Episode Two: Standing On Front Porches (Revised)

A Monday of apologises for a lost suitcase
But it’s o.k. I have a 5 ml lip balm.
10.30 unwrite these pages, jot new words
To stuff into back pockets.

Stand -

Script text
Set score
Stamp view down.

Breakfast in Amherst. In Newport by 4.45
We dine at Christie's
Converse with an economic waiter.
He offers two tickets

Dilemma -
What do we do?
Resolved -
What can we do?

9.45 Two New Yorkers take us down Ocean Drive
Mom says "No talkin' to strangers"
We talk, share thoughts on city-life, its 'no stare policy'
Yet gesticulation in abundance.

Piling loo in the back bin fag seat,
Generating fag steam loo bin heat,
Bin pulsating to the fag back loo beat.
Two cities converse side by side.

11.00 at Marble House
Gawping and gorging
Of too much of too much.
Take the Coastal Walk

It gives me time to think, to think of Suzy Lee.

I'm told missing her is unhealthy
More unhealthy than cheese on pasta, cheese on toast, cheese on cheese?
Tonight we eat out on the porch of a stranger.

Tomorrow to The Armory -
To antiques and fine art
To stare into the eyes of someone I could love for a while (at least).
We catch the 2.30 out

You call me anti-social. I'm listening to what Joey says Danny says -
It's crucial to understanding an emotional life on the road.
The 5.00 to Copley
Where our map stops unfolding.

I change behind the gas station
And end up asleep on your lap.


Episode 3: Swinging On Front Porches

O the bells of Quincy 1825
The artisans, the peddlers and their carts
That keep the red brick alive.

It's Friday the 21st and I get George Moore
So every day I head to the library to check in and say

Isabella, I think you're architecturally astounding -
I could watch you go up, extend, lie still forever.
We'd rest on the common and stain my white shoes red.

Today you take advantage -

Instil in me mass consumption.
You tell me that this is the modern world!
Your pants swing from the garage door
Decorated in red ribbon and green clover.

10.18 Breakfast at Bartley's
Take off your shoes. Sit on our rugs!
Tell us in advance what is yet to come.

There will be sound checks at 5.02
But we're still in the yard eating leftover fruit.
I picture her chunky bracelets
And trace her movements in and out
Of all houses wherein men have lived.

8.30 The lizard lounge. I'm glad we came
It's Sunday and it's the 1990s
The district is busy. We roll up our jeans.

Tonight they take over the cemetery
Recreate the battle of O' Normal
Bellmen shiver at the sight of bright orbs of light,
Guests quiver at the sound of rocking chairs,
Yet there are no rocking chairs in this hotel

On Copp's Hill -
Would you do things differently?
Course not, but think most probably.

3.15 And we swing in time
Books stuffed into side-streets
Books stacked into neat peaks

Scratch in this moment –
Say something cliché: the willow strokes the surface and parts the lake
And Duck, Duck, Goose - Duck glides right on through
Or just scar the skin with needles and pins.

Books spill into your suitcase.

I change direction out of a taxi
And end up asleep in Seat 19 C.


I’m waking. I am awake. I’ve sown the seeds. I reap the harvest of daily disease. Three souls leave this room tonight. I’m waking to mornings of bitter coffee (I’ll just drop two sugars) bitter disease. Thoughts of bitterness and disease that clamp clasp and close the soul tight – tight like the rope, the ropes that pull our college flags high above our cities. Cities infected with fear and concern limp and weak like bloody mucus seeping through the table top. I’ll tell you again, life’s taught me the importance of selective memory taught me that remembering to forget is on my list of things-to-do like laundry. What about the prescriptive drugs that sit on the tip of my tongue, in or out uncertainty? I hate indecision. Powerlessness is everywhere in parlours, in bank houses and now on park benches. Listen. I’m waking. Yes I'm awake to latch-key kids and their one-minute heroes. Here goes, throw yourself into school corridors and witness incomplete workbooks, lonesome desks, absent flipcharts – minds forging their way through what’s not on the curriculum. Wake up! Three souls leave this room tonight. Why fear pain – that strain to stretch the rope that will divide your world from mine. Fine. Ok. If it’s rope and the soul you speak of
Rope, to get rid of soul
To get rid of soul, rope
Rid of rope to get soul
Get soul rid of rope to
Rope, rid of soul to get
Soul, to get rid of rope
To get rid of rope, soul
Rid of soul to get rope
Get rope rid of soul to
Soul, rid of rope to get

Ok Ok If it’s this we speak of tie me to my soul with rope. How can I? It left two hours ago along with the hopeless. Why to wander the streets of New York alone piss-fights jello ellis island city cops and fists. It’s probably on its way now from taxi to backalley. Three souls leave this room tonight. Yeah mine left early.


Antonio Gramsci
imprisoned in 1927
Antonio Gramsci and hegemony.
social power and domination
Gramsci's innovative perception
power can be maintained without force
the consent of the dominated
can be obtained
through education
through kinds of cultural labour
power can be maintained without force.
"civil society"
"political society"
correspond to the function of
The intellectuals
the dominant group
exercise the function of
Consent given by the masses
to the general direction
social life
by the dominant group.
for the whole of society
in anticipation of
power can be maintained without force.
Handmade and Bound
The Affordable London Book-Art and Zine Fair
saturday 8th november
12 - 6 pm
st. aloysius social club
phoenix rd, london nw1
(nearest tube: euston)
free entry
for further info: www.handmadeandbound.com


The next Openned night takes place on Tuesday 18th November
at 7.15pm
at The Foundry, 86 Great Eastern Street London EC2A 3JL Old Street tube (exit3 ).
Readers: Harry Gilonis, Chris Goode, Luke Roberts, me (Karen Sandhu), plus another extract from the video interview with Allen Fisher
Admission free.



103 x 147 mm
Bound using a double hand stitch.
Cover - beige card, pen and ink and lettraset.
Images - printed on translucent paper, pen and ink and lettraset. Text - typewritten.
The conversations I've been writing up on this blog are the result of a procedural process used to write-through J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye, Ernest Hemingway's The Nick Adams Stories and Mark Twain's The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. The conversations map out an alternative journey, narrative and dialogue that occurs when the characters, Holden, Nick and Tom, meet on the page.
The conversations currently exist in the above format - a journal. There are 10 copies which have been individually handmade, therefore although the text remains the same, each copy varies due to the markings and mistakes made by the materials used.


Holden, Nick and Tom (conversation 10)

It is still pretty early. I'm not sure what time it was, but
the Kansas City train stops at a siding
and two boys fly on and on towards the village.
This night club: The Lavender Room
is in the ruts -
Every stump stares up in its path.
I think of maybe hanging up on my parents
cos they lurch out of sight
as aroused watch-dogs give wings to their feet.
As a matter of fact, I'm the only
one touching the ground
I can't stand it much longer -
She still has nice, pretty little ears
(spectators of the ball agree)
and at last, breast to breast
you'd like her. I mean if you
manage to get any dope
your pulses will s l o w d o w n.


Holden, Nick and Tom (conversation 9)

The first thing I did when I got off at Penn Station
was to open the door of Henry's lunchroom.
At half past nine that night
I woke her up, but the trouble was
I didn't know what the trouble was
It was nearly daylight and we hear the clock strike ten.
Sally Hayes is on her Christmas vacation
but she spends it talking to George
so I stare up into the dark. Everything is dismally still
besides, I was never crazy about talking to old Mrs Hayes -
What the hell do you put it on the card for?!
Old beams begin to crack mysteriously
I get my bags and walk over to that tunnel
It's five o' clock
time for the tiresome chirping of crickets
then I say, 'Hey, do you mind turning around
I have to eat'.
Our days are numbered.


Holden, Nick and Tom (conversation 8)

It was too late to call up for a cab or anything, so
Nick stood up. He was alright.
Tom dogged hither and thither
He smacked my lip right on my teeth, and it was pretty sore
He felt of his knee; his pants torn -
Juvenile superstition meant that he shoved
snow in my hand and washed my face with it
then washed his hand carefully in cold water
hardly distinguishable.
I usually read about these dumb stories -
I will know them again. Apparently it's fine way to act
with not even a zephyr stirring; the dead noonday heat
I just didn't feel like it. I just sort of sat
'Come here, kid, I got something for you' then Wham!
This seemed to render the pervading silence
and I was sitting
and he - the son of a crutting brakeman
sat long with his elbows on his knees.


Holden, Nick and Tom (conversation 7)

A tiny bit of light came through the shower curtains
and he saw me come in the door
Tom tried to fasten his mind on his book.
He had alot of white stuff on his face
and held a glass in his hand.
The air was utterly dead.
Where's the light? I couldn't find the light.
He drew that beer and cut it off
away off
blood and all.
What's yours?
Lazy wing; no other living thing
you're bleeding, for chrissake!
A bowl of pickled pig's feet
to pass the dreary time.
I said 'listen, I gotta get up and go -'
Tom held the wooden scissors in his hand.
He released the tick and pulled me.


Holden, Nick and Tom (conversation 6)

Some things are hard to remember:
The Petoskey road runs straight uphill
and Monday mornings find Tom Sawyer miserable.
I don't just fool around,
disappear into the woods,
go into captivity.
The corridor is all lino
with berry bushes and beech saplings
that make me sick, so I can stay home from school.
I didn't even bother to answer him
I pack in the buckets
He detects colicky symptoms.
He hangs it up on a hanger
outside the cottage by the lake
One of his upper teeth is loose
He is always stroking his stomache
around the house -
It hurts.


Holden, Nick and Tom (conversation 5)

We always have the same meal on Saturday nights -
On one Fourth of July
about half past ten
you should've seen the steaks.
The guests came on horses, jumped down into the road
with their parents -
It was nice.
Nine of them
far away from the open window and seductive outside.
I didn't have a date or anything, so I and this friend
looked out from the back seat to watch
the wife and other unnecessaries.
We watch Ackley in his room, sqeezing his pimples,
his pants look mighty -
the only palace in the town (and the most hospitable!)
He is back behind the shower curtains
before I seen a thing.
The new notable from a distance.


Holden, Nick and Tom (conversation 4)

I didn't have anything special to do,
Dick Boulton came from the Indian camp,
The sun rose upon a tranquil world.
I have this nervous habit -
it flops over his shoulders
with scriptural quotations.
You remember I said before
of the lake shore
where Tom girded up his loins -
he looks good when he finishes fixing himself up.
And if nothing were done about it
part of the Sermon on the Mount
would see his picture in the Year Book.
Into the lake to make a new boom
for his mind is traversing
Nick's father always
finds his way through the fog.


Holden, Nick and Tom (conversation 3)

I'm the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life!
At the lake shore there is another rowboat drawn up
Tom presents himself before Aunt Polly
I live in the Ossenburger Memorial
George is sitting in the stern of the camp rowboat
in the balmy summer air, the restful quiet
where family is buried for about five bucks.
Quite a way ahead of us
she is asleep
the locomotive.
Another boat moves farther ahead in the mist,
her power again in this intrepid way.
We should always pray to God - talk to him and all -
not just when we're sick.
It's all done by him -
What a swell guy he is
for pulling the boat way up the beach.
Aunt Polly places small trust in such evidence.


Holden, Nick and Tom (conversation 2)

They each have their own room and all -
Nick is undressing in the tent
Saturday morning has come
I mean he is all stooped over
because undressing reminds him of the night before.
There is cheer in his face
some other guys and I
tell him that if any emergency comes up
he should go beyond the village
and buy a blanket.
He should take the oars of the boat in the dark
and arrive on the side-walk with a bucket of white-wash.
It gets on your nerves sometimes -
to hear the oars
to see thirty yards of broad fence nine feet high!
We guess he was probably born
quietly between the blankets in the dark.
He repeated the operation the night before.


Holden, Nick and Tom (conversation 1)

If you really want to hear about it
I don't want to hear it
No answer.
If I told anything
about the water rising
about the room
around last Christmas just before
the bay, listen again -
how it could have stretched on for
two hundred miles like
his shoulders, broad.
If I get hold of you, I'll
let anybody look.
Did anybody tell them
to breath to punctuate the punches with?
You've probably seen the ads anyway.
Are they good ones?
Go open the door and see.


8 AM and the government finally awakes to the worries of working people: telephones ringing unanswered, wallabies roaming Kent, cosmic rays leading to cloud formation, gardens lacking box hedges and the idea of voting only when sober. This calls for radical change. We must enlist British spies a cross between Bond and Hood to partake in textual vandalism, to crowd source and data mash, to identify unknown people on photo-sharing websites. Steinberg believes the revolution is in its infancy but we'll create potholes, broken street lights, rubbish and graffiti then plead for quick fixes @ FixMyStreet.com We've arrived at the dead end of bureaucracy we'll produce another sick comedy starring redneck hockey loving mothers who canoe across the arctic (only to get trapped in ice). Again. Let's take our covered wagons and head West to ignore policies of nasty hysteria, scour the country for libertarian babes keeping armoured vests close to our chests. The PM wants a second chance to give us lessons in happiness to shrug off set-backs and banish pessimistic thoughts. Immunise us all, us all against in depth analysis, size-optimisation and Russian jets. Today art means a few old fish and a restaurant dish of detritus and size-optimisation means putting fewer Pringles in a can. Russia's been negotiating with an impostor but we've been taught how to act positively in seemingly negative situations. The time has come to hand the free world over to strangers, the time has come to create pigs with humanised hearts, the time has come for Republicans to favour women. A philosophical revolution is underway as we anticipate the Nietzschen Ubermensch but all Superman costumes are missing - we're now lost - the doppelgangers continue to leak sensitive info in return for financial benefit and Parisians are soon to be horrified when Paris becomes London's double. The world is a dosh pit with a 50p bonus. We all want cult status like Jackie O and Warhol, we all want to source out US bribes, we all want to spawn new cities then another and another avoid signing off with P.S. It's vulgar! It's too late - forget law forget journalism - scientists have isolated the love rat gene divorce lawyers and female columnists are out of work, however the door will remain open not only for immigration but for slaves to the free market for farmers sowing the seeds of later unhappiness - teach us about happiness! We'll get through a tremendous number of women look back, become o so nostalgic and list all of our bad choices - collisions with beauty queens that echo showers of neutrons where only for a day we see the world differently. Eventually we'll give up the idea that women will only vote for women but we'll never give up our control-freak tendencies even though we yearn a crowd-sourcing democracy. We'll continue West with wagons and Russian jets looking for some cult status for our own doppelgangers, the strangers that lead us there.


Yesterday I was on the Central Line and overheard two tourists wondering why people on the tube never talk to each other.
Today I was back on the Central Line and for the very first time somebody spoke to me.
The man shouted "Either you move down or I move!"


The moth continues to visit my lamplight
despite adverse conditions
Why come inside?
Outside is lit
and is the place to be


"Lights out!"
But there are still things to do -
You see, she'd spent the entire day doing things she didn't need to
Like the writing of lists, and
Like writing lists.
Now as the light fades she decides it's time to do
What she didn't do
But should do
"Lights out!"
I think not.
The glaring headlights,
The flickering streetlights,
Means that she just does what she needs to.
To tick off things to do
That she should do
But didn't do
Until she had to.


8.09 pm
They sit and meet at the same table - the one to the far right (I mean left) in the corner of the diner.

They've smoked silk-cuts for twenty years.

Twenty year smoke lounges comfortably in the fabric of these stools.
Twenty year smoke wanders freely in the air that surrounds
An atmosphere heavy with recycled bottles, music and conversation.
Yes, conversation.

9.33 pm
They order another round. Same drinks they've drunk for twenty years.

I hear them.
I hear you.
They talk about their history whilst we talk about our history and outside history is being made.
Outside, it is dark but busy with people entering and leaving shop fronts with neon lights and florescent tubes.
Inside, it is dark but busy with people entering and leaving voices which illuminate the space around me, you, us, them.
Voices that speak of premature policy, credit card junkies, the tragedy of Tokyo Rose and cake.
Pictures, ideas, calenders and memories that speak when I speak to you and I.

10.45 pm
I walk past their table.
He puts on his coat, pays the bill and takes one last look around. She exits to the bathroom.
The clinking of glasses and muttering of voices.
Track two plays and we let The Chiffons take our soul.
I return, she returns and they leave to go outside amongst neon lights.
We're inside talking about them.

Inside, I’m talking about you.

11.20 pm
They leave their mark behind. Their circular imprints.
Elbow wearage, greasy stains, spilt liquid, floating ash.

Ready for the next crowd.

01.09 am
I pull the stool aside and see her imprint.



Man wearing a mask enters.


You affix, anchor, attach rope to me.
You're the Nietzschen 'Superman' -
Creator of New Values.
So you batten, bind, bolt, buckle,
Button, chain, clamp me,
Rope to clasp, cling, close me.
You're the solution -
Fix, grip, hitch, hook
To a problem -
Knot, join, lace, lash.
You're the Nietzschen 'Ubermensch'.
It means you strap, tack, tape, tie me.
So you batten, bind, bolt, buckle me,
Button, chain, clamp me,
Rope to clasp, cling, close me.




Man enters. In his hand he holds the rope.


Cut a piece of stout cord.
Twist it in your hands.
Pull it tight.
This is a piece of rope.
Today I am this rope.

Fasten and secure
What needs to be fastened.
But remember to secure.
This is a piece of rope.
Today I am this rope.

Mark off boundaries to abide by:
No Entry - No Exit
This is a piece of rope.
Today I am this rope.

To rope, to grope
To tighten the rope
That ties
Means I am.

To rope, to grip
To pull the rope
That binds
Means I am.

To rope means to grope
To tighten, to tie, to grip, to pull, to bind.

Rope you with this rope!

I am.





to rope
to grope
to stroke
to tighten
the rope
that ties
and binds

to obey
to handle
to yield
to grasp
to impress
to abridge
to test

to hide
to abort
to disclose
to abscond
from the rope
that ties
and binds



about the forks in our road
is only fun
when we're eating
and listening
to Doo Wop


Episode 2: Standing On Front Porches

Sunday 16th and BA apologises for forgetting my suitcase
But I'm not fretting! I have five millilitres of lip balm and Katie's closet.
10.30 am and they wave "Don't leave" and we wave "Don't want to"
All we want to do is stand on this porch,
Collect another point of view -
You'd bring the books
I'd bring the music
They'd visit us on rainy days.

Breakfast in Amherst then in Newport by 4.45
We dine at Christie's
Converse with an economic waiter,
He offers us two tickets
Dilemma -
What do we do?
Resolved by playlist no.1:
What can we do?

Monday 17th 9.45 am and two New Yorkers take us down to Ocean Drive
Mom says "No talkin' to strangers"
We talk, share thoughts on city-life with its 'no stare policy'
Yet gesticulation in abundance.
Piling in the back seat / loo, bin, fag
Generating steam heat / fag, loo, bin
Pulsating to the back beat / bin, fag, loo
Two cities converse side by side.

11 am Newport mansions: Kingscote, Marble House,
Real french furniture, real silver trinkets -
A consumption of too much of too much.
It's lunchtime and we're on the Coastal Walk
It gives me time to think, to think of Suzy Lee.
I'm told missing her is unhealthy
More unhealthy than cheese on pasta, cheese on toast, cheese on cheese?
Tonight we eat out - Pizza on the porch of a stranger.

Tomorrow to The Armory -
To antiques and fine art
To stare into the eyes of someone I could love for a while (at least).
We catch the 2.30 bus to Providence
You call me anti-social but I'm listening to what Joey says Danny says -
It's crucial to the understanding of an emotional life on the road.
The 5 pm to Copley
Where our map stops unfolding.

I change in the corner of a service station
And end up asleep on your lap.


Episode 1: Sleeping On Front Porches

I pull in at 2.30 AM
From Gate 6
Seat 37D
Where passenger baggage must not contain radioactive material.
Up Route 116 to South Mandelle Hall,
Back to school. Ring the bell. Walking blues.
Past Lower Lake where nothing stirs
Except for lampost flicker outside Village Commons.

12.00 Meet Katie for lunch outside Art Museum
Where Hetch Hetchy Canyon 'stimulates inquisitive looking'.
Then we lie on Skinner Green with The Bostonians, lip balm and playlist no.1.
Next week we will compare immigration, healthcare, politicians in "Taxi!"
Repeated by sandy-haired boys.
We will stand in the place of American revolutionaries
But do nothing. Instead "Where you guys heading?" and the promise
One day we'll be out in the rain and suddenly everything'll change.

Minuteman Express. Amherst Bookshop
To be [re] born in Dickinson's doorway.
We hold hands with an Amherstian girl talking of lacklustre education
And friends that we hardly know.
Thursday 13th 1.30 PM Meet Sarah and Emily in Northampton
Ice-cream with a Rock n' Roll twist as fools fall in love over american pie
Outside the winters are too cold and the summers are over too soon
So today and always I will carry my clear plastic umbrella.

To the greenhouse for a slice of your soil,
To the Bookmill for a taste of your choco beer,
To Skinner Mountain for a picnic on a cliff face,
To Hangers for a concoction of short skirts, sticky chickens and chardonnays.
Yours is the first face that I saw.
Back to hers, to dozy lightening, to misty drinks
Where my mac slowly endures intoxication.
Walk with me Suzy Lee.

Saturday 15th 11.20 PM lit up snowmen mark out your door
We're here to live and swing on front porches
I don't know you
But parties we like
Show and tell, free beer and music frothing out of basements.
Playlist no.1 notes contradiction:
Getting by just fine here on minimum wage
But being here too long, it's time to move.

I change in the back of your truck
And end up asleep on your porch


What's it going to be then, eh?

Winter Horrorshow. Alex there sat
"Is that
Georgie?" Our is newspapers. Give
Three O
Being evening
that have everybody neither
else heighth -


To be or not to be,
A commodity.

A commodity to be,
Not to be an oddity.

Be a commodity,
Be not an oddity.


Ode to the Pink Paper Book

You lie next to my Pocket Penguin Thesaurus
Real Homes tells you it's called being "shabby chic"
I remember the shabbiness of your chic
with your expert tips on getting the job done.

I want to get the job done too
I want property projects that pay
I want to add value to your home
the shelf

the Pocket

But stained skin,
and a thimble
prevents me from being the
to your



the 19th: On this day...

Click to enlarge
This series of journal entries are a re-working of the news headlines from one day (7/1/08) inspired by Bernadette Mayer's use of 'daily occasions'[1]. The headlines spread over the course of seven days in diary form consisting of 10 lines each for visual and performance purposes.
Performance requires seven speakers each taking one page.
Speakers must label themselves 1 to 7.
Speaker 1 begins (all speakers are free to read at any pace and tone).
When she/he reaches line 5 on the page Speaker 2 begins to read her/his page and on reaching the fifth line Speaker 3 begins and so on until Speaker 7 - every fifth line introducing a new speaker.
Once each speaker has read to the end of their page they are free to select any phrases, words, letters, numbers, sounds, phonemes and allophones on their sheet. All seven voices gradually overlap with snippets from the day's events.
Performance ends when speakers feel they are tired of repeating. Each voice gradually dying out.
Like a journal, this piece marks the day's events both on the page and in performance.
*My Poetic Practice class came up with really interesting ideas for developing this piece further (cheers everyone):
1) inviting audience participation - free to contribute a word or sentence recalling any news they encountered that day
2) giving the audience a slip of paper which reads: On this day.... They fill in the blank (thanks Anna:) This would be collected prior/during performance by the speakers and read out alongside their own performance sheet
3) inform people of a box which will be left someplace for 24hrs in which they can deposit any news they have encountered that day (thanks Becky:) Collect, document and perform*
[1] Mayer's work Memory is a journal recording the month of July 1971. It consists of thirty-six pictures shot every day based on her notes and writings of this month.


Today's News: 11/01/08 (an alternative reading)

ON THIS DAY you suffer from Hippopotomonstroesesquppedaliophobia
All students have become AVON ladies
to earn some extra ca$h

transvestite factory workers want
their leading roles.
He's on his mid-life gap year and sporting a new blonde hairdo.
"Afraid of crossing the road Sir? Ahh yes. Im afraid it's a case of agyrophobia."

ON THIS DAY throwing sweets to children is just too perilous
How tragic!
She has forgotten to brush her teeth
and now has a moustache.
The public loves to hate the actress
who plays porn star* in new type-cast role.
Drag routines cry out: 'enforcing charity will only kill kindness!'
"Afraid of bathing Madam? Ahh yes. Im afraid it's a case of ablutophobia."

ON THIS DAY scientists uncover a new language: Dolphin-Speak
Whilst Alsatians
show upstanding heterosexual respectability
the Brit police
learn alien languages to help celebrities
suffering from bipolar disorder - go figure!
"Afraaid of the number 8 Miss? Ahh yes. Im afraid it's a case of zemmiphobia."

ON THIS DAY take the laidback Antipodean approach
He's depressed
with the outcome of his last movie
(not his fault)
He a recluse. Let her keep her moustache!
He's eating his way to obesity. Let her forget to brush her teeth!
"Afraid of a tearful leader young Master? Ahh yes. Im afraid there is a name for it.
You'll have to refer to USwebsite.com"

ON THIS DAY max temp. 10 degrees C


The Inmates Of The Green

A poem in the style of Charles Olson mapping an area in London.

Click image to enlarge