2 dead birds in a row. 9 nine NINE days. Not so long now. Choose something you're passionate about. Write about it. Write right write. Apply, try, fail, snail. Too slow, you missed the boat. No plans, no fans. Keep dancing girl, pale moon of a face. I miss you. How come I always say the wrong thing? From tomorrow. Tomorrow again and again. Spaces in between. Signified and sign. Deconstruction, breaking down of hierarchies, not inverting but subverting, out of context to something new. New. Language, everywhere, can we be without? Is everything a translation? But of what? Plato said ban the poets. Perhaps. perhaps Cut out and paste, manually break it and put it back together again. Jigsaw child, puzzle piece, put yourself back together again. together again. "who always knew how to speak a little girl who only dressed in pink and had tea parties everyday." Storyteller, tell us a tale... nails bitten to the core, the quick, quick quick you make me sick, Monet's lillies, gazing off a bridge, its a mind-game sweetheart.Words like treacle coat the tongue, no wonder the door-mouse was dozy. If only there were such thing as bread and butter flies and everyday was shoeboxes and birds never died.