Their warmed worn-out squaggly puzzle gust squatting red compass!


Handsome detriments amongst other things clump together in the night like clocks arguing amongst the tents of claggy braided dragon slayers. Me and my posse clamber with constant correctness dictating to one person chosen at random for a period of thirty seven and a half years the importance of relaxation during the act of ghost hunting.




Their warmed worn-out squaggly puzzle gust squatting red compass!


What help is coming when capsules of fingernail trickling down the neck of a screwdriver prevent fickle minded temptresses from hiding behind curtains of rock and moss?

Resillience is never helpful if the yelps of tesselation coincide with the alignment of teaspoon and teabag while the forthcoming rapture ends needlessly before it begun. Yet, when reaching the cliff edge, if you can tie up your shoelaces without fear, you might stand a chance in this life.


Infernal percentages of quality controlled pissant stampedes

Greatness resides in toiletry bags emptied of their humdrum commodities by a calculating entity composed of the thoughts of a populace within any given council district.

It is given by ten boulders ordered to collapse into many fragments by the stone-throw of a donkey scared of by its own imaginings of a helpless pigeon with its wings and feet wrapped in clingfilm on a dockyard in the sun.


Whitehall develops tetris gulf wrap wrongly and stifles dufflebags

Quickly non stick freedom grates against the personalization of the first thoughts of the day. It happens most days when hopping on one foot can lead to hemlines scooping chain gangs along the perimeter of an elliptical flower bed.

Whatever candles can say about static electricity is recorded for posterity by one ant and one ant alone.


Multiplication by ten derelict tower blocks leaves osmosis under seige.

Rebuilding a blagging boat's corrupt offal rich fondant stimies voters at election time drowning in the upcoming sorrowful extinction of honey bees. The residue of covert surveillance forms underneath the heel of elderly athletes.

Continuing the form, collating images of chickens pecking mint bushes, victims of pencil theft voice their concerns about patriarchical atom smashers.


Quicken the pulse of resolute wine makers quaffing heated treacle.

In terms of stopping what can temporarily hinder cucumber sandwich making from overtaking political discourse as a popular pass time, what they're talking about is in timid terms, yapping like a dog with its leg caught in a cat flap.

In other words, you can always find the same old letters scattering your thoughts here and there as if by a gust of psychic wind bristling the leaves of the mental equivalent of cauliflower plants after harvest near the end of the season.


Don't worry too much that the leaves are falling off the trees when Autumn comes, keep your mind on other worries, delicately balanced; your thoughts far from the tipping point, so that you may tiptoe among the daisies and clouds and green grass and never be chased by the giant of your drug-enhanced memories of childhood dreams.

Exercise your eyelashes. Wash your dashboard. Fold your place matts (if they may be folded). Keep in touch with negative space. Hold on tightly to words squeezed through fine meshed gauzes held aloft by the corpuscles of timely endeavours.




You can't keep kippers in relenting custodial virtuality, not when they snap at your empty potato peelings carrier bag. So you shake the quiet timing molecule until it rattles faintly between the first and second hairs of your left eyebrow, looking upward and feeling as if you should be praying to an unknown and probably non-existant god.



"Their warmed worn-out squaggly puzzle gust squatting red compass!"

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Journal entry - 14:44 Friday 15 May 2015

DISCLAIMER: The opinions and attitudes of James W. Morris as expressed here in the past may or may not accurately reflect the opinions and attitudes of James W. Morris at present, moreover, they may never have.


this page last updated:22nd August 2015 (C) 2003 - 2017 James W. Morris

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