For an 'Elvis' Fan.

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Clocked off at 11 pm. Thanks for taking time to look.

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PLAYLISTS:

Plantaseed.org.uk/advertisement/.

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KING HORSE:

Cheap cut satin and bad perfume
Showtime is almost here
Teased up by a strip cartoon
Laughing up your sleeve
Sniggering in your beer
He'd seen the bottom of a lot of glasses
But he'd never seen love so near
He'd seen love get so expensive
But he'd never seen love get so dear
:
Now I know that you're all King Horse
Between tenderness and brute force (repeat)
:
She can turn upon a sixpence in the mouth and trousers set
Hit the bill, ring the bell, never spill a sip
And still she knows the kind of tip that she is gonna get
A lot of loose exchanges, precious little respect
When its someone else's weekend
That's the best you can expect
:
So fond of the fabric
So fond of fabrication
From comic books to tragic
Through the heart of complications
:
Meanwhile back in some secluded spot
He says will you please? and she says stop
If I ever lose this good thing that I've got
I never want to hear the song you dedicated tonight
'Cause I knew that song so long before we met
That it means much more than it might

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Williamtemplefoundation.org.uk/blog/i-was-wrong.

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A TWENTY BAG, AND SIX SONGS:

Intro: Discovering Rik Mayall's depths and heights has been influential. Sometimes his 'joke' is the unashamed, undermining of Rik. A celebration of motives, that could be taken as serious? Asks us; Is he joking?

Hard to tell.

He liked to display the base-desires, we tend to mask. Not sure, if he knew, if, he was..., being funny ? Satirising the human condition and foibles, I took some of his supposed, 'the real Rik' as a personal dilemma. The communication to an audience when interviewed?

Was it therapeutic and self-discovery? For, Rik?

Sure, he/here and reading, would bet; throw me and surprise, and what he's all about?

Like me?

In the use of 'art' to make, one person; laugh, dance, learn and puzzle away?

Yep, me, of course.

The writer etc., and the fan, appreciating.

Last Sunday I wrote a fresh and funny, romp of a section. Another version should appear Sunday, on Truthscoop. The one I did, must have deleted, or something?

Made some stark and conspicuous comments about Van Morrison in a Sunday Mail column.

Afterwards, I was struck by the indulgence.

Be like telling ourselves the joke, and laughing.

The bit that got me, was the claim Van had played low after 1974. Took the time to list and layout the rest of the catalogue. Said it all. Although, couldn't leave it to that, so spelled-it-out.

The length with dates spacing them? Laughed and laughed.

An intro, to admit:

Rik helps, free-me-up, from thinking I need to sound noble. From having to... and, for the readers/viewers/listeners of the music.

A 'Social Worker quip' (from schooldays), in appropriate insincerity and condescension, goes: "I really care about the kids."

Blogger, I really care... etc.

Making laughs and doing geeky-music with religion, self-aggrandizing, name-dropping, brash opinions, in a jazzy and abstract, often a ball of confusion

That.

Rik was a brilliant, and now regard, largely missed, diamond in the rough. Apart from an old pal talking about him, and pleased he was giving (Nic) a break. Remembered The Young Ones. For the lads and gals, I ligged with, and got dwunk and stoned with: The Young Ones was the first TV show that counted. Called it.

The one comedy, managing to be a cartoon of the Pub and back-to-yours life we lived. Aspirational madness and surreal behaviour.

Rik was in that. My Rik experience.

The interviews I put up, intend to return, and rewind.

22.38 and ticking...

Pure, self-indulgence post, you're welcome to share?

Messages to me, and unnamed others. Who, even if they read and visit, wouldn't likely get it.

IF..., I had showy-off ideals, I'd spend six hours, not three. Or, ten, twenty...

Mum's next door in bed; Tired of indulging in other's internet-output; Can't do TV; Movies are a push, aond ne I find hard to arrive at and manage; The internet offers nothing but Unz, and Aangirfan.

[NEWS FLASH: S. Awan, producer of one of the two blogs that inspired me to do something: After a year or so off, after Word Press' on the*Stasi tip*. Pleased to update, S. Awan is hard at it, and The Burning Blogger (of Bedlam), soon come. A huge relief, for me]

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Truthscoop.net/call-this-a-marker.

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Why, write tonight?

Leaving, God-talk out of it:

An ego smacking-of claim: The playlists and commentary are needed, because, otherwise... nothing, for me to play or read, tonight.

A little bit masturbation, not, sex. (?) NOT, love making, not about another.

Better though, than unrealistic beliefs, about importance, and the like.

The importance is there... in my book: The unseen are where the blogs, might have some welly, and bash evil, while used by God (who knows?).

The angels?

As for you reading?

Honored y'would, and appreciate, ya clickin in? (A sincere line.)

Better..., am honest, while it might somewhat explain the haphazard and somewhat,cumbersome approach. Ram-shackled and downright nuts at times. That's my opinion and on some occasions, under no illusion.

The star, fan, critic, and one/me, has a laugh. The cost, is the confusion. No misunderstanding: Know the style can be awkward and not accessible.

Like the school reports stated, MUST, try harder.

Intend to share a few snatches, show off the waste of time school was. The 'harder' quote is almost a verbatim quote from the head teacher. Exceptional failure, not proud or sad.

There is ONE goal: If anything, I'd like to encourage people in their 20's, to live up, and live well.

Not teens, or over 30's.

Ages 15-35, the boundaries.

To this end, like to care-not and Plant a Seed.

Try harder, leave preaching, and discussing, Jesus for Plant a Seed. Go full-on, and hard, after the prophetic element. Prioritise what it does for my prayer and Bible life.

Truthsccop?

Latest plans?

'Sunday School' stays, while adding mid-week content, directed toward communicating to people in their 20's.

Be about the reader, and not about and for me... to re-read, and giggle, cry, yearn, mutter to myself, spit and slap it out.

22:51.

Two hours? Be a line a song, at this rate.

1 am. The max-a-mondo.

22.30, first number.

Nope, intro, enough.

Saturday, Pt. 3.