i sit on my hands

\”Pablo had nothing to say on the matter. Nothing of eloquence.\” – ib ▼ FAUST: ICH SITZE IMMER NOCH from \”jUSt\” CD Bureau B (bb182) (DE) 2014

je suis charlie | infidel

\”She stood behind them at the kerb. Hectoring. Bullish, in her taupe anorak.\” – ib There was a crater where the news stand once dispensed, a doctor at large, Charlie. Analgesics. Twists of caffeine percolating through the tables, chairs, pavements loitering inches above the cobbles.     Every time a vest went off it took the wind

asshole

\”It clung to the silks. A smell of mothballs from the coffin, a crack pipe in an unventilated lift.\” – ib Pablo Dillinger was not one to open his mouth much in public. Even when soused.     It was not so much that hawks and doves continually vied for dominion, that was given – one

mindfulness

Their guru passed among them a shallow plateon it arranged some raisins.He invited the shyest to partake of them. She dropped hers on the floorrose clumsily to her feet and collected them up. The guru, a psychiatrist seemingly,rang a handsome Tibetan temple bell three timesso they wiped the sleep from their eyesrolled up their mats

party pooper

\”Water flowed into it. Out of it. It was a place where The Young Team sent off their dead.\” – ib   Just when the old honest fruit remembered its roots, he was reminded he no longer had any confidence in it.      He despised the floral scent which could not quite be expurgated. It clung

smyrna 2:8–11.2

\”…to the end that vacuous Halloween lantern grin of the junkie. Chiseled in sinew and bone.\” – ib Jody the Hat and Pablo Dillinger were just miles into the stretch formerly known as The West Highland Way when they made contact with The Young Team.     Pablo Dillinger squatted in the road. His guts an oily