The Hype Fist

Also I wrote a book and so far have tricked three people into reading it. It's full of pauses so you can put it down without too much trouble. It's very small and short so it can fit in most things that carry things. It will be available somewhere from soon and everywhere from never. All of the words in it are words you will have heard before and many of the situations similar to situations you've experienced or will experience. It will not destroy your life. It's not a compilation of bits of this blog. I can't tell if it has a plot. It just needs a small amount of tidying up and a front cover and then what? Then what? Advice welcome. (Sought).

Empty Squares With Numbers

It's been a while. Sorry or you're welcome. It's just the Dalai Lama's been persistently aiming his face at my life and when I wasn't busy cowering I was at work serving drinks to his followers. I stalked him to his house on one of the rare occasions he ceased explaining how good enough I'm not. It was a little glowing shed in a gated community and he went in and put the TV on and I launched myself arse-first through the window and would've snapped his neck but he's a lot more tense than he looks so I just bounced off and he didn't miss a beat and started softly laughing about happinness while I wept onto his sandals. You can only try.

Home to Great Fanfare

From the balcony I saw two hundred bald white serious heads nodding in unison. They were there to see an original line-up. The air was full of flabby doom. The song ended and the singer said there are concentration camps... being made, and another song started and the heads all agreed with it, in the smoke and lights they looked like they might hatch. The singer did an impression of being electrocuted which caused a lot of aggressive delight to surge around the room, but I didn't feel like if it repeated itself any more I'd understand it so I left. The support band had been really good.