Dads

"Spit!"

"Vhat is soul? Vhat is soul?"


"uck! They can speak! Theyve mittled my power like No. "

"Splosh!" He points, and bows at the end, points and exclaims: "Splosh!"

"What the dog, does that mean?"

"Why do you give that girl mean? I MEAN!!!!!!!! A Gay Muslim!!?"

"And now the Father Abdullah!!"

"This is gain."

"Feel the painting, pore salt, crush, suckkkkkkkk the bobbles of paint, and splash, shit on it..."

"Crul, crul, and crul again...thick paint is exact, pallet knives are wastage, SICK, splashy splashy...lots of layers..."

"Abdul----lah! "

"Praise be. Ab- Be, Dul- Love- Ah-Him....Muhammed- We- Praise Him."

What is a paint?

Shamsi, is clicking a black hand, and peering round the corner of a canvas, desperate to look away, says;

"beep, beep, errrrrr, erk, erk, erk...."

Just tugging at a night-time picture...Love is too grateful, cut out light. Half-darkness. Give, them away.

It wasn't going the way I wanted.

-- Not this, not family, not Love.

Attempted.

Not even this post.

Why has Shamsi just appeared? Why has you gossip?

So he weed in the corner then. He was supposed to be un peu de Frank/z Auerbach, i don't like him either...

But I love this Russian-Jewish painter..., he was supposed to be completing prose, and we got this:

oui.

"Soleil Arise! So, we have a film tonight..."


He pats cases of ice-cream, sings that he can move them through the cafe, can count the money together with dad, he wants to do soemthing like this when he grows up. Be a merchant, a shop-owner...

I do arrive with Love.

"Oh!!! No, I havent done the homework..."

We've outed, for an eternal happiness, we are enlightened, so we are!!? We dont care for you, we just know. We dont care, let it all flow. You dont know.

Someone offered that Jews, were Post-Human, I was thinking of post-modernism...

We were adopted by an asian doctor and his asian wife, Lars shalom, visited at teh weekend, he kept his giant Koran fresh and clean for the read, and added to a cardbox of presents...Encourage the children.

SLAM!
 went the door.

Mum would be delerious.

Everything would be Happiness.

I begged.

I murdered Allah.

I went for a lonely afternoon, and looked for teh cinema, I was going alone to see the oscar winner.

A crusty. Crusty ploddign through a gleaming white building. Through expensive resturants, £65 chapmagne bottles.

She looked miserable again, leaning on her arms with two girls in red at a table outside a resturant, looking darker, bitter and upset dark eyes. Frowning, bored.

I hurried my step, kept going, I had an hour until the film, I stood at teh popcorn counter going through Al- Falaq, some silly girls in hijabs in fornt, started up a prayer with me. I said:

"NO! I just learn to recite..."

I got through two more on the sofa. In phonetics.

It was weak I wasn't real, she wasnt there...

"A-audu billah..."

"No, no, no, I'm okay..."

I bit at her knees while she prayed.

I didn't defy. I went down to a simple Hell.

"Au-audu billah..."

"Don't worry, don't worry!!"

"Au-audu billah..."

"okay then, I'm okay, I'm okay...."

---

"A-audu..."

"Is that you? Thank God, you're here. A-udu billah himana shaytani ragheem"

---

"I think Dad is happy, Ahmannah is a good boy..."

---

"You need to hear you need to hear..."

"What date is it? What date is it?"

Ahmannah is a miracle...Dad doesn't tell me what she thinks??

I want you brittle.

"---

"I am cool. Mummy and Dad, are high. You welcome Him. ...

The dark eyes look soooooooooo angry!!

I can't solve a single puzzle!!!

Tajweed and the Best Day

I sang Tarteel. Soft and slowly...

I was fresh and new. We took turns in class reading Surahs, in the summer I had begun by doing a  small course in arabic language, learning how to write the letters, pronounce etc.

I got wonder-star.

Polly the musician listened in:

"You are singing in the Key of A!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lars Shalom!!!!!!!! You can SINGGGGGGGGGG!"

I could hit a C.

Mum cried when she thought we were last.

Pj Harvey- Good Fortune

Give up what you love. Falling away from Green.

Soul Colours: search through....

How Can We?

hello!
I am Israel.

There was a boycott day, boycott Israel and wear Kuffiya, I have a pink Kuffiya, and a semi-expensive black and white one, with nice patterns not just the squares...

But I'm a Muslim.

I don't want to wear hijab.

I have four Korans.

Mostly untouched.

I have a large one in perfect condition, with commentary on each ayah, plus English. One pound in a charity shop. I have one my dad sent for, cheap one, hardback green, and peeling gold letters, it's difficult to see the letters.

I have a dyslexic Arabic.

I have one entirely in Arabic, with a zip-up that someone gave, and I lost her.

I got a tiny square, with colour code for tajweed, I read it inside a cafe full of builders in fluorescent yellow jackets.

I've done this for a year...

I converted in 17th December, I repelled all the hugs from the girls.

"I'm lazy."

"I'm depressed."

I can spend an hour over a difficult tajweed explanation book, and it's a bit difficult to keep my memory. I don't know why.

I gone through Baa. in a good ten pound dictionary. I know:

Ba'a r-rajulu

What an evil man!!

I think I am Ba'a...

A little melancholy, worried...

Bu'sa??

Something else entirely.

I'm lazy.

"I'm terrified!"

I have to be clean, clean, but I'm rolling in smelly blankets, forgetting my teeth.

"I've gone Insane!"

I've forgotten all but one Surat, and I have a Maghrib date next week.

Before, I wasn't bothered, if I didn't even say:

A'u-du billah himana Shaytani ragheem.

Then it sparked and appeared...

Then I menstruated.

Then I sat here in the garden, in sunshine, smoking, and thought:

"I'll be a Hafez in no time..."

Books are scary in this house, I looked round the garden, into the back door, slithered in and made, coffee....

"I'm dreaming, I  have all this Hope..."

"It's this house, there's no room for the spirit..."

Admittedly, I'm embarrassingly distressed, about going into my former "CELL" and picking through the little pocket-cube Quran...

So I painted and painted, to cleanse...

I like buses for Koran, I sit with a paper covered in phonetic Arabic, and roll the surahs round and round until I get to my destination.

"I'm not stupid, I'm lazy..."

The teacher nearly gave up, but we have a date.

"I am going to stun her like Glory. I won't wait to be asked..."

I have too many things to LOVE, instead of being bored.

"I think I need a cup of tea."

Envy

Saltwater room-Owl City

killing her for a dog.

Quran: Min Sharri Hasadeen Idha Hasaaad....

The Envious of the Envied. The Envier of the Envious, The Envious of the Envier.

That One! The Last One! It meant something more!!


Zephyrus-Bloc Party


I like a Happy.


The Envied:


Kings are Spiritual Fires...Hate. Envy is Hate. The Hater was meant to be Wiser...



There was so much in that Verse. I looked at a little bit of Arabic, and shaped it around my thoughts, nothing wrong with that, give me two years and I could become another A.Yusuf...Another way of Interperation. I'm stuck on just five small chapters.


I have a Shams-i...I need to find A Rumi.


The 'Enived' had so much.


BANG! BANG!!


All the Envious...


All the Fights.


They fight, fight fight...


Sleeping in silence is best. She wails...



I must fight. I am envy. They all fight. 

Big White World-Marilyn Manson


The Envied rolls, he rolls spearing walls, laughing, they scream....he laughs, they scream...He blackens, they function against black, like green for the red...he shoots, dagger, dagger...rolls round laughing....they scream, like spit...he rolls laughing...they redden, further knives through walls...they scream.


He wants them to die, because they want him dead.


That's the reason.


They want him to die, because he wants dead.


He hates them, they are stupid.


They spit on the walls.


He doesn't lend daggers.


Unless they pick them up when he throws.


He hates!! And spits and spits!!!


They are all stupid!!! Not like Insane!! ??


They sick. They are stupid. They hate everyone.


He spits!!


They burst through walls, with powers of hate.


All the daggers have been thrown.


They are losing, and that makes him laugh. He hates laughing, he hates to even know of them.


They are stupid. He is envious of fools. His envy is fire like Love. It's been lost.


More walls and walls.


"I hate you!"

The 90 Yegs

"Can you help me? I can't be bothered. I think I've done it. 'It's' dead!"

I didn't reply to Emelbert, until I decided to listen to voices. They were being invaded by Satan. I had to Help. I grabbed my head, without moving, sat on teh edge of the bed, and willed a nano-second prayer. Black woe, flowed around my head, I willed Satan away by feeling. I have done it before, it's easy, cry out a Love, and it screams, I pushed all the demons back into the Fire.

"We were in It, for 90 Yegs!!"

He couldn't press the fingers against the piano. He sighed and turned from it.

The Russian Jewish Painter

This morning I did two more, while waiting for a car to pick me up. Both of the window sill, and the view outside, one turned out to look like the blood-test centre, burnt sienna mixed with cobalt blue, which wandered into the palette, far too much like an NHS building, that I covered over it, with white and cadmium egg blue, an "easter-egg" centre, blue window sills with a catch of that yellow. Some grey too. The production line was cracking and I kept going.


I was painting under twenty minutes, including going to the bath to wash the cup and brushes...

Some were painted in my room at night-time.

They were meant to be an obvious mess.

I sought a Russian Jewish painter I couldn't remember, but which the phantom influenced every single piece.

He told me, to find, yellow tones in the window sills under the bad room light, or to water a ultramarine over the windows of the houses opposite which was also standing by an orange street-light, I missed it and mixed a green-blue.

I ran messy brushstrokes in seconds, over the outlines.
The detailed ones were thrown forward by Matisse, but I kept the Naive, prime, going. The Russian _Jewish painter had never had a bad day, the window's plastic outline had to be bold orange.There wasn't a cloud in the sky.

Some, like the edge of the bed, needed, an impressionist contrast and LOTS of detail (like the future 60's model-sister in the Nerina Pallot, Put Your Hands Up, skirt) , so Matisse savoured the prospects, and the primeval kept going.

The boobs have to be shortened.

The straight outlines, in black, that mask and curve and complete each picture, dipped and swerved, and likely "Swore!" The f*** up the whole picture so the Russian, said:

"Leave that for them to ponder, let them hate the missing curves, SPIT! on the only thing that labels this...say, why? why? Why? over and over again, Laugh!!! Mock, the black line, shoving the rest of the art out of the way. I see the black outline 'Should' Be there...that is why I said; No. I didn't want them to win. I wanted you in a little-death. I laughed, when you forgot to complete them....don't worry!!! You can't help it!!"

I ran to the art cinema, near Brick Lane, to sit alone, on mondays, on red velvet chairs, and small old screens...the hope gave two pictures in one afternoon.

"All possible skies...drop it...all distinct mixes and no clouds..."

All the different times.
The RJ painter, grabbed the canvas in his thick hairy hands and shook it. I made tea and half a cup of milk, over and over.

Children kissed the easter-egg building.

The light came on.

It was over.

My eye-sight had become worse than I ever realised.

I sold them clutching a knife and a swagger.

I dropped the french prostitute, and said loneliness can wait. I didn't want to, see, the film. There was too much time. The rj Painter and the kid next me to me, with the kid....he thought the show was wonderful, the cinema was a jewel, there was a drinks bar included. I wanted to skip down Brick Lane, all the cool.

A short back and sides. A little of the hair on top, long and greased over and down. leather lace-up shoes, no socks, very tight jeans, dark blue, wine red. jumpers over cord shirts. Top button clasped.


The boy's fashion.

I bashed against girls over hookah bars, soaked a kingsize under the rain washing through the noodle bar tent...took him into the jewellery shop, where odd old chairs fitted around vintage dirty tables, and got a con coffee, full of foam, only half a cup of milk to drink. Walked past a barber, at the edge of a vinyl shop, cutting a dark boys short back and sides. All in the same house.

"Friggin in the Riggin/Sex Pistols" 5.99 vinyl 45 rpm.
 Swastika on the shirt cover.


I prized the art-cinema...I thought of Joy. Throne of Blood, Citizen Kane...


I wanted to bite that I couldn't even level this experiment.

The eyes had faltered so badly.
"


The RJ

Why do we hate?


I went for detail in the chair. I wanted to keep the Matisse to a side, save it all for the model, scale down the size of the breasts, when she walked in like that I hummed. Pink cushions, chihuahuas in outfits. Big boobs??

The painter just left me.

He was sitting right here, and I only wanted to know how to spell boobs...She will be like the prettier 1960's version of an Elizabethan Royal, standing proud and tall in pinks and turquoise details for cushions...


The german girl twirled ink pens around outlines, swiggling over outlines, all in a masculine, schizophrenic boys manner, and I stood close to the table, in glasses, and still couldnt see closer, until I got a foot away.

"Perhaps normal people see that way too...."

The German Way:

Their fashion. I've seen it in two girls and a couple. Is; Blazers, school blazers, dark blue and green tartan. Naked legs with boots at the end. 


Grunge, is: Pas-Toi...


There are rare, dreadlocked people, in neon bracelets, things hanging off their hemp-made clothing.


Because: It is winter, now.


The RJ Painter, flew out of my stomach here, moments ago, vomiting, he has just disappeared into the floor....

Why do we hate?

Rasta's...showy crusties...there are matted long-haired men...the homeless ones, one-armed Jim, gets on the train, jumping off the stops where there are no workers or ticket tolls, just those computer touchers for magic cards, I have a free rail pass, and a free-house.


"20p please, folks..."


I give him one pound.



---


I want to give up, this art now.


---


No-one but me, thought it was wise. I look like a strange loser. It was too naive. Do I have sight a manifesto??


The russian has grown black legs. There's not an ache of religion in him.


I vont get, get, get!


"THEY GET ME!!"


chew on a piece of cold pasta. Ask. Touch a mix of freezing salmon.


Oh, kiss. Kiss, then.

Naive Art

 The 'primary incentive' for creating these pictures was to be a mess, was to paint the window and the windows view of the sky and the houses outside...in a half-light, half-darkness, and to paint quickly, see-ing what colours I could find if i randomly mixed buff titanium with cobalt blue and cadmium yellow.


The one with pretty colours with which i haven't finished, is of part of my bed and the window, this one had more detail, more hhhhhm, and will take alot longer to do, the colours were found to have purple-pink, and a nice turquoise for the shape of the mattress, which i found by accident, which weren't what could obviously be seen, then zoom this up, and stick a female model, standing beside a chair, dressed in floaty vintage beige skirt and pink top, to match the walls, scale her thinner, added a 1960's 'pop Look.' A big canvas...

Get Up

I was a Mute for according to calulations 3 years...perhaps 3 and a half months...

My graphics tutor was olive skinned, chubby and dark...

I was eventually, coming into school with one pencil and a lack of paper, already formed a kind of big-shouldered humpback as I grew from the previous bag full of textbooks...

My shoes were sizeS too big, and my long white socks, always put together with the wrong type of patterns...the white shirt got untucked, the tie that's others were always picking the white stripes out of off, until it was gone completely from the blue, these pupils were the coolest...the tie was usually tied around my head, in the breaks and through walking in the half-way...

All this was a kind of "forming" as I got older some eyeliner and mascara was added...

Some kid in a soap-opera got her ear pierced at the top, and Dad said No, to that, so a friend and i immediately went into the cheap jewellery shop where you could pawn stuff, and got pierced for a couple of quid, these piercings were hidden by a surreptitious part of our hair...the hair got streaks of pink food colour added.

I liked the french teacher who was ultra-skinny and dark, and ....nice. And there was the woman with dark red hair, wearing a straw-hat, acting/lecturing about the first automobiels in a museum, and the dark primary scholl teacher. and the etc...


Sometimes I was top in physics, sometimes an F in religion. When I did work, I still didn't get respite,

I was put in detention, every lunchtime, a first year was struggling with Maths, next to me, we were put at a desk for everyone to see, outside the staff-room, my french teacher threw books in my face...I wanted to be God, so I sat with the first year, and showed her a step by step way of doing the long division that i learnt in primary school...that was the best thing I did...

I did a exam in Science, I finished the paper with lots of time to spare, enough to create a "colour pyramid" of felt-tip pens...I got told off.

I got told off, for spraying water on people, throwing bags at peoples heads, all an accident, and getting DD

I got interviewed by a cookery teacher daily, it was staggeringly unbelieveble and cruel, most of it was cruel.

"What did I do at home?"

"I go to the park. I have a friend I meet there." Admittedly, I had no friends...

I went Mute, and the graphics teacher said:

"Has the cat got your tongue?" I went red and silent...

"You are the Cat..." I went mute, I relied on her for some outward show of affection, and help, but I kept mute. She was sweet but it annoyed the other teachers. I didn't like girls. But, I liked the older women, alot older than me, and sweet and clever. And, dark...

I wasn't bothered when the exam results were called out...the Hindu girl I got sat with, who used to lean so far over her work because I would "copy."...got 92%...this was around the PJ Harvey discovery...I found an article in a music magazine, a tiny picture of her in the corner, thick wild black hair...

She had gone to live in a cave by the beach without washing for 6 weeks.

My hair began getting greasy.

I got 93% in Science and they gasped.

I managed greasy hair for three weeks until they noticed. The science teacher noticed and shrieked.

Once my stupid friend had a pregnancy scare. I explained the motions of getting pregnant and was sure she hadn't done that much, because I had half-witnessed it.

I wanted to be Christ, so I said I needed an after-pill. To give to her...I couldn't actually, work out, what the problem with them was...I didn't mentally realise what they were thinking. Perhaps that's Autistic or innocent or what. Or, Sure.

I got dragged out of geography, from my favourite teacher, the rest of them were screaming at me, Isolating (putting me along in a classroom for whole days...)

It was a mental over-kill. It made me go Insane.

It started getting stressful. The most unbelievable stress. I didn't understand it.

I began my first day at high-school, refusing to pray at assembly.

I didn't want to go to school anymore, I stayed in my "cell" with my first heavy metal record, I had stomach-aches, flying slippers giving me black-eyes...

I got a copy of Adrenalin by the Deftones, and told Satan I wanted sex. I put up green and red and blue bulbs I found on a fence, up in the bed-room....I added much more eyeliner...I tried a F5, on the guitar I got from some cousin, a cream white one, which he painted the beatles faces onto...It got broken on my head, and then completely destroyed years later in a acoustic, bass, guitar foot-stamping massacre.

I started getting the greeting "Bitch!" when I did come home.

My cousin had arrived at the door when I was 14 and brought the heavy metal. I thought it was better to tell Satan than God. Because he was "benevolent" which sounded scary.

I left home and went to Nan's...I grew my hair long, washed everyday in my own on suite shower, serum ed my hair....listened to Grandad stories alot. Respected Grandad.

We had a lot of fun running from the rubbish gig-night in another town, where we'd ready and drink, vodka and coke, and cointreau, and malibu, and baileys. And grabbed a train, to the seaside on other weeks, where my stupid friend was picking up boys. We liked running through the church graveyard, falling down holes, we did this every Friday night.

then i got a girl, a blonde girl....we lived in a minimalist apartment, with connecting kitchen, we were two blondes, two professional career women....each night I opened the window, above my head, and we would come in from work one after the other. And sing. Sit, on the sofa.

One night, something strange happened as I went to open the window.

A little dark, ran in from the front door, grabbed my hand, and dragged me into her constructed bed-room. We did it! That was the first Time. ...

Mrs. Gil is arguing over the wall, outside the window, she is in an orange sari, she put's onion bhajis over the wall. Often, her son, has stolen the video-player, he climbs in through the bathroom window, quite a few times. She never tells the police, Mrs. Gil trys pay her the money back. Someone catches him in the alley in a car, ligghting foil-dragons, injected his dick, in the bathroom window, which is slightly glazed over....

I've been in this Summer, forever, I wake as the cats run in and out of the doors, "Morning Sweetie!" I wake up for that, and go back to sleep, I'm soaking hours in the bath, instead of getting up and going to college, I smoke joints and read Camus. I'm trying to work out what a communist is, at her kitchen table.

I turn round in bed, look up;

WAKE UP!

is painted on the ceiling.

I get a pen and write a Dorothy Parker poem on the wall. I have college later, but i need to have . a. bath.

The Hasid Problem

I've started being dressed mad. Like, they need help.

I've got about enough weddings planned for me, to last week, cutting off the weekend.

I only came , to,  help.

Now, I'm being dressed madly, when I look down at my feet, the "beautiful jewish" white socks appear on my feet, black...shoes.

I'm wondering through the train stations,

and I'm donned,

a big square furry hat on my head.

I only wanted to help, I didn't reaslise the whole Hassidim (jewish) check, would stop me.

And give me five girl-brides.

I tap-dance through the room; pretend:

hopping; "I'm King rabbi!!"

I had work for Emelbert, and I had work, with

Rav Abraham.

"Like...the BIG rabbi....the first one, yeah!"

American

Seen.

Every floor. That you burnt is Life. You wait. And I Life.

There is a Red Injun here.

Her name was Pat. She is a modern American Woman.

She killed herself, I got to her in the last minutes of her life.

I said: "You make me feel like a Meditation. Every feel from you is a mediation. I can't describe the tranquility. This is a real soul. I've found it in you."

She said: "You look at my corpse, and you die. It is forbidden to look at a dead body. "

She said she killed herself with a shot-gun.

I didn't know.

I'm an actual blind person. I thought lead me, and I will go.

Sometimes I get a look. It's all talk. It's save me, save me....

So. yesterday I was the blood of a red Injun. And I went out for that smoking stuff, and made the obvious I'm peter pan stuff. And walked into a Squaw at the door, stepped over someone's dark green moccasins. And sent them all to Grandmother, sitting on the sofa in front of the TV. Lots of tribes-men were there. I'm "Little Big Head..." She lifted her hands and grabbed their faces and kissed them...

I was a red injun, because it's soul...

So many were brought back to England to meet the Tudor throne. So many more than just one guy prized around the court.... I trod around Pocahontas grave across the river. It was the sweetest thing. Get a little boat, and walk round her statue.

When I was a kid, Nan dragged and old fancy dress Injun kids' squaw dress, and I wore it every time I went out to play in the street, when I was kicking boys, running to the ice-cream man to get a "skateboard lolly" (ice-cream added to a cheap bar of cherry ice with four bubble gums stuck on top, and sometimes sprinklings for "the princess...."

I wanted to write semi-automatic something....and why...

they just go.

Why, I'm here saying come back, when they go, and when they're here, I'm not well.

Of course, yesterday I was speaking Fluent Injun.

I just don't know what tribe I'm from, the snow here got me seeing/guessing North-west Pacific, the "voice" saying "North of Virginia..."

All Right, Injun's are just sssssssssooooooo more soulful and relaxed...."

...and I don't know why when Pat came back, I got lost in loud snores...

"And I smoke, I smoke...."

Mellow Yellow

new colour scenes:

Orange; Good Intellect (all God colours have little sparkly stars inside them, the colour of soul and emotion is spoken it fills rooms like waves....)

There are new colours. Now. Some colours are Evil, they have a distinct Matt colouring, dull and flat...

There are about three Black colours, one is Justified (or not) Hate...one is absolute Sorrow. these colours must be hard to distinguish for some eyes. Then there are the liar colours. The flat, dull jungle greens...(Jungle Green = War-like)


Then there is the most amazing magic.

Church for Kids. My friend teaches...we sit at a table with dr. peppers and crayons, and create. We have to write a specific message to God. Or, not. Some black guy starts talking about King David. I'm reading the local paper, while my friend, works the projector. They are all on computers now.

"He was known as a rough and ready man."

"Yet....he played the harp..."

Because, I'm nodding and groaning and reading the paper, "Lyre...." there is a column about the holocaust visits, I can read it without worrying, I see a list of people, no one I know...The Baptist's painting is on the floor, it's like an ugly moth in muddy red and blue and green, with the word H.E.L.P in red....My picture is an invention of a type of turtle, with a beak, and big round scales, and little legs...my kid sister frowns. I say:

"I want something Happy. Let's make a colour..."

Suddenly a long wave of the brightest Cadmium Yellow, flows up over the table and spins...

"OH GOD!! WE'RE HIM!!!"

Kid sister, says:

"Lou, this is smax, you said, the holocaust is shit...(because I'm reading trouble/ hence 'in shit') .and he ain't rough and ready, they're ready for bed...(because I have many women...and he is supposed to have too) and. "Yellow is amazing...you know this!""

"If he is an hermaphrodite he will have angels, like a jewish, I like jewish, he will King women, not the 'losest' /loser, he will fly a light like Gentle. He will let them weep, he played the harp like gentle...he is small like a girl, he is fair, he says: Mariam hath....Scorn!...they are no men in light, Angels are Divine, we are Holy Light....I will fly "light" Divine, like a little boy in light....the essence of David was slow. The slap he held was stink...the seat!! Not a rough 'n ready! A seat!!....

He sat on walls and played Harp!! ..(.lyre....lyre...)..his small is angel, he is ghoul, he's sure you're wrong. You take a 'bit' and bring peace. Cool. Let's love another...let's cruel...no more ready...I'm fool...David was a girl-boy and you're fool..."

The black guy is on video rapping, or...."massing" (messiah talk/mass)

"My bones are crushed...."

"Oh. God. look at the fool. Quite good. Kid? Do you see that Yellow colour?? That colour was Satan!!!! And now we have a mirror!!! Bright Yellow is Happiness!! I'm so Happy!!!

---
New Colours:

Turquoise: Blessed at Birth/Re-Born

Yellow: Delight, High happy

Red; Anger, Dull Red ( a tendency to swear and curse) Strawberry red: Cool and liberal. Blood-red: Wise/lived and learned and felt and fell. .

Dark Blue: Holy.

Purple: Even Holier, and mixed with Blue. Purpley-Pink: Gay-Girl.

Bright Blue: Funny

Light, sky blue: nice. happy.

Light pink; nice, happy.

Bright Pink: High, at a Party.

Orange: Extremely Clever.

Light Grey (with stars) Reasonable, yet liberal, sensible, sees ways out.

Dark Green: True Love.

Vanilla, the feeling of touch, plus Mocha Chocolate...

Lime Green: sex.

Lemon Yellow; Full of Worship.

White: (just white) Good.

a weird green white: "Divine."

Neon monsters, in green, blue and pink...high emotion.

Soul Colours

---
New Colours:

Turquoise: Blessed at Birth/Re-Born

Yellow: Delight, High happy

Red; Anger, Dull Red ( a tendency to swear and curse) Strawberry red: Cool and liberal. Blood-red: Wise/lived and learned and felt and fell. .

Dark Blue: Holy.

Purple: Even Holier, and mixed with Blue. Purpley-Pink: Gay-Girl.

Bright Blue: Funny

Light, sky blue: nice. happy.

Light pink; nice, happy.

Bright Pink: High, at a Party.

Orange: Extremely Clever.

Light Grey (with stars) Reasonable, yet liberal, sensible, sees ways out.

Dark Green: True Love.

Vanilla, the feeling of touch, plus Mocha Chocolate...

Lime Green: sex.

Lemon Yellow; Full of Worship.

White: (just white) Good.

a weird green white: "Divine."

Neon monsters, in green, blue and pink...high emotion.