Movie-Death Approaches Productions

Witness Relocation Programme

Witness Relocation Plan.


It was a Saturday afternoon and funnily enough I found myself with no plans.
This seems to happen more and more, now that I have stopped answering my phone to friends.

In these no plan situations I often found myself wandering around DVD stores
Looking for the perfect film to take my mind off having no plans.
Choosing a DVD is a mind field, I want to get a film that really doesn’t remind me of my life or what’s missing from my life or any part of my life.

I don’t want to get a film with any morality story in it, no hidden messages, or a film where things “work out” in the end. I don’t want to watch something were people are too happy or too beautiful. I don’t want to watch something were people achieve things or become successful or overcome things. On the other hand I don’t want anything too depressing, nothing romantic for reasons I just don’t need to explain, I certainly won’t be watching anything funny. There is nothing so lonesome as laughing out loud alone in one’s bedsit.

And nothing scary, it’s just never scary enough! as I walk through the lanes and lanes of cut price DVD eight for one deals with the not so easy listening sound of carpenters music whaling in my ear, I realise there is only one genre that is safe to watch in my fragile state and that is Action.


This one particular Saturday I decided on an unknown Arnold
Schwarzenegger movie called Eraser. On the front cover is a picture of him in
dark leathers straddling a motorbike holding two huge guns in each hand with
the word Eraser written in blood above his head.
I knew from the front cover that this film was for me. Action films have very
little to do with my life because they are about exercise, It would be complete escapism. It would do nothing in the way of harm emotionally.

I didn’t even read the back; I just cashed it up and went on my way.

The plot of the film is based around a woman who works for a nuclear power
company who is in cahoots with the Russians and the Japanese because they
have developed this new technology which produce’s these lazar guns that
are illegal and could destroy civilisation as we know it.
Meanwhile the CIA has approached this woman and she is now a double
agent working for them trying to get the information she needs from the
company she is working for. This all goes wrong everyone she knows or
speaks to is killed in horrific ways. She is hunted down like a dog, and needs
to disappear fast! She is the witness that is holding all the information
together, and she needs to be kept alive so as that civilisation is to be saved, I think I mean I think that’s what’s happening. So many blasts noises and running sequences its hard to tell. I watch like a rabbit caught in the head lights.


The basic premise of the film is the main female character gets put into a witness relocation programme. And Arnold Schwarzenegger is the cop that is assigned to look after her and giver her a new identity.

The character gets relocated, she gets a new name, a new house a job, credit cards, she even gets her hair did! A whole new identity. Whilst watching this I became so inspired about the power a witness relocation plan could have.

You could be taken away from a hum drum existence and be given a new chance some where else. Be given a new identity, a fresh start a chance to begin again. Maybe I wouldn’t make the same mistakes, I could go back a couple of years in age create a new persona with the advantage of hindsight.

I could make up things like having a phobia of great white sharks, or praps of coming from Norway. I could have an accent or a strange twitch. I could really start living again away from DVD stores.

I did some research into WRP, I read of stories about witnesses having
Involuntary invasive plastic surgery to change the entire way they looked.
I knew I had to do everything in my power to get on that programme. The fact
that you never see your family and friends again would be a small price to
pay.


A new name, which I have always longed for, an actual job, and an actual
Home rather than a underground bunker with no windows which is were I am living now. I could reinvent myself as anything I wanted, a new face! a second chance a golden opportunity. I was guessing I would be probably relocated to the countryside some where out the way.


I always fancied seeing what Papplewick was all about, or Cumbria, I’d have
to keep a low profile, living as Roland Ross perhaps, Working as a dog walker or a professional babysitter with a brow lift and plumped up lips.
Even though I live in England, for some reason I imagined I would be
relocated to the Deep South Mississippi America in 1920.
I began to fantasise about the names I would choose I always wanted a name
that rhymed like Rowland Poland, or Ricky Dickey, or Jack Sack.
Ricky Dickey is a man you can trust I imagined, some one you might have
over if you had a little DIY job round the house, “oops I burnt the house down
again, better give Ricky Dickey a call, he will surely know what to do” or,
“damn I’ve killed someone by accident again, oh well better get that darn old
Ricky Dickey a call” A jack of all trades smeared with oil and plad, “jus livin a
simple live down here in the south, help folk when ever I can” Ricky Dickey.
Since having this day dream I have started trying to witness as much crime as
possible, in the hope that I will get myself involved in a big case capeeche?

Maybe find myself down the DA’s office in a filthy smoke filled room with men
smoking cigars in their fifties with facial hair and beige Macs and New York

accents, scantily clad prostitutes in handcuffs with big attitudes walking
around the joint. And me spilling the beans on some grandma shoplifting racket I’m about to pull the plug on. Its gonna end up to dangerous for me to be in my old life I need to be relocated off the streets.


Foot note
My idea of the inside of a police station is based on TV shows that I watched as a child, like Quincy, Colombo and Murder She Wrote.


I would be led in to a small dark office at the back where people would
discuss my future with meaningful looks on the faces, occasionally getting
close to each other and slamming fists on tables. I would only be able to make
out certain words like, sex change, implants, Papplewick and relocation.
I would be led away to a secret hide out in a Beatrix potter disguise where
extensive plastic surgery would take place.

I would almost wake up 4 months later in Papplewick, with my new identity,


New name-Julie Fooly
Job- Paper round
House- tree by the lake
Friends/family- None
Status-unfound out of Danger

The Advice Shop

Sister Shaman Didacoy and the slutty Bee.
Sister Shaman Didacoy has himself been overcome with bad tidings and a terrible life filled with emptiness, neglect and misfortune. He has overcome coming from Liverpool and has cured himself of the accent through prayer and watching re runs of 90210.
He has been reborn in the form of a healer and advice giver.

Here at the Advice/healing/spiritual shop we pride our self on our broad range of help and guidance that we can offer our clients. For a small fee someone in real trouble can get some advice that could change there lives for good.

Maybe its time to call it a day, and your friends and family just haven’t got the courage to tell you. Here at the Advice centre we can take on that burden and just come out and tell you.
As well as offering a call it a day package we also offer a full blown sexually therapy centre here we can practice your sexual problems and cure your sexual aliments through humming and applying massage oil.

What ever your problem we can solve it, you need advice about your hair, clothes? Praps you wanna change your life and don’t know were to start, incest wedding?, planning a killing spree? Not sure who to kill first? We can guide you through and lead you to the right answer with the ancient technique of pros and cons.

The Advice Shop

Letter

DEATH APPROACHES

Lost cat

Lost

absent, adrift, astray, at sea, cast away, disappeared, disoriented, down the drain*, fallen between cracks, forfeit, forfeited, gone, gone astray, hidden, invisible, irrecoverable, irretrievable, irrevocable, kiss goodbye, lacking, minus, mislaid, misplaced, missed, nowhere to be found, obscured, off-course, out the window, strayed, unredeemed, vanished, wandering, wayward, without

Drawing- Men Eating Hot dogs

Drawing-Coat Hangers

Poem-Everyone' favorite Dish

Everyone’s Favourite Dish

I was on top at the back getting shushed again
Met you at the back of the bus
You’re everyone’s favourite dish
Want to take my time and not rush
To make up for all the sex and party’s Id missed
Obsessive compulsive list
All furniture b4 leaving the house is kissed
I ordered everyone’s favourite dish
Fish and chips with out the fish!
Chips!

Poem-Love

LOVE

Loves like a smouldering cadaver
Loves like when you can’t have her, or him!
Love is like drippin on your veggie sarnie
Loves like riding the wave of a tsunami
Love supposed to happen when you looking
Love happens to me when I’m fucking
Or drinking, when I’m not thinking
Alone with a fashion mistaken hat
Loves being accepted even when you’re fat.

Lauren harries

Poem-Sabu

SABU

Sabu the goat lived on Suicide Mountain
He had a mobile home, a microphone with a council pop fountain and a laptop
He liked to keep other goats out of sight
And walked around the mountain feeling spite
He was glad he was alone
He hated other goats and enjoyed being remote
He spent his days counting grass
And thinking of all the goats that had crossed him in the past
And how happy he was on Suicide Mountain
All alone with his laptop and council pop fountain
He spent his nights drinking, smoking and swearing
Usually wearing women’s clothes
He liked to expose himself on the net
To vets
Often he would sing on the Mike
Cross dressing songs and slurs of shite
On Suicide Mountain it always rained
Alone in women’s clothes Sabu never felt ashamed
And he was happy that every day was the
Same.

Cats

Job-Robin of Sherwood

Robin of Sherwood
http://www.robinhood.uk.com/
One of my favourite jobs was working at the Robin Hood centre as Will Scarlet one of the merry men, I wanted to be one of the sheriffs men because they had better outfits and got to wear black leather, but I wasn’t aloud due to my sheepish personality and boyish looks, with this and so many of my other jobs there is a common theme which runs through out, which is the nature of the jobs I do, the pointlessness ridiculousness of them, this is a common ground between me and work colleagues an unspoken

” what are we doing here”
this was no more prevalent than in the “Tales of Robin Hood” the silliness of the job I enjoyed rather allot, dressing up everyday with no real purpose other than too ill around. In the entrance to the Robin Hood centre is a sort of fake barn yard and a huge door which is supposed to be the gateway to Sherwood Forest. I would stand at the door in full costume waiting for the general public to queue up for the experience. There was a secret button concealed that I would have to press, after pressing this button I would have a certain amount of time to deliver the script before the door opened. The visitors would then be led into the first room and corridor, with paper Mache forest and “old smell” pumping out, I would have to run to the cave section to meet them at that entrance to guide them through delivering another piece of script. I would then run round to the beginning of the ride were I would put them on to the ride, then run to the end and get them off again. And then if we were short staffed which we often were I would go and work in the Sherwood Café and serve drinks burgers and fries.

Your contract was unspecific they had you doing all kinds I walked into Sherwood forest café one morn only to find maid Marianne, Robin Hood and Fryer Tuck hoovering and moping the floor in full dress, these moments were an often occurrence and truly ironic to the true spirit of Robin Hood and his merry men.

Maid Marianne was a Gothic emo, bordering on suicide constantly, with awful scratches up her arm and black makeup and lipstick ,and not to attractive either when ever I spoke to her it was like speaking to satin herself, I used to just wish she would get it over with and put us all out of our misery.

Where as Robin Hood was a much more interesting character an ex army officer, who had been in the army for sometime and even fought I think by the sound of it poor man, he had some sort of breakdown in the army, and through this traumatic experience he was searching for some kind of saviour. This is often the case with ex army people or anyone who has suffered in this way often people turn to religion and to god. With this chap instead of finding god he found “Robin Hood”, he studied Robin Hood relentlessly and divorced himself from the real world completely. he boasted of how he never read papers and didn’t own a T.V he was no longer interested in the world, he knew everything there was to know about Robin Hood and not much else.
He designed and made all our outfits using traditional hand sewing methods, which was unbelievable for such a machismo guy, he was a founding member of the Robin Hood enjoyment society, and for all intensive purposes he was Robin Hood. We lived in the same area “ Sherwood forest” after a shift id have to change really quickly so as not to get the bus with him because he wouldn’t change, he dressed like Robin Hood all the time and carried a real sword with him which I’m guessing was an illegal weapon a true outlaw, or maybe just schizophrenic?
The tragedy of that tail was I heard some years later he was sacked for some reason or other, I’m guessing it was for stealing from the shop. It would be like sacking the queen, this man had become Robin Hood it its hard to know were the poor man can go from their, I cant imagine what possible options he had other than to live as a savage in the woods, or perhaps a career as a seamstress?. Although I would have loved to see his back to work interview at the job centre him dressed in full regalia.

Job- Sainsburys

Sainsburys

When ever I start a new job the first thing I do I suppose because its in my nature, is to assess how I can get away with doing as little as possible whilst appearing to be doing a great deal. This is my approach to many things including relationships, sex, cleaning, conversation, dancing, walking, jogging, reading, eating, packing, shelving, decorating, helping friends, helping family, dieting, exercise, cooking, charity work, washing dishes, gardening, Christmas, birthdays, …..

One of my first Jobs was with Sainsbury’s supermarket I started off as a shelf packer with dreams of becoming a check out chick which one day came true. I lived opposite Sainsbury’s which was my reason for applying in the first place, This particular branch of Sainsbury’s was rather large and I was basically left to my own devices the back store opened out on to the car park and from their I could see my little house which became to much of a distraction and temptation for me.
I was pretending to look for frozen chickens one morn and was looking out on to the car park, I could see my house and a feeling of longing came over me a need to be free from the constraints of society and shelf packing, I wanted to be in that house, it was taunting me just sitting their empty and comfortable and warm. TV was in that house and tea and cakes. I began to move and suddenly my feet began to work independently of my body as they walked me sneakily but briskly out of the store over the car park down my road into my house straight to the kitchen were I boiled the kettle and made a cup of tea, I waited in silence drinking my tea and eating a hob nob, for about 45 minutes frozen with fear, I wanted to put the TV on but knew I shouldn’t push my luck.
I returned without anyone noticing, the rush was incredible and addictive. Leaving work in the middle of my shift became a common occurrence each time I returned home I would become more adventurous with the length of time I was there, cooking whole lasagnes, dyeing my hair, or decorating the house.

Adrian Simpson

BOB BRIDGES

BOB BRIDGES

I got sick and tired of looking for a boyfriend
But I still wanted one mainly for a conversation piece at work. So I decided to make one up. So far this has been working really well.
Bob Bridges is the name I settled on, a nice strong athletic name.
I found lying came easy and our romance read like a Mills and Boon novel.
Our first meeting at a car park in Ipswich when Bob mistakenly ran me over and took me for a coffee to apologise, which was when we both realised we had a shared interest in murder she wrote and money.

For our first date Bob took me to the Ritz for high tea, and soon after this asked me to move in with him in Belgravia.

The lying became quite addictive. I never felt an ounce of guilt about lying to the people at work as I knew through our in depth accounts of our dates and lovemaking I was bringing the hope of true romance to their lives.

Drawing-Pig collection

Poem-Clean Winda's

Clean Winda's

I plan to fake a fall at work
Get six months of leave
fall in love with a window cleaner named Steve
We’d travel the country cleanin windas id live like cindas
All I’d have wud be a man a van and sum windolene
I might email or fax when I’m on the road but I doubt it
Id be to busy on the scene getting my next meal and keeping clean
Where ill end up I don’t care or know I’m just really looking forward to seeing life
Through a clean window.

Saturday Date

Saturday Date
-Rowland Ross

Dating has become like shopping in a huge American style super cheap mall were there is plenty to buy at cheap prices, but with no real quality.

When ever I join a new website I still get the initial rush of new opportunity. A fresh batch of hot new guys that I have never seen or met, I begin to shop in my new most favourite down town discount store and see what cheap goods it has to offer and how far my money will go. With all the websites you really do get a different feel for the people who go on them, there are definitely types, you become very judgemental and easily put off by bad photography or dodgy locations, I dismissed a guy only the other day because of the wallpaper in his picture, it just gave me an over all bad feeling about him, wood chip is always a turn off.

The best luck I have had is on thing box.com which is the newest one I have joined I Fear I have become addicted to the initial feeling of hope that joining these websites brings but with thing box I thought it could deliver the quality of men seemed superior to the others and I was much more suited to the type of guy on there more creative and artistic beardy blokes.

Last week I decided to go on a date marathon setting up dates almost each night, this is really good to do when you find yourself with no plans, its also a great way to try out new places and bars to see that Indiana Jones movie your friends just won’t go too, its also a good way to keep steadily drinking through out the week with out any one ever discovering your true alcohol problems. These men were on my confayabelt like a fast food restaurant I realised I was also on theirs.

It never ceases to amaze me how guys just never look like there photographs when you meet them it is almost always a let down last Saturday was no exception. On his profile he seemed so handsome and interesting like a bearded Greek god with pectorals of steel and a handsome smile.

In reality he was a pot bellied pig dwarf hobbit goblin American freakish fugly squat face, without being to judgemental or shallow about it.
I was so excited to meet him as well as I usually like American men it panders to that jock stud fantasy I have This all came crashing down in the first 30 seconds.

This guy was a trip. The beginning of the date started badly, mainly because of the way he had deceived me with the online photographs and also because he had a go at me about directions I gave him, telling me in a little angry American voice that he could have been here allot sooner if he had come the way that he thought. I was already planning how I would make my exit. This was the first time I noticed his head wobbling like a black girl attitude kinda thang the warning signs were there and had exploded like fire works.

I took him straight to the pub and ordered a couple of pints I downed mine straight off after listening to his whining American accent on the way to the pub I needed to get loaded ASAP. I felt like I was having an outta body experience. We went outside the pub to smoke and He saw a guy with a Brompton and said” I used to have one of those; it’s just like riding a bike”. I didn’t no how to respond to this. His American sitcom way of punctuating his sentence with his face like head wobbling and eye opening, girly attitude style, when he was trying to make a point was making me feel physically sick.

After a couple more pints I still wasn’t warning to this man even drink hadn’t helped I was just becoming increasingly alarmed by the things he was saying. He kept mentioning his back that he had hurt at the gym, he explained he had some quite strong pain killers he had brought over from the US, he asked if I wanted to take one I was like cool, he told me mixed with alcohol they have a nice effect almost like your stoned. I took the pill hoping that it would magically transport me elsewhere it didn’t. He then went on to tell me how he came about having these magic little pills

“I had anal warts last spring” “yeah was an awful time I had to wear man nappies for 6 months” “it hurt so bad to shit”

Imagine your favourite American sitcom star saying this, lots of head wobbling and eyes opening wide and shutting just at the right timing to get a laugh. Except there was no laughs just my worried sick looking face.
“These pain killers really got me thru, you’ll see”

He went on and on into all the ins and outs, he was like a non smoker who had given up, the worst kinda of people! Overly confident and knowing about his subject, He was almost trying to convince me that I had the disease
“You’re probably a carrier” “many people are with out Knowing” “It’s very contagious” “You’re probably have it, almost definitely”

“What?”

I was imagining him on mastermind “welcome short fat hobbit dwarf fugaly American to the stage and what’s your subject?”
“Anal Warts” (head wobbler lips pursed, with wide eye finish.)

There was a couple of things going round in my head one was why tell me about this, he could have made up a more glamorous disease I mean I would have bought back pain or swollen ankles would have passed but being this brutally honest on a first date was well, brutal! There was too much excitement in his regaling of treatment and after care as well which was worrying.
My brow was furrowed and my mouth was ajar, I really wanted to move on to a different conversation
It was really difficult to pick up the conversation from here but I tried a new with the subject of Christmas
“Don’t you just love Christmas?”

“I do, last Christmas was when the healing process was almost over it was the first time I could shit with out pain”

(My Chin was on the table)

The pill had now started to take affect everything was in slow motion I looked towards the door and in walked a familiar face thank god! Something familiar and normal

I recognised him but I wasn’t sure how, he was handsome but who was this stranger, I realised it was my Monday night date for the following week that I had set up. The whole situation became David lynch. I was drunk and stoned on pain killer and was on a date with a 4 foot nappy wearing umpalumpa, pot bellied American who had an obsession with his anus and telling strangers about it.

I saw my Monday night buy a drink and go and stand outside with it I quickly excused my self to the toilet and went out to join him.

He was so short as well after this pill he seemed like a man in miniature and I felt like a giant, everything was in slow motion.
This is so common on the internet dating guys are rarely above 5.8 inch it is to much of a common occurrence not to note. So we begin to talk awkwardly but I hardly notice the awkwardness, this guy is a welcome relief from my previous conversation with the American. But the conversation became just as random before long, he told me he was in the mosquito net business, I didn’t know there was such a business to be in. but its like the bug spray business or the wig spray business, somebody does it you just never think your gonna meet that somebody.

My speech had become slurred and I felt woozy and for some reason my anus had started to hurt, I was really trying to stay interested in why mosquito nets were gonna save the world but it was hard to concentrate, I had been away from the table for too long so I made my excuse to Monday night guy and went back to the table.

I was wasted I looked at the clock it was 7.30 it was still light and I was completely loaded. I made my excuses and left the pub when I woke up the next day my butt was bleeding the only explanation I decided was that I had been raped by a ghost in the night.

Beef Crisp Tan

Beef Crisp Tan
-Rowland Ross
I use spray tans to give my body a more uniform appearance, the down side of this is my body exudes the aroma of beef crisps, as told to me by an old age pensioner on the bus the other day.

I have stopped smoking all together, but keep a spare tobacco pouch in my bedroom for absolute drunken emergencies only. I have had to stop using this method of non smoking as it has lead to me becoming a “sleep smoker” . This condition is not unlike “sleep walking” .I sit up in bed seek out the tobacco role the cigarette and smoke it all while perfectly asleep. I wake up with a hacking cough and at least 25 stubbed out cigarettes in the ashtray. Its gotten worse, the other day I woke up to find 4 shot glasses and an empty bottle of vodka and some poppers by the bed “sleep partying”

I have started to “party” in my sleep I have no memories of the night’s events just a head ache and hangover, because of this I have had to get rid of any remnants of tobacco and alcohol that are in the flat. I wonder what the next step will be, maybe sleep walking right out of my flat, perhaps to a bar, or a betting shop, how unsophisticated will my sleep life become?

Bottom line, I’m not to be trusted and am looking into buying bed restraints at Argoose so as not to out live my burning desires in my sleep to drink smoke and become a street person.

I rarely have guests.
By having guests you make your self a servant you become the help. House hold furnishings are attention seeking scum just like pets. You don’t want a stupid animal taking up all the limelight, my advice is kill your pets and get rid of all your patterned wall paper and busy furnishings just anything that’s going to take the attention away or lead to conversations that are not orientated around you, whilst having a guest over. When you are in the room, you want all eyes on one thing, all attention focused directly.

That is why in my new flat it is completely pared down I don’t own a thing its bare there is not fittings or fixtures no kitchen or bed just blank walls with a spotlight. It’s a gallery and I’m the living breathing work of art to be seen and experienced.
There is no distractions nothing to take the focus away from what I might be saying or singing. I’m in a shed I’m renting from a friend I live at the bottom of the garden, and since moving in strangely I have not been bothered by too many guests, although I lie in wait…or rather stand against the white painted slats with no real room to lie, the spot light shining on me or rather the torch on a string shining on me, at the bottom of the garden from a suburban house on a culdy sac in Tottenham hale, and I am happy Amen.-Rowland Ross

Poem-Bikini

BIKINi

My name is bikini
I’m a teeny tiny weenie
Squirrel
coasting on the edge of time committing crime
I'm a cheeky little fucker
living in mucker, my names bikini
I’m a naughty little spiteful squirrel, spiteful
spitefully dancing to the disco beat
look-in for something to eat
I’m all alone
no home
living on the road with toad
duck in and diving
pissin in Alleys and skiving from doing work always lurk in
behind trees
that’s where you'll find me
I’m a tasty burger
with a fuckin lurger I’m a
squirrel bitch
who ain't rich
but I got bitch tits
and violent spits.

Drawing-Whorse

Private Dancer

I have to wear a uniform for my job which frees me up
to wear what I like to and from work. I like to dress
up in different genres so people on the tube assume
I do different jobs to the one I do, sometimes I dress
like a dancer in sports wear and all the way on the
tube I stand by a pole pretending to do ballet moves
as though I’m warming up. At other times I pretend
to be a footballer in shorts and high socks on my way
to a match, on the way home I would splash mud on my
socks and shorts for the effect.
I like to play my ipod really loud as well and sometimes
pretend I’m in a music video or just in a terrible rush
on the way to something really important when really
I’m not. I have started to wear a wedding ring so that people
Will look over and think I married and interesting.

Drawing-Cat collection

Drawing-Pig collection

Drawing-Pig collection

Drawing-Work Collection

Drawing-Work Collection

Drawing-Lard ass

Drawing- Pig

What a star

Sticky and Sweet

Paul Simon

Poem-Su Den

SU DEN

If work pushes me one more time
Or decides to change their minds
About rules and regulations
And petty crime like steeling cash
Meetings about rehashed hash and verbal warnings about lateness
And sick days
If work keeps pushin me
I’ve made up my mind what to do

What to do!

I’m going to become a fake pre op tranny
And tell em to call me su

12 months to live and dress as a lady
Me up lady me down
Ill become the worst drag queen pre op trannie in town
Bad wig, short skirts and bright make up
Chest bare fishnet tights
High heels and facial hair

I’m going pre op pre op
Don’t stop me I’m pre op

Ill be sick allot
Commit petty crime
Be late allot do over time
No one can touch me when I’m dressed as Su
And if they do
Ill scream discrimination from the rooftops
And su will sue

So if you’re sick and tired of bossy managers at work
Here’s what to do
Become a fake pre op tranny and
Make em call ya Su

Poem-I fell in love with a photocopier

I fell in love with a photocopier

I wined and dined you but you never held my hand

You just had more copying planned

I want to take you dancing around the office
Would anybody notice?

Late at night after five when you’re all mine ill pour you a glass of
Toner,
flip your lid over We have so much fun I know you love it when I copy my bum
You’re in everything that I do, can’t imagine life without …
double sided and stapled in one Sexy shove!

Is it any wonder that I’m in love?

I can never stay mad at you for long even though you’re always breaking down and going wrong

Months years go by and everything changes things are lost and found
In different stages flowers live and die
I get more wrinkles around the eyes
Oceans rise and fall I’m hard against the wall of life

I’m so grateful I have you Mr Photocopier as my wife

You’re not valued for what you do
People don’t give you the respect you deserve
They think your only there do there choirs and serve
I can’t tell you how much I want to thank you for all you have done and all our private fun

My life became a whole lot soppier

When I fell in love with the photocopier

Poem- Whiff of piss

(Featured in the Mask issuse (October 2008) of Pisszine-http://www.pisszine.org/HOME.html
Whiff of Piss

I’m dreamin I’m dancing the lights fantastic
in me elastics
Everyone’s clapping and laughing
I’m a show not to miss

then I got a whiff of piss

I’m shmoozing oozing confidence
I’m one on me own
never alone
laughin at jokes
chattin up blokes
I’m go getin, jet settin
dog wettin warrior
I’m all over the world in my diamonds and pearls
I’m out on a limb
eatin fake chicken
suckin my teeth and licken my lips with grief
I’m boxing and foxing taking risks

When I got a whiff of piss.

I met the one last night
I’ve got him in sight
I’m side winding
book binding him in
he told me he’s got a boyfreind
seems to be a trend with men I like
I’m permently on my bike
I pretend to laugh and get the gist

then I got a whiff of piss.

I’m day dreamin sky lighting
creative writing in my bedroom
I’m goin out soon
happy to serve you sir
my velvetine queen commands me
she never demands I take it easy
I try to keep my sleaziness into a small aspect
I never wanted to have sex
just did it cos you asked me
like John Lennon said let it be
I think we should both run away together

Except me.

set the hay on fire
lick electric wires
and fall from the sky
with violets in your eyes
start taking No for an answer
become a disco dancer with clubbed feet from Sheffield
I close my eyes and start to wish.

When I got a whiff of piss.

Poem-Pastry maker

Pastry Maker

Apparently you will meet him when your not looking
To be honest Ive stopped thinking about
Fucking altogether
I’d rather think about the

weather!

For instance, I never think about sucking big cocks in gazebos
on my knees in nice frocks

No, No
the thought never crosses my mind,
the man for me has become increasingly hard to find!
Social graces, in the embraces of unsuitable and plain stinking breaths,
I’m looking for mr right but I just can’t see

one day I realised he could be waiting for me
probably not here
but on the other side of the world making pastry’s and tea
or something?
free from all the hum drum up your bum re-a-lity
or something?

I decided to swim there Ill pack my lunch in my hair
I’ve got to find him and hide him
claim him and chain him
my sweet pastry maker
role me out and cut me into heart shapes
cook me and eat me up
yum yum I thought.

Praps I ought to have rang first?

how rude to arrive unannounced
looking like such a flounce!

Im swimming towards the sunset
stiff upper lip still not wet
I try to stop myself ranting and begin chanting.

ooh arhh Pastry Maker
ooh arhh Pastry Maker
ooh arhh Pastry Maker
ooh arhh Pastry Maker

ooh arhh Pastry Maker
ooh arhh Pastry Maker
ooh arhh Pastry Maker
ooh arhh Pastry Maker.

Poem-Sleeping pills......

Sleeping Pills

Took a sleeping pill cos there was nothing on the telly

started wearing a welly on me head

been two weeks now, still nofins been said,

blah blah blah is all I ever hear

got me ears syringed to make it clearer

wish I was lost at sea

were no one could find me

with chips and mushy peas

away from mobile phones and people that sneeze.

On the tube……………………

Poem- Aren't you fucking dead yet?

Aren't you fucking dead yet?

Poisoned you at dinner turned turkey burger sinner
Drowned you in the lake by mistake
You were allergic to nuts
Put them in your birthday cake at pizza huts

Stabbed you in the back
Throo you under a bus
Chopped you into bits
Pushed you down the toilet and flushed

Went for a walk white cliffs of Dover
Never meant to push you over
You gotta believe I never wanted you dead
Electric window chopped off your head

Killed you by accident with an iron
Smashed you in the face by mistake

Took you to the zoo
Fed you to the lions
It wasn’t my fault
Stuck by a lightning bolt

All this effort and your still not

Fucking dead

When I turn over there you are in the bed
Drooling and snoring

And live continues to be just as fuckin

Borin!

Poem-Suicide Pact

Suicide Pact


We made a suicide pact
But I forgot to do it
We were at the edge of the bridge about to jump together
When I blew it
I sneezed and a cough
And when I looked back, you had jumped off

the edge
And all that was left was your high step orange shoes the ones you loved with the wedge

I felt bad at first
Knowing that I’d come of worst.

I started a new life the next day
I decided that I would have wanted you to want it that way

Sorry you ended up dead
But since you are
Life’s got a whole lot better
I’ve started wearin your angora sweater and sleepin on your side
Of the bed
I’ve got rid of all your belongings and cleaned out the shed.

I’m getting out more
Finally Got the new floor put down in the lobby,
Started some new hobbies

I’ve taken up roller booting and cake making

On the whole there is just more room for me

Finally feelin a bit of free

Funny what people do

Ok Ok Ok!



I’ll admit it I pushed you.

Poem- Smoking Tan

Smoking Tan

I like to Hoover in my Scuba kit
Friday night at five o clock I’m so happy I could
Shit
I like to dance like I’m in a keep fit video
Forward forward lunge lunge and back hop hop
shop pain in my spleen cos I’ve been out every night
Since I was seventeen
I’m smiling and frowning
One more cup of tea and ill be drowning
In the shit
“I’m not been funny when I say this but”

“Is this it?”

I’m laughing and cryin at the same time
On my eighth bottle of red,
all these bastards phone’s ringing
Non of em ever mine.

I’ve been frowning and smoking in the sun
tryin to get a tan
I’m on my ninth dating website
Tryin to get a man can u believe
fis weather
started wearin leather
trousers to the office
with a cod piece, livin the dream b4 I’m thirty tryin to be as clean an dirty
on the quiet tryin to start a riot on the back of the bus,
but it’s hard to get your message across when people are tutting and you’re gettin shushed.

I want to try my best with less cost to my person; I don’t want my condition to worsen

I feel at the end of this ill probably end up dead
Like Britney said
“You want a piece of me?”
How bout a little nibble?

I can’t sleep without a dribble ling into my pillow, like that film willow the whisp

Waiting for the fuckin bus again getting pissed on Babysham wishin I was abducted by a B&Q van make some money

Funny how people say high and bye in a high pitch voice on the phone
Funny how I have become happiest when I’m alone
Funny how I have started to verbally abuse people on public transport
Funny how I’m not the sort

I think one day I’ll drown in an ocean of coffees and teas, one day you’ll find me washed up lost my sensibilities, on the shore gripping my mobile and the office door

I’d like to phone my thoughts and fax my ass id like to sellotape the past in a big ball

Start it all again, maybe not shag so many men on first dates, maybe I wouldn’t try and shag there mates this time, id be classy just have the one bottle of wine

In the shashy of me car. Its not far now just over edge of the cliff, and then that’s it

Like Thelma and Louise without the tits.

Poem-Human Chicken

Human Chicken

I hang out in my hutch Getting up to nottin much
Like to squawk and eat grain Every day’s the same
I’m a human chicken Finger lick in good
I just wish I could fly away A feeling of doom’s coming my way
Flap me wings And I sing I’m a cockadoodling do Nothing else to do

I’m in love with cock

Eat myself whole Nothing left but the soles of my feet
I’ll have to beach treat You might even meet me and eat me! If you order human chicken
I’m finger lick in good
I’m out at the night spots Eatin tofu treats Dancing to funky chicken beats
I’m gonna peck peck peck, Cos there’s nothing else to do
Peckin till my wings fall off

And I spew.
Eating myself up in kfc Can’t think how
I’m gonna get free Or get cock to notice me
I’m side winding Pickin up trends Eating my friends
I wanna chow down
Didn’t realize roosters around
Telling me I’m stupid
He never knew cupid Or experienced love
Never learnt to flap his Wings like a dove
Like flight of the navigator

C u later Chicken hater!

Poem- Scrubbers

Looking good

DEATH APPROACHES

Poem - Supermarket Slag

Supermarket Slag

I gave up workin 9-5 a year ago
Decided to become a professional Ho
That’s when I moved in to Tesco!

I Turn trix with me trolley
Meet me on isle sixteen
And ill show you me lolly’s and ice creams
Come eye me up and bye me
I’m just what you needs
I’m in frozen foods just near the peas!

Suckin all day long
I watch you shoppers
Suckin ice poppers
Pushin your trolleys getting stitch
Savin your coupons for turkey burger tits
Like mine!
Over a glass of wine
And chips
I’m versatile no style
Can be wild sexy dolly
Cum ride me trolley
Play hide and seek I’m a Tesco freaky
Slag wrapped in Tesco plastic bags

Glass of water (Part One)

So, after maybe a year and a half’s subscription to the Guardian’s Soul Mates dating site, I went on what was going to be my last date. I had decided when my subscription ended there was going to be no way I was going to renew it. I had said this before only to find myself, a couple of months later, back online again. But this time it was going to be different, this time I was going to kick the habit for good. I knew I could quit anytime so one more date wouldn’t kill me. Besides, as usual I had no plans.

With the invention of the internet had come great change in the world of communication, but mainly the biggest change that had happened since the dawn of the interweb to me was my relationship life. The fact that I now had one. Well sort of.This change had really coincided with my age too. In my early and late teens, early mid and late twenties I mainly met men in clubs, got really pissed and had one night stands. It always amazes me as to how many men I would have too sleep with before one of them actually rang me back.

And if I really start to think about the” relationship” numbers it really doesn’t add up to much. In my whole life I have “been out with” two people and a half at a push, ok maybe one. It is the nature of the gay world I would say, combined with my disfunctionality and bad taste in man and overall availability. Eventually you have to put all this down to experience and false memory.

Initially internet dating seemed to be my last hope at ever finding someone. It is such a seductive process not dissimilar to shopping on ebay, you want to make sure you get the best possible bargain with free post. It’s like shopping for your perfect life. You are judging people and your future happiness on a couple of badly taken photo-shopped photographs, and a short profile that describes them, with phrases like” down to earth” or “Sane and Sorted”.

I had put all my hope on this last date. The secret to my future happiness rested in a photo-shopped image of him sat on the grass on a hot summer’s day in a plaid shirt and faded jeans.From the look of those jeans and that shirt I knew this guy would be the one I would spend the rest of my life with, a life I had already imagined and fully planned out including our holidays, break ups, arguments and meals out to fancy restaurants. The whole thing had already taken place in my head before even meeting this guy. As everything had all happened in my head I could hardly be bothered to meet him. I almost didn’t need too.

And when I did it would only be a disappointment and it was for both of us.The first date was quite pleasant; although he didn’t live up to my preconceptions, I realised there was no way he or anyone could. I was willing to give him a go.I was quite good at dating by this point and had my technique down to a tee, including a regular script of questions I asked. I listened to answers with an interested look on my face that was well practiced; I would tell my well rehearsed funny stories with precision.Other rules included not drinking too much I had made this mistake time and time again, which made me prone to witter, wittering was never good! Never finish a sentence, when you have started it with “don’t you think it’s funny when…..”I found him very mildly attractive. A little bit boring maybe, but boring was a good thing I was telling myself, you know calm, and solid. Opposites attract. I noticed he complained a few times about our service in the bar and restaurant which I hate usually, but I let it slide as he may just have been nervous, or maybe the tomato soup was too tomatoee?The first date seemed interesting.

I knew he wasn’t my type and that I probably wasn’t his, but I did feel as though there was something there, something in-between us( table and chairs, our obvious hatred for each other? The fact we had nothing in common, the fact that we were both dating other people?) There was definitely something that I just couldn’t put my finger on. And also with the end of my subscription to Guardian Soul mates looming I wasn’t ready to give up on my last chance of happiness just yet.Although I didn’t initially fancy him it’s like my mum says, these things can grow. (like a tumour). And this was the week that I had read the preface of my Buddhist book again and had really taken note of some of the themes covered like “ be kind to yourself” or “ be kind to others” . I understood the first part. Even just saying you’re a Buddhist can sometimes make you feel at peace with yourself without the inconvenience of delving into the whole religion or reading a whole book on it.

So with this in mind I organised a second date. Ok, he wasn’t my type but he seemed like a decent guy, an upright kinda guy, boring, but wholesome. And more to the point I needed a boyfriend, mainly for something to do on weekends, and a way of saving money by not going out.Going out to pubs and clubs was very expensive these days, and I didn’t think I was any good at it anymore, I mean I was good at it, if anything too good at it, but the rules had changed whilst I wasn’t looking.

During the period when you’re a young teenager to your early twenties its all about getting as fucked up as possible on a night out, drugs, pubs, toilet cleaner, drinkin, smokin, fuckin, fags drinking!. The more crazy and wild you are the better; you are considered “cool” out on a limb, for being a complete fuck wit and wasting your life, the closer to the line you get, the cooler you are. Throughout this period I reigned supreme as one of the coolest people I knew. I was always the most fucked, and drunk at a party, I knew how to “av it”. As I had gotten older I had not changed, I was still binge drinking, getting completely out of it, and living for the weekends, but I could see the turn of the tide. It used to be behaviour that seemed so glamorous and cool previously, now seemed rather pathetic and desperate. All of my friend’s now sipped gin and tonics at small intimate house party’s and discussed their careers and were at home by 10.30pm. I had cottoned on to this shift rather slowly as I was always in some corner of these civilised gatherings, snorting pills off the TV and trying to pull my mate’s boyfriends.

These dating websites wasn’t t just about finding new men, it was also because I had ostracised myself from many of my friends and had just come to the realisation that the “party “ was over and I should try and get a bloke to stay in with where it was safe.

Glass of water (part two)

I would trade interesting and dangerous for wholesome and boring with a sour smile upon my face. My family would be so happy for me. Finally my life would mean something and they would know it, a nice sturdy, trustworthy, boring, cardboard bloke to spend the rest of my life with, I could hardly wait.A boring bloke with no hang ups. We would probably go on weekends to Bath, camping holidays in matching cagoules, go hiking in the summer. Listening to radio4 both in checked shirts, drinking green tea waiting for our home made bread to bake, not really saying anything just with meaningful smiles on our faces.

So I set off on my second date dressed in a checked shirt and cagoule.We had arranged to meet up at Albert’s memorial in Hyde Park, I had no idea where this was, and just stupidly thought it might be on the map of the park on my arrival, I was wrong.I was also late. I telephoned my date on my arrival to the park to ask for directions and after three blusterously windy telephone calls I was still none the wiser as to where he was. I was now walking by the lake following a curious bunch of elderly people being taught how to roller skate by an extremely posh girl with a pink helmet on explaining, “Its not natural to skate, of course you’re going to be nervous.”

Hyde Park is a strange place on the weekend, some alternative universe happening all over it, all I knew was I didn’t want any part of it.A couple more texts and a phone call and we met up an hour later than we were supposed too. I could laugh this off as part of my hilarious ditzy personality. He on the other hand didn’t find it as amusing, after spending about ten more minutes with this guy, I knew it was all over!In the cold harsh light of day, without the crutch of alcohol, I realised he had all the personality and charm of a glass of water. Indeed a glass of water can be quite pleasant at first sip on a hot summers day, however it does lose its appeal after the second or third gulp in which it just becomes tedious, tasteless and boring, not unlike my date.At least we had a focus; we were going to see the Derek Jarmen exhibition at the Serpentine Gallery. I had realised that this wasn’t going to work out because of the tone of his dull conversation.

Any sexual feelings I had for him had dissolved into hatred of every detail of his appearance. In this situation I still try to enjoy what the day had to offer and I escape into my own mind almost like going out on ones own, with company.We walked straight into the film area where we watched an interesting documentary on Derek Jarmin, his works and his life. I was so thankful to be able to watch this film as it meant he couldn’t talk to me and I could lose myself in the screen.After it finished I was sucked back into the boring present, we walked out of the gallery and picked up where we left off with our awkward conversation. I privately disagreed with everything that he said about the film and Derek Jarmin but instead of challenging this I smiled through gritted teeth and said yeah a lot.We left the Gallery and headed for the café. This was a high alert situation for me as I knew that there were two cafes in the park, one of which was a low risk easy affair and the other which was my worst nightmare realised.One, situated by the pool, is quite unpopular which I like. It is more of a snack bar that sells simple foods like triangle sandwiches with no taste and hot brown drink rather tea or coffee, and there is always somewhere to sit.

This is a place I can cope with; available seating and hardly any choice of foods are high on my list when looking for a suitable café. Its just a more pleasant experience for an extremely neurotic person who suffers from many undiagnosed mental health issues.The other café is always really busy, there is never any were to sit, I can never find the cutlery section, its always too noisy and hot, no air conditioning, too much choice, small children, animals, local farms, a zoo, knives hanging from the ceilings and mini explosions and small civil wars happening. Also you always feel like you should leave and that you’re being rushed. You can’t enjoy your meal. The whole experience drives me into a strained panic.Well, the glass of water I was on a date with insisted on going to the latter café of course. My heart sank, what was I going on about was my second thought, it’s just a café, what could be so terrible. What’s the worst thing that could happen? I knew I was lying to myself as these thoughts passed through my mind. I could tell my nerves were getting the better of me, I wanted to leave and make my excuses, but I didn’t want to seem rude and I did want a cappuccino!As we approached the café a feeling of panic began to come over me, my palms began to sweat and I began to have palpitations as I could see the roaring crowds inside.

He was completely oblivious to this and was half way through telling me a second story of why he had fallen out with his best friend and all the whys and were for’s.I hadn’t seen him so passionate about anything before. It was an odd topic to discuss with someone who didn’t know the third party and with someone who you are on a second date with. This kind of moaning is surely only allowed maybe after the 14th meeting. It was exciting to see him enthused about something even if the subject was negative. I realised then that glass of water seemed to have a par excellence for moaning that I admired.I was kind of past caring or really listening to what he was saying with other things on my mind, like my nemesis, the approaching café and also the weather conditions. The tension was escalating. I became frantic about the seating in the café.There was no seating, I could see that. Yes, no seating at all.

My blood pressure was rising higher and higher.I looked outside the café which was virtually empty. Thank goodness. I began to breathe again, it’s all ok, we can sit outside, yes, we can sit outside, and all is well. I focused back to glass of water’s dulcet tones when disaster stuck, rain. Little drops at first, then a full on freak storm. We rushed to the café to keep dry as did every other bastardo in the park.We walked in. The café place was heaving. What a rabble! I could no longer hear anything glass of water was saying as my nerves were at an all time high which makes my hearing go. I stood there stuck to the floor trapped with fear of what was to come. Glass of water shoved a tray into my hand “let’s queue up and get some food he said”Was he mad! Was he completely mad!

Glass of Water (part three)

I thought queuing up would be pointless. How could he suggest this!? Didn’t he know that on getting our food and paying for it we would have nowhere to sit and would be the laughing stock of the café?The shame of having food on ones tray, paid for, with nowhere to sit! Had he not heard of a public hanging?So I suggested we split up.

I could go hunting for a seat and he could get my food in the queue. This went unheard. “We will get a seat don’t worry”. Such a confident glass of water, he somehow prized me off the floor, and dragged me to the food counter.I looked to my left. I couldn’t even see the till and the queue was enormous. I looked around the café, then the queue, then outside the café to the pouring rain, then the queue, then the café, then the rain, queue café rain, queue, café, rain, queue, café, rain. “Can I help you sir”, I almost fainted.“Sorry” a tie dye blonde teenager person stood with an angry look on her face tossing scallops’.

I point to the mash “mash and margarita please”.It roles off my tongue, I’m no longer in control of what I am saying or doing. I am having an out of body experience. All I can think about is the humiliation that is awaiting me at the tills.Glass of water and I joined the queue awkwardly smiling at each other, at that moment I mortally despised him, the way that couples do after 20 years of marriage, but this was only our second date and it had only been 20 minutes!There was shouting, people rushing past us, a commotion. Another till had been opened. I was not fooled into leaving my queue and joining the other, weighing up quickly the pros and cons of such a move. Glass of water on the other hand had jumped queues and taken that risk. It had paid off as he was getting closer to the front.I could almost feel our table. Yes, yes.

Now more shouting was heard. “No hot drinks come to this till”. Everybody scrambled, glass of water was ruthless, he barged and pushed like a tiger in the jungle in a feeding frenzy. Hair and feathers were plucked, teeth were showing, shouting and squealing was heard. This boiled down to middle class English people giving dirty looks to each other and tutting.Who cared, he was near the front and closer to having a table. I was still in the queue for hot drinks. I had wanted to move queues with all the commotion, but my feet were firmly stuck to the floor. Queue changing doesn’t come easy for me at all, in fact it’s virtually impossible, and I was also determined to get a cappuccino to calm my nerves. The hot drinks line was the longest, and as I looked back it was the line full of most hate and anger.

I grew closer to the front of the queue, my blood pressure began to rise again, as I knew I would have to give the waiter my choice of hot drink and would have to speak in front of all these angry people. There was no doubt in mind they wanted my downfall; they were all just waiting for a moment like this for me to slip up.I could feel my body shake with nerves as I approached the front I started to rehearse my choice, “ill have a cappuccino please” “1 cappuccino please”, “cappuccino please”, “1 cappuccino pleases”.

I could feel my throat drying up my heart was in my mouth.“Order please”“One cappuccino now then please, if you please”I screeched, I sounded like a pre pubescent Chihuahua. I looked back at all the queue people sniggering and smirking, they had got what they wanted, lap it up I thought, lap it up!There! There!I spotted him; glass of water was out of the queue, what was he doing? Taking his time with condiments is what. My god, he should be searching for a table and seats. Instead he is wrestling with a small pack of mayonnaise and vinegar. How I hated him.What’s this! Yes, yes, he looks spirited, he’s seen something, he moves fast, he is out of my site. It has to be a table, just gotta be. My mood lightens. I will be able to enjoy my cold mash and margarita in peace. I go and pay at the till and look around. I can’t see him. He must be in some little nook around the corner, thank god.

I begin to enjoy myself at the relief of going to a table in a wonderful nook where I will be able to cast aspersions onto the rest of the clientele in peace.The next thing now was to find the condiments tray and cutlery, one thing at a time. I tried to stay calm. Ah! I saw it in the corner. Great, no worries there. I wonder over and peruse the selection of condiments, salts and peppers. I enjoy my time here now with the threat of no table shame. A thing of the past. I take what I need but there are no metal knifes and forks, only small plastic ones. This is of no real matter, I will cope! Everyone else is in the same boat after all. I take what I need and begin to walk with my tray to find my glass of water. I’m looking around, I can’t see him. Around the corner no sign, then suddenly he bounds around the corner.“Why aren’t you at the table?” I thought u had a tab?” I splutter.“No sorry, there isn’t anywhere“.I looked around, blood rushed to my head, everyone was starring at us, the entire café was just about to all burst out laughing because we had paid for our food and had no where to sit. I could hear it now.

It was coming.“Here “he said.“We will have to ask if we can sit at the end of their table”. What was he thinking, I felt like caviar in a burger. How could we sit here?! These people didn’t want us here which was very clear. We sat next to two rather large Spanish he-she with short cropped hair and stubble. Quite hard to distinguish their sexuality or gender.As I sat down I realised everything I said would be censored. I would speak, knowing that our not to distant neighbours would be ear wigging every word we were saying and judging me. I would have to answer questions to combat what I assumed they had judged about me. My accent became Joan Collins esque and I tried to reference Enid Blyton as often as I could.We relaxed very up tightly in to our meal, my cold mash all around the outside of my mouth as I blankly stared into my margarita pizza. Glass of water was complaining about the terrible service in here.