“TODAY AT MIDNIGHT (an extract)

Today at midnight diamonds aren’t so clever, unless you dig Francophile pussahs romanticising Romanov sleigh rides, Bleriot bi-planes, mammoth howdahs & Shangri-lhaed living jewels of the Golden Dragon….. Wing it John Carter & drop the ocelot. Today at midnight hand me down that sackbut Daphne I’m dying to fix….Mind your language Snork-con you is Styxed by Myffannwy Heirloom. The Ainur have preponderance. No sweat Angstrom, with qualms about quantum quidditch Today at midnight we broached a cask of malmsy and with qualms about quantum quidditch, poured libations to the suborners of subterfuge and the fearless Shakespearos who still — even Gratefully Dead — subsumed the vile villains venery & punned, hold tight. Today at midnight the Fast Hiss Corpse Orations fudge Fred Fen-knack-ur-pan’s finagled fiduciary finale. Coffers! Cough up! Lighten up Adam Smith you ain’t on the divi and Wealth of Nations has been consigned to history. Today at midnight superfluity of wealth in times of Post-scarcity Anarchism spell ruination for les bourgeoisie as The Tawdries dance to the Whirld Mess Manager’s theme. Swive me, Captain Calvert, starfighter supreme, Uncle Albert’s On Pluto. Today at midnight clan nepotism nebulae dog the issue. God’s blues lacerate lungefuttock’s lozenge lick of perloined paranoid peridot. Best left, Caroline Lamb, to the zephyrs importuning The Maddener in her hive whorey tour to stay true to her innate high voltage… Today at midnight Lord B sussed Ming the Merciless’ allegiance to the renovator but still deemed his farewell porcine tittfer like foggy day (a Londres) magnifique. Spliff up misanthropes….Ramakrishna aka Stay-tuned, ain’t the deaf eel Today at midnight the corporals got corporeal and essayed that their N.C.O. version of Mankind was more honest than the hierarchy’s pretence at humanity. No way ailingrons. Flesh and blood robots are ubiquitous & need a lekky oil change to chip shop far fluid….Eyes right! Today at midnight Jeesiz (!) attained an apotheosis & ensured that the Algonquins were right to dub The Son Of Man (writ large) GREAT. GALACTIC. SUN. SPIRIT. Live Peace, Terra wrists and Deros tiffs, gesundheit. Today at midnight The Spirits of the Age ….what T. Rex evolved into, stormed the reality studios and came to the back doorstep to petition Hera in Faggash Lil’s. Get on! Youse barking Buff Orpingtons….drekkly….about there being no perches in their domicile…reposition the floor of our hutch pronto! Today at midnight all of a sudden it was Culloden….The Campbells earned everlasting perfidy….which only R.L.S. could redeem by rescuing the Master o’ Ballantrae with a renegade Stewart — and, in another incarnation — holing up on The White Island. Wee dram? Moncladerma? Well only two jiggers unless its Royal brew, ye ken. Today at midnight in the vestibule of No Earthly Connection….The Caped Crusaders’ Chums were being rooked by hotels surcharges for wi fi (Bruce Wayne and Robin of Gotham City enterprises were not available for comment)…neither were Jules Verne, Henry Tudor and Arthur Pendragon. Yes? No! Today at midnight ” Monsieur les loups !! ” I walked out in The Mountains Of The Stars and heard the howls (HOWL…the Cornish for Sun) Now, Canadian timber wolves are reinfesting the Cascade mountains and may, just may recolonize The Rockies…if Homo’Shoot’emup is curtailed (or should that be culled?) Four legs good, two legs bad said Blared Eric, the REAL Hoardwell …auteur of Gross Bru’der…and The Ministry Of Truth, franchised out, as Airstrip One becomes the off-shore haven for dissembling.”


Chris Newby
Art Nick Victor


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