Prose 1

This is called Mind Rot As the man sat enthralled by a dancing dog on Britains Got Talent, his wife knew he had given up on life. The TV times was a riot of red rings, shows he had picked out for week. TOWIE, Made In Chelsea and The Voice were prominant picks, ebulliently circled by a man without spark. Top Gear, underlined emphatically as a must watch. A thin line of dribble slopped ou...t of his open mouth, causing a growing yellow stain on the white collar of his shirt. The mans wife picked up the cordless phone and dialled. She watched a growing puddle of piss form around her husbands feet as he clapped Simon Cowells face. Someone answered on the other end. "Hello, Dignitas" The wife smiled.

Poem 4

This poem is called Africa Part 1 For a treat and for some fun, in celebration of my turning 31, my girlfriend at the time thought it would be nice, and so she bought Two tickets to Africa, one for her and one for me. With great delight she told me of her plan. "Four weeks away, the open sky, the desert sands. The ancient and forgotten lands. Ive packed your clothes so please be quick, just leave your bowl by the sink" Looking over my spectacles at her, I saw, that she was wild eyed and manic. I finished my cornflakes. And did as she suggested With my bowl. Part 2 My boss, displeased with my galavanting across Africa, when i was meant to be performing heart surgery Fired me. I was unconcerned. My girlfriend, richer than bono hotter than madonna and smarter than Hitler, was all the job I needed. On the plane she held my hand. I squeezed her left breast tightly as we landed. Part 3 Two weeks we have been here. I have shot three elephants. Right in their heads. I have also bagged two zebras and four antelope. But who's counting. My girlfriend, unfamiliar with a gun, shot the leg off of a giraffe. We chuckled as we watched it lollop crookedly Into another African Sunset. The love we have for each other knows no bounds. Next year, we are, going whaling.

Poem 3

This is called LoveMaking "Quick! Turn the light on!" the strange girl howled in my ear. I grumbled, stumbled, mumbled but found the switch. Click. We were both silent as we watched ants carry away half of her leg. "I suppose we better get you to the hospital" I said, demurely. She nodded slowly, our love-making abandoned.

Poem 2

This is a poem called Spanish Longing. Oh I long for a Spanish Girlfriend. With eyes the colour of a seventies kitchen, with hair the length of a good book. With legs as straight and interesting as two sticks of chorizo, heavy on the Paprika. With a confident nose and drawbridge eyebrows, that lift and drop to traffic thought. With speech that spatters and spits, Zeds become Ths, C becomes Ths, everything becomes Th's. Oh I long for my Spanish Girlfriend But spotty Nancy from the estate gives a cracking wristy.

poem 1.

Poem about Art and first thursdays, here in East Larndan. First Thursdays. It Was The ..first thursday of the month That Saw People plodding painfully past Pictures and in stal ations. Arty things, farty things, projects that shouldn't be seen, projects that should be seen. Galleries filled with the sartorially inclined, sarcastically imbued. Cynically suggesting that "the curatorial mood of the space is disingenuous to the artists meaning" But to my kin and I, it is a chance to drink free wine. And to exclaim loudly, proudly, ignorantly, "well, this is basically bullshit"