BANG BANG CHICKEN finger lickin NAIL GUN fluffer
BANG BANG CHICKEN finger lickin NAIL GUN fluffer
Wulla wulla is as good a title for an e-mail as any. The Midi theatre is in a pit of fire, pork and chicken, burnt desires and the recessionary passion cloud and Adje who is he? They missed the n out of my name as I lay eating grapes in my Roman period Pernod or Pastis or Absinthe or Hertog Jan Duke John Dukie in your Australian Shouf Shouf Habibi accent, Tilburg is Australia if you’re honest, this is how we do and I met Babapapa and Babalola in the new Heuvel, strips of grass we danced on them and caught the water in our cartoon mouths; the Midi theatre is in trouble already, in the midst of a provence sunflower field acid trip and Brixton is in south London, electric Avenue, the market, used to pay 90p for a ticket innit, out the fuckin tube, spare some change and the Beastie Boys wore white boiler suits and string moved to an electric pulse created by a strong virus introduced into an assymetrical hairstyle, not complex meanings but complex structures, overlapping balconies, Omar coming, got them red tops, doo dah dippedy so yes I guess it’s true, dust; those roots in the air are like aliens, like totally, Bartels thinks he’s more extrovert than most Tilburgers, straw hats to cover their penises and their cunts in baskets; walk straight lines from Saturn to Jupiter and Peter Peace picked peppers and zucchini and didn’t cook it like a sponge, hear me out hear me up beam me up dream me up a cup of soup, potataoes, pancetta, cabbage, chicken stock, rock, clock gone back to attack a rhythm track, aliens souind whck with their un funny beeps; the hanging gardens of Goirle, gardens waste space no they fucking don’t, Plus in the Besterd Plein is shit, Plus in the Peter peace is better, Jumbo is surpisingly herby but the colours are wrong, paint at least one wall in your house yellow, 10 years of Cul de Sac, Cul de Crap, why we keep coming back, I’ll tell you, it’s great, fucking friendly, dancing in the pit, ain’t outta whack; tight jeans, baby got back, male babboons horny for swollen red ass, grotestque to us, babboons changed into a lion, ran down the hill like a tank, Elivis was a hero to some, needed some dancing to chase grief away, clicks revolving to jazz soup, echo my feelings, mmm yeah, all this dreaming, the red top kept coming undone and loose ow ow oww increased buzzing sound as i cycle through these streets of sulphur, the blossoms are on fire in the Lancierstraat, there are demons dancing in the branches and the sand between the klinkers is hopping up and down like chickens from Ulicoten, not St Michelsgestel, or Reusel, which is not spelled the same way as reuzel you use to make a pastry, pate sable or fry bacon stringy sentences streaky bacon. Do you know Simon or Frank? Sanne or Nicolas? I hate typing the word e-mail; it’s the hyphen, the tussen streetpje, strapped for cash, paint your face black, sell them stereotypes Black Pieter, embarassing racial caricature, stream of consciousness random vomit on a apple, tightly controlled couplets and strings up ya ass and a bikini line. Universal remote, tight jeans, green boots, La Poubelle, lovely wood, bullshit gates of hell, the Irish pub, are you ready? Do I care? Will you give me a plume? I’ll stick it in the average glory piss hole wild pissing for 90 euros, if you questiona tradition, they’ll spike your balls on bull horns, Carmen tapenade, chorizo and how to pronounce bruschietta? English breakfast world wide domination, universal remote, it’s not unhealthy to be usual. Chicken curry breakfast mmmmm. The ducks are back so we can dive with them and climb tilapia to Peter peace, Tilburg is Australia, duck breast and marmalade sauce, blueberry tax return, it’s true dat, dust the red top, swivel the IQ mop dreaming of a balcony stadsheer championed by Nick, pickled pepper peter peace the Greek, but the colours are wrong, grey? Say on, say nohow on, dippedy Cul de sac, herbs, 10 years, out of nappies after 2 and a half, now waiting to be told about fucking, funny beeps, cheap peep, Academy of cock, sulphur small protest too much, muffin tops, greasy cheap chocolate, don’t scrimp on food, buy 86 asparagus, mockery of crockery, broken by La Poubelle, Jan Schellekens, daddy why is his nose running? Cuase he’s fuckin cold what you think? The esteemed hanging gardens of Goirle, Kijk Bosschkens!! Chicken Little Chicken Shittle. No space wasting gardens, live in green, green shoes, mental stream of consciousness diaretic, buzzing sound in my ears, branches and bees, grotesque babboons, ache nie opschiet kunde het schudden, paint one wall yellow, with violet freckles and violent heckles, chase greif away, wandelbos, il neige, il neige sur Liege. they missed the N outta my name. Adrew Adje Achoo Bless You They did they do they be BB gun be RUSTIG RUSTIG pop
