The Road of Broken Glass (Love Song For Laura May)

bondage

Bless him. She wished to see this great love in herself that had manifested…she dreamed of a man asleep but aware and he took her in the grass. In the meadow, amongst the flowers and the beautiful things that were in it. Asleep still he took her and showed her stars and things that she could not comprehend. Inside her his Son, who would know not the subtle pains of the Eigengrau and live and breathe the airs of that place. What Heaven it is to walk and sense the glorious land he would live within? , and eventually die of course as was the want of those who had not tasted the Eigengrau and its bitterness. Her crime to bring him here was no crime at all but the subtle mind to send him for him to teach in his knowledge those that had become tangled in the Eigengrau. Can we not love too?

Entangled we are, as we are. Was not this man sent by a Goddess? To give love and wisdom to the Peoples of the Eigengrau? Here he could learn the pains and the torn hearted existence we lead, here he could love and hate, breathe the fires of knowledge. Return and thus point the way…

Did you learn pained upon the cross of Yew? Did you not see the lands of your Father and cry to him. Did you not see him wake and cradle you to his breast? Your hand pointed the way, to his Brothers gathered at his feet he said ‘You see this?’ We are but Directors of a Great and Awful show…

What is the point, this Magic burns a hole. To tap words upon a wand, to wander blind paths. We find a sick point to seize and manipulate, and write a collection of lies we weave and believe. From the Abyss a secret word, a delicate pose. A special fire to kindle and tend. Coated in a shellac of innocence to burn off, as we we chip and file the barren wastes of our minds. On the Hill forsaken a single voice uttered into the wind caught and flung away. Annihilated souls sicken loves to cheer and bray.

I look down at my hands and see the Eigen has split the skin at the wrists and the blood flows freely into the African sands. I draw Sigils in the sands with mine own blood and pull my hood further down over my face so the Brothers will not stop their own manipulations. Sire the greedy words and adjust their meaning, I pull the magic from the Eigen and plough back through times that have passed. My sin a greater thing than this man’s but….I see others, and they call to me…

How was I to know the way you would perform the Magic tricks that have captured me? That turn into sensuous feelings, gentle licks…upon your neck so sweet and violent. I am a ragged robber and I receive no blessings, no sunken cross or relics just dry wrung hands.

Now I fear the end to come, the end a final road to travel down and this madness will end. A fear inside of what’s left to bear, or a scrap of paper and a stinking poem no one reads. A pleasure I suppose unlooked for, a crowd of cops, a deserted alley, what you did….abandon me. To let an idle hand slip, a warm hand into my lap, to veil my eyes with delights and free things to love. Other hands are calloused with desire and hate for us. We see you for what you are, a simple lonely shining Star clad in your Red dress while upon the screen in Black and White they murdered and loved. While foul things called men settled in soft chairs, in clouds of smoke. They watch.

“We should go to the cinema, they have air conditioning, it’s so hot like a desert in fact. Once we were in the Mojave and….” She speaks and moves around the Hotel room. I lower the gun again, the Cops blood still on the toe of my shoe, even though I shot him Years ago.

“Bring back some Whisky, afterwards of course, get drunk here in the Hotel instead of going out, I don’t like the people here, they are strange and frighten me….” Her voice beautiful, confusing. I have not anything to say. I closed my eyes earlier and I saw Prison walls that were not mine, not part of me. Confused, I just sat like a fool listening, waiting to die.

Were we too intent upon our own fast beating hearts. We suffered no gladness, no clear way through but expected a grisly end to us. To accept gladly the sullen whip, to gather soft fantasies and joy inside made us free for a while, and I could forget the things that split open my head every day with keen edge. To break free from the awfulness of being a prerequisite to lie to cheat and steal.

In the darkness my Sweetest heart, the Geometry rolls asunder, peeled back eyes, organs burst as steel rounds batter their flesh and they die. This confused thing freaked allowed to be born, a lost Boy lies on lush green lawns and thinks about presenting gifts to her under the Chestnut tree. In this thing we call a life, a suffered land of hate and strife, to live free or die…a trusted heart turned vicious liar. Betrayed I am to be. Dillinger never stops dreaming of Prisons and the strange lives of others.
In the circle of charcoal Dillinger sits and the Geometry flows from the lines to the walls and the sad pictures on the walls of the Hotel room turn over and are lost to him. The floorboards turn and are gone, replaced by piss stained grey concrete. There are scratches on the walls, more geometry, this place is not real, it is false. His mind is turned inside out. Eigenwise, EigenLost. Torn apart.

They wonder at scrawls on Cell walls still, in that Prison I walked from crooked of a fucking hard kick to the balls. I have Occult knowledge and sense of dread tired now of a life too sickened and full of blood. There is a connection too, with better things,we cease to understand them or allow any knowledge and our tired hearts beat softer songs,lulled into sleep that lasts. There was a man within that cell, sat as Dillinger was upon the floor, his legs crossed and waiting within a hastily scrawled circle dotted with sigils and designs, like him. There was the voice of a man that cut through the Eigen as a knife through softest tissue. It reverberated within the cell and Dillinger was thrown out, cast out away from it and away from the man sat upon the floor. Dillinger needed to speak with him yet he knew not what for…
“You little fucker, I asked you not to contact her again and you refused, you kept on talking to her, even though I asked you not to. The Cancer is still in you, it still thrives”. The voice was colder than sad rain. Dillinger was stood in the street and he didn’t know how he got there.

A car back fired in the street and Dillinger started with shock, gunfire or not and reached to his hip, the guns that were not there. His escape route denied, left in a Hotel room, he never knew if he left them there on purpose, knowing the time had come. Perhaps it was a missed thought, a left wallet or handkerchief. A bead of sweat flew off his forehead, it was still hot even though the day was almost done. The Advertising pyramid on top of the Hotel now a black monolith, still threatening, still pierced his heart. A moment ago he was sat within one of those circles he made when he was low, now he was stood on this street and the noise of it made him confused. His lip trembled with fear, he felt like weeping. He had been here before but he didn’t know why, only the fear.

Time does not flow, time, here does not exist only observation. The eye catches the story woven and stops it pure and simple. It stops and it is woven back into another story, another set of simple observations as our senses still the night for just a simple second. Dillinger balled his fists, bit his lip hard. She was near him, close. But away from him, at a distance, the fear in him allayed by the lack of fear in her. That dress she never took off except to fuck, he would have expected it to be cleaned but it never was, it just stayed clean and the ground waved and moved throwing him off balance a little as the minor truths made major changes to his view of the street.

The Cops still dotted the street but they were not looking at him, he was another body, another thing to be controlled and herded. They kept their guns on show, a hand upon them fondling them, teasing them like cocks. She had stopped at another shop window, shoes, the window was full of them and he looked at his face instead reflected back and it seemed the face of that Longinus too was etched over it like a badly exposed film and behind both of them the people, the Cops moved like ghosts.

“We love this” she said, moved slightly to his side, a gentle reassuring touch. “I love this although it seems like a dream, the material”. She was looking at another Red dress. This was the window of a Dress shop, Dillinger could see himself in the reflection of the window, the advertising pyramid behind him a black triangle. The reflection a mere mural of sorts, an art perhaps.

The Road To AMORC (The Treasure Thief)

Sophia

“I have never seen so much Money John!”. She laughed and shoved her hands deep within the large Carpet bag he had stashed the Bills within. There was close on Thirty Thousand dollars in there. The smell of it made him feel sick, made the ache in his side shiver. He could see spots of blood on the handle of the bag, in the fine stitching, stained.

“It’s all ours Baby” He said and smiled, although he had shot a Man for it and that mans eyes had burned within Dillinger like hot weld for the three days since they had held up the cash house, a small Bank in Charlestown Iowa. He shifted a little on the leather seat, his hands tighter now on the wheel, eyes dead and ahead. She idly placed her delicate hand in his crotch as they drove, and she smiled at him, her eyes Black. That voice within him again always like a friend at times, but at others a mess of words he never understood. These voices a part of him like an arm or a leg. Her mouth vomited the sigils as she spoke and laughed. The symbols meant nothing to him and yet he would scrawl page after page of them.

“I know you love to draw, wouldn’t it be nice if you drew me, naked” She said. How did she know he was thinking of those hours spent on his belly outside in the sun. Sketching firm lines into abstract shapes that to him, meant everything.

“I could finger fuck myself as you sketched”, she looked straight at him, but his eyes were fixed on the road and on the horizon. In his mind words formed as she closed her eyes, a voice cracked and old, then.
The voice casts words at him, forms them in his mind and sometimes he cannot tell where their voice begins and his own does end. “Your anger, this blackness foul infects and it is lost within the sheets for bitter thankless sex we turn and are lost to them, and never found but we try to bless and utter simple prayers, but we are lost, but seek always, keep on breathing the air”.

Her hand again moving constantly upon him as he tries to concentrate on the ribbon of road. She tips back her head and laughs, her breasts jiggle, enticed he is, animalistic, predatory and violent but really, none of them.

Dillinger shoved the Revolver into the Cops mouth knocking out a Tooth on the way and that tooth fell onto the floor between them. For a moment Dillinger was mesmerised by it. The Cop was choking and kicking his bloodied legs trying to escape the hand of this Demon with Guns. Dillinger looped the Cops Neck tie around his fist tight and dragged him over the smooth Marble floor of the Bank, over to the door. People screamed, even the few men folk in there, a mixture of Farmers and tradesmen, Women holding Bank books, a few kids hungry and amazed. There was a speck of blood on his shoe that looked like Oil against the Patent Black leather.

‘What will you see?’ Dillinger whispered into the Cops ear. The Cop looked angry, violent and this pleased Dillinger, gave him some awful courage to do what he had to do next. Dillinger cocked the hammer of the Revolver and looked away so he didn’t get blood on his face when he fired…..but.

“Not now”, Dillinger asked the Ether, the river of shit, the Bank became dim as if a dust storm had suddenly descended upon them. The frightened patrons of that place became as Ghosts, their eyes had no sparkle and they became as Puppets as his mind flipped away. Henry holding the Thompson Machine Gun rushed to hold Dillinger erect as he slipped away again, to another place for a moment. The road was straight as an arrow. Iowa, the United States of America. 1934…..

They had marched up and down the outside of the cell all day, laughing, pissing underneath the door. He was tired and angry, that anger that makes your chest feel like solid lead. He leapt up from the Urine damp concrete floor and laughed at them through the narrow crack between the door and frame. He abused them as they marched up and down the cast Iron walkway. ‘Fuckers and Bastards’. ‘Who am I?’ he asked himself, but nobody answered. He held his head in his hands, they were scarred with work and filth covered them. There was no time here, just the Prison, passionless and void.

I see them all and love them, as I loved another a long time ago. This thing we play within, this strangeness, this story to confuse the ablest of Minds. One would be watching the sky through an Oldsmobile window and for him at least it was a Yellow Brass, hot and sultry. A day for Dogs to bite and Birds to sit on branches farting as they watched the world fly by. What was the Window like for the others? One would be watching a small square of fly splattered glass high on a wall of a Cell. There this man would only look to see the same scudding Blackness of the Clouds lit only by the occasional burst of pain filled lightning.

Often he would laugh and bury his face in his hands so the Black clad Guards wouldn’t hear him. Another would be watching Fairies dance in the Clouds as the Morphine they pumped into him held him aloft and free, without much of a care, just waiting to die, blessed by the Golden airs of the Opium Poppy. Turned by the soft hands of hard and tired Nurses.

Lets try to remember the shaded subtle spots in our lives and those horror filled times as thoughts expected not to see but to heal for the shadows lie and the heart doesn’t feel, just yet. What do you do know, those times are past?

It seems to me that we deny every reality but pick up your phone again to see what strange things you have done to me as I sit and listen to the Brothers clad in Black. Try to see the Golden paths, the life we have is past and gone but pressure ties the bonds between us and is strong. We are edged and bright and the cold stills the night outside the Hospital. The anger you held up for me is lost in the pain I have now but send a text message and a forbidden word quick! Read it before he sees. I will sit and let my head touch the floor and my heart bleed. I fear the spiral and feel the burn but don’t let your heart be lost and never fill with lust again. Besides our own griefs that of the street outside where the learned weep and the Holy plot their lies. Be content, for the children make Magik signs in chalk on the concrete slabs. We hurry past them and avoid their looks.

I know your lips are dry again but I cannot believe we save ourselves by taking the sorrow in greed, filling ourselves with it, drunk on it. Ever present is the sore question in need of an answer but my false words turn around in forensic circles as you pick apart the false Gods from the liars and thieves. I put a lock of hair behind your ear, and my hand catches a warm fat tear that tracks across your face but you turn your eyes away and this fluid errant phase is lost in the cold and the Police are driving past slow. They watch us.

The Bank has a cool Marble floor for his gentle head and he sees beside him machinery that blinks with a thousand lights and those lights become stars outside a Prisoners window and for a second at least the Prisoner is cooled but the Patient knows nothing but the voice. I sit and listen to them. The cries of the wounded ones and the Black clad Wizards speak as one and even I feel their words move past my formless lips.

The words fall as water into the sands. Their litany is sick and we say “Stare awhile you demon thieves for the loss of this one makes me believe our senses are gone and our loves are lost. We shadow the secret spots and take a stronger hand and you know the lives we lead are scraped in blasted sands. Send them to glass and beyond the Gods hateful fire for the Great Manipulators crown still stands, we are the Kings of Liars” and every word is scourged upon my flesh. Every word a clamour, a smashing of great Bronze bells within the confines of English Shires. Hedged and screened they are.

Riddles and lies that is all, they seek to confuse and are confused themselves. Will they understand these plots I weave?, I know not. But above us an Eagle cries in the heat, flying upon the thermals generated by the Sun upon the sands. A Brother raises a handful of sand, he is three away from me and I shift my gaze to see what he is doing, I have never seen this before but now he speaks and in my mind I hear his words, his voice as rusted steel sheet. “Astoleth” he speaks and my mind is lost. From the desert to a cold place. Birmingham England. 2009. It is Winter and the snow that fell over the past week is still present, frozen and cold on the roads and paths. I stand on a doorstep and from the mind of the Patient a description of that moment as he rolls it around his addled sick dying mind.

The Patient mouths the words and says, “To seek those who circle the world we try and blast the seeds of our love to ages past but I’m losing sight of you now as the threads of your life grip tight. I see myself as a ghost but I still stand six inches above the floor on that doorstep in the snow and ice. But I struggle and I try and the tears in the hot Hospital ward slowly dry. But nobody explains anything to me any more, I don’t know how to speak and just get on as my fingertips are cold and hurt. My lips are drier than yours now but I am trapped hidden in the cage of this awful place”. He has shifted, the tube in his arm is blocked for a moment and there is an alarm, not urgent but painful, and it doesn’t stop for hours.
The Catheter in his Cock moves and a bolt of pain runs through his groin. He lifts a hand to the blank ceiling above him and fancies he sees her, in glory, her flesh soft. He whispers “My Babe If you see the liars cage too bolted and hidden then give me life and take me out of it, bless my head with promises and let me see what you can do”. He thinks she will save him but she is gone, he is abandoned and yet to accept this but she burns him, she occupies his mind when he needs all of his strength to resist his own death but would gladly accept it for one more moment with her.

The Litany of the Sold War Kids

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Jumble the words and offer a token pill
Hands shake in the illusion of it all
Biblical epic story teller
Desert survival pod dweller
ISIS throat slitter. Bomber command
The lies they tell are heavy man
Tighter than Alberts noose
Tight enough to be not loose
Smother yourself and you will see
The drop off, the cliff edge, the hole
Terror on a stick and download the lot
Bite the hand that bleeds
The dusty combat boot that’s covered in spots of blood
The bullet holes above the children’s bed
The sick of heart and sick of head
Angst assassin plague bringer
The liar with the IPhone
The dirty combat ready frequent flier
The sense of disorder we know so well
So what’s the dealer or the jailer to do?
But stick around waiting for me and you
We rattle like sick death waiting
The songs they force on us dischord and wail
The black iron doors the foul Zion jail
Trampled under words they sing
Force fed and stuffed
Fight in the ashes of your Gods
Shuffle your feet in the murk
Pray for enemies and seek the end
You wave goodbye to family and friends
Only a few know the truth
The bitter sicker ends of youth
Ways and means we try to find
The ways to heal the dying mind
You sense it and don’t lie to me
Know the virus let loose and see
The thing is, you haven’t got a love song
Just a collection of sold wares to surround yourself
You lost the plot when you were young
Every bullet hole in their walls are a buckle for your own tight coffin
Then as you try to fly home
You see every fantasy as a leaden foot
You are fucked and you either don’t know or don’t care

Saint Sophia

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Built by those who would have no speech
No fucking damp pyres, no sinking words that sting
Nothing to see but the pot calling what the kettle lacks
Dance until you polish the marble floor
Let your feet carry you where they never did before
Persevere
Annihilate the chances you have and narrow down the light
Fired up you might be but the Roman never saw
For the wires we pull tighter make the veins stand out
Tongues of the shufflers are torn out and left
Brain dead, Liars and Angels, seekers of the truth
Forget the Holy Scripture and the lies you give yourself
Paint a subtle scene of joy in the liquids of your vomit
Pray to those gilded heaps of stinking shit
Trader, long lost joiner of festivities, sparrow heart
Stars tangled in between your fingers
Breath torn away in the vacuum of our minor ignorance
Die within the circle of pointless friends of diggers and those who never make amends
Don’t even put your cool hand on my head
This ones for dying, this one weighed down with lead
For the Gods and Deities will laugh and tumble
Clowns chuckle without a script
Backs to the wall

Cops Drive Slow

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Have a breather they ain’t far behind
Tickled pink. Laser lined
Fingering weapons. Sticky hands.
Remembering their long lost lands.
Duck inside press against the bricks.
Love the kick against the pricks.
Let the love light shine.
Forever yours forever mine.
Coming like the a Guns of Navarone.
You twist, grab and moan.
Their cars run slow as they look.
But all we wanted was the nine high fuck.
Tendrils Slan high fifty thoughts deep.
Buckle on the corset for the hypnogogic sleep.
Hands that tremble the mascara brush.
The light at the window, shush then hush.
We write for the future, never the past.
Let the present be the last.

The Zed Head Creed

It’s like shouting at yourself get it for free in Instagram
I don’t think other users really exist
Suspicious gain followers electronic Christ act
They act fucking weird but you need this app
I don’t understand them promoting this great service
Mind is not for them but have you seen what Kanye did?
They understand nothing social soshull so-shall
Electronic social circle jerk creative vacuum
They can’t have the information or the coffee or the shit stories
Keep it safe and sound away from ordinary faces
Fill your happy place
Without buying anything at all
Including the Z head creed the cycle of angst
Bought sold and triple gatefold
Minutiae idle moments they lose
Pretty cupcakes iced with public pressure
Delete complete delete complete
Block

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Where Water Meets Sky

Lady_Godiva_by_John_Collier

engulf me my being is false
turn to the place that is you
merely a troubled soul
until the end of it all
never free never held for long
but in times we are taken
and hands question nothing
let our flow impede our sleep
but what we see
is the place where the water
meets the sky
we are borne down
rains falls upon us and our loves
become something and nothing
we question everything
let our minds see and forget
we see nothing and always lie

‘we never fucking cared-dont forget I lived through that shit-it was never a proper thing but i think it took a life and it nearly took mine too’ the dmt was long gone from his thing-what he was-but was he sure-he didnt fucking care any more-they had found that fuckers body-motherfucker-get your eyes plucked out by a herring gull-or some fucking bird thing-he took another full fat drag from his cigarette

but tell us about the bus stop-the flat in harbourne-the fucking-the sucking-the delicious bad times-falling off the bridge-pushed pulled

the light was on in the flat-crying and dying doubled over but no tears came-how many times the blood and the idle prayers-fucked up and lost on the way babe-you dream still and wonder i think-swing low sweet chariot ride and travel the wicked mile-senseless husband wasted father figure-even the dogs ran away and were gone

dear Lord give me the strength
let your angels hold me aloft
see the glory of the place you have prepared for me

i made her existence-you see she never would have existed had i not made her real-for me-a relative fuck-a phantasm orgasm machine-its the nature of the magik that this sort of thing goes on-like dillingers arm hard on-it goes on man-but now im afraid of that dark shitty place-and what i can drag out next

Community Policing

Police of the world unite leather belts tight too far to the right annihilation inquisition fired up special brew constable nick your ten bag dairy lea lunchables stab proof aloof not really fussed any lip son and ya lip gets bust swan around bonk on the head pull a weapon and ya fucking dead we don’t care we never got asked the question the liars teeth spread over the station take a bow look at me don’t attempt to resist or flee you criminal mind blind to the consequences the community officer mending fences the smile the tip of the hat fuck off you twat sit down at the kerb and fucking wait the radio we were given is out of date my head fractured and shattered never forget All Coppers Are Bastards

Love Song For Zia McCabe

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You know how it is. fuck I seldom talk about why this shit gets written but my enemy is rotting away slowly away over there somewhere and I have nearly escaped this place I think. The bus is a 1966 Split screen camper, not a simple love. I’ve welded and fixed enough of them but here it runs beautifully and I suspect the country was Scotland between Grantown and Nethybridge. Zia Mcabe was my partner in crime, as beautiful as Genesis P Orridge. But fuck, who knows what the eigengrau throws up as we smash our way through the alternities. I do know she smiled just as the sun smashed through the passenger window and blinded me for a moment

was it that shattered the moment the police bust down the door
we knew they were coming we heard them shout vocal snout love
take a moment to grab a few clothes and lets fuck off
back into the blue the delicious the sentient perspective
building hallowed realities cluck and shut run the steps
three at a time we laugh and hear the CS gas blow but it’s ok
we aint there and we don’t fucking care about gas or spy eyes
i’m sure ya know we’ve done this before but lets do it again
fire up the pit and let them fall in. motherfuckers. pull on a gun
downstairs in the street the VW bus a busted thing gleam and rust
under the lights it sits and waits we fear nothing
throw your crap in the back and be off away to the forbidden place
here and now here or where to begin we knew the cops were fucked
we knew the time was ripe. for a split in time the alternate route was here
and they knew nothing at all stuck in the placid realm of here and then
we feared nothing not even the sweet smell of the inbetween the in without
the insider outer the crescent fix or the virus that infects
the easy way outer inner walls that fold in and roads that never wear out
the dub starts and coughs rougher than fuck twisted fuel pipe
dull pushrod love and baby nobody will ever read it and nobody will ever love
as you are still here and I just carry on the police are sicker
and no one ever loves any more but we know them and we settle in
for the roads are thinner here and the air bleeds in fresh
you laugh and toss back your head for the blessings are easy
and the never is always dead, take a slim chance and sleep awhile
the drive is long and the effort is dim the suckers never get out
and the lovers are never in. slide and tuck away the senses
the bleeding hearts and the liars pretenses the weirding way
the total tarmac unloved and spread out in front
tired eyes and beating hands the fucking rolling stones
the acid trips we never took the candles the rug the fucking holy book
tense eyes and freedom wants as we tuck away the miles and find
that the road is hard to ride and even harder to grind
let the sun rise in the west as you awake and i drive
the pain harder to bear and less easy to find
I drive and the sun hits the window as you wake and turn to smile at me
the cops and the rest of them are dead behind
with the pain the misery and the other shit of which we seldom speak
but the sun rises and I put my foot down

Secret NASA Communications With The Future

ert

A-the system is running and the temps are good
A-STAT is good and pictograms are good
B-my gas is good
A-Your gas is go and good
B-Terrific all good
B-Systems are good. Proceed
A-Systems are good we are starting the 4 series vectors first and then (pause) good?
B-I have some interference but all good gas is good and (pause)
B-The Principal is alert and good
B-Start the 4 and run
B-Starting
A-Stat up and system good so?
B-Mark?
A-ok Good
C-There is some bleeding yes?
A-Mark
B-Mark
A-100440
B-Is he observing it?
B-The motility of the forehead
A-Yes
A-corrugator supercilii motile
B-Would you call it (pause)
B-Terrific
C-The Pictogram
A-Try the run again
A-Mark
B-Mark
C-Movement see
C-It (pause) traces
A-I see it
B-I was looking but
A-Try the five
B-Try again see
A-119
C-It’s only the second time
A-Holding up a hand
B-I’m not doing the five but results
C-In less than five minutes?
B-It is a very fast machine
A-Uncomfortable
B-You were briefed
C-Ok results
B-They are fixed lenses
C-I was seeing
B-Don’t look at the eyes
C-It was just
A-Simply put
B-Gas ok
B-Mark
A-Try to run five
B-Results
B-On screen, no there
B- ‘A W O D A’and ‘S I L U’
C-It had everything Principle communicates
C-Possible
A-Mark
B-Mark
B-Dictation through the…
C-Protocol
B-Agree
C-It’s related I suppose
A-Indian sub continent
C-It just feels right
A-No good being romantic
B-It was just
C-OK ‘Trying to edge is hard am edging and last dire need’
B-It’s flicking
A-It was hard enough
C-OK ‘Burn systematic alliance’
D-ok
A-Gas is good
B-Try again