Mexico City (Feb 8 - 12, 2007)
Labels: Photo Collages
Labels: Photo Collages
Labels: Photo Collages
Myxomatosis -Philip Larkin
Caught in the centre of a soundless field While hot inexplicable hours go by What trap is this? Where were its teeth concealed? You seem to ask.
I make a sharp reply, Then clean my stick. I'm glad I can't explain Just in what jaws you were to suppurate: You may have thought things would come right again If you could only keep quite still and wait.
Myxomatosis -Radiohead
The mongrel cat came homeHolding half a headProceeded to show it offTo all his new found friendsHe said I been where I likedI slept with who I likeShe ate me up for breakfastShe screwed me in a viceBut nowI don't knowwhy I feel so tongue-tiedDon't know why I feelSo skinned aliveI sat in the cupboardAnd wrote it down in neatThey were cheering and wavingCheering and wavingTwitching and salivating like with myxomatosisBut it got edited fucked upStrangled, beaten upUsed as a photo in Time magazineBuried in a burning black hole in DevonI don’t knowWhy I feel so tongue-tiedI don’t knowWhy I feel so skinned alive.My thoughts are misguided and a little naiveI twitch and I salivate like with myxomatosisYou should put me in a home or you should put me downI got myxomatosisI got myxomatosisYeah no one likes a smart ass but we all like stars(for a reason) That wasn't my intention (for a reason) I did for a reason (reason)It must have got mixed upStrangled beaten upI got myxomatosisI got myxomatosisI don’t knowWhy I feel so tongue-tied
Labels: Radiohead Musings
Mr Bleaney 'This was Mr Bleaney's room. He stayed The whole time he was at the Bodies, till They moved him.' Flowered curtains, thin and frayed, Fall to within five inches of the sill,
Whose window shows a strip of building land, Tussocky, littered. 'Mr Bleaney took My bit of garden properly in hand.' Bed, upright chair, sixty-watt bulb, no hook
Behind the door, no room for books or bags - 'I'll take it.' So it happens that I lie Where Mr Bleaney lay, and stub my fags On the same saucer-souvenir, and try
Stuffing my ears with cotton-wool, to drown The jabbering set he egged her on to buy. I know his habits - what time he came down, His preference for sauce to gravy, why
He kept on plugging at the four aways - Likewise their yearly frame: the Frinton folk Who put him up for summer holidays, And Christmas at his sister's house in Stoke.
But if he stood and watched the frigid wind Tousling the clouds, lay on the fusty bed Telling himself that this was home, and grinned, And shivered, without shaking off the dread
That how we live measures our own nature, And at his age having no more to show Than one hired box should make him pretty sure He warranted no better, I don't know.
Philip Larkin, The Whitsun Weddings
Labels: Quotes
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