this is not what you are meant to be doing you are meant to be doing
something useful, why are you carrying on as I hit my keyboard keys like its
my wife when you should be working.
The pretty young man with the coat under his arms, the pretty young woman
with the coast under her legs, the entirety of land. Walt, where are your
hands taking me?
Dear reader, if I thought you might elbow your way into the Random House
office with lemon sherbet hidden inside your handbag of lemon sherbet, I would
turn you around. Dear reader, its no, never. I know you reader.
"the seaside is where you belong, gentle soul yourself, the seaside
is surely where you belong, where you can free the whales and harpoon the
humans. Some humans have no respect for the gentle souls. Avoid them
at all costs. Who is the whale messiah anyway? Go have a meeting with
him/her/it/ and bash your heads together, make sure your wailing from the
You in the frown and two eyes:"
Last time I wrote something about the environment. I'm sick of the
environment. It's old.
Nothing of use can be learnt here, but since we're friends now, I will leave
you with some advice: Stop wearing shoes, there are already so many shoes.
Stop listening to me, there are already so many others like me. Stop fitting
in, there is nothing fitting in here.
I imagine you are home alone listening to the rain fall. The rain that is
making a waterfall.
I imagine you r crying.
I imagine that since I wrote that u were a bad girl that you think I am a bad
I imagine you are right.
Dear Patience, there are no friends for you in this world, u are an
ectoplasm, you are an inorganic organ.
Dream, Patience, there are clouds for you. Here, tiens. Do not cry. There are
whole oceans in red and violet waiting for you.
I imagine you know what to do by water Sir. Dear. Don't do it.
Dearest P, since we are the same species I will share something with you. I
am not alone. I have never been alone. But you are crying and it makes me sad.
I reflect Sir. I reflect Why.
I imagine you don't know that I love you.
I imagine that you don't know I have always felt this way.
Dear Mark, dear Luke, dear Rupert, Dear Poppy, Dear Anthony, Dear Healah,
Dear Simon Marsham, dear Dearest of all dears Gizem: there are no nouns in
black and white soup. There are no e males in a mega drive. Here is my
human heart. Hear the best. Hear the beat.
I am on a pine floor wearing blue shorts. No socks. Penny Cruz above.
Dear Patience. I am Forgiving you. You r weak, after all.
It's my time you're wasting. Not your own. Dear Sir.
Dear Reader #2
Go to the last line and laugh. Go to the penultimate line and pretend to
Lock yourself indoors. There is a storm brewing.
Dear reader, I'll crow bar the title in, I promise you one day everything
will be alright. aain your not perfat this is not what you shold r shouldn't
be doing you are ll in a mess again, you will find nohing here.
Dear reader, allow me to dance like a nymph inside your beautiful body, the
sky is closing around the city and the city is full of smoke, by the East
River there are bagpipes playing the Munich choirs. Brandenburg. The fall.
CafŽ 42 is closed. The choirs that play the white colour of the bagpipes, in
white down spine. There is a summer breeze around the sexual organs of
beautiful creatures, plastic objects and the fog horns.
© Charlie Baylis 2014