Have nothing to say today. So if you don’t mind we’ll just stay put & stare at each other. Consider it ‘elevator practice’.
Actually, I heard that elevator taking is fast becoming the latest trendy urban sport & may well feature in the next Olympics.
There are already trained professionals out there. It’s becoming quite popular but newcomers are advised to be equipped with special gloves to press the buttons for each floor & should also make sure they have feet (so they have something to stare at during the embarassing silence when there is more than one person in the elevator.) Amateurs to the sport are broken in gently & asked to take the stairs.

Despite all the hang ups & guilt that can be attached to base pleasures by certain religions, ironically I would say that if savoured properly- certain human experiences bring you very close to god indeed. When you come for example, that climax is accompanied very briefly by some sort of flash where you can be completely persuaded & certain of god’s existence!! Indeed you may even hear yourself calling out his name!….”Christopher Lillicrap!” (as in- a once children’s presenter on british tv- He should be god in my book with a name like that) Then, just as suddenly as it came- the snapshot is gone. The clouds appear, the light fades & you melt into your surroundings. You’re an animal now, not an egotistical individual. An integral part of the whole puzzle, the ticking of the clock. You are contented in the shadows, lying by the fireplace(the fireplace is wearing sexy lingerie.)
Then you fall into a deep sleep & don’t hear the alarm next day-when it’s time to go to mass. Sinner!

It is said that certain drugs can multiply ones capacities tenfold…What happens though, when someone is dumb to start with?

When an airplane explodes, the so called “black box” always seems to remain intact…Why don’t they construct planes using the same metal?

If I was to ask a taxi driver to take me home in reverse…When we reached my place,- would it be him who owes ME money?

Deaf people communicate using sign language…How do they tell each other a secret?…Do they wear mittens?

(Joe Kittinger)
I like balloons they are light & shiny & floaty-especially when filled with helium as you know. Also, if a balloon is big enough- let’s say, the size of my grandad’s Y-fronts, it can carry you up up & away- With a bit of preparation, sometimes as far as the very boundaries of our earth’s atmosphere. Joe Kittinger IS Balloon Boy. Before the days of NASA, in the nineteen fifties & early sixties- the US airforce were carrying out not so much rocket launches, as manned expeditions to the edges of space using the rather more ‘down to earth’ mode of transport that is the hot air balloon. These balloon launches were known as the “Manhigh” projects. Joe was the lonely soul that sat in the glorified soup tin each time, armed only with his courage, a pair of aluminium socks & the knowledge that if he inhaled all the helium from his craft-he’d have the best voice ever which is always nice. These various ascensions at different altitudes, culminated on the 16th August 1960, when Joe was lifted by his balloon “Excelsior III” to an altitude of 102,800 ft!
Joe probably shouldn’t have done it-he lost pressure in his right glove, causing extreme pain from the blood pooling in his hand. But he didn’t feel that was enough to cancel the mission, so he went ahead. Excelsior III kept climbing until it reached 102,800 ft-the highest altitude yet reached by a manned balloon. But Joe wasn’t finished.
Outside, the temperature was -100 deg.F. Joe Kittinger stood on the edge of the gondola,my grandad’s Y-Fronts suspended above him like a huge silent question mark. Looking down at the New Mexico desert 20 miles below, he said “Hey! I can see my house from here!” followed by “Lord, take care of me now….” and then he jumped .

.

Escape from him, escape from her, escape from this, escape from that. But above all, escape from this shite poem.

This here is “an random experiment” which means I’m typing after having downed about fifty pints & watched the rugby. I think I should have gone home when I was convinced that the referee had just tackled the Italian Full-back. Anyway, right now- I feel like a bit of Prince- he’s from Minnesota & is related to Bilbow Baggins in a Hobbit (pretending I know loads about “the Lord of the Rings”) type way.Anyway he’s nice, I’m sure you’d agaree (if not, down fifty pints & ask him to marry you):
Unfortunately, our kid “Prince” is still residing in his own rectum, so we are unable to publish any videos involving his “Princesnessitude” & help the cause of the vertically challenged peoples. So, not to worry- there’s always Julie Andrews as the warm up band…She is Julie Andrews after all- don’t mess:

(don’t get too carried away- she goes to the toilet like everyone else)

Bonus track: A video from that very talented artist- Prince! Who just happens to look alot like my cousin Antoine who is a very talented video artist (he however, does not go to the toilet, but i love him all the same):

Once upon a time, spring 2005 to be precise. I was making my way from A to B on line 6 of the parisian metro system. It spans from Etoile (where the Arc de Triomphe & Champs Elysées are, to Nation (Place de la Nation, where there is a statue in the centre of some lass who goes by the name of “La République”, standing on a swanky old cart which is being towed by lions. I think the current mayor of Paris who is somewhat ecologically minded, should look into promoting this form of transport in the city as an alternative to the car. Anyway, the square used to be called “Place du Trone” during the reign of Louis XIV, but after the events of the revolution- was renamed “Place du Trone Renversé” which basically means “Upturned throne square” Vive la république & all that, but they were pretty crap at naming public places. There may well even have been some places in Paris at that time called “Marie Antoinette who had big hair & used to have a total disregard for us ordinary folk, so we chopped of her head & that..Street” Anyway, it’s place de la Nation now & most people associate it with the terminus of line 6 of the metro system rather than a historic landmark)
So, I was making my way from A to B on line 6 heading in the étoile direction. I quite like this particular line as the train comes out of the tunnel at one point & makes it’s way over a bridge from one bank of the river to the other. There are always Ooohs & Aaahs from tourists as the carraiges trundle past the Eiffel tower, which you can see from quite close up standing magestically on the banks of the Seine. After that brief flash of space accross the river, you are once again swallowed up into the buildings of Paris on each bank, passing windows of people’s living rooms. The inhabitants of which, fleetingly look as if they are blogging infront of a computer (maybe about how they are sick to death of the sound of the metro trains & people staring into their living rooms.)
On that particular day on the train I stood up from my seat when I knew I was approaching my station. Also, to take in the view when the train crossed the river. Whilst gazing out of the window, I felt the buzz of my mobile phone in my pocket.
Flashback to England a few months earlier…My father had been diagnosed as having an early form of Altzheimzer’s disease & as my brother & I are living abroad, we had the family in England to keep us abreast of his progress when we could’nt be with him ourselves.
On agreement with us, my dad’s sister & brother were instrumental in taking the first step to move him from assisted living in his flat- to a permanent care home. My uncle Dick had found the place in his town, on the East coast of Essex. So my father moved from Manchester down south on neutral ground, where he did’nt know anyone apart from uncle Dick. Dad was seeing more of him than anyone else. It was a comfort for me to know my father was’nt on his own anymore & had his brother living literally down the street. We never saw much of uncle Dick when we were growing up. he was always quite absent from the family. These events brought us closer together in a way.
Anyway, on that train some months later, I feel the buzz of my mobile phone in my pocket. It was uncle Dick. “Hello Dick, great to hear from you!” - “It’s about Bob (my dad)” - “I was going to phone you Dick, to get some news. How’s he settling into the place- is he alright?” - “NO” (he said in an abrupt way) “He’s dead.”
I can’t remember what we said after that. I got off the train at Trocadéro & walked into a bar. Sat down & gazed out of another window. Alone with my beer.
You would have thought that line 6 would be for me forever associated with that phone call. It is, but only last night, I travelled on it & did’nt feel a thing.

(… surtout s’il n’as pas de bouche.)