Foot Models

Pish Posh - Man Work

In the eighties Pish Posh had numerous chart topping hit including "MAN WORK" which resided at number one on the UK POP chart in 1983.

Pain Killer Man

I only take tens cuz they aint got much tylenol in them.

Velvet Jones

MAN WORK

This song topped the charts in 1983. A song by Pish Posh.

MANCHILD

Look At me! I stomp then Prance with clinched and greedy hands. You owe me. Everyone owes me. I am the manchild. This is my boat. A manchild floats in his boat. Pompously booming echoes define his logic. Each echo finds a wall in the wooden ship to explode in. The sounds manipulate and bend the wood in attempts to become thunderous. It’s just the attention the noise gives itself that feed the echoes.
With everything to hide in them these sounds are the yellowish brown molded to dark sturdy beams of the ships frame. Selfish reasons are why I smile. Row a way to blind and simple town where a Manchild’s voice still pounds now even more echoed than before the ship’s resonance punishably vibrates. The Manchild will marvel at his own voice. A Manchild is not just anyone. A woman on the shore clearly comprehends the severity and kneels covering her ears before a vicious sound. Further down the river of life as he realizes the boards can’t hold his vibrations cracks and leaks bring water to his feet. As his boat sinks the Manchild asks why me. A wise man will mumbled nothing but not shout the profound. The words swim with distance and carry blue certainty.

gillette commercial

Two professional hard asses battle late night at a tennis court over who's going to shave their head. I lost.

Particles of my voice

Particles of my voice swiftly sail the thin air then bounce down caves and into your mind's projector. A whisper of grains emulsify and play your perception of sound memory. My words of wine and cheese are generously placed on a blanket covered beach. Then with the tide they hide and fade beyond the bright of watchfire rays. If my speech becam a screech a spark could fly into a fireball's reach. Upon your shallow breath anchors drop for faint tones breach. In my words view is an approaching beast sliding through cracks and floating down waves of tangled echoes.
-velvetj

To Sylvia

The inside of and oven... fuck it. The last place you would go to find peace of mind.
You smelt the gas and with the warm welcome of a dreaming child pulling over a blanket to dream better said "goodnight".
It must have been depression. It must have been threading through your mind and swimming in your veins.
You forget late august days that burn on and on like wicks with no candles to soften the flame.
You know everyone of those nights in May that carry catalyst for change.
What happened when battling that murderous self.
I know the battle goes on. Die to try.
The crisp voice that creeps and crawls around every thought with potential. I’ll teach myself like you to be a better teacher. Forget the day before. Your good self will see all the colors in the spectrum.
Taste each meal and savor each crumb. With dogged determination I will join the masses and get through each day kicking the demon.

Television

The television is a confused old man.
He's way too cold and cool to shake your hand.
His giant jaw clacks and falls open spraying you with
Arrogant delight.
A bomb kills!
A home team scores tonight!
Constantly evading in lies and rules for subliminal eyes you taught us to live by.
We will go to a retirement home for a day.
I will pack a tuna sandwich with a little red apple.
If it is closed you can still stay and wait on the side of the road.
Smell the burning rubber and listen to the distant engine thunder.