I can see clearly now that kevin has gone.

It was written somewhere......
This plateau is our training ground. To judge what is right or wrong is impossible there is no good nor bad there is only what is.
The unknown is unknown untill we meet it face to face then we can judge. WE need to abandon mac's, back pack's, Microsoft and leather then we can repent our mothers and fathers mistakes. Keep the mask on for the minute and work to make the wheel go around.
peace.

Britains most notorious serial killers

Caleb the notorious bum hole sniffer Fahey. In late may 2008 he stole his victims from a local nursery and sniffed their bum holes for full hours before teaching them obscenities and releasing them into their parents arms with pockets full of crack cocaine and German midget pornography. Only to send the school bus full of worried single mothers and future spongers into a fiery pit of their unholy demise. He then took pictures to post on his Facebook group "Bum hole sniffers of the world unite." all to a soundtrack of nursery rhymes remixed to a techno remastering. When questioned by police he stated;

"When sniffing children's bum holes one achieves an all mighty high similar to that on LSD, Crack, DMT and Meth. The rest just sort of merged into the trip. Though i am glad you caught me, because i next planned to hit retarded children in third world countries or to take the prime ministers nan to a brothel in Amsterdam on a cocktail of hallucinogenic substances, whether she is dead or not with a little bit of Vaseline no body would know the difference."

Caleb Bum hole sniffer Fahey shows signs of drug induced schizophrenia and psychosis, but it is all right because we locked him up and Gordon's nan is safe. So you just sleep tight knowing the country is going down the pan and your life is seemingly normal in comparison to this sick psychopath.

Forget me not.

I do what i do to forget.

Forget what she asked?

I can't remember.

She laughed assuming i actually had a sense of humor.

I smiled thinking i can't actually remember.

Dear all Scene Kids,

For me you are far too cool to comprehend. Topped to brim with the latest fashion. Alas you are cunts who really missed the point. People are cool not the clothes they adorn or their favorite songs. I am asking kindly if you would please just suffocate yourselves or move to an island with all your similar friends where you can mill around all day and talk about the latest trends, like suitcases and dated braces. Self obsessed in the worst possible way. Get off your pedestal and spit out your silver spoon, or you may lead me to force feed you cement and throw you in the Thames to build a new bridge. A bridge made from failures and those who think they are better than us.

Thank you and Fuck you.

Dont go to Canning Town.

As another gloomy winter morning rears it’s head, i can think of a million places id rather be than canning town. Amongst the council estates and warehouses you’d assume there was an ounce of good nature, but i can’t find it. Don’t smile at passers by they will only think it strange, just keep fixated on the floor and pass through. It is six in the morning and things are already heating up. A police car outside a corner shop parked in a way which only can mean he they aren’t there to shop. Locals eyes look me up and down, brows narrow to form a frown. Out here i am too strange to bear, is it because of my clothes or is it my hair?
A drunken man stumbles in front of a car with his arm in the air stopping oncoming traffic and another police car arrives to get him back to the pavement. I must plan my escape from this godforsaken place. I have to ask a local for change for the bus. As i ask her the question her gargoyle features crease and instead of replying she just stares into the road. I take it as a good sign she doesn’t steal my soul as well, and walk to the nearest petrol station. I plead for the number of a local taxi rank. The shrew behind the counter can see i am in distress and i can tell he enjoys giving me no help what so ever. Oh lord, i must get away from this. I am stuck in some kind of unfriendly pit that time forgot. I start to believe there is something wrong with me, that i am making these people act like arse holes.
Looking at the many ugly tower blocks i wish to see a nuclear bomb. A beautiful mushroom bloom from the pavement reducing this shit heap to mere rubble. I get change and receive more strange looks. I feel like i have faeces smeared on my face or something to antagonise these people. Finally at the bus stop i wait. I see only blank, bleak faces. Something in the air has stripped everyone of their soul. There are no colours here. The man who was stopping traffic does the same and sits next to me. He talks about the police telling him to stop stopping traffic and hands me a book about god. I never knew i would find god in canning town and i never really wanted to find him, however i did and he was drunk covered in scars. The bus appears on the horizon the last ticket out of this nightmare. I abandon god and board probably the best ride of my life. As i look back i sincerely hope this is the last il see of canning town.

SIRE! beware o' the Schluurrrrbbbbb!!!

Beware of the schlurb. He is wanted for selling bad acid and crimes against the soul. Last seen milling around a warehouse somewhere in london. There is a hefty reward for anyone who can catch the schlurb. The image above is just an artists impression, however it is quite acurate. Please help stop this madman.