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please forgive me for the coarse language

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In the heat of an awkward moment call me a cunt and we can laugh until our sides split or we realise that our beloved forever betrothed and disgusting mothers would wash our mouths with soap if they could only hear us now. they hold us too tight.

Wardour street fills up on a Friday night with bums, suits, flashiness and vagabonds. The flashiness comes in terms of pearls and long red silk coats with collars up and around the ears. This has been a most fascinating delve for many a year and century. The world of many a weird and wonderful libertine esque wannabe floats and often falls to the ground and the crunch of the day to day life battered and bruised finally flows as quickly as alcohol streams in the blood and out through the unsympathetic pathetic vocal chords we possess. 

Forms as tight and rigid can been seen following each other disciples of the idea of fun that never really if truth be told is fulfilled as it was billed on the poster faces of the older teens we once used to know. We don’t see them anymore they have passed on into the over world. They say to know the over world we must discover and unleash our sadistic angst behaviour in the underworld. Something about self discovery.  But I forget those pointless mini details the subscript the blurb on the back about how it is dangerous to the mind. Who cares it slowly disapparates anyway. Where the fuck does it go.

All I discovered was how much my body could ingest of alcohol and other self induced wanted needed pretence of all in the jury they should warn and scorn and not let us behold the sights of our peers talking to god on the big white telephone. They say a friend for life is the one who holds the hair back at the side of the road. The real friend is the one who tries his bestest to convince you not to go. don’t go. You shouldn’t go. don’t drink, don’t do blow. you’ve never done it howd you know. The siren of the ambulance as it comes to pick up the weak the soul gone into administration submit to the controls of something higher in life. objective for a musician to make musical history but why. Boring work or school in the day, tv all night. 

don’t worry transvestites its all right. You don’t have to suffer much longer you can be free soon to roam wardour street, soon, soon, soon, soon, soon, soon. Howl at the moon. Stroke your hair in the gloom. Groom your lives like a flower talk to them or they will wilt. The Friday night acceptance is coming. Literally, physically, typically when you are not looking for it that one man woman will flash like a credit card straight down your middle and fulfill your one night dreams and you will splash and dash make a hash of it all and that will suffice for stories in the week until the next day. What is a day. it’s a point of waking to the point of sleeping. People are asleep for 95% of the week then. They will admit it and do it again and again and again telling all their new friends bill bob Jackie and jen. Its all a mystery.

Comments (2)

This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

You captured the vulgarity and randomness of your subject (Wardour Street) well. Your thoughts bleed into each other seamlessly while attacking a modern day philosophical concern.

Joshua Hennen
This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

Thanks for understanding

Soi-Disant, The Blue Roof

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