Cylob

Part-time anarchist, poet and badger farmer.

Location

London

Goals in Life

None...

Passions

Of course, the 'Cheesy Quaver'.

Pulse

Occasional, depending on wind direction.

Music

Ever wanted to work in a record shop but can't find one that's not boarded up?

Fear not, here's a virtual alternative...




Poetry is the new punk?

< "Eternal Downpour" > Rain in my body, flowing through veins that once carried warm blood. The sun illuminates my pale exterior, I feel its warmth, but I’m still as cold as a bronze statue, let’s say of Lenin, at the bottom of the Black Sea? As for my soul, it’s almost underwater, the ever decreasing islands a refuge for my flickering spirit. Soon, the engines will shut down, the flame extinguished by this eternal downpour assisted with bottle after bottle of red wine. I can swim, yes, but I won’t. When the moment comes I’ll take the form of a leaf and ride the torrent. If you look in the gutter you’ll see me, carried off and away, by the rain. < 05.09.06, Darren >

( The band they couldn't hang... )

John Peel died on my birthday...