An abridged and somewhat raunchier version of something I sent to Sara earlier. I feel a tad uncomfortable about posting it, to be honest. Especially with the picture.
Let’s get down on hands and knees
Will you describe your feelings please?
You feel for me, I feel for you
Let’s do what we were meant to do
Let’s kiss red lips and drink red wine
Honey, we are doing fine
Watch us dance and hear us sing
Honey, we won’t feel a thing
I arrived on the western shores of California this morning for a very brief visit. Upon checking into the hotel I was handed the letter above, in a sealed, and personally addressed envelope. I was not travelling alone. But no one else was handed one. I am special.
And I am thrilled.
Not only am I being offered membership to this honourable sporting organisation (a five-year membership for only $100 – normally $140!!!!) but the opening line confirms that my citizenship (for which I had not yet got around to applying) has come through and I can now join FIVE MILLION NRA MEMBERS in the fight against ‘hundreds of gun-hating politicians, judges, radical billionaires and freedom-hating media elites. We have them outnumbered!
But wait …… there’s more! If I join today I get not only the gun bag (accessories, i.e. guns not included) but Your choice of an NRA magazine with ‘month after month of eye-popping photography, information-packed reviews of the HOTTEST new guns’. Wow! No more porn for me!
So it’s welcome to the USA for Brutus! Buddy, hand me the ammo!
Responding to Stoner’s sad observation
A quick scan of the mirror
To check which bits are missing
A short assessment of what’s left
Are any bits worth kissing?
What became of youthful eyes?
What of youthful teeth?
And what became of youthful dreams
Lurking there beneath?
What became of who I was?
A boy so young and bold?
Perhaps I am identical
But just too fucking old
A notebook and a pencil. Toothbrush. A change of underwear. And an old photograph of her mother. All slung defiantly over her shoulder and she stepped out into the world projecting a fabricated aura of confidence. She was leaving this time.
The streets were beginning to fill and soon the market would be a surging river of humanity within which she could become absorbed and blissfully disorientated. She had money enough for bread, cheese and fruit.
And then the river would take its course.
Richmond Road 