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Email senility for your delectability...though with some censoring and silly subjects.. Subject: the rain in Spain just don´t exist, and that´s plain. What an odd refrain. yes. indeed. I have succumbed to the cheesy chirpyness of Spanish salsa, as the German music channel we recieve plays that style of bumping boisterouness with merciless regularity (and the ageing German rockstars who fill in the gaps are if anything even scarier). My uncountable number of students and me have spent the day analysing my childhood days at H****, for possible use in their study of bullying. I find this a most discouraging trend, but at least it gave me a chance to monologue about permenantly twitching geography teachers demonstrating seismic principles with their beerguts and the like. I was treated in return to an insight into school during a fascist regime (dear old Franco). It sounded ridiculously similar to Highgate in moral outlook and classroom proceedure. Well. I should really go and get stoned now, as I´ve nada mejor hacer, oops, nothing better to do. Now on with your work you enterprising estudiente you, I must go home and make cornflake´n´egg stew. Hasta luego. subject: rabble babble Hello my scholastically striving sentients, how does your garden grow? Glad to know my email´s flow brings you wry smiles as well as woe, despite being buried in a rhyming overflow. Things are particularly pleasant at the moment, despite the fact that I´m working like a dog and I´m short of a snog, because my background is beautiful and my tongue-twisting fruitful. Ok. Enough of that rhyming stuff. I´ve actually been translating complex psychology essays into English to be presented in Florence. Don´t ask me how this is possible as I´m not quite sure. Put basically: I understand the prepositions, abbreviations, and general conotations, while the girls I work with provide an angle of clarity so I can untangle the insanity of their copulating clauses (ok, so I lied, the poor poet within me hasn´t died). It´s all very strange. Aunque mi espanyol esta mejor que antes, esta todavia muy malo, y normalmente yo no quiero hablar mucho cuando veo las amigas de mis amigas. Mi companiero Maroqui piensa que tengo que apprender mas rapido, pero soy "lazy". ¿Claro? That´s probably all wrong. So my spanish is kind of ticking along, with my linguistically gifted housemate constantly berating me for my laziness and presenting me with huge lists grammar to learn (I take everything he says with a pinch of salt though because of his liability to exagerate his grasp of languages -"My English perfect. No problems" por ejemplo- his general love of bravado and his tendancy to cheat at cards just so he can revel in being the victor. Still he´s a nice enough lad and he feeds me figs). Me and Paco (he of the shiny head and embroidered pajamas) exchange vocab in our more basic tongues while he smiles benignly on my rampant hash habit. Other daily dalliances include shooting the shit with the shop owner downstairs and getting involved in the complex seating rituals of the number 25 bus. This normally involves at least three unintelligble conversations, where my shiny, new spanish speech fails to penetrate the time-warped tongue which the ancient army of Sevillian pensioners employ. Well, you both know about my bizarre love of adversity and confusion, so as you can guess I´m enjoying this particular slice of Spanish seduction, despite the seemingly senseless stream in which I swim. It´s best to sup when the drink´s at the brim, so I´m gargling with grammar and smoking those blims, training my body so i won´t be so slim, joking with farmers and searching for quim (Oh I say, that´s a bit rude). Despite my fun, I´m missing you guys too (hence my lunch break spent tapping and not using the loo), and I´m swanning back on the 22nd (depite the absence of my bass-playing friend). In the meantime I´ll be hitting my drum and showing the locals how to really drink rum. Send me some crap for my working gaps, and we´ll continue our cross- continental chat. loads of love Tom (p.s. if the grammar´s awry it can just go fly) subject: rugby rabble babble? >From *** Tue Nov 17 07:32:50 1998 >But I refuse to use >rhyme. It a waste a time. It do me head in. Put it inna bin. Stop that >spanish silly talk. It should be banish -ed and sent onna walk! > I like it. I´m also throwing myself around a confined space occasionally, with varying success. The week before last I was a goal-scoring god, having blasted one shot (v.v.flukely) into the top right corner of the diddy goals we use, and having managed before that to clear a path to goal and score in an empty net after wrongfooting the goalie, a defender and my own team mate with one of my patent-pending (not-sure-what-happened) body swerves. What fun. This week though I was regulated back to my normal status as the long-haired one who runs around in mid-field trying flambouyant tricks and goal-attempts, with a sloppy success rate. So, I didn´t score, but I had one (beautiful!) long distance curler bounce off the inside of the post and the crossbar, and generally amused my- self by trying unwarrented back-heel-"onetwo"s which my aging teamates had no chance of catching them. Of course there was a 12 year old on the pitch who was better than everyone, but that´s par for the course. Well, that´s my football fetish exorcised. Hey! Writing this letter has cured my hiccups too!!! That´s amazing! I have to disagree with you then. Exercise may be bad for you, but a good exorcism does the trick every time. love Tom subject: Hello ZOZ98BBSH. Greetings from 201513MK5 and all the other furry robots What´s this??? A N* *** in the works? Ooh, that could slow down production terribly. This is a highly exclusive and morally stringent contingent you´re joining young man, and we won´t stand for any mussing of the duvet in our etherial eaterie (because it´s a particularly comfortable meeting place and we´ll be sitting down).Now, before my percussive prose starts pissing like pin-point rain on your brain, grab a figurative bacon sarny and prepare your own refrains, for the snack you sent me failed to contain more than a spark for my inquisitive flame. Niiiiiiiiiiiccccccoooooooooooooooooooooooooolllllll! Howyadoin?? Wassamatta? Whyyoutakesolongtowrite (and I don´t mean long hours sweating in front of the keyboard just to write one organic lump of loquaciousness)? Honestly! I expected great saber-rattling epics of accomplished academia to be pouring down my ´puter´s porthole, not growls that mutter of disquiet behind the shutters. If it´s any consolation to yous, Spain is body-bendingly cold at the moment (although not graced with the permenant toupee of wispy clouds that obscures England from the weather map), and my lusciously large bed is made colder by the presence of just one body in it. My tongue is a fricasied fry-up of tobacco smoked meat sluiced in saucy spanish syllables, and I haven´t scored a goal in football for ages (There, that´s the important things out of the way). Well, I can´t quite decide how to talk to you both simultaneously, so: both of you write me an in depth report on your rovings right this instant so I can solicit you some more (as you know I just adore to) with some words cut red and raw from womb-room where i store them before flooding your distant shore. That´s all that (my mental whore) and I implore. (I think I may have outdone my self on the relentless rhyming count, so I´m heading for the door...) loads of love (you fuzzy flea philanthropists you) love Tom subject: monkey business Hola peeps. I´ve finally managed to synthesise the very essence, the biospherically integralised whole if you will, of my esteemed position in the Investigative Psychology department of el Universidad de ***. I think this can be best summed up by our sixth official objective: "Planning and evaluation of short-term longitudinal intervention studies on a network-enriched basis". Basically it´s like this. There´s some big international group of psychologists investigating bullying over several years, and they have a tidy sum of money set aside for employing a modest army of researchers. I´ve been employed as a teacher/secretary (a tetchetary) on the understanding that this would qualify me for a slice of this collected cash. It doesn´t though, so, although I´m still getting paid , I´m going to have to convince the big boss in England that I´m really a fully trained psychological research student if this is to continue. Next year I think I might run for parliament, or some other position I´m esteemably underqualified for. Alreet. Hows are ya, what yas up ta, and do yus all want raffata sun hats (with knitted bull adornment) for Christmas? These, along with shiny leather shoes, seem to be Sevilla´s main produce, to the extent that I fear they may soon cross Douglas Adams´s shoe-event-horizon, whereby shoeshops profliferate and dominate to the extent that they devour all other economies and cause everyone to have no money, but lots of low quality shoes. It wouldn´t be so bad though. We could ignore the ecu and start again with leather shoe-tongues and rubber soles for currency. The only drawback i can see is that the Andalucians might confuse the new money with their local cuisine and polish it all off during one of the prolonged fiestas. To finish this little news letter, here´s the literary section: I can strongly recommend "Love in the Time of Cholera" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and "The Master and Marguarita" (which might not be spelt right and was written by some russian geezer whose name begins with B) for a bit of epistimological escapism (however you spell it). Incidentally, my poetry days are over. I now prefer pontificating with pluralised alliterations. I´m sure you´re pleased. love ´n´ kisses ´n´ indecent proposals ´n´that. love Tom subject: Due to cold weather, there will be a temporary river running from *´s nose Due to slightly warmer waether, there will be a smug Thomas sitting in Sevilla. Allo peeps. No, I must confess that I´m no Spanish genius, merely a repository for silly grammatical information (with a keen understanding of the insane mind) and the bearer of a hefty dictionary. So, thanks to my fervid translating of the past few days I´ve got jueves, viernes y lunes libre (thursday,friday and monday free). Unfortunately that doesn´t get me out of my delightful evenings teaching a snobby three-some of spanish school kids (which regularly involves me in restraining myself from depositing my youngest charge in the nearest waste disposal unit, after he´s refused to speak for half an hour, attacked me with one of his endless piles of toys or generally told me to shut up). Still, the latter pays for my daily platter of hash, so what does it matter? I do it for cash! Talking of which, the Xmas break will be my first ever paid holiday. I like it. Not to mention the fact that my gran is apparantly intend- ing to unload a happy pile of pennies on me under the christmas tree. That should extend my travelling days by a year or three, or at least allow me to flit like a migrating bee between the places I like to be. (you knew the dreaded rhyme would bide it´s time before unleashing itself on thee, now didn´t ye) What´s this about your state of mind? I don´t recognise the picture I find entwined in your lines. I think it´s the weather just being unkind. I´m sure the summer will find your sorrows refined into something far more divine. Anyway! I´ve started and and farted my way through this email in a particularly eratic way, as the system here has started to sway, and who knows, it could drop any day. Suffice to say that I´ve got some time today to play, while before there was much disarray. And now, say hooray, for I´ve just had a write to that ruffled trilobite we know as N (the illustrous pickle). He seems to be in something of a mood, but I´m sure he´ll be less rude once he´s chewed on the package of ponderings I´ve slewed towards his simmering stew (that´s if my rhyme isn´t defined as nowt more than poo). Now i simply must stop before i also drop, and am left feeling bruised and confused. For this addling chain which does dance from my brain Has been somewhat overabused. Yes enough of this muse, with it´s nonchalant cruise through the shallows and troughs of my brain. I´ve muddled to much, round my grammatical crutch, And I wish you no further pain. love Tom (ps get less snotty soon) subject: mexican marauding Hola chico (which translated directly means "hello boy", but I´m sure you´ll forgive such patriarchal pultritude in the name of english iglaitarianism). If you´re showboating to Mexico so soon, here´s some vocab you´re bound to need: joder = fuck (pronounced "hoder") mierda = shit (of course) cojones (I believe) = bollocks and is used as we normally use fuck for more complicated issues ie. "it´s fucked up", "this is a fucking useless car" etc also "vaya" (pronuonced "(v/)baya") is the accepted expression on having seen a beautiful woman in the street, and "venga" ("benga") is the same as the english "come on" in all it´s uses. "Vamos" is also used during those long periods when you try and get Spanish people to "come on" and move. If you´re ever tempted to imitate "Speedy Gonzalez" while walking those baking mexican streets, please remember that you´ll be saying "Come on, Up!" and nothing that really makes any sense (unless you´ve consumed hallucinogenic amounts of tequilla). If some one says "¡Ala!" in reponse to any burblings or body movements you might make, they´re not summoning the God of the Muslims to embue you with a thousand tongues, but expressing a Victor-Meldrew-style "I don´t believe it". I´m sure your sister can furnish you with further flipancies when you find her. Say hello to your Ma and your sibling for me, and think of the rest of us mere mortals cowering under the brooding british cloud-cover while you peruse poncho´s under that sheer sunny sky. But most of all have a soul-strummingly good christmas why don´t you, and I´ll see you on the other side of time (I believe it´s called 1999). ps. you muust re ssist the muusic, backoff from the bolero, nn-never wear th-those sombreros,...or be fore u know it, you´ll be d-dancing l-like a Pharoh (aargh, it´s too late for me, save yourself...) "Walk like an Eygptian...... ........gonna give you luvin´girl, like a bottle of rum... dum dum de dum....." love Tom subject: picture perfect Small world. The dreaded D* Roseyberg promised me he´d try and track Nadine down (using his freaky people-tracking methods which he had been describing to me during our New year´s revelries). I imagined she was running some nit-cleansing service in Peru. He told me some very vague storey about Lucy running a squat-cafe and having calmed down a bit (lesbian travelling sounds like a step in a tranquil direction anyway). I hope things are all settled and sumptuous at your end. You should try and persuade Nadine to write me something if you see her again ( err, my address here is ************. I think). I´m elbow deep in psychological ponderings at the moment, so between questionnaires, corporate clowning, creative language use (an Italian called Estella, who doesn´t speak any spanish has just arrived), and countless consequential candelabras of confusing commitments, I´ve been kept quite busy. Sends us the photo if you can. I´ve got that picture of you looking bemused with a stick attached to my wall now (the stick looks very happy), hanging in some ingenious plastic casings with pictures of other hairy objects (my family etc). Ever since I found some hooks in all of my walls I´ve been hanging anything I can find on them. Very decorative. Ok, must go now and deal with all the repurcussions of my forgetfulness (currently, one missed visit to eat some bull meat on a farm, and the fact that I fogot to claim my pay from my other employers last month. duh.) Love and mezcal kisses Tom
hippywaster@hotmail.com If it don't make sense, well get off the fence, let the indents unpucker, then send me some sense....			And now for some excerpts from 99.... subject: slippery suction as a weekly eruption, can it lead to production? Hola your hoary old sack of water, I can see you´re doing what you oughta. So give your blues no quarter and lead yourself to the slaughter, that´s what I advise to both flora and fauna. So now, before you yawn-a, and I become quite-a Italian-a, I´ll swop to some endings more conduscive to word bending. Yea (being your biblical style of exclamation), there´s no end to the rending, mending and dissembling, that´s hard to fend off, when you´ve rehashed your renderings. But I´ll assault your vault of knowledgeable asphalt no more, for my boss has just sauntered through the door. A fond adieu From your local word stew (and good luck in all that you do) love Tom subject: depth charges Just thought I´d let you know how my river flows. I´m about to embark on one of my most foolish money-earning exercises so far. I´ve agreed to start to teaching two more kids (aged 10 and 13!!!) whose English is far from sterling, which means my head is going to be whirling with una idioma que no puedo hablar, especialmente quando hablando con los ninyos locos de Espanya. So, i have some fun in store, set to a floor-level score. It´s a dance I can prance, but not bolero for sure. But on another level, I´ve carved out enough free time recently to ponder over the film script for a bit. Although it´s rapidly developing into a farce I somehow feel that if the characters aknowledge this too it should make it all ironical and culturally acceptable. Scenes that I´ve jumbled into the yawning gaps in the proceedings so far are: ******etc…..and other miscellaneous mechanical backdrops. On the plus side, I seem to be following the "Middlemarch" ideal I set meself of following some social interactions, instead of wrapping them around a central plot. Unfortunately this means the story/film is essentially plot-less, which could be either a metaphor for life or an expression of this film needing a bit more bulk (even dear old george eliot found time to string some traditional plots together to keep the punters happy) Still, three main sections are emerging: The hedonisticy but beginning-of-life-necesities introductory period, the in-serious-need-of-money-and-smoking-too-much hallocinogenic period, and the decisive-step-away-from-andyet-towards-decision-making period in France. Wire me any inspirational fire you might have concering these contusions why don´t you. I better go and learn some spanish now. p.s I´m laying odds on my student being the dali-lama-reincarnate. The current odds are 200856624 to 1 against.Care to bet? love Tom subject:blurry bunting Sounds like the cinefilm turned out nicely. The reason we did two takes of me going into the maze was coz you wanted to have my face in focus when i turned. I was sort of hoping that would have a freaky/ double-take effect. Did the montage of tiles and stuff not come out very well? On a similar theme, my boss has recently purchased two computers and one (small) video camera. Never mind that she bought them all with money that doesn´t exist (this seems to be a regular happening in this department. Their spending sprees are as "evolutionary" and "developmental" as their investigations) Whatever the case,this camera joins me (and another, older camera) as being one of the many items in this office which has fallen through a loop hole in the psychological-finance continuum. I´ve just been playing with their digital effects and stuff, and i don´t see why I couldn´t by myself some tapes and borrow one of them for a weekend. We´ve got all the bits and pieces to move images onto different sized tapes and stuff. If I can just convince them that an editing suite could go in the "other expenses" column, and would truly benefit humanity, we´ll have a perfect little video playpen. right, should go and learn how keep 10yearolds amused in spanish. see you and your spiderman van later L T If you are who you surely cannot otherwise be, I´ve got some potted prose for your balcony. Medium sized as i am, I'm not made of spam, And my clothing's designed for the sun. With a tentative grope, I´m sure you'll elope, To the end of the rope which I've spun. For there aren't many around, Who´d create such a cloud, Before they´ve even vaguely begun To unwind all they want, In a tongue twisting torrent That would be even worse as a song. (besides, my name´s at the top) 'allo there me-hearty. I do hope I´m not baffling some other Senor A*** with this epistle, but I've been kicking my heels in the office, while waiting to teach a new (10 year old!) student, so I´ve hazarded a little web-browsing and uncovered your cell in the machine. How goes it? Finals not impinging on you too much I hope. Sam´s apparently been projecting pictures of Spain onto some Brighton buildings recently (so he´s working industriously at least).Send me a line when you´ve time. Must go and learn the spanish for "nipple" and "tipple" now. You know. The basics. love Tom 2 subject:All change for Sussex Ah, more time in which to escape the heady vapours of my psychology capers (Or as messer *** put it "Do you know what I´m going through? mindfuck!").So indeed sir I sympathise with your watering eyes and straining head size, in the face of a brace of things to theorise. My personal playthings for the week have been: cooperative group use, how does it lead to the peer support ideal? (and how do you stop little kids hitting each other and make them act respectably, especially when adults so rarely do the same, and then only for personal gain?). So, my brain's screeching while I´m reaching for some conclusions for these preachings, when I´m not all that convinced that our influence won´t be fleeting, and in my spare time I´m preoccupied by little brat-boy teaching (I´ve got a new ten year old one). So, as you can see, nothing much has changed as I persist in resisting what burns in others like a flame. My own hearth is still churning out my existential frame, which sends me hurtling ever onwards through these spiraled social games. BUT, the main reason why I was writing was to ask if you´re changing course completely (again! Long live the degree dancing shift, not so much a stepladder as yo-yo job-lift), or just your module, but as you can see i regularily get distracted from my aims. oooo, yes, i also wanted you to tell me if I´ve got the facts strait about this new type of microchip, invented by thew geezer Nicol is working with/near to. Is it literally made of biological material (I seem to remember it was unstable in most physical conditions)? I remember it was (theoretically?) generated using algorhythms, worked using nodes (or nodules or something) instead of pathways, and was continuing to baffle it´s inventor as to how it worked, the last time we spoke about it. Was it deseigned using one of those computers deseigned by other computers, or am i just muddling everything up? Do feel free to answer any of the thousands of words I have sent you today in any order and at any time (although preferably with the words running left to right, western style) loads of love Tom ps. I´ve found a new quote subject:Aluvial mindbath for Vesuvial examwrath Good day to you, and your canary collection too. And now, through a supreme effort of will power, I´m going to complete some sentences which don´t rhyme. So pray prance practically past potential popularist poo pouring pretty pretensions over previous promises of prose, because bawdy bunting beats basic bumptiousness anyday. Wouldn´t you say? There! One long sentence which didn´t rhyme, followed I know by some shorter strait lines, but don´t point it out ´cause it´s a pedantary crime to deconstruct something that´s fey and sublime. Hope you can gird your loins, save your coins and generally good-grades -purloin, before they set you free on February number 3. May the force leave you alone (the police force that is), and later i´ll post more to ellict more groans. love Tom subject: Come then cyber-critic did you find anything to titilate your inner reprobate, or was it all a formless scrawl with no beginning, end or wherewithal? Send me your pointed points concerning silliness and excessive joints. p.s. are you still playing musical instruments amongst your other hobbies? (to make this rhyme I must now say "jobbies". Terrible the things one´s art forces one into isn´t it) cruely conditional love Tom Fox, Keeper of the Royal Brats (those who are in turn, Holders of the Gun proudly used against anti-fascists in the Spanish Civil War. What lovely land-owners they are) subject: sexy sheep shearers batman! (this week´s episode: To dip or not to dip) Congratulations on your possible pull, that sounds like cause for many a morning sunshine bath. Mind you, early morning hygiene excessiveness is one of societies more incorrigable inbredities I´ve always thought. Personally I can´t stop dreaming about a super-active girl called Chiara, who used to claim the London air made her wake up much later than usual, at 8am to be precise, and whose athletically toned form and past desire for my own body prevent me sleeping at night. I´m going to write her a little something (though hopefully something a bit more seductive and succulant than my cartoon postcard to "Yolanda" -the one who patently didn´t fancy me body)just to see if she´s lovelost and feels like an international romance. If that doesn´t work I´m just going to annoy Diego the shopkeeper downstairs by trying it on with his daughters (and why not two? I have a big bed) So, here´s to mis-matched-monogomy (as oppulant orgies are a bit thin on the ground). If you can squeeze any sense from my sloppy sentences as well, well then bestow a king-sized degree (in direction deciphering) upon your brow, and we´ll chat some more later about what to do now. love poet pimp subject: 2000-word hurdle Buenas dias hombre, como crece tu jardin? Wow, I´ve just discovered that "crapuloso" means drunken. s'good to learn innit. I think that´s one word which will sound particularily fine if said with an English accent (Imagine, if you will, a lobster-hued Ibiza-ite saying "fui muy crapuloso, allright?"). Anyway, nonsense to nonsense, bus to bus, are you still thinking of minting a short-story plot (I know, it didn´t rhyme). I´ve always imagined those competitions are a little bit suss, with the winning entry consequently being nabbed and produced by someone else as the writer has no real hold over it. Besides, we´d never both fit in one airplane seat (you´re not skinny enough). I´m happy to amble along in my bookish backwater and to see if i can´t piece all my scattered ideas into one eccentric piece of ecelctic evolution. ..and talking of such literary passtimes, I´ve encountered some silly spanish bureaucracy in the library here. In preparation for the arrival of the big-boss from england tomorrow, I´ve been trying to swot up on the things I´m supposed to know about, as he´s already asked loads of questions about me (and my validity!). However, after two days of searching databases and suchlike I managed to track down the books I needed, and I´ve been sitting quietly in the aisles of the library reading them, until yesterday when an officious librarian told me that without the relevant permission I couldn´t do that. An intriguing spanish conversation ensued, whereby she informed that I did have permission to go back downstairs and search the computer database for available books, but if i were to find any, I couldn´t take them out, or even read them. I explained to her that this service really didn´t interest me, as I already knew which books i wanted, and they were both sitting not more than 3 metres from her large spanish posterior. Beyond that, looking at a list of other books which I wouldn´t be allowed to read failed to hold any appeal. So now, I have time to look at silly words in dictionaries (like "tontamente", which means sillily) and write extensive emails to you, before my psychologically astute boss turns up tomorrow and rattles the wholly uncopious collection of facts from my finking-fundament. Better go and berate a bureaucrat again and see if it gets me anywhere. legal love Tom subject: Re: Tom Fox, and his duck suck box (entry 20p) >From: "N**************8 >To: "Tom Fox" >Date: Fri, 12 Feb 1999 17:54:00 +0000 >Subject: Tom Fox > >Tom Fox sux rox, >Tom Fox fux dux, >Tom Fox tux cox in sox >Tom Fox fux dux in box >Tom Fox dux rox >Tom Fox pix lox >Tom Fox sux ox cox in frox >Tom fox fux dux with pox in sox and frox in sox box on ox in tux >Tom Fox fux dux > None of it's true, 'cause I´ve just had the flu, And my curlified locks, Need a de-greasing detox. So those are the reasons Why you´ve tapped out some treason Against the estate of my un-sexual fate. I would blame it all on cultural withdrawl ´cause I don´t speak the tongue, And my home is far-flung, But I´m loth to dispose of such piddling prose When the truth of the matter is i ought to be fatter. Yes an odd inch or two, round the waist, that´d do, Or even the girth of my proud "wand of birth" could do with inflation from some friendly felation. so I´m flirting with horseflies and the girlfirend´s of large guys and indeed anything, have it 3 heads or wings. For such is my situe, Of ox-lacking stew, A right popular fondue, I can tell you (it´s true). For as much as they love the bull and his horn, The spanish libido is equally torn, For clacking their heels like enraged castanets, Those fine spanish women are controlling the bets. There´s nowt you can do in the face of such strength Except starch out your linen, don´t lie on a bench, And pilot your pelvis through the curling contortions Of some respectable dance, and you might get a portion. ---- duck love (may that glorious day become a reality) love Tom subject: hippy pootle mouse Hola radion-reconstructor. Wassup? Have you been sheep dipped, or is your lank shank relaxed in the lap of an island lass? Sorry if I didn´t leap at the script-summary idea, but I´ve been preparing my bonce for a bout with the big boss (oh yeah, I told), which incidently I escaped unscathed and still be-jobbed. I shall try and leave the linguistic larceny alone for a moment to say, quite clearly, in way that ain´t fey: -have you slept? -are you in debt? -Is your hair like a wayward pet? Bugger. couldn´t do it. I shalt (verily) leave thee with the latest ponderings of Sir Nicol the vague from the land of Cunt (and who does n't envy his abode): "Tom Fox tuxs coxs into soxs", which is highly untrue, and not nearly as offensive as what he says about "duxs" on top of "ox"s. Hope you´re slinkily smiling love Tom-the-terminal-tapper. ps. I will stop rhyming one day, although possibly only if i have my fingers cut off, and my emergency alliteration gland removed. subject: hippywasters Hello der. Hows yoo? My parents have just danced their way through Seville during a weekend dalliance, and decided to give me a killer throat infection while they were here. I´ve used this fortuitous phlegm-former as a way of giving up smoking (which has unfortunately made me cough even more, and therefore generally attack walls in a kung-fu style when this generated blood and unacceptable amounts of pain). Still, I´ve finally managed to track down a doctor, and a drug store, so I'm on the mend, which means no more days in bed. I find it very easy to picture the T-lady in glam-rock get-up. It was only a matter of time before her clothes were made of the same material as her purses. As for emails, she has to send me one before she gets one (and if she´s thinking the same way, we´re at an impasse). As I write a tweeting car alarm is going off (it pauses every 20 secs to delude you into thinking it might stop one day),and other car users seem to be encouraging or berating it with their own horns, so every- thing is as normal. Personally this all causes my head less pain than trying to untangle the hopelessly categorical cerebralising of my psychological sources. For example, I find it an enduringly cute conundrum that when their data collecting systems are thwarted by kids copying from their neighbours, they introduce new data analysing systems to account for variance from their central aim, so that every investigation always supports itself very strongly by removing all "inconsistent" answers (I´ve yet to see a study that didn´t claim to have got the results it expected to get, although the most dodgy ones quite blatantly can never provide justification for their results, except via sophistic flowery prose). You get all the clashes between schools of thought that you see in Philosophy, as well as all the childishness of these mighty academics. Recently a Finnish geezer criticised some British geezer's homepage on a psychological email list (it deserved criticising, because it used out of date info which has been proved to be useless and the geezer was just trying to flog his book), although in a very harsh and thorough way. The English geezer wrote back with a very basic response which was "Were you bullied as a child?", with his "signature" which was a recommendation of himself based on the fact he had appeared on a BBC programme. The Finnish bloke reposted by saying yes he had been, and his consequent suicide attempts had fortunately brought him in contact with counselling and a new approach to life. Basically the English ggezer´s a tosser who talks about his "enlightened insight" or something equally laughable on his "successunlimited" webpage. Whatever. Gotta go. write and tell me what you thought of: The video scene. The policeman scene. The Fatmen scene. etc etc See yas Tom subject: No more amazonian architecture Hola peeps. What is this multicoloured mosaic of dots you´ve sent me which amounts to a vision of an earthquake-proof blood sluice? You´re supposed to be my sounding board for ideas surreal and aloof, not an advertising agent for the board of Andaluc(ia). OK, enough of that word-mangling stuff. Did you visit any of those elabourate ancient apartment blocks while you were sunning yourself in Mexican valleys? They look worth a visit, amongst other stuff (I´ve been reading Paul Theroux´s very rapid charge through the Americas recently), so I´m putting some more effort into my Spanish to make a future date with those stone-crates a reality. Ok much to say, but also more time for work than play (as my boss now wants me to start my own investigation, to be published, if I´m to stay). Basically in the recent past I´ve been... -going to some morally malnourished schools, which has involved me being surrounded by crazed 16-year-olds, challenging me to armwrestles and occasionally punching me in the ribs and challenging me to a fight as well, while I made a very slow (5 minute) walk from the blackboard to the door of this particular classroom, all of which was an education. -Because of an illness I have in theory given up smoking (although I´ve just had a fag. I´m averaging on fag and three spliffs a day! Admittedly spliffs using nicotine-removed tobacco in the Scandanevian mode) -New Italian girl! Another student working in the department, with boyfriend in Italy of course, has been intriguing me with her sumptuous nature and accent on a couple of drunken escapades through the noisey nightlife and bewildering backstreets of Seville. -I scored five goals last week against softer, younger opposition than normal, but was forced into just hitting posts and people-on-the-line with punishing regularity this week. Ho hum. But aside from all this what I need is the perspective of a highly educated ex-hippy on the mumbled mantras and twisted candalabras of my efforts at writing some dinky dialogue and arresting artiness. Although i know my sordid scribblings don´t really alleviate much of the murky uncertainty which hangs over the plot, I´ve written some more which I´m keeping in store until you peruse what you got. The way I see it the plot falls into this pattern: *********etc…and who knows how their lives will proceed after the film ends. So, do you think those little scenes I´ve sent have any integral value, or potential to build into this amorphic tale of amor and phicness? Send me your thoughts. I´ve written to much. Debo irme al biblioteca a apprender mas! love Tom (the garrulous one) subject: I cannae remaember hi chicken stock, how´s your flock? I´m writing this while helping to translate a complicated inditement of theChinese approach to fiscal freedom, so excuse any further translational confusion. I was going to send some pictures attached to this, but the system isn't up to it, so you´ve been spared further media-manipulation. Well, I can't remember what i wrote in the other letter, but I´m sure no fue importante. Guess what. I've sort of given up smoking! It's a sort of miracle. Hope your rodent raising is going well (they won't let me play with animals here. something about the budget.) Incidently I´m about to embark on my own psychological investigation! So, if you see any interesting material related to: -power struggles / cooperative versus competitive (co-op group work etc)/ bullying amongst kids and new social practices for dealing with power "in-balances", please re-publish them in my name (or better yet, you could send them to me via this spanking new modern-day speaking tube) So, tengo mucha miedo (I´m shitting myself) sobre este situacion (about this) pero que peudo hacer, necesito el deniro! (but what can I do, I need the money). Must go and play football games with my kids (after smoking spliff to alleviate my nictotineless-numbness) (bucket) loads of love Tom subject: rigidly-rendered filmishiousness That was one turbulant torrent of tongue-wagging. If you´re going to give me so much of your tongue, please try and use it in an italian fashion (in the name of decency!) I agree that our coehesion has been liesioned (no idea how to spell that word) concerning the flimsy film fetish. You can sue me for contract collusion with sheep when it´s a channel-4 late-night flop, and I´ll indite you for sound-biting in a public place, to save face. I´m now going to push a picture through the pootling (that´s the polite descriptive word)phramework of this computer, because every task my boss has given me to do is impossible, because she´s mad (she's told me to order 400 pounds worth of books from an account worth 75 pounds and she previously got me to fill out and send off all the forms for a conference in the greek island of Spetses in her name, although she isn't attending and other people who wanted to now can't, because...oh fuck it's just too silly). But if there's one thing I´ve learned here (aside from the spanish for "fuck" and the fact that psycologists like to have long meetings in lush climates), it´s that this situation can be termed a "paradigm", because anything can be termed a paradigm. That's the end of my transcendental exposition on the potent paradigm, for now. "In the land of the mad, the stone-eyed man is, well, akin to a tree, actually" latin licks Tom subject: gumption-assumption and other roughly fluffy stuff Hola chicle (chewing gum). I´ve just reread your last email of testorone-typed monkey blather, and I can't help but be inspired to imitate your fiery freeform style, helpless as I am in the face of such a gushing Nile of guile, though my DJ Pedro patter might be liable to rile. How are you anyway? Have you netted a morning cleaner yet, or are you going to make do with a pliant pet? The last I heard you hadn't called her your "bird", but you were flapping that way and your odds weren't absurd. I haven't managed to meet anyone with a really decent cleaning fetish yet, but I've been dipping my body into the trippy drippy (it's raining, but the rain's warm) streets of Seville far more regularily, and so I've managed to lay down some ground for some romance to abound, with a sassy lass from the North of England (the capitals denote the two countries I'm talking of), and of course I can flirt with my Italian friends for dessert (with their boyfriends, as always, ominantly overt). I'm glad you feel there's promise for the ropey film-plot's scope. I'll endeavour to fill in some more before too many months elope. At the moment it's still as practical as an all-controlling Pope. As for other practicalities of life, it looks increasingly likely that I can stay in ***** for another six months, if I can embark on a planned (and publishable) investigation of the merit of conflict negotiation techniques being taught in via co-operative groups to: -improve learning -improve classroom atmosphere/reduce conflicts -seperate serious problem students from "the victim/bully/bystander context" (n.b. this last confusing umbrella definition is the result of one year's investigation. It tempts me to start an investigation into the life of psychological studies instead. The normal growth pattern is: -oversimplify a problem to facilitate investigation, -Do away with first investigation having discovered the situation is more complicated than first imagined (having catered your results to fit your original aims, with the help of several accepted "standardising" measures which are used by unscrupulous investigators after "discrepencies" or "variations" from the expected results are found) -the next step is to encounter more and more complexity (or more and more conclusive proof if you're unscrupulous) which normally results in the creation of further statistical instruments to make sense of the whole, which eventually reaches critical mass and explodes as soon as one instrument fails to measure the measure which instrumented it's birth (or of course, there's always the time-delay explosion, whereby you create one, or several, complicated instruments which, when read in the right way, manage to ellicit the information you want from the statistical analysis you've made, and then wait for it to get discredited in ten years time). It's all one big rude gesture in the direction of statistical analysis. For some reason I don't think it would go down that well as an official investigation, although my scrupulous colleagues back up what I've sifted from the socialogical soil.) Well that's far too much garrulous gall. Just thank your stars I didn't get on to football. unscrupulous felicitations tom subject: nodular nuances mince mighty congruences Breaking news from the CBA news desk suggests that it's raining in England and everyone with any fashion sense will be wearing "Woop Hurling" tracksuit bottoms come the winter. But enough of the social edicts update, my old grapefruit crate, there are other thirsts to slake. How are you you dapper old rake you (I'm talking about you you realise, do you?) As you know I'm working in a "Pa-Pa" department, (I've renamed it how current longitudinal studies suggest a one-year old child would name it, if they had a full grasp of its socialogical and integrally ontalogical paradigm that is), but they don't let me play with rats like Tara. Fortunately I've been spending my time learning some Sevillian dance steps, from my fellow experts in Pa-Pa, in an attempt to learn how the Andalucians burn and yearn so palpably on the dancefloor. All I know is that I'm better than my housemate at the confusing cross-legged craziness that is organised dancing, but only because he can only remember how the arms go. One drunken night we might form a two-part, four-armed dancing demon and strap ourselves into a sari for the night, but until that drink-doused day I'm content to sit and write. I sent you some scribblings about such a fine night, attached to it's mother text like a koala-bear in fright, and if you could retrieve it, well, it's 'cause your Uni's not so tight with its invites to heavy-loaded in-com-ing email flights. That is to say, my piccy was to bulky for the other's networks, much to my dismay. If nothing makes much sense, well you can sue me, I'm to blame. I like rhyming more than priming my words for clearness of display. When things are forced so tidiliy in-to their personal quays You're at a loss to stop the tides that erode the brooding bay. Although the cloves of prose that adorn these waves of preening banter, Lie heavily in groves and float no faster than a canter, There's something to be said for this unending poet's bread, To force the lines to intertwine, then crash their spinning heads. I know it's far from subtle, and in need of a rebuttle, But until comments change my mood the rhyming-end is still my food. Must go enter other flow. Go too sir, we both must grow. love Tom subject: Change of address produces communi-mess Well, I tink I've sent a catalogue of digested logs to your previous email receptacle, so here´s a sprinkling of sentiments to douse your newly-baptised bog. The time of the Egg has indeed settled it's chocolatey folds over *****'s crumpled landscape, but it´s succoring embrace is unlike the face we recognise in Britain. Instead of sensible traditional religious practices, like rolling eggs down hills or gorging on chocolate, this is the time of the year when everyone gets their Mary out and waves her on a stick (well on a table mainly, which is just about more dignified), possibly even forgetting to imbibe the honied-sweetmeats which normally maintain their bouncy-forms. You may have thought you saw some fairly devoted Mary-lifting before, but this is the week when Mary really goes to town, from Mary-of-the-ingrowing-toenail to Mary-of-the-half-eaten-oatmeal-cake or whatever. Old Jesus comes out two, but his mutilated form (normally carrying a cross which is a touch more ornate and gold-ornamented than the one I always imagined people were killed on) is far less interesting than the mother-worship implicit in all this Catholocism. It never really occured to me that things could be so different here, but over the last week several solid, empirically-minded Spanish people have quietly (for fear of being lynched) bemoaned the fanatacism surrounding these various saints of strange afflictions. The one thing that I took for granted, the thing that didn´t quite sink home as a local Mary was carted past my house with dogs and car alarms accompanying the band, was that some (lots!) people really do worship that over-dressed manequin surrounded by candles. This really has come as something of a shock: watching people in Klu-Klux-Klan hoods solumnly escorting their private Mary, which in turn is lifted by geezers who seemed to have trained all year just so they can lift the table, and accompanied by a band that practices all year just to praise her plasticy/wooden glory. Basically it's quite scary. Just like the little bars which support only one torreador/football team etc these people live in their own little Mafia-worlds (according to several people who have torn themselves free from these inherited passtimes, and now look back at the devotion of their childhood with horror) where everyone must be part of the tight-knit community, and the personal Mary/Jesus is their figurehead. My informants (it does feel like sifting for information on Chairman Mao from an embaressed Chinese Communist) tell me that, as important as Catholicsim is to everybody, it's just one thing intertwined in a large lump of belief, which then gets passed down in it´s individual form from generation to generation. The family is the thing which must be obeyed, or abandoned to an extent if you wish to escape the cycle. This week has been so full of: drunken conversations with English people about the role of the family (and about how much of a bitch Maggie Thatcher was, but that was incidental); a slow-paced film , beautifully realised and wrapped up in southern sunlight, venerating mothers everywhere; and a TV channel devoted entirely to the thousand and one individualistic processions going on at the moment...........that I can't talk about anything else. You should come out again and see how "primavera" (Spring) effects these crazy people! OK, now to tear myself away from these myopic mystic microcosms. As you can see I've got plenty of time to write, as everything is shut for the week. Information on life in Andalucia looks like this: -Film: Am adding more coherence to opening scenes, but I should have an introductory(!)section wrapped up in swaddling clothes pretty soon. -Women: No axeing or waxing just yet, as I have been crapply lax in my attentions, but talking of which does half-french = Lucy, or another wench ? -Men: Not interested, although my TV has started emitting gay pornography on a regular basis which I can hear "Pepita" (the old lady) watching next door. -Football: I´m getting better, so watch out if I return (bad tackles by English-prof.s on my dancing shins has toughened them no end) -Smoking: Umm, I've only smoked about ten fags in the last week. Spliffs? Uncountable, and worryingly still, beginning to lose their effect on my boiled brain completely. -Books: Reading Salman Rushdie's "Midnight's Children" which ain't half bad, having just finished "The Black Album" by the guy who wrote Budda of Suburbia, and also "Passage to India", so I´m getting a good Indian education. -Food: Need to go and buy some. Hope everything is cool, your area hasn't been over-run by religious nuts, that you understand grammar and know when to butt "but"s. love Tom subject: the great psychology swindle I believe every word you say oh Bhrama of book-ed psycholishiousness. Psychology is indeed a thing most inadept and silly. It´s more fun when done in another language I feel. It seems you've made greater steps to solve socialogical problems by discovering the passifying effect of potatoe waffles (could this be the solution men have searched for since time immemoriable?) Until yesterday I had been allowing pyscology and religion to float past me like the endless flow of wind-blown sand which dances higher and higher around us as the days get hotter. Instead I´ve been liberally largar-ing and smoke-filling my body with another internationally mixed gumbo of late-night revellers. But now investigations raise their pugnacious heads and I must dive back in with much left unsaid. laters Tom subject: More in store Ees hot! Ees very facking hot! Ees tontomente calor "pa" Abril! Allo geezers. I have in fact been spurning the buttered tongue of the sun-tinted ones, for the consonant cuts of the cockney strut. Yes, I have managed to eulogise, improvise and generally, narcistically over emphasise every crazed idea which has bounced through my brain, to some unfortunate people who happened to speak English. There´s an orgasmic rush in this release of fettered ideas, trapped as they normally are by linguistic contraints, so that strangers have swum in my hopes and my fears. Most invigorating it was too, to fall into "geordie" and talk about fate, or rely on some "patois" to rail and berate, and stumble at last through the muswell-hill mumble in an attempt to unravel if it's right to be humble. To this end I have been exceptionally cruel, as my smoke-smiling audience had just escaped from some fool, who battered them too with 10 words to the second, trying them so with the things that he reckoned. The words that they uttered had been "passive" and "probe", as all had emerged, with large throbbing lobes, from a gestation period in a teacher-training abode. Yes these sweat covered orphans were teachers new-born, yet more shiney faces for the TEFL-taught swarm, and to meet them, despite all, has been something most warm, all shorn from our wombs we talked till the dawn. So many thing i want to relate, about warm nights and student fights (fighting me in the schools! I need more bruce lee muscles!) and all the delights of cultural shifts and slow conscious drifts. Suffice to say, I´ve rhymed enough for this day, and my boss now calls me to coffee and play. love Tom subject: Wassup wid yu blue? Hail oh hair-loss one (please forgive my follicular impertinance), how fairs your northern lair? Is your course giving you cause for remorse, or is it rhyme-removal that you wish to inforce? You shall not succeed if the latter's your platter, for the heart of the matter is such style cannot shatter, or so they claim in Spain with their well-heeled refrains. But because I have heart, and make more fart than shit, I'll stop it. having sent you two letters today I now expect at least one word in reply for every ten I've sent you. Get working sir, or you shall never earn the much coveted "Foxy", or the award for glibbly garnered garrulousness as it is otherwise known. The topic is the same for all entries: "Life" (and I don't mean the magazine). Please note that the word "cunt" may only be used three times, to avoid disqualification for getting too lippy. love The Brownlow Bookstore of Potted Histories and Hissy Plottery Editor’s note: The reason for the limiting of c-word emitting is that most of the mail from said reprobate consisted of nothing but this word for more than a month. Methinks he was either annoyed or in fixated ecstacy, meknows not which.
talking shite in the year 2000... .Subject: computer chaos Alright geezer? Things are all swimming along quite nicely at this end, as >I'm still living the life of a student and doing the equivilant of >class-bunking (yesterday went out til two, a modest time for a sevillian >night, with some italian girls to help my mate to mate. I just practiced my >dubious flirting technique on the larger of the two to pass the time -the >other one looked like zoe ball and was one of those deliciously crazy >italians with a rich laugh and a gymnasts body. Ho hum-) Things have been >anarchic out here, as they've just finished their traditional >lets-go-and-get-solidly-pissed-stoned-coked-and-shagged-for-a-week week, >called Feria. I only went for about four nights, as my boss was cruelly >making me work in the mornings, but managed to have about four ridiculous >11-hour binges of lamp-swinging wine-swigging trippiness (I've been getting >the hang of this whole: start at 11 end at 8ish lifestyle more and more as >time progresses. Is dangerous i tell you.One thing's for certain, the big >binges are no good for finding women, because by five o'clock your ability >to say anything that isn't daft or hugely befuddled is zero, so most of >seville just traipses round singing and looking for coke dealers to pep up >their form. I've been experimenting, at the hands of some raving brits that >were out here, with the vodka-and-orange as an allnight pick-me-up, as the >coke thing's for mugs -have I mentioned my opinion about that before?)) > >Ok ok, enough about seville. Anyway, it's raining , so everyone's just >wondering around looking perplexed by the water falling from the sky >(Literally. A guy confused the hell out of me when I left the house today by >just gesturing at the sky and the world in general and saying "water" (in >spanish) with a look on his face that suggested he'd just seen God having a >slash over by the shrubberies. A miracle!) > >Tell me of our beloved soaky shores, I long to hear of altered licensing >hours and smoking rapport. (translation:) how's things going with you? >Sounds like you've fallen on your feet with the flat. Is the work going >alright and all that? I still imagine you working in a warren filled with >tall thin people with skin the colour of their lab coats. > >As for the samuel, he was heading for Prague the last I heard to meet up > with a girl called Launa. He reckons >he'll be able to sneak some time to come out to spain in June, and the >advertising Mr *** and workmanlike Mr. *** are also making their way >out here from about the 7th onwards. You should come out too, if at all >possible, coz I don't know how much longer it will be before I am here no >more, to be a hospitable host and show you what's in store. > >well whatever, I've written far too much > >be good > >love Tom > Alright hip and wasted? Tell some more about that Prague, and even > include pornagraphic and sadomasochistic sections with your (ex)leading lady > as well if you like. I wish to know more, for we spend much time without > writing things defined (my fault I'm sure). Even as I write to you I'm > simultaneously checking the Times job pages for future money earning, > especially in the delightfully un-workmanlike world of academia, for if not > I must hurl myself back into the slightly tiresome world of TEFL teaching > (good as it is for meeting exotic and dangerous foreign women). I reckon > when I come back in July/August I'll probably have to work to afford those > london beer prices, which I don't mind for the previously mentioned reason > in brackets. > > Spent this weekend being very silly (I'm still shaking from the hangover), > unfortunately in a drunken and disorganised not a pulling and debaucherised > way (do I seem obsessed to you? Put it down to time without success). Still, > managed to drink heroic numbers of bottles of whiskey between three people, > have invigorating debates while sitting in trees in an idylic spot by the > river, enter a high security chemistry lab and look at new molecules and > liquid air and stuff, see a building covered in firworks, learn of bizarre > three-way trists, fall backwards off a bench and bruise my spine in > fascinating ways, ride a bike around drunkenly never-the-less and generally > get invited to an "afters" which was starting by a trippily-deserted > arty-railway in the Expo centre (which was where we started). Unfortunately > we started drinking at 4.30 in the afternoon, so we didn't quite make it > back in a grand circle. I must admit I've always thought of myself as a > non-drinky person, but I may have to revise my opinion. > > Still, plenty of late-night singing to be done in Seville if you make it out > here during June or something. Sounds like you both need a trip like that > and can't afford it. Sell your mum's art work, erm, local cat pelts for > clothing (start with Socks, no one will miss him), the random musical > instruments accumulating in your room (except my drum that is). Which makes > me remember, sorry if I just turned up and trashed your house when I was > back before. I'll come back and polish some side boards when I get back > again (erm honestly). > > Ok, should go and simulate work > > I'm sure you'll sort it all out, and you've only got a bit of time left in > Bournemouth anyway. Where was that ridiculously generous Phd you were > applying for anyway? Ok, enough of the anyways. > > love Tom > Subject: Re: computer chaos >Alright Olstar. Sounds like you've had some bad luck there. S'alright >though,if she's being a bitch she probably was one to begin with and so >you're better off out of it (and you got to enjoy some time with her before >finding out). Still, looking on the bright side, now you're free to find >someone in Birmingham and dedicate your time to her without travelling >around like a gypsy with quality ganj for sale. I'm sure it shouldn't take >you more than a week. > >Good to hear you're keeping fit and that. I've had a nightmare problem >recently, which is that my old-man's varicose veins in my right leg have >turned nasty over the last six months. I haven't done anything strenuous >with it, aside from testing my new spanish skills on 16yrold Rauls,for >nearly two months now, which is totally frustrating. Add to that an >eye-infection (to be treated with camomile tea!) which means I can't wear my >lenses for a bit and I'm skuppered. Still, I've got some medication for the >old leg thing, which seems to be helping toughen up the skin and stuff, and >I'm planning some high scale surgery (vein cutting and eye lazering. Hooray >for modern science) when I get back, using money from my departed grandma. >Hopefully I'll be right as rain after that. I can't wait to get back out on >the football field, I've been having a laugh out here with silly tricks and >long range passes (and yes, even the occasional goal or flambouyant header. >Contacts have been cool for running around like a fearless maniac). I have >to do it all soon before I get a left leg like a javelin thrower's arm (ok, >or maybe like a jockey's whipping arm might be more accurate, but anyway...) > >Send more piccies of your delightful daughter why don't you (and yes, I do >know ***â€™s your daughter, you don't need to remind me :)), I want to see >her with an Elvis quiff to match that little fifties number with black cuffs >she was wearing in the last photo. Tell me the story of how it's all going >with ** and everything if you want to, I have an ever open ear (when >my mouth shuts up that is. The advantage of email is that I'm broken down >into small doses and I can't talk over you. Hooray). > >Everything's cool here, and it's even been raining steadily. The drunken >orgies (if only) have died down for a bit, as I've got my >all-in-important-don't-fuck-it-up thing. Haven't got a clue what I'm doing >in the future, but there's plenty of people offering to be english students >if i want to come back in september and teach. > >Better go and write to sam and mad english girls I met out here (and you >will surely meet in London). > >Be good Ollie, tell me everything that's going on with you,and then I'll be >back in July and we can play the fool(s) <---necessary grammatical >correction. > >L Tom > > Subject: fitness fetish >Alright Ollie, > >If you did all of that exercise you told me about in one day then you have a >truly unstoppable fitness mania. I told you about my leg prob. in the other >letter, which is a pain for muscle development, as basically I just can't >work the damn thing too hard. As it goes I've spent a lot of time jogging, >cycling and kick-boxing/dancing crazily round my house as slightly less >strenuous ways of staying nearly in shape (those damn stomach muscles >disappear so quickly if you don't use them don't they. Whenever I play a few >games of football they bounce right back and I'm there waving my slender >pecks at any girl who cares to caress them in clubs. Bit unsubtle perhaps:) > >Sounds like your going full guns in your work. I know how you feel about the >meetings and that. Every time my boss says the work I've done is good >(enough), or that they want to keep me on for more time I have to hold back >the instinct to look at her funnily or laugh or something. > >I went into some high-security chemistry place the other day (lovely devices >you have. One for washing your eyes if they've been acidified and all that). >We totally shouldn't have been there, but one of my mates is a high level >chemist (hippy) who's "created" four molecules of his very own which didn't >exist on earth before. He says everyone that works there is crazier than >him, which makes me worry profoundly for the safety of the world. He says >they're all what the psychologists would call "socially disfunctional" and >communicate better with expensive magnetising equipment than with other >humans. We were only allowed in because so many eccentric types work there, >and so three drunken hippies could blend in. We'd been sitting in trees in a >totally "countrified" section of the river arguing about the nature of the >universe over some whiskey and coke. We started at 4.30 on a sunny friday >afternoon, so although me and my mate David lasted until about 1, despite >the introduction of a final bottle of whiskey which ended up getting drunk >between him and me) we were only good for wandering around strange >landscapes, riding bikes dangerously, and falling backward off benches (ok, >I was the only one that did that). > >gotta go > >be good > >love Tom > Hello there oh poet of the polygonic > And so the internet connection continues. I was just listening to a very > silly tape of you me and Ollie, and I tell you it's a beautiful bit of > nostalgia for me out here (not least of which because we all play well at > certain points, sometimes even together. Listening to it in retrospect we > even cover a fair bit of musical ground, from dodgy reggae, to dodgy blues, > dodgy rock and dodgy funk, not to mention dodgy wierdness). I was going to > send you some Tao wierdness, but I didn't bring the paper with me. All I can > remember at the moment is something like "Man sleeps in a wet place, catches > lumbago and dies. But what of the eel?" it's a fascinating piece of oriental > relativity for sure, which is tantalisingly close to talking of actual > things. Normally these Tao lads just talk about how it would be better to be > useless so people would leave you alone to ponder uselessness, which is all > apparantly highly useful. > > Well whatever, I don't actually have time to write anything else. Hope you > are either returing to your balanced self or enjoying any latent emotional > fieryness burning in your blood. I best send this before the computetr > decides to switch itself off > > > Allright, I sent that ages ago but the computer's given it back to me. How > are you feeling you wayward adventurer in the Dionysic playground? Are your > emotions still running around like pitbulls with castration premonitions, > or have you returned to the plateua of reasonableness and sanity for which I > search daily. I've got to admit that this new phase in your life at least > makes me feel another connection of similarity with you my distant amigo > (after apparantly destroying a lot of them with my dreary talk on our little > jaunt around the cities here, so very long ago), seeing as I seem to be of > the emotionally wayward and sensibly absent variety of human being (despite > coming from a long line and sane and sound accountants and engineers). If > you are still in some tawdry state of biological quandry when I get back I > shall be forced to beat you with my organisation stick (it's a new > aqcuisition), and then harry you with expensive desires to paint the city in > blood colours and dance like mud-covered Celts in a coven (yes I'm still > harping on about my dubious heritage, and apparantly I think I'm a which > too. Honestly, it would just be better if I didn't read what I've written). > If these desires are unappealing I'll see if I can drum up some new ones > (yes, I intend to run for parliment using european funds and then establish > drum communication with south america via under-sea oil pipes, to revitalise > the nation and surpass communication.) Ok, I'm sure nonsense is the last > thing you need so I'll take my leave. If your fingers and mind are aligned, > write me a line. > > love Tom > > Argh, samuel not well. Ring bell (bring out your dead), carry him out (don't > drop on head!), organise bed, make sure is fed, check for sections sore and > red, filter water of unwanted lead, store temporarily in out-door shed, > rename him Uncle Ted, slowly rotate his swollen head, do not place him on a > sled, collect all the hairs he's surely shed and see if his life line can be > read. Finally ignore all that I've said. > > Now, just give that advice to *** and I'm sure she'll sort you out. > Hmm. Shit to hear you're feeling shit. Go wrap yourself up in a large pile > of bedsheets and stuff and get your housemates to feed you honey and whiskey > and do your work for you for heaven's sake. If not, get them to do it for > your sake and just say you're on a mission from god (just don't tell them > the mission is to be all weak and dispondant-like). > > Got to go as I'm in the middle of a psychobabble crisis (My boss is coming > to see all the work I haven't done in 2 hours). Gotta go be stressed and > spread my lunch liberally over the keyboard while doing it. > > Get better. That's an order. > > love Tom > _________________ > ok, what's this about brighton? It's near I grant you, but be aware your > presence will be required in little old london town, where I shall be > spanish-sitting (iyt's like baby sitting but with more difficult charges. > Congo-slapping David, who is the main protagonist in this country swapping > salsa, has set his heart on finding a "local" in which we can play music and > store equipment and he can sleep the nights away. So if you see any hireable > sites which might suit while flitting through london, give us a ring why > dontcha. In the mean time I'm swapping favours with my sister to get her to > look out for something). I was thinking of taking them on little jaunts to > places I've never been either, like that forest just north of london and > stuff. Write and tell me your plans oh healthy man. > > Ok, been working all day (novelty) so I'm going home. > > Be good oh mental regenerator > > I do you the favour of not rhyming the last line. > > love Tom Subject: work whirlwind > >Allright hippie? How's life treating you? Hope you didn't mind my comments >about your tackling prowess. I've just had my inflated opinion of my >football skills brought back down to earth by my first game in 3 months. I >puffed and panted my way through 2 hours of five aside against some >super-fit fanatics in the boiling sevillian sun, and my only reward was a >broken pair of glasses after a wild mis-hit by a pink coloured >incredible-hulk-style geezer. So I'm writing to you in >trippy-cracked-glass-o-vision. Still, I knocked a couple of very lucky >swingy goals into improbable corners of the goal from the half-way line when >we were practicing during a break, which made me feel a little bit better. > >Got an anti-socially large amount of work to do (should be doing it now but >my boss has gone out to eat), so I better be real quick . Everything should >quieten down after this killer meeting on Fri. > >How's your little lady doing? You must have been up to see her again and >that. Is everything going well between you and the family? Let me know if >you like. > >I gotta go > >love Tom > Haha! Clarity want you? Use the force Sam (doesn't have quite the same ring. > Your name is obviously not biblical enough). Now, stop your teeth-gritting, > I'll be back, back-to-back, for some late night flitting from July to > August. Are you going to be in that london-shaped place to welcome me back > from the wilds or what? The current plan is to stumble in to luton on the > 1st or 2nd. In the mean time I've got some flats to sort out and money to > find to help me turn up again in this wonderful clime.I suppose I should go > now before I'm caught be the rhyme. > > Still, my king-sized meeting all went fine (my only slight failings were to > turn up an hour and a half late for it, and to run out of respectible > clothes and turn up to the second day in holey-shoes. For shame) > > Catch up soon you priceless dubloon > > love Tom > You did. You did have a lip-partialising piece of facial-wear last time I was back. I remember it all very clearly. Or am I making it up? Well whatever, apologies if I have forgotten what you look like, but if you will keep augmenting yourself you have to give me time to adjust/pay attention. How's things? Have you been to Glastonflurry you lucky orang-u-tan? (I'm not only suggesting that you are slightly hairy, a point I tend to belabour given my beard-growing difficulties, but also that you might turn orange in the sun. Not very nice I know, but what are friends for? -and don't say: selling into white slavery so at least they're good for somthing. Oh actually, say it anyway, I can't hear you-) Just trying to organise my mighty mountain of possessions. I reckon the rug might not fit in. The drumkit is only just about making as it is (it's going to travel first class on my lap). Seeing as I'm thinking of coming back in September, I'm leaving all the extraneous bikes (2) and music-machines I've accumulated in incapable hands and just hoping they'll be in one piece when I get back. Got a squat semi-sorted out for the two spaniards accompanying me, so that's one less thing to worry about (esp. seeing as I've lent the air-fare to one of these optimistic job hunters). If I've understood everything right we're turning up in Gatwick at about 5 on thursday morning. Are you london bound? Holiday unwound? Sturdy and sound for some jamming and jabbering and twirling around? Tell me what you're up too (and forgive where possible comments about hair), and I'll see you mighty soon love T Right. Nuff of that shite....**			Aunty and Uncle Pauline after the recession Ain't they sweet. This is one of their holiday photos. Ain't it a lovely tree.
			I believe this sterling shot speaks for itself