Without Title There's Something Brutal And Special, Beautiful And Brittle About Such A Restorative Rebuttal.

Love On Trial

Love waltzed up to the witness stand

He had nothing to hide, he was a legitimate

business man,

in a dapper suit, looking like a real beaut,

he took an oath on the bible, crossed his heart,

after a sip of water the cross examination could start.

The lawyer paused, his mind filled with thoughts

of old flames burning, nostalgia out of its box "Mr. Love" he stood as he began,

his tone the biased one of the celibate man,

"Tell the court what it is you,

as the embodiment of Love actually do?"

"Well," replied Love, with a strong baritone,

" try and make sure no one ends up alone".

"That dance in your stomach when you notice someone

Those days that look bright even in the absence of Sun

When you notice special people,

the ones that spin in a circle

inside your head.

The Chills, that's what I give you, it pays the bills

and keeps me well fed."

"So, you're a humanitarian, can turn the bookish boy

into a barbarian,

you inspire poets and the don't know its,

the dreamers, you give truth to believers,

Well Mr. Love you're caught out, if that's even your

real name which I very much doubt.

I propose you're a fraud, a money grubbing toad

who was making a living, of sucking people in

and you feel you'd sweeten the deal

by allying yourself with that man!

Let the record show, that I did and know-

­lingly point to the month of February not Jan!

That both of you started to hope,

that if you schemed, you could be teamed

up and take, the money people make

with a dirty trick of telling folks,

to be romantic on this day more than most!"

Defence counsel objects, "This is a terrible outburst

it makes no diference, he hasn't the evidence

to back up his claims, alibis check out, I don't see any names

of people to support or refute, but I guess it doesn't hurt to dispute

but his argument is to his cases detriment

it makes him look witless,

your honour, please use your power,

he's badgering the witness!

and Romance isn't dead,

the bullet only grazed his head.

He's in a bad way, I think he's in a coma,

We'll have to wait see if the police locate

that blue Toyota.

There's no case here, they're in denial

I say we move to a mis-­trial!" The Judge stony faced and taciturn

remarked "When it comes to love

even the scholarly have much to learn.

I don't know if Mr. Love is indeed

a co-conspirator in this act of greed.

If he and Feb got together,

to see if they could help one another,

but Love has made mistakes in the past

the crimes committed in his name are vast.

Then again the man has made such beauty

that even a old warhorse such as I am forced

to concede.

Romance was the first victim

but this isn't just about him

I say this to you Prosecutor.

Where was the defendant on the night

of the Valentines Massacre?!

Oh I've been a judge a long long time

but even I think this a heinous crime

and the case is a mess,

Let me consider the evidence presented,

is Mr. Love a good man or is he demented

I'll make my ruling after a short recess!" While I hate to end on something of a stiff clanger All questions of Love must invariably end on a cliffhanger...

The House of Words

Like the corner spider unable to understand this city No qualms to the task at hand I'd swear your eyes looked empty. It was a long walk to this place where saints sit in eternal hubris and because these figures never speak their stories will remain forever side-less. A strange fate that does not sit well Something fierce in deeper nature across this patchwork Earth while the mind covets the souls stature. When we are compelled and until truly embraced, even though the tongue is the house of words it still can not explain its taste.

Meanwhile in the North Pole...

The mistle has gone and stubbed its toe while 3 "wise" men criticise the late late toy show Wine is mulling over his choices there in the corner Frankin isn't making lots of Sense but still getting away with myrrh-der. The music has changed this year in the Workshop The wrapping has lost its "W" and now it's gone all hip hop But the Elves are so sick of carols that they are embracing this unseasonal but totally reasonable musical "about facing". Saint Nick is busy in his office with his most important silent partner, if we were to use business vernacular to describe this unholy alliance between Father Christmas  and a shady business man named "Secular". The meeting is concerned with the fall in demand for Christmas Crackers "If the market doesn't pick up, we could easily lose our most lucrative backers!" Nick sits back in his chair remembering the good old days of sleigh bells and sleet Now he has to employ an elf to write whatever it is St. Nick is meant to Tweet "Things have changed in the North Pole", he says before an ominous pause "I think Father Time is biding himself til he makes a move on Mrs. Claus!!" "Frosty the Snowman is nowhere to be found Some Sunny boy has said he saw him go to ground after he was busted last year for some "snow" at one of his usual gigs When he was questioned by the police he gave up his dealer, the mysterious 'R. Briggs'!" Blitzen through his Christmas card writing, so Donner can begin his splurging Vixen makes the joke that as reindeer go she's hardly like the holy Virgin Comet's streaking through the place, with Dasher swift in pursuit Rudolph is a bit of brown/red noser so he's re-examining the Christmas route Dancer has four left feet so he's nervous about Cupids advances While the final reindeer is mincing around, yep, cause he's the one that prances Noel, the newest elf intern isn't feeling very festive Holly and Jolly the twins in Accounting, didn't like him being so suggestive he got in to this job on his J(olly)1 Visa But now he'd rather have post "St. Stephens day Amenisa"! Mrs. Claus just shrugs at the state of the place saying "Tis the season" While she makes a shoddy jumper for her husband in act of passive aggression "Jack Frost is a cool customer but I must remember I'm not single! And thinking about it, it's not bad at all being Mrs. Kris Kringle" Next year they'll all be more organised and I think  they'll rediscover the joys of it But til then all my well wishes can be summarised in  Nollaig Shona Duit!

mortal eye

This mortal eye scratched like vinyl and popping like sun burst skies the bow of hands to chattering rain a soothing river to the front all the way to the dry back garden the people at rest in the alcove blackened with text are the walls and the nooks those patches of wisdom in these sorts of houses we talk in swift and unmistakable looks and the dead body language of rhythm All in all it's what must be done to feel warm or failing that, at least reborn back to a trusting age there's the myth about time having talons and we are all bound by something so vast that cues nature's stage

A Wilde Day from the Off or an Off Day from the Wilde

As the mid afternoon Sun took its ascendancy in an otherwise grey sky Oscar Wilde staggered into a tavern. The great writer was looking the worse for wear after having put the "deca" into decadence, with ten straight nights of drunken revelry behind him, he had finally crashed and the hangover which plagued his fertile brain seemed more important right at that moment, than anything particularly earnest.

The pub was sparsely populated, an old man was sleeping, his head near a low hanging lantern and two men were laughing amongst themselves in the corner. Slumping down on the counter Oscar Wilde barked a drink order startling the bartender. This tavern worker was more accustomed to an elegant Wilde requesting a drink with no less than his customary lingual guile. This flat shout would win the great orator no fans. "You feeling alright Mr. Wilde?" the barkeep inquired, a note of quiet worry in his voice. Wilde let out an unintelligible wheeze in reply before burying his head in his palms. "What is wrong?" the barman asked, all social niceties dropping away as his concern mounted. "Today...my good barkeep. I just wish to play the game of silence. I have no insights, no pithy observation, just the black oblivion of closing my eyes to ward off the aches in my head." Just then, two customers that were off in the corner of the bar perked up upon recognising WIlde. The first man loudly posed the question to his compatriot. "It's that fella aint it? The witty writer. Tell him your story Gus" "Ha, yes. I'd love to know what an innalectual like him would say about it." They bounded over to the bowed Wilde with great enthusiasm, Jack giving him a mighty slap on the back as he neared. "Ozcar Wilde aint ya? I know a face when I see it." Wilde raised his head slightly, a disinterested look greeting the pair. "Gentleman..." Jack interrupted. "My friend here Gus, he's got a good story about the local constabulary courting one of them actors dressed as a lady. He stole from the big nosed fella, you know the one in books. Leonardo De Bergerac is it...?"

"Cyrano, " the barkeep corrected, his gaze still downward on a glass he was wiping. "Tell him the story Gus!!" "Gentleman," Wilde cleared his throat. "Let me stop you right there. I do not wish to be made aware of the wandering eye of a Policeman nor the gender confusion he suffered upon his wooing. I do not wish to hear of a crooked Judge absconding with a grey squirrel or whatever fanciful tales you wish me to comment upon. All I crave is the calm of a quiet pub and the ceasing of the the loud music in my brain. This is but a modest request for solitude." The pair were silent for a moment. Gus began, "So you see, this local officer has a flair for the ladies, well most of the time he does. But see with this..."

Wilde let out a groan.

The barman took no notice of the story and directly addressed Oscar. "But the wall my good sir". He motioned to the back wall of the bar which had much writing upon it. "I know, barkeep," Wilde replied his voice a soft rumble. "My witticisms dot that wall and have kept me in much fine ale over the seasons but today will have to pass without a sip from that fount. I am bereft of the muse. She has left me." Jack chimed in. "The muse has gone, left him for someone who a-muses her!" He left out a great chuckle at this, happy with his half stab at a quip. "Put that on you wall." "The wall isn't for quotes adjacent to Oscar Wilde! It's for quotes from the great man!" Gus replied. "Well look at him. He's in no fit state to be wise. So we're going to fill in." "Oh Posterity, how she weeps." said Wilde, his face buried in his hands once again. Gus and Jack began to look around and were mumbling. "Something hum'erus, something funny..."  "Oh! Oh! The wife, the other day was complaining about a candlestick and I says to her, I says, sometimes love you really get on my wick." There was no response from the barkeep or the writer. "Yeah, yeah," Jack continued, "But still you carry a torch for her!" They stood began beaming at their impromptu double act. "This wit stuff is easy," Jack declared. "Somewhere my good gentleman, in some crotty attic, there hang portraits of you getting progressively more irritating."

"Well sorry Ossie," Gus retorted. "We're just trying to liven up an otherwise dull day." They slumped back to their corner seats, deflated at the poor response their antics had garnered.  The barkeep leaned in. "You're going to lose your streak though. You have never darkened the doors of this establishment without spinning some words to wisdom." Wilde spoke up. "Streaks are like...windows...I mean...Comets. Streaks are...Streaks are...arrrgh". The barkeep sighed. "Well I need to put something up there." Wilde was becoming incensed."Put nothing. Put silence." Disheartened, the barkeep looked around for some ink to add something to the quotes wall. Finding only a golden yellowy ink his son had used to colour in a picture of the Sun, he took it to the wall and flatly wrote:   On this, the 15th Day of the Month October, Silence- Oscar Wilde. The barman walked back behind the bar and began busying himself.  WIlde eyed up his handiwork and muttered "Hmm, Silence is golden". There came the faint sound of the cracking of a lantern followed by a loud shriek as the sleeping old man returned to consciousness with the top of his head ablaze! A badly corked champagne bottle behind the barman slipped falling at an angle and began soaking Oscar and the barkeep. The local constabulary, who had a big enough nose himself it must be said, fell in the door of the tavern, his arms around an obviously male person dolled up to pass as a woman. They both fell to the floor. Suddenly a noise came from a less that reputable boudoir upstairs and an entire bedding structure crashed through the roof of the tavern, landing square in the room with a mighty thud. It was a local politician in bed with what seemed like, four pigs. Gus, Jack and the barman all looked at Wilde to note this unusual set of circumstances which had occurred all around them. Wilde just stared with a mouth agape, his hair getting wetter and bubblier from the still spraying champagne. Gus nudged Jack looking to the new bed in the room. "I hate it when our politicians just farm things out like that." Writers note: Obviously this is not the etymology of the famous "Silence is Golden" phrase but I like to think that even when he said nothing at all Oscar Wilde still provided plenty of gold!

Bonded Universe

The Aston Martin was bigger on the inside as James Bond was crawling towards it. The door was stiff but a quick flash of his Sonic Q-driver was enough and it dutifully popped open. His whole body glowed in a mass of swirling energy.  He was regenerating. This wasn't the first time. In fact he had been through this twice before. The bland and stilted features of the second Agent, Lazenby morphed into the debonair figure of the 3rd Spy. He was James Bond once again. There were still so many mysteries to solve from his last adventure, like the origin of the oldest game in the universe, 'I-Spy'. He felt the top of his head.  "Hair? Check." He placed a hand on his throat, "Suave, urbane voice?" Check. He raised his eyebrow knowingly with a distinct hint of camp. "Eyebrow? Check. I can raise my eyebrow now. Eyebrows are cool."

MoneyPondy was still amazed at the dimensional impossibility of the vehicle. "An amazing car, this!" She rasped in her Scottish accent, scowling a little as she always did. James sighed. "It's pronounced Cardis, Pond." "What? Are we in Cardiff...again?!" she asked.   James shooed away the question.  "Hardly, we can go anywhere on the planet which has a secret underground base or nefarious organisations. But that's most places as you can see." James' movement became erratic as further regeneration energy was still being expelled. "Woah, something is definitely off with this one. I haven't had this difficult a change, in what feels like an EON." He looked at his watch which caused him further pain. He lunged forward and balanced himself on his Cardis steering wheel. Another huge flash of energy started to build up but this was the start of  an even more unusual effect. James began to scream in pain as a distinct figure seemed to splinter off from his own. Bond slumped down again as this new being got its bearings. It was a man whose face was not that dissimilar to an Easter Island statue. There stood the more traditional 11th Doctor.  "Hello everyone!". He looked at MoneyPondy. "Is that you Amy? You're dressed like a secretary. You're not a kissogram again are you?" James Bond thumbed his Walter PPK, eyeing up the intruder. "And you are old sport?" "I'm the Doctor. Call me 0011 if it makes you more comfortable. I'm guessing you're...." Mondypondy laughed. "Hush, he lives to say it." "Bond, James Bond. You can trust me. I'm the Spy. But how did you...come out of..well..me?" "A-ha! I'm the Doctor. I'm bigger than any story. Actually I'm just being facetious. When I realised what was going on and that I would be subsumed into your being, I took a Rolex and fashioned it  into a crude Fob watch.  I used it to store my personality and in a feat of extraordinary metaphysical engineering I tied it directly into the Tardis or Cardis data core to rematerialise me at a certain point. Like an alarm. The next time you checked your watch, the core would pull me apart from you and restore my memories. I'm like the radio that turns on with the alarm." The Doctor trudged around the room in a panic. "Fusion! Franchise Fusion. Of course! The Tardis is trying to import or graft itself on to something else.." Noting Bonds tuxedo attire he paused for a second, "Nice bowtie." "What are you going on about 11?" Bond was confused while the Doctor was in one of his trademark frantic rants. "Usually I'm good with explanations. No, wait. Scratch that. I'm terrible. My two hearts aren't in it when I'm explaining stuff for too long. I'm from another universe. Well, not exactly. Parts of my universe are here." He pointed to his left. "Like I definitely recognise that chair." MoneyPondy grimaced further. "Can you slow down? You're not giving me a chance to insert the right amount of innuendo." James chimed it. "You can always insert my.." The Doctor was exasperated. "Right, right. Ok. You two want to be all humanly with each other. That's great. Put up a balloon. We have bigger things to worry about. Like the end of our two universes." Bond adjusted his cuff links. "To be honest I don't know what to make of any of this. The last time the universe was in danger, I dealt with it, with no small amount of style it must be said. Ernst Davros Blofeld had a giant infinity bomb and..." The Doctor interrupted him. "Look back where I'm from. This girl called River has done a thing and that's caused another thing and basically that whole universe is dying.  So the Tardis has tried to plug the holes of the universe with anything it could find. Every adventure we ever had, as separate beings are being forced together in a total event collage." "An event collage?" MoneyPondy sneered. "Why would that happen?" "Isn't it obvious? Well to anyone 900 years plus, it should be. The Tardis scanned any nearby stimuli to find elements to incorporate into the broken universe. Rory had a James Bond Box Set. In a multi-verse of infinite possibilities a universe where this piece of fiction actually exists must be out there. The Tardis would automatically seek out some sort of commonality. Although we're not that alike are we Mr.Bond?" "Well from what I know Doctor. We both have impeccable style. We are both British Institutions, we go through many female...ahem...assistants and we both..." "Regenerate. We become new people but remain constant! YES! That's it. Oh I am going to bloody kill River..." Bond dropped his wry tone for a moment. "River? I know a River. I mean I knew her. She...passed away. River Lynd. My first great passion." The Doctor smirked and slyly remarked. "First great passion huh? She'd love that..." Suddenly another woman walked into the Cardis front seat room. "James my love...?" MoneyPondy was incensed. "WHO IS THAT?" "That's Ms. Moans. A Ms. Martha Moans." This caused the Doctor to spin off into another tizzy. "NO! No! No! Can't you see what's happening? The deterioration is already beginning. Martha Moans?! That's not even a clever innuendo name!" Bond replied. "I assure you Doctor. Her name is entirely apt." The Doctor exhaled. "Oh Bond. I'm a fan of you as an idea but I can't say I agree with everything about your character. I met your creator once actually. Ian Fleming. Nice fella. Stubborn though. Got angry with me when I told him he shouldn't name that story 'Quantum of Solace'.." "Doctor, we'll head back to M(offat) Branch and await our orders. Brigadier Boothroyd Lethbridge Quebert could be a great asset here..."

Pond mumbled. "That name is quite a mouthful." Bond couldn't resist adding. "I'll tell you what else is a mouthful.." The Doctor was starting to get frustrated at the repartee. "STOP IT! We need to find a way to disentangle our universes. The internal logic of this place isn't strong enough to handle such an awkward amalgamation. Any slight unbalance and we could lose it all." The crackle of a vortex manipulator was heard and Martha was joined  by a shadowy figure. She addressed the visitor. "You're right. They're BOTH here." A maniacal laughter began to sound and the figure stepped slowly into the light. "GoldMaster!" exclaimed Bond. "Oh yes. Fun! Fun! The Doctor and the Spy. From Gallifrey to Skyfall. It's all been leading us to this moment. I've retained my memories of both universes and I have to say this awkward fusion is my kind of world." He held a key with a central locking control and pressed it. The door of the Aston Martin slid open and two Gold-plated Daleks entered the Cardis. The Doctor looked at Martha. "Why are you working for him?" Bond interjected. "It's classic for my universe old chap. There's always a good girl and a bad one. No use in "moan"-ing about it now." Martha taunted her ex lover. "Bet you haven't been this disappointed since Bad Jaws Bay." What happened there?" The Doctor asked. "My..wife Tracy Tyler got trapped in an alternate universe with my Connery incarnation. These things happen." The Doctor nodded knowingly. "Enough of this talk. Doctor, you are going to steer this Cardis back to the creation of the universe. I mean this universe is fine.." He looked around as he continued. "But I think it could use...a Midas touch." "You expect me to do that?" 11 snapped back. "No Doctor I expect you to die! Oh and keep coming back and dying again. I never get tired of that. Now come on. You know what they say 'No guts, no McClory!'" A Gold Dalek fired a beam that knocked MoneyPondy back towards the wall.  "Now drive this Cardis for me or the next time...I'll give her a proper Gold Star." The Spy cradled the wounded MoneyPondy. "You'll be ok." She could barely speak but whispered. "Promise me, I'll be ok. Promise me on something that matters." Bond thought for a second. "I promise on Albert Broccoli and Custard." She gave little smile before falling into unconsciousness. Angered Bond whipped out his gun and aimed it at GoldMaster. "Now there are two things I never miss. A golden opportunity or what I target with this gun. In this case they're the same thing." A serious expression appeared on GoldMaster's face. "None of you understand it. What I go through every day. The music. I hear it all the time. This cacophony of brass and drums. Over and Over again. 'Ba-da ba-da ba ba da dahhh bahhh ba-da bum..' It haunts me." "Welcome to the 'Theme'" came another unseen voice behind GoldMaster and Martha They were were both struck with a sonic lipstick blast.  "Solitaire Jane Smith, to the rescue!" She stood there confident with a robotic dog next to her. The markings on him read MI-6.  He blasted the two daleks. Delighted to see her Bond quipped. "You always were a master of the 'kiss off'." She approached Bond. "Solitaire is tired of playing a lonely game..." "Well Ms. Smith I always did find you...dalek-table." They embraced and began to kiss passionately.  The Doctor ran over to the Cardis controls. "Ok. I have an idea of how to dislodge us but...it's risky." Bond and Solitaire joined him at the controls. "The mistake my Tardis made..,"The Doctor explained, "is that she tried to mix the elements in such a way that they made a bit of sense. And now she's stirring it all in a big pot of narrative nonsense. Our only hope is to drive this Cardis back into our first moments. The opening adventures. The nexus point from where our legends began." He pushed a number of buttons and pulled on several levers. "We're going back to 'An Unearthly Casino'. The shock of us landing right back where it all started should be enough to shake us loose." "So what you're saying Doctor is that this shared universe of ours is a bit like a martini. It must be..." The Doctor and Bond spoke in unison. "SHAKEN NOT STIRRED!!" Bond and the Doctor smiled at one another.  "Geronimo!", they both said at the same time. And with that a flash of light and The Doctor awoke back on the Tardis. He could overhear Amy and Rory arguing about James Bond. "C'mon Amy, we'll just watch one. 'The Spy who Loved me.' It's a good one! Moore is fantastic in it" "Rory, we are in a spaceship that can go anywhere in space and time. Isn't that enough escapism for you? Do we really have to watch Bond?" "You're Scottish. You should love it." The Doctor appeared. "Alright Kids. I'm dropping you guys home for a bit. I have something I have to do." "Can't we help?" Amy inquired.  "Afraid not Pond."  Rory spoke up. "You're saying No, to us Doctor?" "Indeed. you should call me Doctor No!" ****************************************************************************************** River was lying on a bed in her cell at Stormcage when the familiar sound of the Tardis stirred her. "Hello Professor Song." "Doctor," she beamed back at him. "What would you say River, if I called you 'dalek-table'?" River was unimpressed. "What are you on about?" "Ha." The Doctor walked towards her. "I saved the universe again. You messed it up but you don't remember." "I'll take your word for it sweetie. So where are we off to tonight?" He took Rivers hand in his own. "I was thinking we'd stay in tonight." "You realise this is a cell right? I'm not much of a hostess." "Ha yes, but after saving the universe, paying my respects to an iconic character and having to put up with many groan inducing double entendres I was thinking...Isn't it about time I, just to cool off now...I...dove into my nearest River?" He took her in his arms. "Ohhh Doctor..." The Doctor and James Bond will return in... "From Rassilon, With Love"

2 + 2 = 5 stars! Radiohead on TV!

New to the Spotify Channel  While on tour with his band mates Thom Yorke is in a tour bus crash. Fortunately an Airbag saves his life but his bones are still seriously inured. Using the newest advanced technology a mysterious organisation known as the Karma Police rebuild him with bionic technology. Is he the new Six Million dollar man or just dollars and cents gone to waste? Lucky to be alive and assigned a plucky female partner, the earnest Ms. Honey Pablo, Thom uses his new senses to solve crimes while touring the world. Enhanced abilities, such as climbing up walls, innumerable calculations in his scatterbrain and with a new iron lung the melancholic singer fights for what is right and Just.  This is: NEW YORKE, NEW YORKE Created by Donald P. Bellisario                    & Glen. A. Larson While generally fitter and happier this new agent codenamed, the King of Limbs, must face a plethora of new threats, bodysnatchers, the mysterious spy (over)dubbed the Creep and a criminal kingpin known only as Mr. Magpie. Has Thom become a super enhanced  human or is he just a Paranoid Android in a shaky House of Cards? "Bullet Proof I wish I was."  HE IS NOW! Episode 1: "Everything in its right place" Newly re-built and operating at pitch perfect levels Thom's first case involves protecting a child prodigy known only as Kid A from the clutches of assassin The Eraser. Episode 2: "Hail to the Thief" A case involving corporate espionage as an Electioneering process goes awry for a high up political leader plagued by a campaign informant. Thom and Ms. Honey resolve to not let down their newest client. Episode 3: "How to Disappear Completely" People are going missing at Radiohead concerts and Thom is optimistic he can solve the case. Will he need to call on his OK Computer hacker friend Idio-Tech to help him out? Episode 4: "Life in a Glasshouse" Abducted by a foreign government, Thom is forced into gladiatorial contests against Hunting Bears to test his feral abilities. (Part 1) Episode 5: "You and Whose Army?" Concluding part. Thom is liberated by army forces and must discuss his time in Limbo with a new psychiatrist a Ms. Sarah Treefingers. (Special guest star Bjork) Episode 6: " Fake Plastic Trees" The band find themselves in a mysteriously perfect town while promoting their newest album. What dark secrets are concealed in this town when the band go to sleep?  Episode 7: " We Suck Young Blood" A Halloween Special as Thom faces an industrious vampire cult who are mass-producing victims in a warehouse packt Like Sardines in a Crushd Tin Box. Episode 8: "Amnesiac" Following an Amp explosion Thom loses his memory and joins Muse as a backing musician. Can the band convince him that anyone can play guitar for Muse and that he certainly doesn't belong there there?

Episode 9: "Jigsaw Falling into Place" The identity of the Mysterious Mr. Magpie is revealed at last as...Phil Selway!? Yes Radioheads most underestimated member has his knives out and attacks our hero. Episode 10: "Blurring the Lines"  Part of Spotify Channel crossover week. The band tour with secret agent act Blur. An Al-barn storming action packed episode. Episode 11: "Where I end and you begin" Having long denied his feelings for Honey, Thom must find a way to serenade his beloved or be left high and dry when she settles down with her mystery fiance.  Episode 12: "Exit Music (for a tv series)" The season finale sees Ed O'Briens career hang in the balance as Thom and Phil have a bitter fight that culminates in a Punch Up at a wedding... Honeys wedding to Johnny Greenwood!! Will Thom stop whispering his feelings for her and tell her the truth before it's too late? "No Surprises this is a show that won't make you sulk, as pleasant as a (nice dream) but with enough bends in the plot to keep you guessing. True love waits and it was worth the wait in this case!"-  Tuning(in)fork (not affiliated with Pitchfork) Authors Note: This is a dedicated to Paula Larkin for her birthday! one of the biggest Radiohead Heads I know!

Emmet O'Brien takes on Superman.

Here is my review of Man of Steel. I've made it pretty much spoiler free but still approach with caution if you're trying to stay uninformed before the film is released!

Suburban One-trick Blues

I love Bob Dylan and decided to write a sort of potted history of key moments in his career using "Subterranean Homesick Blues" as a template. For the record any ribbing is meant as utterly affectionate. It's Alright Bob (I'm Only Teasing).

  Bobby's in his element making a new precedent he sure as hell isn't thinking about the protest movement man from Newport

Wire cut, pissed off

Said Bob's a traitor

Now Judas gone and kissed off

Look out Bob it's something you distort God knows why But the folkies sure got hurt better crash your bike down an alley way looking for time willing The fans in the Royal Albert Hall

wanted folk Zimmerman they got Bob Dylan Bobby in his neat suit Fans full of what the fuck? feeling in a rut

take amphetamines to strut Many later say, they were never that nay in how the band did play but that's retroactive hearsay Rumours from back in the day! Look out Bob next few years gonna be rough going do bad country stuff domestic bliss, you going to bluff but we will get the basement tapes stuff

you don't need the Jokerman to tell you that's more than enough Get married, get divorced Idiot wind such a force Ring them bells, ride that horse Some gospel stuff to endorse Try out Lanois, then Au Revoir Get burnt out, before really fail Fall ill, but then prevail Jack Frost produce, big sale Mumble in theatres, never ending tours in thousand seaters Get medals from world leaders Scorsese film makes him cool Bob then playing the Christmas fool Dylanologists, silly believers Watch the phrasing of his meters Now Tempest, far from his best Dylan shuffle, enunciating trouble Cowboy dressed, some verses he guessed but he's really trying "Aw Bless" Please the die hard, even when he don't try hard Don't download, buy the damn record 50 years of performin' he must be bored Look out Bob, they keep making you hip Better jump into self parody Masked by some senility give the audience mild hostility Keep on keepin' on while you still got mobility And rally against the censors On your never ending tour adventures The man will always work til the end of his mortality...

It Goes Without Saying

The debate was getting lively and from inside the mind Mr. Quote was ready to leave his house. He was fully prepared for the flight. He had been training for it all his life. His wife Chatty was waiting for him at the door. As he kissed her good bye,she was talking incessantly while he remained his stoic self. Noticing his nerves, she softly said "Oscar, don't worry. You'll be well received. We all know you're popular. Weren't you named after Oscar Wilde?" The walk from the Mind to the Mouth was a short enough one. However he wanted to take a steady stride and not rush out. So many thoughts and words stream out too soon. This business was all about the timing. He looked upon a nice neighbourhood in the Larynx. Chatty and he had once thought about getting a rent controlled Statement in that area but he wasn't sure about the area. He was quite vocal about the place failing to strike a chord with him. Stopping to freshen up in a recites-room he took a look at his own inflection and felt good. Confident. He was Wildean and people love Oscar Wilde quotes. He was lucky he was born into such a well respected family.  A piece of food, an obvious out-of-frowner, which had been staying in Lodges, (lodged inside a tooth actually) stopped him asking for directions to the Esophagus. Some people in the Mind and Mouth mistreated such foreign substances in their area but nothing bothered Oscar more than facial tensions so he was only too happy to help. "Follow the path you were on and keep to the cleft, past that Orifice building there and you should be fine!" Oscar then found himself staring at the tooth fields he'd have to navigate across. Lucky for him a breath stop was nearby. Waiting for the next strong Breath he amused himself by reading a newspaper, Tonsil Today which was a publication that was floundering after one of the founding partners had been removed. An editorial touched on the subject. It read: While we will of course miss one of our esteemed editors and wish him well in these troubled times all is still speechy keen here at the paper. We needed to collectively clear our throat as it were, and this was felt to have been the path(ogen) of least resistance. Don't reach for any lymphoid tissues as of yet however, the palate cleanser that we have planned in this issue will not only be a mouthful but shall be quite cheeky in places!

It was obvious this was them paying mere Lip-Service to a disgraced colleague. Oscar sneaked a quick peek at his favourite comic strip Jawbone as the 214 Breath arrived. It was lucky for him too as a saliva shower was just starting. The Breath drove next to Timbre fences and vocal tracts could be seen out in the fields. He heard a Lisp behind him remark, "I'd get the breath more often if the frequency of them improved." They reached the tongue and Oscar prepared himself for his flight. If successful, his Quote would soar in the debate and punctuate some fundamental point that could win the day. He'd hang in the air, having made his mark and would eventually seep back into the mind and be back home before his absence was noted by the Mention family down the street. The tongue launched Oscar and some other Phrases into the air but as they were just getting shy of the mouth, the engine and the speaker stuttered. Oscar felt his body being mangled and distorted as only half of his being was uttered. He was mumbled beyond recognition and as he fell from the argument into the seas of obscurity he thought about Chatty and how she should have married her talkative ex-boyfriend Luke-Quacious. Wildean quips couldn't save him now and due to his now misspoken nature he was wit-out hope as he plummeted to his fate. It was then his panic subsided for a moment and his training kicked in. He quickly looked under his phonetic seating and discovered something that would save him. Placing an item on his back he let his body relax like a slurred sentence. He pulled the string on his Para-phrase and it slowed his descent into the forgotten remarks below.