I’m not a fan of plectra.I don’t find them all that electra.Or spectaculah.But this one,a jazzy wee plum,fit right between my finger and thumb.It made a noise,oh boy, oh boys!What a lovely noise.I played with it for more than a minuteI fell in love, innit!The wee plectrum,allows noise of loadsa spectrum...It’s a spectacular plectrum spectrum!

Brian blogs when he’s blootered,His fingers flit across the keyboard,he does it when hebored.A made up word,didja see it?He didn’t,what a wee twit.So, Brian’s a blogger,he’s a freaking fool,but he sure knows how touse a film spool. One to the left, another to the right,taking pictures as if his right.Brain, one time,was in Saudi Arabia.Pictured an ankle,the governor was crankle!He locked Brian away,so to this day,Brian ha...

Marination...Wine...Writing...Good combo? No’ always.Y’uft. This isny a poem,it’s a random...Stringing of words.Pseudo stanzas...Drunken rambling,unedited.Crap.And that’s the way it shall stay. For the record, I’m not that drunk, and that "isny", is a Scottish word, so not a typo. I’m tipsy, but not drunk. If I was drunk, I’d still be able to type and make some sort of sense, but that’s my curse. I haven’t been rat-arsed...

I think I’ll try some catnip. I ain’t even joking, people. I’ve tried catnip before. Powdered stuff. I was at my friends’ house and we were looking at his herb collection. And I do genuinely mean herb collection, as in the stuff you cook with and cast spells with, too. He’s Pagan, as am I, you see and he has quite the herb collection. Anyway, I came across a tub of catnip powder and recalled him telling me that he’d accid...

Oh, soldering iron,you troublesome bastard. Dead, you are, but not forgotten.Four square pounds you cost me,hundreds of hours of nosebleeds,a shitload of burns,lots of fun.Fifteen years, you lasted,you old bugger.Now you’re dead.You were my favourite,my first. Dear reader, have you ever had a favourite tool?It’s heartbreaking when they die, isn’t it?I’ve had this since my teenage years,used it lots.No matter what, I alway...

I walked away. The fan was too loud.Blaring in my face,freezing my arms.I opened up a word document,started typing this tripe,hoping that I’d be able to block it out. It ain’t even warm in here.Tyranny. It hurts, please make it stop!Remove the fuse, I will. Cut the wire.Throw it out the window.Maybe get the dog to piss on it. It freezes me, stresses me. Eats away at me. It fucks with any remaining sanity.I write to gain s...

Thoughts, random and ephemeral,stomp through my head. Some are taken note of,some allowed to float off. Ideas happen daily,some acted upon,most tossed aside. Kitten saunters through,always a pleasant thought.Kitty loves her. Is in love. Projects planned, seeds planted. A bass guitar body, you say? How much? Fifty quid? Mine!I'll take those pups, too. Now I just need a neck,perhaps I'll make one.Thus, a new project begins....

His head, his head!He really is dead.Cleaved clean off,Now his hat, he really can't doff.One wonders whereHis head doth lie?Perhaps on a pizza,Or maybe in a pie?I won't lie,'Twas I.The little bugger,Called me a fly!So his head I did lop,Honestly, I went choppity-chop,Then I used it as a mop. Teehee, choppity-chop!

Palpable is the frustration of inability to be bothered to write. Frustration is reading that first sentence back and realising how fucking clumsy it is, though it does arguably get the point across. Satisfaction is having written a paragraph and moving on to a second one, but annoyance is not being able to think of where to take it. Soreness is the head that is scratched... Because who the fuck doesn’t scratch their head...

I’m sitting here, watching a film called It Might Get Loud. If you’ve not seen it, it’s a documentary about the guitar. Well, that was its aim, but it seems to have turned into a bit of a jam with Jimmy Page, Jack White and Edge. I love how Jimmy and Jack are so perfectly matched. They’re what I’d call natural guitarists. Edge is good in has own way, but not as good as Jack or Jimmy. Jack and Jimmy together, in concert, w...

Lately, I find myself staring.A whole world and all I do is stare.But I’m not staring anywhere,not even into space.It’s all blank,I have no inclination,no inspiration.Even this poem is taking too long.I fear that I’ll stop writing,I fear I’ll go insane when that happens,I fear a lotWell... Not really.At the moment I feel unfeeling,but not in a bad way.I’m writing this to say:Andrew, get over yourself!You’re not going to s...

I remember when I first read a Maya Angelou poem. I was literally awestruck. I was in high school and we were studying poetry in English class. We studied Norman MacCaig, William Shakespeare, Emily Dickinson and few others. Maya Angelou wasn’t one of them, actually. I was on the Internet one day after school and was looking poetry up on the web, when I stumbled across one of hers. A few years later, I saw her on the TV an...

Due to the brevity and darkness of this piece, I have decided to leave a few lines blank, so not to spoil it. Hey, let's face it bitch: You suck as an artist; you have no creativity, you're a fucked up, hopeless shitty person, a plagiarist, and anything you say is an airborne toxic event. Why the fuck are you even alive?  Those words cut straight to the core. Her blade cut straight to the vein. Her life faded to black.

My legs curled around me,my arms stretched out a little,a can of beer beside me.Wishing I had an axolotl.Cute wee things,what happiness they brings,A salamander in half-evolutionwhich makes my head do a revolution.I often wonder about prostitution:Is it bad,or am I mad?Thinking about it, it is the constitution.At least of my land,all entitled to a job,whether that be blowing Bob,or constructing by hand.I’m tired,so I’m go...

First piece of writing on my new laptop, this is. I wonder what it’ll be? Any ideas? A poem? A story? A musing? All three? Could be! But if it is a poem, it ain’t gonna be set out like one. I often find myself wondering why poems are set out in such a way. It would make just as much sense if it was set out in the same way as prose. Enjambement is another thing I don’t quite understand. I can understand starting a sentence...