James hollow & shadowed uttering one word at a time so carefully, even at one point saying ‘I’ll say this one word at a time…’ makes a good impression. He himself is clean & chosen carefully from a codex, although thoughtfully appearing somewhat artistic as if then just slapped together, post-choice: like the methods of a brickie working here Jackson-Pollock-ish on grand-final day. If that matters. What does hold water is the Victorian-ness tonight. We all breath it in (including James) and we laze decadent for a while. No-one mentions the sexual tension always rising in times of poor-health.
And there he goes leaving early – I can’t leave him alone in thought – maybe perceiving my intention to offer here him Melbourne beer. Hey there’s definitely a keen parallel at work. Instead of making peace I tease the cat and get wasted in a lackadaisical manner. The rest of the guests are quietly eating cold-green-curry when I wake in the back-yard. I’d creep along the way, check the discourse for my name, but a tattered Roget’s thesaurus bars said way. It lies open at a blank page with a small lizard basking in the night, considering the night. I am disappointed with the way images coalesce, well, lizards bask. James hijacked my day and he sorely deserves an email. You have to get this all under control: and I just know that one is about me.