drink up, baby down
mmm, are you in or are you out
leave your things behind
'cause it's all going off without you
excuse me, too busy you're writing your tragedy
these mishaps
you bubble wrap
when you've no idea what you're like

so let go, jump in
oh well, whatcha waiting for
it's alright
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown
so let go, just get in
oh, it's so amazing here
it's alright
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown

it gains the more it gives
and then it rises with the fall
so hand me that remote
can't you see that all that stuff's a sideshow
such boundless pleasure
we've no time for later now
you can't await your own arrival
you've 20 seconds to comply

so let go, jump in
oh well, whatcha waiting for
it's alright
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown
so let go, just get in
oh, it's so amazing here
it's alright
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown

'cause there's beauty in the breakdown

'cause there's beauty in the breakdown...

Annie Lennox- No more I love you's

why annie lennox? cuz nothing else fits as well.

On the road again… Comparing capital cities, same to same. Their tip top clubs, their made up faces – all real lives. Just different. I thrive on the coast – lazy days (hakuna haraka), slow paces and yet a full life. Lamu – I am in love. Yes M I know you are too. Said my goodbyes. Kissed some lovers who still are, didn’t kiss one – circumstances dictate personal distances. I have cried cuz I have missed you and missed out on having you closer.

You know who you are…

But maybe we’ll meet again and have the time of our lives then. Maybe most dreams do come true. I am different and yet the same from years before. Grown up? Possibly. I must admit – naivety has fled. Will download songs soon:

Yppah
The knife
Bonobo
Melisa ferrick

Innocence remains in a candid smile and a hopelessly in love kiss.

Will be posting more often now that laptop and internet can be accessed. Listening to Aha. Why did I think this was “mommy’s time” music…? Mum?? Missing most people I know loads. Yet still young enough to go ahead and make new lives. Such good luck. Will be job hunting (do I hear an echo of – wake up n smell the coffee??). Will be fun – one hopes. One does only hope I guess. And try like hell.

Life come to me.

Aha – Analogue.

Another song they sing, sings true – “Summer moved on, and the way it goes – you can’t tag along. Honey moved out and the way it went – leaves no doubt.”

So a month dies and I am on the move soon again. Leaving always kills a part of my heart – it now beats on 5 continents with different people. So I hope I have a whole heartedness because I carry a piece of yours and yours and yours and yours.

My laptop has been resuscitated. IT IS ALIVE! Hee. So I type. German techno is good stuff! Wolfsheim – Once in a lifetime. (corny lyrics so rule!)

Will try and put on the songs soon!

“Standing here on the shores of destiny – I am feeling lonely. Calm down my heart, don’t beat so fast, don’t be afraid just once in a lifetime.”


Ps: clubbin this evening – Play “Swahili – English Reggaeton”!!!

Kenya.

The healing healer reading medical tomes in catacombs before being tested pure by fire and guide in ancient mother country India:

Precious are memories of us together. I love you now – like family. like a permanency of my life. You won’t cast me away on days pained, I can’t be cruel to you. We both: imperfect to an imperfect world – with worries and trauma of body mind soul. To each other we are always 13 or 12, we are always angels, perfect. This my stability my anchor.

For more than 2 yrs (?) more (?) I haven’t been religion tolerant. I have shunned all links to “it”. Not enjoyed stained glass and staircases in churches like I used to. Haven’t stepped into temples willingly. Haven’t thought of exploring homes of gods. Haven’t read that of spiritual or godly knowledge.

You suddenly force my hand, sending me on a childish mission – a small verse in the bible. I have to know your entire message and unthinkingly ask for the book and page number. Gladly handed to me by another.

For a second I look back on years passed without a daily dosage of religion in my life. Not barren nor missed – just absent. TV and music taking its place. Book with those 3 lines seems tad heavier just now. Silly. I do read the verse you send – I read it and become just what you want the message to state I am. My shoulders are yours to burden, my embrace always as it has been a shelter. You in turn are my sanity, my innocence and my saviour too.

Whats happening to me?

It’s late – past midnight. I’m lying in bed staring into space. There’s no one that I can call, I’m all alone. Don’t want to wake anyone, don’t want to disturb people. There’s no use anyway, they’ll only get worried. I’m scared – for the first time, I’m winding myself up, thinking upon things too much. The problem is that they won’t go away. They are getting worse. I noticed 2 more this evening – they weren’t there this morning, I’m sure. They are small but itchy – they are spreading. I keep telling people that I’m not contagious, but I must be – it’s consuming me, bit by bit, the sores are covering me & I can’t do anything about it. The doctors worried now, my immune system might not cope. They have referred me back to the hospital. I sit at home & wait for them to call. Nothing.

I don’t work; I just sit & lose myself. The years of intense work, just gone to waist. I feel myself beginning to vegetate. I don’t even seem to care anymore. I think about crying but what would it achieve. I have to be strong. After all they are only skin rashes – right. That’s what I tell people. I don’t want them to worry. But now, today, things are getting worse, they have started to bleed – the cream isn’t working & I don’t know what to do. I have to wait to see a specialist – he only works Tuesday afternoon. That’s tomorrow & I don’t have an appointment yet. It will be at least a week then. Another week of not knowing. I don’t know what is going to happen. I’m scared.

“come as you are, as you were, as I want you to be…”

The bum shape left in the sand reminds her of a day in the past, and hopefully also in the future… blue is lovely colour, misunderstood for sadness. Toes covered in wet sand, dreams of shelled castles built and destroyed.

She is whimsical and is a girl. Loves her space and being pampered. She is the girl you see fly a kite every Thursday as a mid-week treat… Then she’d talk to you – if you were feeling leery or sober, calculative or innocent. She couldn’t care for your frame of mind if you spoke to her on the beach.

Would cry if the kite was lost, but give it away back to the kid she bought it from after an hour’s play. You would shake your head in knowing her childlike smile and her toddler tantrums… She loves your bike more than you sometimes. You would let her… now – wouldn’t you?

Her room fluctuates between abject messes to a whole day of cleaning and decorating. She will make you birthday cards, still, not buy them at Hallmark. She writes like she is – whimsical, dancing.

After all she is she.

Her world is more real in her head and she can un-wrap the masks everyone wears. You would let her too… She might even claim to know you better than anyone else. Then again she might be right. She is naïve but can hold-her-own-thankyou-very-much… She pouts for attention when she already has it. She sulks and she makes love with her eyes.

She pretends to be a boy and gets away with it – for a while. She unfolds out of bed and stretches like a kitten only for your attention. She loves shaggy dogs!

I am full of me… upto the brim and overflowing for you to scoop up and savour… This bum shape on the beach is mine as is this world – glass marble won in dirt on my palm.

We saw our first Black Mamba this morning.


We were in the car and are reporting alive.

My favourite lichen stoner talks to me about Duikers -

" Is this a red one? The pellet is a bit big for blue"

" I think it is a blue one..."

" a big blue one?"

" a BIG FAT blue one!"

" a BIG FAT OVERFED blue one!!"

" a BIG on STEROIDS like blue one!!!"

*sigh... field work is lovable...*

The womb of humanity. I stand under a gigantic Baobab – I touch and kiss its grey stem, look at spiral roads upwards… Shade my eyes from sunlight, my clothes heavier carry earth in them. I wish I could stand through centuries, be a solemn witness.

Life would be safe among sacred ruins of a merchant town now populated by Baobab. They look after other subjects: the desert rose, neem from across the ocean, sykes monkeys and African harrier hawks. Africa… Ancient and alive.

All around me – the earth here is reflected in this tree, you are ancient and alive, barely. Barely… Humanity left and forgot you. The visitors will never know (and I don’t) how it was, how it could be. Looking through transparent shut windows into other lives provides exactly that much of a square space to look at.

You Baobab have seen it and felt it and grown - in it and above it… You Afrikaan people, your many beautiful tribes, you all different and yet the same today. I stand in awe and in sadness at the wisdom we have lost. We are a numb generation, not disillusioned but broken. I try to imagine what it could be like – you and me. But my growing up has stunted my mind. I cannot comprehend your elders and your names mean so much that I can’t understand. But be assured I am a friend of you and yours… I too come from an old land forgotten, not of course the womb of all man and any man, but I too respect wisdom and although the new fangled way is the only path to survival I too wail the death of the old, of the wise, of the immortal who’ve left us behind, who we have deliberately forgotten.

I may lie on a beach and laugh at my bikini tan, but I will not help but cry when the Baobabs live not… on this land on this earth…

**********************************************************************

Trouble was as a war reporter you cannot have a biased view. Objectiveness and all that, idealistic morals – even worse I still believed in the words spoken out at training camp.

But it’s tough – you ID yourself with one clan one country one genre one style… It got worse when fanatic gangs claimed their religion decreed the fatal drastic attack on countries with rhythm instead of melody. Some thing you saw more often at home when your teenagers rebelled and got warnings and public mention. Some got arrested for shunning light happy melodies for deeper meaningful rhythm, drums and a heavy bass hook.

I was personally pissed off – I loved everything Omerican, Hell – I loved every song every tune I loved its power on other people the way everything was powered on our music. That of course was me losing sight of objectivity – and I was sent to the desert states where our music had no influence. Reconnaissance and reports of border skirmishes of alien sounds. All so that we could keep our heavy weapons ready, to sort out street fights. They called us bullies; we called ourselves law makers – all the best known artists, most influencial styles, those faces on music videos that had turned generation after generation. Why the heck was I risking my musical mind here in this cacophony???

But then I fell in love – yes its cliché. They taught me that it could be gentle, satisfying and that it wasn’t a rat race of world domination. Happiness is a rhythm made complete in itself and yet a dance gives it that power of the living no one had seen in our country for years. I knew we would lose this war… Me reports back home became coloured till I was told to keep my objectivity – I wanted to write back “I just have found out that objectively this is the truth”… But I was still Omerican and there are some things you just don’t do. Moreover I was of the pop religion (whose true meaning was lost in scandal and petty games on currency hoarding) and this would mean that I would be evicted from my home clan.

So in between ripped chords and slashed drummers I saw the world as it was: We who knew nothing of suffering musical oppression were the oppressors, we killed not only their theatre their dance but we stopped their music. We killed the generations greatest artists and touted our own polystyrene as the best this disappointed generation could do. We murdered their songs before they were sung and made their instruments illegal. WE called their religion of folk and indigenous falsified and pretentious, in this day and age.

We mocked the truth that was plain as day. We had lost the power to make music and mass copying and rearranging didn’t change it. If only we had a tiny vision to try and understand rhythm and lift melody higher. If only my children would walk these war ridden streets these and live for one second – with their own non copy-able music, dance and theatre…

I was killed as a stuffy Omerican should be – they said. But I would like to say I died
Enlightened, when I danced with their rhythm so freely given to me…

**********************************************************************



One morning I got up to another border skirmish. I live in the desert lands on Earth. People on earth have been killed for many reasons – some reasons I understand more than others. But this, this was our generation’s last war. I was a practiced drummer and that meant I could use anything of any shape and make music of it. If drums were illegal I would use their houses, their children as my instruments. Percussion – it was my religion and I believed it could not be marred. Except it was. I fought each day for the freedom to make my music – the one inside me waiting to be released, my country men fought to tear down any use and misuse of drums by the cement centre. The cement centre is a funny name – it is not exactly the centre of the cement belt. They say that their maps are made to show otherwise. Drums were our weapons and any use by them was not only illegal but blasphemous! I feel a little differently but as a desert dweller and born into the Percussion religion (now wholly run according to the sect of death metal and their austerity) there are some things I would not risk my music for.

This border skirmish I am sure was attracting more than it was worth a few wasted musical geniuses are of no global consequence but Omericans decide their own agenda each year.

This year they decided that we were the centre of latest metal music and they are right but not so too. Death metal is but a part of my religion not all of it. At least thats what their leader told us when they joined us in our strive for freedom.

An Omerican reporter I spoke to understood – of all the people it was one of my sworn enemies. Born where I am in the desert country its gospel truth that they were our destroyers – but we would survive every onslaught and reclaim the eternal truth.

Some people are brave enough to say this is said in each genre. Pop Rock Electronica and Psychedelic all say the same thing. Maybe it is true. No one who is Percussion born and brought up would know – atleast if they were like my friends and parents. This Omerican reporter understood and smiled as we killed him. He returns to his country dead of music and will never believe anything.

By kill (I have been asked to clarify for aliens who have varied definitions) we stop the will of a soul to dance, take part in any art form and obviously kill its music. Its own inherent musical life form.

I personally think many things that I cannot voice here in the public domain – I believe most staunchly in my percussion. Whether this belief is greater or lesser than my belief in other music I am not allowed to say and do not wish to either.

Sometimes I think of a world without these desires, these greedy temptations and wars for music dominancy and I think sadly – I wouldn’t want to live in a world that was any different. After all music, dance, acting, sculpture, painting, DJing (oh holy grail of my soul!), music… oh I weep for the fall of music. My soul sings in such harsh sadness – what would be the world without music… To fight instead with passion for physical extensions of land, money, wars with skin deep physical harm, wars with weapons that we look at today and laugh – I offhandedly hand them to my child…

Death of a body on power with that of death of one’s music! Such ridiculous thoughts – My family lives, from my earliest ancestors to my children as they are born and as they stop breathing but sing still. To not know of or to lose these souls forever equated with the mere skin shedding of one musical soul for another.

Music – you tell me what else is worth fighting for? That Omerican reporter understood me. Any now I know someday another soulmusic might…

Till then our 3 suns sing over that horizon – sings a song that travels to each genre and yet doesn’t belong to any. And we live by moonlight that makes you want to dance – because while it does you are safe still.

**********************************************************************

Another year goes by. I have finished another degree! Si echoes of MSc room. Gwyneth croons in my ears... tho - remixed.


Off to another continent soon. might be back in a bit... a lil longish bit.

Another boy left behind, his eyes still steal my heart. woe is me for the lack of romantic kissing and lazy mornings in bed.

wipes away tired sleepy eyes, its morning and things must get done.

misses home - was going to go see and smell the earth and rain... misses it all and then wants to see more - oh what is the point going to miss it too when i am done.

manatee laughs knowing i am anything but tired of it.

hugs everyone!

Only tell me that you still want me here
When you wander off out there
To those hills of dust and hard winds that blow
In that dry white ocean alone
Lose out in the desert
Ou are lost out in the desert

But to stand with you in a ring of fire
Ill forget the days gone by
Ill protect your body and guard your soul
From mirages in your sight

Lost out in the desert
You are lost out in the desert

If your hopes scatter like the dust across your track
Ill be the moon that shines on your path
The sun may blind our eyes, Ill pray the skies above
For snow to fall on the sahara

Just a wish and I will cover your shoulders
With veils of silk and gold
When the shadows come and darken your heart
Leaving you with regrets so cold

Lost out in the desert
You are lost out in the desert

If your hopes scatter like the dust across your track
Ill be the moon that shines on your path
The sun may blind our eyes, Ill pray the skies above
For snow to fall on the sahara

If thats the only place where you can leave your doubts
Ill hold you up and be your way out
And if we burn away, Ill pray the skies above
For snow to fall on the sahara...


*always knew this would be my favourite*

My mummy blushes easily. And it's great fun.

So I tease her with spanish cursing and talking like A would think was cool! *winks*

But sometimes... just those few moments she gets me back. Bet she blushes herself but I'm stopped mid sentence.

Here's a true jewel of our conversations:

me: Karma always comes to bite you in the arse...
mum: Only if you let it all hang out.


Think of that - metal through your skin, tattoo on your skin, boy toys, dolls... only if you let it all hang out.

2:16 am

what the hell am i doing bloggin? saving my sanity... U2 playing. how many songs for New York. Yes I know you write one too.

I shall kneel on pavement and stare at the square bit of sky between buildings. I shall shuffle past birds and people... And I shall hum my own tune for you.

But for now - I shall go home. I shall meet family before I leave yet again... Before I leave yet again.

When there is a horizon to get to... Witch Oil Water, Dust Fired Earth all drawn up measured against skyline... Travels never ending.

I travels never ending.

Bead anklet and silver celtic toe ring... Jeans. Passport. Train.

But before I am old I shall taste your life liquid lust - New York, what I want you to be in my mind. Will you dissappoint me? Or will my hopes be etched on every bit of your face...

And so we leave. Hyphens removed when people refer to us. Saddened yet not devastated. All in all - in good shape and living as much as we have before.

You still eat disgusting healthy food in the mornings I still work at night. And hey – that’s why we worked well together. That why we still do as friends. Grinning gargoyles and summer bat watching… Come our 40 + 40 birthday I do hope we still will lake walk and you’ll still tell me moles do not turn into seagulls. I will still believe it. And you know I will too.

Chapter closed.

Chin up – we’ve a masters to finish!

Vernon God Little:

If he had died. So would all my belief and faith.

Frog on face and my precioussssssssss snake. Love for forest and creepy crawlies:

Walking on the moon. Giant steps we take, happy and carefree... thats how love should be.

In the grime of the world - walking like two bouncy helium baloons.

In the mire that has been the past. In the moments when I turn jaded cool again.

Remind me - daisies in your hair... daisies in your hair... daisies in you hair and your squinting eyes. Head in my lap.

Giant steps as we float along. As we float along...

Maybe it is tough or maybe I am a hysterical overly complicater.

Maybe I won't know till things always get beyond me... But you'll be there to tell me that I should tell you before it gets to that stage. Sage.

You need to tell me once in a way. No, not even show and tell. Just tell.


I'm yours. Like a bar of chocolate that needn't be shared. Like that huge piece of wood you're waiting to carve - and yes sweetheart, summer's here.

Daisies in your hair and I'm wearing no underwear! (hee)

"To all of you who have figured this out the hard way...

I love it when I am doing the exact opposite of what you want me to. It makes my day. Like the 3 year old obstinate faced tot who could not stand the thought of going near tomatoes.


Yes it has given me a really stubborn streak. I love it - makes it easier to be determined. A how will that not happen if I want it to.

The only the time I lost that war was long back in adolescence when I wanted it all and ofcourse adolescent love is ephemeral.


Turn that on its head - I now love to make you suffer. I love to watch your dreams of forever crumble. I feel like I have done you a favour - look this is what we live in. So get with it.


Forevers are in that second when you are happy, no, they do not last. So move on and shift up.

Of course we can still be friends.

Also it has to do with all this pretentious ownership. All this 'she is mine to be wife and mum of my kids' deal.
NOT.

I am here to dance, enjoy a while and leave to a better place. And no there isn't room for two. You're not allowed to come with me, your reasons dont pass the grade.

You want to come where ever I will be because not that it will be paradise on earth, not beacause you might make the best friends in your life, you want to tag along. And that makes you disqualified. Like in a running race in school. Simple.

Travel to where I am when you want to smell the ocean. When my daily schedule is not your basis for an itenary.

When we happen to meet only because we enjoy the same hangouts. Please spare me the it will be fun together. No it wont.

I will want to party till morning dancing with anyone willing to keep up. I will then want to drive for miles only to return safe. I will want to maybe stay indoors on a glorious weather day... All this without feeling like I have to make you feel at ease or stick to your plans.

Am I being unreasonable? Yes ofcourse. I'd much rarther be a painful teenager about this than take you along only to make it a boring for you and a horror for me to have you along but bored.


I am unreasonable. I am selfish and cruel. I am not content and the trouble really is - I don't want to be. A friend scared me by just saying she was. It's an epidemic of growing up. I refuse to catch it.


Maybe I am getting lost in words and should stop. Clarity is of the essence here.


I am free."

yes I almost cried while we typed out our love... intense and lost.

yes you knew I could never say this in person.

Happiness named - you are mine.


Mr Brightside


I'm coming out of my cage
And I've been doing just fine
Gotta gotta be down
Because I want it all
It started out with a kiss
How did it end up like this
It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss
Now I'm falling asleep
And she's calling a cab
While he's having a smoke
And she's taking a drag
Now they're going to bed
And my stomach is sick
And it's all in my head
But she's touching his-chest
Now, he takes off her dress
Now, letting me go

And I just can't look its killing me
And taking control
Jealousy, turning saints into deceit
Swimming through sick lullabies
Choking on your alibis
But it's just the price I pay
Destiny is calling me
Open up my eager eyes
'Cause I'm Mr Brightside

I'm coming out of my cage
And I've been doing just fine
Gotta gotta be down
Because I want it all
It started out with a kiss
How did it end up like this
It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss
Now I'm falling asleep
And she's calling a cab
While he's having a smoke
And she's taking a drag
Now they're going to bed
And my stomach is sick
And it's all in my head
But she's touching his-chest
Now, he takes off her dress
Now, letting me go

Cause I just can't look its killing me
And taking control
Jealousy, turning saints into deceit
Swimming through sick lullabies
Choking on your alibis
But it's just the price I pay
Destiny is calling me
Open up my eager eyes
'Cause I'm Mr Brightside

I never...
I never...
I never...
I never...


*weak smiles and thoughts of love true. but did you know it was?*

"come on in...
I've got to tell you what a state I'm in..."

Another series of self-perpetuated crimes. Another set of nameless homeless faces rubbed out. Charcoal smudges left behind. Coarse and uncouth. Marring white paper clean lives we lead. Hypocrites in glass cases.

Our buildings didn't get burnt, our children haven't stopped playing on the PSP. But our children are depraved and less living than those who left. Their smiles in a international magazine - proclaiming us the friendliest people on the planet.

Our hearts are cold and calculated. Theirs love filled and emotional... Yet they epitomise survival, we shrug and crawl into the company cocoon. Dabba wallahs... How you adore them - they made your book sell, they made your economic theories live, they made your lunch hour complete... They were once your tool now left in the shed waiting to fall apart.

Each city has a lifeline, while on other floating pieces of land that might be a steel giant or an industrial conveyer belt - ours is one of the oldest and most manipulated resource - you and me. or may be not exactly.

Those auto drivers, those street hawkers are the living face of the stream that lives behind the huge facades, the army that makes impressive buildings on power with those machine built. The same that climbs rickety bamboo and jute rope to paint your i-pod billboard.

And yes in some ways we cant live the way we do without them. The cobbler that fixes your soul when you need to work the entire day on a broken one... The boy who carried your heavy vegetables up 4 floors in your flat. The old lady who counts out the money in a "general store". Gives you two candies when she runs out of the equivalent change.

Such is my home and its loving faces are not the bastard who stole your job because his dad is clothed in white and can belt out convincing promises he doesn't keep. The love is not your posh friends who you drink with in expensive bars when you have the money only to be considered an outsider should you need help at home. The lover is not the boy who pays the bill.

It is the beach with it's children, with the old women fortune tellers, with "chat" that is made to order. It is when you are a regular customer and with a spending power of a dollar (why did i not put it in my currency?) a week.

My watchman knows my moods better than my family... and a chat with a random seat-sharer on the bus can brighten my day. People still talk to each other where I come from... Don't you miss that. This post isn't doing justice, but then neither is the world.

Such is homesickness.

I never thought of myself as the typical desi - go figure... But here I sit in grey morning. Searched and found - google gods are smiling. My searches finished and now I listen to songs I used to be forced into tolerating at Uni back home. FORCED - all those regional no story movie lines and songs I cud never see myself singing. Now *smiles* I avidly keep up "yennuka ur girlfirend venumma da!" (i want a girlfriend man!)

My younger cooler brother still on mother soil would shudder in this utter un-coolness.

Sigh - as you age you miss your youth they say *winks*

To all the only girls dance fests outside the canteen (yes you chennai loafers can still keep drooling outside the gates manned by Our favourite guard. Smile at him to get out, but them boys could never follow us in) - My Salaams.

All you classmates, batchmates, alumni - check out - smashits.com

Also / Tambien / Aur all you FOB (lingo you learn - fresh off the boat!) people.



So - Boom Boom in Adnan Sami's lovely style... Shake it for me.

Doctor I think the bee stung my lung.

Exactly how could a bee sting your lung?

Well it was buzzin about my head and I inhaled it quite suddenly.


*this one just popped out here - pliss to echkiuse*

"it's all mixed up..."

So they sang. I sat looking at beach, half dried my new bikini. Smelling of the half finished joint in my fingers.

My last careless holiday. No boyfriend no emotional ties... people like me. float away in guitar strains...

just a single line

"she said leave it to me...
everything will be alright..."

And I said to my lover then - leave it to me and it'll be alright. Across oceans while he kissed her ... in reply?

here is the link:

My forever memory of Gokarna

and yes it's alright.

News: This blog has been bought out by Gargoyle Grins ! However due to aptness of fit this blog will still be written under it's present name. I am sad to inform you that the equal partner of this project has seemingly gotten bored of it already.

*This might be because his works are more of the natural media kind - check Auguste Rodin and Henry Moore for what this creative boy has up his sleeve yet to be unleashed on common folk like us. His are more than what you see on the websites*

I hugged a Henry Moore... *smiles* This one infact:

(will post pic - tryin damn hard to find it - worsht situ i'll get one this weekend when i'm bound to eat at the Sainsbury Centre... such a lazy cook!)

For S:

"Now the SLOTH is both unhurried
And affects a fearful frown.
This is not because he's worried
But because he's upside down.

If passer-by inverts him,
It is patent, in a while,
That the strange position hurts him,
For the Sloth begins to smile."

*such genius - Alphabeasts*

*if only Quentin Blake would settle down with me and draw my children things to dream about*

In avid search of image files. phooey.

Gone!

"A whazza whazza whazza..."

"A whazza... whazza whazza!? Thats what they pass for entertainment these days??!"

*grins*