportunities to socialize were few. She dreamed of one especially. She imagined his raging balls cozily locked under her vulva, while his penis caressing her insides. His crumpled suit rubbing against her buttocks, soiled with the dampness of sexual juices. She was lonely. It had been months since her last sexual encounter. It was a one night stand of vodka and sucking. She had been treated like a waste paper basket. She had to make noises of enjoyment to pretend she was having a good time. This was a man who had no ability to bring out the inner beast that lay in her heart. They parted and she felt the relief that comes from forgetting.

His was like a ferret. His minute cock went off like a bird fountain after too short a time.

She really should get back to work- all this daydreaming is bringing up gentle claws of frustration. Soon all the mundane work she was doing would be a thing of the past. When she had enough money, she would cruise around the world in the lap of luxury, with no one to guide her but well endowed sailors in command of their vehicles. The sea would go up and down in a gentle caress. She would luxuriate in the hours of pleasure that lay ahead. All this dreaming was a sad waste of time, but she needed it anyway to get through the day.

The ice cream tasted wrong, her jazzercise DVD seemed like a cruel joke. The male models seemed like phantoms, haunting her steps. She yearned for adventure, to be swept up in the eye of a six feet tall storm. She imagined she was taken prisoner on a flying saucer by aliens who had used David Hasselhoff as a template. They were doing an anal probe with a room temperature curved rubber object while sticking their very long lizard tongs down into the heavenly nirvana of her acrogenous zones. Two other David’s were massaging her breasts with hands that were made out of tiny silver balls.

Her dad called her from a spell lost in his personal world. He was a roadie and personal friend of a sixties band called the twilights. She had been weaned on their second album called once upon a twilight. Her dad went on endlessly about the music’s virtues. “It’s a psycadellic masterpiece” he used to trumpet around the house, till she learned to hate the very mention of this thing. After all it had Glenn Shorrock as the lead singer and he went on to sicken an international audience in the little river band. He once again talked of his days on the road with the band like he was still back in 1968.

She was happy to hear his voice even though he was going on about the fuckin twilights. And she had mellowed to the once upon a twilight album. It had just been re issued on c.d and she bought a copy. She ended up having a soft spot for all of the songs she’d endlessly heard in her youth. Her dad had a hard time making ends meet. Many times he would leave her with her aunt and disappear for months at a time, but he’d always re appear. She used to resent this, but now she could see that the wayward spirit for adventure was strong in her also.

Then an episode of Baywatch came on the television and her laughter drowned out for a moment her dads’ story of sixties rock and roll excess. She imagined the David Hasselhoff aliens playing the song ‘blue roundabout’ with a guitar with little baby hands coming out of its neck. The arms were like endless snakes moving towards her naked tied up body, which was steaming in anticipation. Her dad kept on talking but she was thinking of the earning chasm growing in between her legs. She felt so ashamed yet so alive. She really needed to let it all hang out and loose herself in a long hard night of unabashed hedonism. This was the only way her sick fantasies would trickle away.

When she got off the phone she looked at the time. It was still fairly early. If she needed she could take the next morning off. She felt a splinter of excitement run through her blood. She was going out to get smashed and listen to some loud dance music. She had time to prepare herself with a low cut beige twin set which accentuated her figure nicely. Her furry boots were waiting like dogs just before a walk to clap her feet and lower limbs. She felt sexy in a way that hadn’t come for quite some time. She was a hot chick about to pour gasoline wherever she went and provide a spark which burned the universe through her funky motions.

The neon lights of the city glimmered. She didn’t need anyone in this wave of euphoria. The people walking on the footpaths were like glimmering shiny bees, hovering and chatting. Upon a whim she walked into a nightclub. It seemed to her a bit on the stuffy side, with well hung wallets bulging out of well cut trouser suit pockets. The thought struck her like a bolt. ‘What’s wrong with well cut trousers?’ she thought to herself. She had no trouble getting in. she even enjoyed the penetrating leer from the bouncer as she moved to the bar. The drink prices were on the extraordinary side, but tonight she didn’t care.

She took a seat and surveyed the action on the dance floor, which was sparsely populated. A young woman was gyrating wildly in a mini. You could see the bottom of her butt trough her panties, as her curly black long hair moved through the air like a basket of snakes. Her ebony skin was glistening with sweat. There was a man dressed in a silver tank top with a very big velvet hat. He was wearing a ring on every finger. They glistened in the light. He was concentrating intensely on his feet movements, which were slow and deliberate, but highly focused. Over the other side of the floor was a couple moving together in an almost dry hump motion. They were dressed quite conservatively, he in a pinstriped business suit, she in a long flowing satin dress which covered her whole body and stopped just short of the floor. As veronica watched with her cocktail in hand, its syrupy juice slithered elegantly down her gullet as the music throbbed all over her body. The seductive beat was sparking her feet to tap into the floor. She watched and waited as the delectable itching caressed her throbbing womb.

Her head was full of evil thoughts. What if the conservative couple kidnapped her? They would take her to an abandoned factory and torture her with tarantulas, while having anal sex, which would be broadcast on a giant screens that covered all four walls. She ordered another drink. The barman looked as if he’d got his head stuck in a fish bowl. ‘Surely he’s as gay as may’ she thought. His disdain for her was prickling at her skin. The Russian mariner brew he’d prepared for her was addling her mind to the point of internal explosion.

A man appeared of the dim light. Veronica’s jaw felt like it had fallen to the floor. Her heart raced and the blood seemed to rush to her throat. Her head felt dizzy as this styled blonde hair man, with immaculate grooming came her way. The quizzical look on his face was enough to light up her genitals like the worlds fair. She had an incurable itch between her thighs.

The man came over to her. He made a sexy swishing noise every time he moved. Her head was like a jumble of thoughts racing uncontrollably.

“Hi my name is Jeff”

Her mouth tried to speak but all that came was a quiet mumble. Jeff took all of this in his stride. He knew he was a handsome son of a bitch, he knew how to wow the ladies with his charisma, although, this lady was sure hot stuff.

“What’s your name?”

She didn’t know how she did it, but she managed to answer him with some coherency. He sat down across from her and crossed his ample legs with great fluency. He offer to buy a drink which she couldn’t pronounce her drink even though she had drank four already. Eventually, she nodded when he suggested a black Russian. While he went to the bar veronica looked at herself in her make up mirror. She looked like a cheap Hoare, but she liked that she had overdone the makeup and clothes. She felt so good to be alive. She felt a yearning to have this mans flesh inside her.

When he came back with a couple of drinks in hand, her cheeks were burning with embarrassment; her flesh was yearning with a passion she’d never known. As the drinks went down and she got drunk the words started to come easily. Soon they were dancing arm in arm, it felt so right. She longed for his flesh touching hers.

The next morning she woke up with a burning headache in a strange place. The sheets were silk and the bedroom was full of ornate carvings from Africa. Looking out the window she could see the skyline of the Sydney central business district. She went over and looked down at the buildings and she almost vomited from vertigo. How high up was this place in the sky?

She heard humming on an electric toothbrush and some off key singing of ‘great southern land’. Jeff came out of the bathroom all squeaky and clean with a towel around his waist. She imagined his big purple throbbing ice cream cone filling with blood, and the rubbery balls, hanging elegantly singing with a crazy hedonistic desire to fuck the life out of her. The heat rose between her legs, and her nipples became painfully aroused. If only she could remember the night before, but she was happy to be alive in the presence of this immaculate hornbag.

“How are you today my sweet raindrop?”

“Oh, a little hung-over I’m afraid”

“I’m not surprised the way you went through those cocktails. They taste so good, but there so deadly the next day”. He said this with a James Bond type flamboyance which made her laugh.

“Unfortunately, I’ve got some business to attend to this morning, but make yourself at home. Heres my mobile number in case you leave. I’d love to meet for lunch. Is that o.k?”

They agreed to meet at a fancy restaurant that she’d only heard about. How exiting! Who was this handsome studbucket? Her head was fully of impure thoughts. The yearning in her loins was intense. She would have to call in sick to the office. She had never done that before, but she suddenly cared little for science, except maybe the anatomy of a male with his reproductive shotgun of love.


now I’d like to review my downloading addiction

Yep its baaddd, this downloading thing: I guess a lot of people do it, but if you’re constantly downloading, how can you give the time to listen. After 17 albums, I decided to stop and take hold. Well I guess I’ve been curious to hear stuff like ‘David hemmings happens’, you know the guy who was in blow up, that sixties punce of a movie, although I love the shots of London in 1966, reminds me of my childhood in England.actually it’s a pretty good film. The thing is, probably out of his cult status from the film, he put out a record, which has him jamming with the byrds in 1968 and doing free form stuff over the top. Theres I think 3 tracks of this, two are godamn awful, sounding like a drunken idiot from Cambridge university trying to be an beatnik, one though, which sounds like he actually wrote lyrics is pretty good. The rest of the album is pleasant enough. It doesn’t make me want to listen only probably when bored of the other 16 album