What this blog isn't

It's not a Leeds-based exploration of the joys and challenges of shaping the mortar between house-bricks so that the rain runs off without undue damage.
Nor is it about looking at, achieving, or maintaining erections of the male variety. That's what the rest of the internet is for.
It's also not about drawing peoples' attention to the beauty of the Aurora Borealis by indicating it with an extended forefinger
It probably isn't SFW[Safe For Work] either (especially if you work in a church) thanks to the liberal sprinkling of profanities, heresies and blasphemies.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

The swansong that wasn’t

This, my argent tongue


This, my argent tongue, distilled

of rough mercuric thought;

acerb dagger tang instilled,

forge and foundry wrought


These, my agile wits, enclosed

steel facts and silver lies;

tributes paid to king reposed

above, behind these eyes


But oh, this argent tongue,

is bitten, swollen, stung;

and my, these agile wits,

are spun of starts and fits


The king is long deposed,

usurped by ague violent;

the forge is cold and closed,

the foundry fallen silent


Now this, my argent tongue,

is stilled; and I am done

My incalculable fortune lost in the crash, my loyal retainers dispersed to the wind, my teeth sold for pasties – it was the worst of times…but now I’m BACK. From Outsize space (please continue making up your own lyrics to disco classic ‘I will survive’ from this point while I try to get a broadband connection to this cave complex in the Maldives up and running. and WATCH PAY SCANT AND DILATORY ATTENTION TO…THIS SPACE.

I thank you.

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