Read

In Southern China, a fat old commie entrepeuner is washing viagra down with a tonic made of tiger balls. 20,000 Leagues beneath the sea, the liver of an electric eel is struggling with the mercury created in the production of this pen. At a posh private school in Malibu, a future president is bullying a nerd who will someday write the great American novel. In Jamacia, a man with grey dreads is entertaining a crowd of ice-cream cone sporting tourists by doing a headstand on a beer mug. In Bombay, a sweet young tech-support unit is up late, reverently turning the pages of "The Bhagavita." In Sweden, Bjorn Borg, dressed entirely in his own clothing line, is receiving service from a model who loves him for his valour on the tennis court. Outside Fallujah, a Marine lieutenant is using his iPod to buy Apple stock, which has tripled in the past year; next month it will drop one tenth and his mother will be killed at a poorly designed intersection. In a galaxy far, far away, three-headed university students are furiously scribbling notes as they watch Hitler speak at the Berlin Olympics, our first broadcast into space. On the African Serengeti, a teen antelope with so much to live for is sprinting faster than he ever has before to escape a lithe older lioness; a 31 year old British babe is congratulating herself on a smashing picture. In Alaska, a twelve year old girl, whose father is slaving away on a fishing schooner, is deciding if Jay-Z or Fabolos is more talented; She's going to click on Fabolos. In Guam, I'm listening to a bible-thumping meth dealer jack off in the bunk below me as I wistfully watch a grove of palm trees sway in the wind through a barred window. John Lennon said, "But if you're talking about destruction, you know you can count me out." But I say, "You know, you can go ahead and drop the bombs."

Sleepy Children's Poem

And then the moon shone through...

Madhu was watching the silhouetted image of the city. Slowly the sun began to rise from behind the tall edifices and in a few minutes saffron light...

Just simple lines on paper, or tiny symbols on a screen just can't move solid stone, it often seems to me. Where I live and how I think is flesh and...

Dear Mother -a yearning son As an infant, your lap, a cradle, Turning and twisting, I loved to cuddle. As a kid, your loving kisses, Seemed to me as...

In a single room In Kensington Gardens Square A story comes true It is the story Of a womans own free will Both joyful and blue Seem like a party For...

I am a writeaholic. That could possibly be true, For I don't want to stop it; I feel like I'm compelled to.

This is my GCSE coursework, i got A* for it. It's about Elizabeth Turner's life and love.