Get your own Free Home PageLiving in a world of my own None of you are blind But you don't see A non-conformist living in a world of my own I'm told. If that was so, there'd be none like you. So scared, so weak, so selfish, so destructful. so you. Living in a world of my own... I ****ing wish. You devote your time and energy Into making the planet A worse place for everyone. No trees, no nature No animals, no air No fish Living in a world of my own I really ****ing wish. Kate
Lock-ons Lock-ons are hardcore And lock-ons are great lock-ons are well sore by quarter past eight. With big angle grinders Pneumatic drills too I wish that i had just one more can of brew. But i lunched out my stash about three weeks ago and although i've got nothing I'll stick it you know Stig
I tried the vodka and the rosemary oil, and I've sat with the comb for 8 hours toil. I wrestled with long hair savaged the short, and any attempt they do abort. And it really really gets on my tits , this cursed battle I've got with nits.
Ive got a smile upon my belly its gone and turned a little smelly I wonder if we'll get on telly myself my smile upon my belly
When we waked into town we sawr a skuril a rabit and two flower faries and we sawr a horse dint we mum? By Connie, age 4
VIV's first definition of love Words and reasoning take away the seasoning and without any spice you'll never mix up a dish of love
The draft for a poem, written by Tony in a treehouse at the Selar Anti-Opencast Protest Site, night of Friday January 26th 1996. Over the hills wind and ice were breaking electricity supply lines, and the wind chill effect was minus seventeen degrees.
It blows it's searing yet wintry teeth at skin and bones. Rushing like the final gasps of the dying still wrestling for a spark, still trying. This Magnificence upon which I dwell withstood the wind before my grandfather fought and fell. A multitude of life for which it selflessly provided creeping sunwards, its fate undecided. And Oh! So strange that it holds me here. The very same animal that it should fear. Now we witness its last breath together. I learn it provides me, and I will protect it forever. Cruel wind Breath Taker Wind of Change. Changes me Tony. 26 1 96.
Spoken by him in the communal bender at Selar Farm on the evening of the 27th. Most of those in the bender that next evening had an equally intimate knowledge of trees and that wind, reading the draft aloud then hit exactly. Even if Tony has the skill to work it to perfection, nothing will be more effective art than that first rough hewn presentation to those who lived its true context and background.
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