Wed 04:11 GMT 20/08/14
They wanna bovel they'll
get a funking novel.
And so wrote Kingsley Beat.
I gotta be a lyrical mudda clucka - or other. Satisfactorily irked at the
umpteenth but helpful, terse and clinical or some such other, fekection from
literary agents. That is to say rejected tendering of 14 year old novella, 'The
Beast of Babylon', the moment struck him, like a wave outta Camden, that he
must write a novel.
When you're speaking in
swathes...
Chill out a little bit. But
when inspiration hits you with such a surge, it's like a wave, well, I guess
that's a little bit difficult to control...
When you're laying their
smiling...
A tree of inspiration is a
controlled but lovely thought. But this comes as a physical ihopemylungs
are big enough to stretch out and grip everyone of these majestic goddam said
John Macmenna Monkey beautiful ideas. Retain them to stretch out and master
their glory enough to dish out multiple sunbeam laser sunflower power rays of
interconnecting good. Everything making sense suddenly in symphonic yeehas of acknowledgment.
Wow.
Maybe it is time to go back
to bed.
Grip the bars and hope for
sleep.
Be thankful man. O be
thankful, you gotta you gotta. It will unfold in front of you, but be careful
on the road.
Or some such other.
