Extracts Von

Extract from 'Perrix' by Jack Burston

2008-06-08T02:27:00.003+01:00

Expecting Perrix, Lillian changed from grey into pink. She also turned off the television and turned on the radio. Lillian fingered through the periodicals then thumbed through the angled blinds (occasionally parting them to potentially spot an arriving Perrix). Lillian sat, she prepared to eat the sandwich that she had prepared to allow her appetite to become small in Perrix's presence. The appetite-alterer contained cheese, butter, tomato and mayo. Lillian demolished the snack and hid the plate.

Perrix climbed along the 'pathway' that led to Lillian's. He was persistently annoyed by her description of the route as a 'pathway'. There was too much climbing involved - there was no route, except the roots of the 'beautiful' blackberry bushes. Perrix felt that Lillian had confused beauty and usability when naming the 'pathway' as such.

The blackberry bushes, despite their troublesome roots, were important to Perrix's trips up the hill to see Lillian. He would leave his house fifteen minutes earlier than required, and spend these spare minutes sitting on the slight bank beside the bushes. Whilst on the rock he picked berries from the bush. He lined his stomach before his tea with Lillian - he didn't want her referring to him as 'The Glutton'.

'Raw-brack of Lamb 2' by Jack Burston

2008-06-04T19:34:00.000+01:00

Raw-brack walked through the gate that foot-noted the end of his trimmed front garden. He sneezed in reaction to the pollen. The mask filled with mucus. With the paper in his inside pocket he carried on towards the bus-stop. He nodded in the direction of a rapidly sobering bench dweller.

He showed his pass to the driver and moved up the stairs. Raw-brack sat as close to the front as possible: third row. Whole row to himself. He pulled the paper from his pocket. He recited the address.

"Fifteen Maurice Avenue. Upper Bredmo. Carlstown. Zip code is: 8765-680-abdjjk."

Faster:

"Fifteen Maurice Avenue. Upper Bredmo. Carlstown. Zip code is: 8765-680-abdjjk."

Faster again:

"Fifteen Maurice Avenue, Upper Bredmo, Carlstown. 8765-680-abdjjk."

He placed the paper back in the zip lined pocket. He reconstructed the train station and recalled where he would be able to find the timetables.

'Raw-brack Hol.' by Demost

2008-06-02T02:36:00.000+01:00

'Raw-brack of Lamb 1' by Jack Burston

2008-06-01T20:51:00.000+01:00

Raw-brack dragged on his mask and walked to the kitchen. He sat, rolled the mask up to his nose and reached for the milk on the table in front of him. He slurped and swallowed. Beneath the milk, papers and clippings covered the table. Behind him a symmetrical mural covered the cupboards and the walls that held them up. He held a strongly highlighted, much rippled note, describing the address of a director. The paper had arrived to him from his contact. The contact was well concealed, but still unreliably visible. Raw-brack had dragged him through puddles and thrown him into walls, but the physical did little for the contact's reliability - but he provided.

'Swansong' by 'Spratt Writes, Scotch Draws'

2008-05-26T19:49:00.000+01:00

Extracts from 'Boog' by Jack Burston

2008-05-21T14:56:00.000+01:00

c. v. x. ii. iii. ix. xiii. xiv.

2008-05-21T14:50:00.000+01:00

'Bouncer Ice Creamin Again' by Jack Burston

2008-05-20T00:52:00.000+01:00

'Every- Fills Out In The End' by Jack Burston

2008-05-19T13:20:00.000+01:00

Every- fills out in the end, got to maintain the levels and the heights, a protein there and a complex carbohydrate in the back. Plastered walls covered with papers, diets, sick promises and apologies surround the central: the clover smelling seller in the middle. Pleading through the walls and posters to the surrounding crowds. And in no clearness: from the outside, this is a simple mound of 'art installation' dirt that has excelled in the city for years, but still, it houses its artist.

When Sarah slipped in to its design, she received the plaudits with a grin and gratitude that charmed them in to cushioning her commission with hints and advice.

As she went to the building stage, she delegated too far and relied on the workers, she took no place in the construction. Leaning on the concept post, she ordered them and tarnished them with curses when errors were made. Sarah cursed and ordered until the very last moment of construction, when pointing to the middle of the design, the construction workers placed her in the centre of the mound. Fulfilling the concept -- the builders locked the door permanently.

'Ringbinder: Reactive: Rest Up Through' by Jack Burston and Murray Somervile aka 'Spratt Writes, Scotch Draws'

2008-05-17T20:15:00.000+01:00

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'Spogg' by Jack Burston and Murray Somerville aka 'Spratt Writes, Scotch Draws'

2008-05-17T19:18:00.000+01:00

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'Every-dahdah People' by Jack Burstona and Murray Somerville aka 'Spratt Writes, Scotch Draws'.

2008-05-17T19:00:00.000+01:00

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'Red Chilli' by Jack Burston

2008-05-16T02:49:00.000+01:00

In presence are the following:

Tee
Elle

Excellent, but I've got to leave along the line and there are a few distractions in here, games console, chatter and bad jokes. Little food in the cupboard, but bean chilli becomes a possibility when I spot a few kidney and pinto beans, chillies and chopped tomatoes: barely enough though. I experiment with keepy-ups and a few swings around the tree in the falling. I await the gate that the landlord promised several months ago. I question the purpose of the Droop Inn opposite.

And red as it isn't after the events of Blue Sunday, the twitches through the morning and the itchy nose in memory of vodka and soda. It isn't red anymore, just pale to tanned, settling for the simple and the constant, despite need for the complicated and the diminishing. No chilli, just toast and vegetable oil.

'Bouncer Ice Creamin' by Jack Burston

2008-05-15T02:45:00.000+01:00

Saluting the sun with a couple of ice creams, the bouncer sat up early in the day. Usually a later riser, and starter, the bouncer was at work early today - he wasn't a friend of football but he did involve himself with the larger lanes of European football, still though: early start, late finish. The ice cream though, was melting slowly and despite the time, the sun wasn't heating the black uniform.

Awaiting 'Zaza in Tempestuous'?

2008-05-05T03:30:00.000+01:00

The 'first' one page piece of comic/storyboard shiz from 'Spratt Writes, Scotch Draws'
is coming soon.

Excellent.

Emancipation: Thursday through September.

2008-05-05T03:16:00.001+01:00

Tune, from Thurs. onwards, I'm emancipated like a serf in 1861. Flat-out-tune. As such plans hatched before the date, and revisiting texts is becoming surplus when added to plan hatching, ergo, a variety of missions appear like 'visions of Zim' and the 'cares and whims' of a tune free for the Summer are unwieldy.

Consequently, got a friend, he's moving in to Avon Cottage, going to keep everything in 'Proportion' and there will be a grand range of work produced by 'Spratt Writes, Scotch Draws'.

And so as such I introduce to the stage a triangle of tunes, designated for limited, wide audiences: I, understand, the, paradox.

"Welcome to Tunington."

"Thank you."

"Tip!"

c. v. astlefield.

2008-04-30T00:36:00.000+01:00

An Extract/Rant from 'Pro sipped. i.' by Jack Burston

2008-04-27T03:16:00.000+01:00

“I mean, true that, but is it ‘understandable’ when I’ve decided to laters things with such ease? And the meaningless debt that I’m piling is just that: piling, above and in front of my personally favoured style between the corn field and the meadow. In fairness that meadow owns every single road and I’m not being pastoral and I’m not trying to pasteurise my rural milk in to a drinkable in school commodity, but it should be reasonably soft to drink and it shouldn’t fall on my cornflakes like cream unless I want it to. And if I pile up several ounces of brown sugar with a layer of the white above the cereal and let it tumble in to the milk after it’s decided whether it wants to stay on the flakes, should I start cleaning up my aorta with a pipe cleaner. Should I be flexing my heart more? I mean heart’s a tune and it beats with regularity and gives us an intolerably instinctive sense of rhythm but it’s a drastic act when you start weight lifting with it.”

A Legendary Dog c. v. xiii. xviii. iv.vi.vii. vii.

2008-04-22T14:15:00.000+01:00

'Fleeting Gnats/Cameron Durswith versus Zaza' by Jack Burston

2008-04-22T14:04:00.000+01:00

"Alright Durswith, how are tricks pal?"

"Ney bad, ney bad."

"Seen Zaza?"

"Yeah, he was knocking about the other night I think."

"Fair play, it's dastardly out there tonight, crackling thunder and a bit of rain, did you manage to finish that storyboard?"

"Nearly, got a few more to complete, but you know le drill, will just have to mission it."

Durswith and Akt sat down and talked a little more, meanwhile, Zaza prospered on his market stall, he sold out of everything. Zaza was a master salesman, he was apprenticed by the older members of his family. It was appropriate for Zaza to sell out because his brother did the same before him -- his father had sold out often until he began to lose his speed around the stall. The market square matched Zaza's hair, all perpendicular and segemented -- his hair was square but Zaza was not, he couldn't be: he was looking for an office job.

15% von cvi. ix. AKA 'Cameron Durswith ii' by Jack Burston

2008-04-18T01:08:00.000+01:00

"Generosity excursion is fruitful for minutes and the hours slopping from your escaping dirt bringing filth love is not very personable, it is however very
excitable for this time of Autumn. Not particularly Autumnal, but, yet, still reasonably coppered leaves and a sense of sentimental tinkering with the clocks and the push towards an erstwhile hour; of course the burgeoning after strokes are just falling out: save, save, save, building up the mother load -- for quite, no reason. More likely: dropped off on the train. Variable weather tempers the contrast between and over the potential in the pairing that is not preempted but pre-emptied in preparation, the tone of the build up is clearly anticipatory but it is also content with a happy remain of the already gained, of course the margin is tighter, arguably flexing under the weight of its perfectly eatable balance. Pining for an apple, originally supposed for a mouth -- now just all over the carpet, not needlessly though; an endless flow of deliciously pineless juice rushing down through the fibres and fiborous, naturally."

"Flex Mex, wrap it in a burrito, exposition expedition, wrapped in a burrito, ya dig?"

"Exposito. Brilliant, tune even, tune."

"Are you Cameron Durswith?"

"Gee, shucks, am I?"

"Sure."

"Classified."

"Ah?"

"Classified."

cviii. ix.

2008-04-17T03:35:00.001+01:00

Revisiting 'The Footage' by Jack Burston and Murray Somerville. xvii. civ. vi. xiii. xvi.

2008-04-17T03:29:00.001+01:00

An extract from 'Degrid' by Jack Burston

2008-04-17T03:11:00.000+01:00

Exit car left and of course turn right, dapper shoes and a cane from my right hand; sure, the shorts were on but the dinner jacket remained along with the previously mentioned shoes/cane and surplus to this: sunglasses, brass britches and a crassly worn bandana. It was not the expected mess of a trip to work but it was degrading in the sharply coming rain. I was rustling in my pocket, sure, searching for a couple of coins and a cough mint; awful chance of a cold in this weather, sure.
“Off to the shore Degrid?”
“To work Slacedy, seen Zach today?”
“Nah, sure he’s about, at the cards again probably.”
“He’s Top Ten!”
“Yes Degrid, a tune, pure tune.”
Slacedy was a former neighbour, and he was a fellow follower of Zach, the eternal card player, whose boots would occasionally come close to being hung by a new job or a new woman, but they never quite reached the hook. I simmered down towards the bus and journeyed to town, bonus, sure, up the stairs and out hours later. In recollection: work becomes a full stop, sure.

c. vi. iv. xi.

2008-04-16T19:49:00.000+01:00