i'm only as clever as my last scabbed over knuckle. i should keep control of my dull loudmouth scottish alter ego, or the identical flipside of a supposed schizophrenic's coin. chewing the resin-ruined end of a pen's gut and realising my mistake and looking up disgust in a hundred different dictionaries and still not finding one truly satisfactory definition i mean, who started this collection...? it's suspicous at best. .... and my spare change on the plate is just mutilated fruit .... and miniscule discs of tasteless communion bread (i used my favourite word again, i really should stop that.) i guess i'm becoming a parody of myself: "sometimes i feel like i'm a spoof of what i used to be..." "i'm not a ladies' man, i'm a landmine." i've dragged rap's already tarnished reputation about ten years back. i might as well rename myself Jewpac and write "totally serious rhymes about women, money & cars" i don't play a character onstage.... i save that for when pinned down in the street outside afterward feebly trying to punch i don't have a weight to box above and i slag off the macho... like the hypocrite cunt that i am i have said this before, it is old news (like: "today's flyer is tomorrow's roach") it's an eerie rewind to like nine years ago and how clever i was seven later to go on about broken bottles & Pete Newbury funnilly enough the repercussions of that event have echoed onward for the rightful owner of the banned bootleg he stole was in attendance tonight and i apologised again, completely unnessecarilly (in his case but not yours) it's hard writing whilst grovelling without sounding patronising but i'm truly sorry, i am honestly ashamed.

you'll rue this day - i wouldn't piss on myself if i was on fire or stung by a jellyfish i'd just grin and bare it like filed down teeth. saint augustine swept leaves and stole letters from shop signs. the fringe over dog eyes obscuring its view. we breed them for weaknesses that would render them helpless if ever released into the wild. we're doing to dogs what hitler wanted to do to people... and you can't even outrun an arrow like it was deduced a tortoise could. and your burnt effigy bears the vaguest of resemblences, a veritable cornucopia no less. mother says my stomach is shrinking into a knot that my bitten down fingernails are too blunt to undo. i am cold storage open myth a sickly grin measuring eight point six on the rictus scale mollycoddled by the abhorrant gourd; a rumbunctious psychotropic. the acute the astute, the obsolete and obtuse are all your other options in fickle britain it's the little things - the pounds look after themselves. "that's where storm clouds are born" to wave a rattle at the iron lung babies in pyrex cases who will spend their entire lives from birth to dirtbed in a breathing machine. i become the black ice on roads i start a whip-round for myself because suddenly life wasn't about brick walls and money and things nebulous my awareness too pliable endure yourself parasite universe pack satchel with loaves and fish "what a professional." 7-E-1-F-8-0-3: this description lives untoward an unworldly and bogged down apprentice. "shut up with the fireworks" "it's well contro." your game genie's lamp is in need of a major polish run your fingertips across shelves like a figurative mother-in-law testing and tutting at the depth of your dust. collapsing infrastructures left right and centre: "if theres an afterlife i hope you saved me a seat" i'm wasting time overestimating an underachiever the defendant something inanimate that moves as it should not pocketed earthworm repeatedly halved or a matchboxed miscellanoupede guile for reasons opaque the requisite components uprooted obligated and unfettered as always the important thing to remember when wearing a proton pack is NEVER CROSS THE STREAMS TILL YOU'VE NEARLY REACHED THE END OF THE FILM it's the burgeoning crop circle of your bald spot lighted. i have blisters on my sprinkling finger eating the matter refusing to compound i'm incinerating every outfit i've ever done anything incriminating or embarassing in "just conceptualising here" a handclap's as good as a fingersnap to a deaf man's ear. when i was knee high to a... whatever i thought people had adventures not emotions i never considered that the glands got involved in this hypnolarious! and ridiculous former empire throwing tea sets into the lavastream that envelops your distant relative of mud hut. lulled me into a insincere sense of insecurity slightly long winded receded the hole in my hat. the beating in your ribcage deflates too close to gnawed bone i doubt anyone notices those buried up to neck in sand. i've got to hand it to the blindfolded i really truly envy you in your mirage niche cashback swapping football stickers postal orders this exchange rate is parallel lines in black and white the barcode battlers are remotely controlled. to the few gullible enough, you see the majority is suprisingly not quite stupid enough to be really influenced by adverts films games and soap operas you are more like a sitcom and you need your canned laughter ha ha ha. -but if you asked the, uh, "audience" would they nod or shake their heads, or die of excitement and indecision? at the fact that someone for once cared about their opinion? slump foward and sink in please fill in this survey the dribble on your pillow the nasal crumble of your snore reminds me of scratched non-stick pans and baking rainbow cake to fill up a rainy day on which we're forced to unhappilly acknowledge each other's existence. so it seems we've accepted the numb frigid elderly autonomous and backwards defence a snorkel for shit creek and unneccessary lachrymology. the accurate the william tells and s.burroughs: which category do you fit neatly into? or will we have to bring out the mallet?

the intricately entwined metal plait of the pokey is a three dimensional celtic design in copper wire we stole the secret of fire and taxed god's lighter with a multi-purpose swiss army knife & side cutters to hold a blackened slice of steel gauze to cloud up a UV tube made brown from constant use a pile of ashes, a mouthpiece (no biro sleeves here) it's shop-bought company-emblazoned semi-legal paraphanalia decorated with sticker of ginger bearded lego pirate trebuchet melange from the rip-thru days of microwaving B & H and watching eight films a day with the girl nicknamed after a natural disaster.... where are they now? ruining stonehenge for the hippies, pagans, druids and crusties? have they spontaenously combusted? can they be repaired with duct tape? or are they too far gone like the two bongs accidentally shattered during playfights....? stale smoke in my windpipe, it's a musical instrument, add a keyboard, you're away use it on your dirty mirror glass and windowpanes he claimed he could feel his whole lungs resinate... a sticky toffee-like layer of phlegm that forms knots like garden hose left overnight in shed with the slabs, stubs of candle and damp distorted drumskins and back then we only had two albums which we'd play over & over until our neighbours knew every word of system of a down's eponymous debut and, haha, wu-tang forever...

he used to crank up the TV for the Big Brother theme and would bang out the stars & stripes every morning when he learnt he was going to work in New York i got him back for repeatedly getting his little sister to wake me up by yelling "MORRISSEY!" in my face by sticking selected cut-outs of the ex smiths vocalist's face over various family photos, pictures and portraits kerrang posters & even the flipside of the toilet lid once he claimed he could switch off streetlights with his mind and that he once made it rain when he didn't want anybody to go for a skate obviously we were skeptical of his talk but it was always amusing deliberately confusing the gullible & naive he had a logical theory to explain everyone's godhood called himself an observer looking in from the outward he claimed he would be famous and one day everyone would know his name during one of our regular lights-out conversations whilst he was secretly taping over an arguement with an ex that went too far that i'd video'd for banter but got too alcohol fuelled after an overplaying of an irritating magic roundabout ringtone i still see his tag on the walk up to ben's road called himself satanico a goth in pink ben sherman and if it wasn't for him then i never would have heard of at the drive in or got into cradle of filth or drum n'bass he took me to my first rave in a sorting office in kingston that for some reason had a huge advert for goldeneye N64 painted up on the wall we saw mansun on their last tour twice our favourite band at the time (although their third album was somewhat underwhelming... we forgave them for making our then-favourite album ever - six, it's distinctly prog rock esque predecessor) he would never forget an obscure fact about an even more obscure band like myself his brain overflowed with crazy trivia we wrote gonzo journals and compared notes on adventures we called 'fear & loathings' and as my attorney he found my bag when i lost it in subversion wearing pete scathe masks we ridiculed our whole scene with Karlos Mandrake founding the HCE which tongue firmly in cheek stood for the hardcore elite our half hearted graffiti still adorns this city some of which was copied by people we didn't even know much to our astonishment at what we had created. (the irony is we used to spray HCE on peoples houses and i always wondered if i was a hypocrite and would get annoyed if the same thing happened to me but recently it has and i can say with all honesty i didn't.) i took the photo that later appeared in the news with you giving a thumbs-up sitting in the stocks on the isle of wight in a digital hardcore t-shirt on another carefully planned hiking day on which ben left his fags at the station and the unwrapped trip blew away off a cliff from my first hovercraft ride ever to watching arachnophobia with sascha nothing went to plan at all as usual of course....

you're performing to an audience made up entirely of myspace friend requests you denied and the baying bloodhound crowd begin to lob warm bottles of urine at your hand covered and eyebrow clenched face. it's all volcanic erosion for the impediment induction speech a chloroform and clingfilm compound..... of? half moored cuticles and social degradation so you return home milk moustached to spill black coffee into your TV's all important innards still wearing the childsized sunglasses indoors like an unlucky umbrella you found on top of a mouldering unit in your unlamented ex-kitchen... or two catherine wheels on a tit job... stop trying to be so symmetrical - it'll never happen so just get over it. if you're proud of your town you should litter more thereby decreasing the unemployment figure. i'm laughing at people laughing at jokes i don't get which sums up the average reaction to my music. it's like trying to guess the words with missing letters on teletext - whatever next? wave the aerial round your head and pray for a better reception? whilst the seagulls bob round the seafront like they're dangling from strings? hairline fractures on your teacup kind of reminds me of my skull. i was dropped on my head as a child, does it notice? i've stopped trying to be somebody i'm clearly not "we spit on three drains so you don't have to" the last few months have overstepped my budget somewhat "supply and demand is actually a ball and chain' raise the price i have no choice to pay raise the price the price again "we are all failed scientists too lazy to prove our own arguements" we all like to act like we're all conissours of everything and i for one really don't have an opinion. we all like to act like we're all conissours of everything "we are all failed scientists too lazy to test our own theorums"

the P the Y the E the W the A the C the K to the E double T he no longer has fleas.

when i realised that i had been bluescreened on and the backdrop fell away the cameramen rolled away leaving an empty set and the black edge around my vision flickered like an image in the wind.... what i thought at first was a leech once held up to the swampglow it's proboscis a dripping syringe my skin stings why don't you just bite off your tastebuds & tongue down yourselves? insects in the city seem slightly more sluggish yet more intelligent than their countryside counterparts... not cryptic enough? mishaps en route to impulse buying of bayonet bulbs: a can of butane up my sleeve explodes from the absorbed heat in my black coat and i bled in the cul-de-sac back road profusely.... i walked in wet cement in battered trainers hardly waterproof and now my toes achilles heels are stuck fast in my shoes and i can't wrench them off or even move my feet at all it's solidifying round my broken blisters like a cylinder of sherbert in which the liquorice is like the sword in the stone or something. but when you're so desperate for munch you'd eat mouldy bread and cat food sandwiches and shopping trolleys with the padlocks hanging off these are the things pompey front gardens are made of... (and a good liar keeps his stories neatly consistent)