slanderhour

Quietly he read, restraining himself, the first column and, yielding,  but resisting, began the second. Midway, his last resistance yielding,  he allowed his bowels to ease themselves quietly as he read, reading  still patiently that slight constipation of yesterday quite gone. Hope  it’s not too big bring on piles again. No, just right. So. Ah! Costive.  One tabloid of cascara sagrada. Life might be so. It did not move or  touch him, but it was something quick and neat. Print anything now. Silly  season. He read on, seated calm above his own rising smell.

Lone sounds the name and interesting like the game

Well, today I just feel so confused

So battered + psychically bruised

All my friends talk of Collusion, ha,

Conspiracies just add to the Confusion

Like a pig pulls a cartload of sausages

Guess I'm drawing my own conclusion

I need a car that can get me around

Far from the city-dwellers AM sound

Commuters + computers,

Yeah, I'm just on more Polluter

But the Travel-bug has got me

And the buggers all have Taught me...

That there ain't no gettin' round gettin' round

Yeah, there ain't no gettin' round gettin' round

"Phone for you"

Mother, can't you see I'm in the bath

They say that we're at war again + disappearing fast

But I need to get to London + I need to get there fast

But my car is a polluter + it's messing up my future...

Ain't there ain't go gettin' round gettin' round.

Yeah, there ain't no gettin' round gettin' round.

Little boxes on the hill side, little boxes made of ticky-tacky.

And the people in the houses all go to the university

And they all play on the golf course and drink their martini dry

And the boys go into business and marry and raise a family

It was six years after the fact

that I became I

perhaps again, perhaps for the first time.

There was the suggestion

that I should mark each passage

with a commemoration

to what had been lost,

or survived,

words like redemption

but that was never I,

for I have nothing to apologise for

and I’ll take my time.

Simply put,

the days followed the days

and the weeks followed the weeks

and the months the months

and the years the years

until I became I

until I became I.

Who is the man doing everything he can

When Naboth's vineyard look'd so fine,

Nentis Nan, he’s my man,

I go do im each chanz I gan.

He sicks me down an creans my teed

Wid mabel syrub, tick an’ sweed,

An ten he filks my cavakies

Wid choclut cangy — I tink he’s

The graygest nentis in the lan.

Le’s hear free jeers for Nentis Nan.

Pip-pip-ooray!

Pip-pip-ooray!

Le’s go to Nentis Nan dooday!

From the forests and highlands

We come, we come;

From the river-girt islands,

Where loud waves are dumb

Listening to my sweet pipings.

The wind in the reeds and the rushes,

The bees on the bells of thyme,

The birds on the myrtle bushes,

The cicale above in the lime,

And the lizards below in the grass,

Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was,

Listening to my sweet pipings.

Liquid Peneus was flowing,

And all dark Tempe lay

In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing

The light of the dying day,

Speeded by my sweet pipings.

The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns,

And the Nymphs of the woods and the waves,

To the edge of the moist river-lawns,

And the brink of the dewy caves,

And all that did then attend and follow,

Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo,

With envy of my sweet pipings.

I sang of the dancing stars,

I sang of the daedal Earth,

And of Heaven, and the giant wars,

And Love, and Death, and Birth—

And then I chang'd my pipings,

Singing how down the vale of Maenalus

I pursu'd a maiden and clasp'd a reed.

Gods and men, we are all deluded thus!

It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed.

All wept, as I think both ye now would,

If envy or age had not frozen your blood,

At the sorrow of my sweet pipings.

I was a boy walking tough, king of the street

You got my body shaking, sends a shiver to my soul

You got my body shaking, sends a shiver to my soul