Hank Marvins Ferocious Underpants

Hank Marvin's ferocious underpants spat razors over the wedding cake and guests leaving everybody sliced carnage all wet quiff quiff quiffing on Gideons choking lambretta which spewed like clockwork marzipan soldiers when viewed through stained glass windows looks a very sorry sight to the kings of Leon who can be seen flopping around like half slain turtles dressed in free form anoraks on the wedding guest list on the flippy girders on the side of girders flippy like large worms in batter setting fire to women's underwear just to be on the safe side of east street turbulence ramshackle pastry brush existence where all men are rectangles all women are circles all cats are dogs and all dogs are just about able to raise a smile but only when women naked but for a grin are stuffed erotically full of thick hard pumping and positively enormous flatulence cakes

What a disaster all weep weep weeping
For poor ole Hank
And his ferocious underpants
The wedding was ruined by cake smash gymnasts
And the guests were disgusted
By what they had been put through

Oh what a frightful disaster snivel wet snivel
For poor ole Hank
And his ferocious underpants
The party was truly over by the ringing of last orders
And the guests were all now gone
Leaving poor Hank alone on the dance floor

This cut-up was constructed during  winter of 2001 and is taken from one piece of prose, but is re-arranged in places for a more surreal feel to the piece.

                                                                                                    By Spartacus Mole

The wicked window

The wicked window creaked a small toad and left itself wide open and panting for mercy as a twiddle diddle dumpling rolled it's fat oaf rotund girth onto a long flesh tongues lashing like a pirates whip yet ever so ready for a good fisting when needed in a rush he would starve himself naked then pop two mouldy cherries into his gondola which was always pissing rainbow spray over rusty buckets although he wished that the bucket was not where it was at that point in time but still none the less meant it no harm but felt it needed to learn a stiff lesson especially when flatulent in flowered gown all starched solid stale by the sheer presence of 'Dark Norris' and his hanging length of homicidal duck tweed trousers

Oh why am I so wicked
Oh why do I creak so
Oh this torturous life of Monkeydom
Being a wicked
Wicked window

Wicked
Creak
Wicked
Wicked
Wicked
Creak
Wicked
Wicked
Wicked
Creak
Wicked
Wicked
Wicked
Creak
Wicked
Creak
Wicked
Little window

This piece of cut-up, and prose was written back in Spring 2006.

They are both based on separate pieces, but have a very subtle link that threads them both together.

By Spartacus Mole

Men with dead fingers

Men with dead fingers
Stand naked
And taught
Draped in ashtray leftovers
And left crying inside loose bowel canals...


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Captain Beefheart



"Fast and Bulbous"

This brilliant drawing is of Don Van Vliet aka "Captain Beefheart", and is on the front of a Birthday card very kindly created for me a few years ago now by a good friend of mine called Skeats aka "The Big Swell". Check out his music on http//thebigswell.bandcamp.com for more of an insight into a very cool guy, and a very good friend of mine.

                                                                                                                By Heston Quiff

Car melting liquid wax

Red rubberised car melting liquid wax onto a simple truck stop a car melting liquid wax car a melting liquid wax towards instant nowhere parcels covered in liquid wax car melting holes all over my pinnacle pineapple wax car melting liquid wax over a storm eye liquid car juice melting wax to ....



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Alchemy of Sorrow

Alchimie de la douleur

one lights thee with his flame, another
puts in thee — Nature! — all his gloom!
what says to this man: lo! the tomb!
cries: life and splendour! to his brother.

o mage unknown whose powers assist
my art, and whom I always fear,
thou makest me a Midas — peer
of that most piteous alchemist;

for 'tis through thee I turn my gold
to iron, and in heaven behold
my hell: beneath her cloud-palls I

uncover corpses loved of old;
and where the shores celestial die
I carve vast tombs against the sky.

Thank you Mr Baudelaire....