Let me please wring the necks 'till blue and red and plainly gone. Let the clipboards fall and the pens fly. Let the shirts crumple and the ties twist askew. Let natural selection take its course and succeed where, with me, it failed. And why? Well, because they did their job. The filtering faces of the high-rises. Now dead, mind you.
The Timescan not be held accountable for damages inflicted on persons of sound aesthetic judgment by the contents herein, but may, in time, register some guilt over the matter.
-
Proceed with caution, whisky, whiskey, a bucket(,) and a blindfold.
Duck, Duck, Cockatiel
-
The move is officially complete, though I'm still living with a few islands
of stuff—the main one located in what agents like to call the "meals area".
Rea...
Horace in a Vacuum
-
Here’s something with a view to something. Borne of eighteen minutes spent
at a window, it begins like this, with a tap filling a bathtub and a radio
on, a...
Permanent Settlement
-
Dear friends, readers, passers by, Hugh, Ben, (Mike you are my face book
friend already)...,
I have not written anything here for a while and probably will...
Stuff to come AKA... R.I.P Arthur Lee
-
Ok to fall in line with Hugh & the Angus eventually some form of a top ten
list will appear involving records & songs & such.
In the mean while here's a t...
What's your favourite thing about Hugh And The Times?
Micropost
Deep, suspicious eyes, prominent knees, corkscrew nose, lone rib, right-handed. Highly dangerous, slightly educated. Runs a fat-person café in St. Kilda. Always on the lookout. We've exchanged four words by now, three unprintable. Knows me well.
No comments:
Post a Comment