Whilst I savour a tonic water with ice and browse the bits and pixels of friends' blogs whom I truly know so little about, I am wondering what it's all about. Not seeming to be leaning toward the suicidal however, I get the impression of something slightly comic that reminds me of that old fat buddha running around after innocent children. As it would be hard to offend a person who lays no claim to corporial attachment, imputing that the fat face of buddha is vaguely paedophilic, doesn't place me at the same personal risk as making a similar assertion to a moorish audience about some much loved religious icon. It minds me of a crap yet voyeuristically and characteristically interesting hospital soap that for some bizarre reason portrayed an exhumation last night. I fell about as a begarbed priest with daub in one hand and wattle in the other, summoned the corpse's coffin from the ground. "Just dig it up" I wanted to say. Oh well, no harm done, but they will have the nurse for murder, mark my words, death is no laughing matter and you must never laugh during a funeral, The Stranger knows it well.

Z

The cruel sea frequently consigns fallen spirits to the locker below. I wave a fond goodbye to each mouth I kissed and hand I shook. A great surge of winged serpents crawled shamefully across the mile high horizon that is my mind. A small shoal of gloating eels parted my toes one by one by slithering in between. And no you don't! Palsied memories crustating down the yards of my back time buffering a shanty sea shake in persimmon yarns my granny used to knit the garrish and the pranks. Sea salts and hard core elements blow a gale round jack horner and fuck me! I pulled out a plum!

Z