I wish order would speak to me sometimes Johnny, because I don’t feel loved without it. I feel cold, like the basket after the child’s been taken away – unimportant now yr light’s gone out – or some shit. I dunno – metaphors can go fuck themselves fr all I care – all meet one hazy, August night, under the palms, and suck each other off, moaning in dulcet, sibilant tones; filth incarnate. Gonna meet with the bendy RubberMan tomorrow fr lunch and self infliction. It’s a new class, that’s been in the works fr a couple of years, and…

SHIT! Low-riders blasting Autechre up and down the street with their minds blown. Up and down the boulevard like a robot with a piece. Fuck! What are we gonna do John? All the best hiding places have been taken by the broom handlers and stock candlers – I don’t even know huu they are MAN! I’m a desperate joke and the clinking, metal thugs are upon me like never before – circling me like bastard vultures; I can see their tiny eyes. I’m trembling so much; sweating all over my pockets as I fumble inside them fr my shooter –…

I want to live in a time with no end. No bus-stop chancers and laptop wankers; I just wish to be transported out of place. The pitch shifts and fluctuates like a diva withA fever and I cry all over my dinner plate. Big, big crocodile tears seeping out of my ducts like industrial waste. Oh John - deliver me from this oily, flesh prison!

Tiny eyes are on me as I pass through the third gate into the field. Orange angels envelope me in their pale, cold arms and I slip into a coma so sublime I never want…

The air's rushing through my head as I battle past them. Happy and free, running with my mind in a B-line. Me mate's floating in the Tyne - hell. John's off with some mad lass and I'm smashing up gravity like Jesus on speed. Oh, what's happened here? This used to be such a nice town - now it's full of benign cunts with headaches. I want to inject some fucking colour into their grey faces when I see them hanging over; lying in fountains and crying under the shadows of their big coats. Faulty goods Major! We need a…

She lives on top of a hill, in a pale, yellow house with vines.
She sings whilst under the influence, but her neighbours don't really mind;
For her voice isn't so beautiful, but she sings about the truth.
Like Bob Dylan with tits and The Beatles on the roof..

Fuck the fix and you'll end up on the licks, with the one that you never wanted anyway, but she's on yr stomach now. Holy other woman screaming childish screams - I wish I'd neverNever lapped you twice. For all the lovely words people spit over you, you're really not that nice. Bleak, bleached and blonde is your ego-tripping, finger-clicking hair trailing on the bathroom floor like a dead jellyfish; yr so horribly kitsch. As much as I'd like to fuck you, I really need a piss, so I'm gonna' walk away now, bye, dear, young, sweet, drunken queen, getting…

I'd love to be of use, but the birds just stole my nous. We can't have a sexually explicit rave without that. John Brune won't be organising the music this year either, so we need to find another DJ. Another sexy and strong video-ready DEEJay willing to put his life on the line for the fidelity of the beat. We need a true warrior of the music indeed. Brune was an innovator of the 2nd Beat Revolution; drums that could make you weep uncontrollably in a heartbeat. And I stole the locket from my mother one rainy evening when she…

The day hums quietly away in the background - slow and ambient. The only noise is low. Later on, I can hear harmonic whimpers coming from the next room. I'm very into my moment at this point so the new sound doesn't alarm me in anyway. I do notice that I'm hungry though. It's late and I'm craving meat, like I always do. I want to sink my teeth into something, but I know I can never fully satisfy this desire yet. So I sit there and do nothing fr about 5 minutes and then eat a packet of crisps…