Tuesday, November 09, 2010


It is 1939 and we are tired

Lies, Damn Lies

Six rechargeable batteries, one not in line


Who sleep and wake, who murder and intrigue

What Innocence? What Guilt? Are they my fingermarks?


The hand that rocked the cradle has kicked the bucket


Well he would say that, wouldn't he?

And rain

Forever is shorter than you think

Two Pens

Perhaps, there is always an alternative, as there is always dying

First you need to know the gradient, then...

Iron Man

Twenty boxes of past its sell-by date coffee

You could use the books

Beautiful boys with bright red guitars

Prize poet lost for words

Above the baking tits of St Tropez

I only met her once, at Cliveden

The guitarist's writer-wife

Pills to brighten up your day

Lord Miles is caught up in something fishy


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