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Sunday, May 29, 2005
Seven Lame Wotsits.
Tutta la notte che pulisce l'oliatore e che controlla il pulsatore. Tutta la notte la cosa dangled dai loro dispositivi. Ma ora, la manopola sopra, il hula-hula lucida sui pacchi a malapena di fuoco senza fiamma del giardino. Danni fatti cocendosi a vapore quando succhia le spine hanno attaccato dagli stainers. Il fag molle rotto con i vecchi nomi fini, come la crosta del furetto. E tutti i battitori appendono dalle spirali molto piccole, come i wotsits.
1 comment:
Adam M Mason
said...
Amazing.
3:50 PM
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Big head.
Battery Driven Blips
Seven Lame Wotsits.
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A Funny Way To End
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Wastedpapiers
I grew up in the home counties around London during the 50's and 60's. Went to several art schools including Southend ,Chelsea and Manchester. Trained as a painter and printmaker but now mostly using collage. Collect postcards and old mail art amongst other things too numerous to mention.
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1 comment:
Amazing.
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