the isle of kevin

some islanders are complaining about me.
they don't like the fact that i am renting dogs out by the hour, or the fact that all the dogs are called kevin.
this is to comply with equal opportunities legislation.
but, of course, some people will complain about anything...

one person who walks with the aid of two sticks and roller skates tells me he was overwhelmed by about two dozen collie/pug/great dane crossbreeds (this produces a dog that is six foot tall, completely bonkers, and extremely ugly).
he made the mistake of shouting 'HERE KEVIN!' in the middle of Kevin Park while holding out a bonio.

my hospital staff tell me he was doing ok until one of the kevin dogs at the front of the pack grabbed his stick in its mouth and started running.
he swears he was doing at least 40 miles an hour along the ring road, clinging on for dear life, until they came to a sudden halt at some roadworks (i've trained the dogs to stop at red lights). 
he ended up squashed by the bollards.
even worse, that gave all the other dogs time to catch up.
he'll be ok by morning as soon as they've prised the last dog off his throat.

i promised i would consider giving all the dogs new names.

an important session this afternoon on our defence policy.
the start was delayed because doris and flossie refused to let gordon brown through security.  they thought he was the cabaret act.
so he was in a bad mood from the off.
i got round that using all my skills of diplomacy...
  "if you don't straighten your face, mush, i'll massage your statistics."

that said, it was a really useful session.
we agreed on a special recruitment drive for people with halitosis to act as customs officers.
it does mean the dogs won't be able to sniff out the illicit sanatogen, but their presence will act as a deterrent to undesirables.
speaking of which, george w bush sent a message of support.

it read, as follows:
  "you're not as stupid as i look.  i was intending to be with you today, but i think they're sending me to iran on a peace mission instead.
after all, lots of folks are worried about the price of petrol. give my love to tony blair (is he still with you?)"

we got down to business after kev's cafe delivered the spam and tripe buffet.
there was little time for discussion after that.
gordon said something like "i'm going out for a bit" and that was the last we saw of him.

in his absence, i secured agreement to install barbed wire along the island coast.
this will have the dual advantage of stopping tourists sneaking in on their own boats, and give legitimate visitors the comfort of knowing that they won't be pushed off the cliff.

her munificence has sent me a reply by corgi-post...(see previous post)

"ta very much for your missive and trois point plan.
harry says bog off, but i've had a word with philip and he's decided to take up your offer.
he's on his way and i do hope you have more luck training him than i've had.
ps - give my best to doris and tell her i'll thrash her at pool next time i've over."

i publish this under the freedom of information act, so you know what's going on.
here on the isle of kevin, we believe in openness.
but whether that extends to reporting what phil gets up to, i'm not so sure.

i have written to her her loveliness the queen offering to take young prince harry under my wing.
he's clearly going off the rails and needs some immoral support (is that the right expression?)

i have set out, in true leadership style, my three point plan to get harry back on track.
not only is he now shooting rare birds, he's going clubbing with them.

it has to be a three point plan, by the way, because if it's any bigger, the media won't cover it.

1. take up an activity which can take place in the privacy of your bedroom
2. surround yourself with people you can trust - but not the england rugby team or people with guns
3. get a proper job and mix with proper people - i have told her marvellousness there is a vacancy for a masseur for my three queens:  no-one in their right mind would refuse a job like that.

right!
that's my duty as world leader done for this morning.

time to tour the island to see if any of the few remaining tourists have survived the all night brass band competition i arranged outside the holiday camp.

the three heavies are going out again tonight, for a game of sex bingo - in other words, they're hoping their number comes up.

rumour has it they are heading for the Steak and Kidney A-go-go, for a few pints of tequila and a couple of pies, before cruising the town in their open top milk float, attempting to lure men by wiggling their goldtops seductively, accompanied by cries of "fancy a good time darling?"
seems to work, though.
why, only last weekend, flossie came home with a 95 year old escapee from the Attila the Hun old folks home.  he was convinced she was the queen mother and was most disappointed when she removed her teeth to snog him.

anyway, good luck to them.
they're out, and so am i.

kev the chauffeur is whisking me off to theatre land for a spot of culture.
i'm going to watch the amateur dramatic production of 'Ben Hur'.
local thespian arthur scuttle-buckett is doing this as a one-man show and i can't wait to see him racing across the
stage in a chariot which he is pulling himself while firing arrows at the very same chariot...all at the same time.
i have every confidence he'll do it.  he achieved fame last year by performing 'mary poppins' completely alone (the theatre
emptied after the first ten minutes).
still, it'll be a change.
and because i'm king, president and chief traffic warden, i always get a good seat and a free king cone.

by the way, one or two of my blog friends have started questioning my sanity.
and after re-reading this, i can quite understand why.

whatever you're doing tonight, enjoy it!

there are always people who think they're being clever, timing their holidays for the end of the school break, and thinking they are going to have a really quiet time.
well, i just wanted them to know that they'd better pick somewhere else.
so yesterday, i issued orders to the main tourist attractions on the isle of kevin (which isn't many, i admit) that they must round up children from all the schools (of which there aren't that many, i admit) and give them a free day out.
it worked like a dream.
my tour of inspection included rewarding highlights, such as...

• man and wife sitting in a peaceful cafe with the cheapest lunch on offer (soup in a basket), and trying to work out where the nearest pound shop was...only to be surrounded by 120 screaming schoolkids, completely out of control and fighting over who got the last bottle of organic cider.
• another couple trying desperately to admire the clifftop view while being pushed close to the edge by a gang of spotty youths with clipboards, counting the number of cow pats while talking on mobile phones

it was with some satisfaction that i sat eating my tea and toast this morning, reading reports that ferries to the isle of britain were full of rather dazed holidaymakers who had decided to cut their trip short.  fortunately, they had plenty of money left, and were happy to pay £12 for a pot of tea and a tranquilliser.

don't suppose we'll see them again in a hurry.

it was a great team effort.
well done, everyone!

here's how it looked as the sun set over the bay on tonight's dog walk...just beautiful.
i was frozen, but couldn't go home until the colour had dissolved.
so i stood like a sentry on the beach while ruby the dog sniffed out her favourite snack...seaweed.
(don't forget to mouse click the picture if you want to see it full size.)

i wonder how oscar wilde would have felt had he known that a rare first edition of his ever so witty play 'the importance of being earnest' had been found in an oxfam shop in a pile of old books someone had donated.

i wonder how tutankhamun would feel if he knew that around two million people are going to traipse past his treasures at the O2 in london (the millenium dome, as was), to gape at things like the small gold coffin that once held his embalmed liver. 

i wonder how john lewis feels now that the famous promise 'never knowingly undersold' now comes with some new small print - but only within eight miles of a store.  this gets round the problem of discount shops and out of town retailers selling stuff cheaper than them...so that's ok then.

i wonder how middle class folk earning more than about £35,000 a year (in the uk) will feel when they discover they're paying out an extra £500 a year in tax, after gordon the brown sneaked in national insurance increases in his last budget before becoming prime minister.

more importantly, i hope you're feeling good today!

would it be good if everyone in the world was nice and friendly all the time?

or would it drive you bonkers and you'd be desperate for a really good argument?

no rest for me on sundays...
a few of the natives have been pestering me about how low they feel because it's so dark and dingy and wet and winter.
'don't you know there are people far worse off than you?' i bellowed from my balcony.
'some people live in bognor regis.'

it didn't help...but maybe this will.
a happy and bright picture, to help you through the hard times.
give it a mouse click or two to see it bigger and better.

i'm tired of the shilly shallying of other world leaders.
it's time to get tough.
set an example.

the isle of britain claims it will have tougher restrictions on the use of water during periods of drought.
shock horror - they might stop people from washing their windows!
my isle of kevin ruling is this - commercial car washes and domestic power hoses are banned as from today....why
wait for the drought?

the isle of britain changes education legilsation every five minutes, then announces that less than half of teenagers got five GCSEs including english and maths.
the isle of kevin doesn't mess about with legislation - it just trains teachers, pays them well, and sacks them if they don't perform.
our schools don't have a third of the year off - they have two weeks in summer, one week at the end of the year, and one week in spring.
school hours are nine till five and children who mess about are kicked out. parents who don't actively support their kids are given three chances before their little darlings are banned.

the isle of britain is a mecca for greedy people who buy and sell property and make millions.  it's made life a misery for most.
all property prices on the isle of kevin are set by me - terraced house with back yard = £100,000;  semi detached with garden and garage = £200,000;  detached with big garden, big garage and lots of fence panels = £300,000.  once an offer is accepted, there's no turning back because a full survey has already been done. 

this is just the beginning of the revolution.  tune in next week for more thrilling announcements from the court of king kevin.

got a new back up system for my computer, which will automatically save everything, every day.
if anything ever goes wrong, i'll be able to retrieve every file.
it's a clever devil, working away for the first time while i'm talking to you.

it's telling me it's backing up...

817,181 items

which equals 230 gigabytes of memory.

i suppose most of it is photos and video footage, but it's amazing how much crap you accumulate isn't it?

at this rate, i'm going to have to leave the computer on overnight.
but who knows what it'll get up to...

will it download dodgy movies while i'm not looking?
log into online poker and do crazy things to my online bank account?
use my desk top publishing software to draw beards and moustaches on my prize family photos?

it's no use - i'll have to stay up late tonight!

 if there was no money in the world, do you think we'd all be better off?

the three witches limped in sometime around dawn today.
dawn was very upset.
but not as much as me (or i - depending upon whether you studied english at school or not).

doris was obviously feeling very sorry for herself.
her three inch thick mascara had congealed like a river of melted chocolate which collected in her cleavage.
well, not so much as a cleavage, as a rift valley.
she told me, between gobfuls of mars bar, that she was never speaking to flossie again.

flossie looked casually at her, as she unhitched the straps of her dress.
it was strange how she trebled in size as the heavy canvas webbing slid to the floor.
standing there naked (her, not me) she reminded me of  a giant blancmange wobbling precariously on two sticks.

by this time, rose had polished off her breakfast - two boxes of chocolate eclairs and a pint of guinness - and she kindly
told me what happened last night...

doris was shaking her booty (it measured 9 on the richter scale) on the dance floor under the mistaken impression that the man of her
dreams - stan the coal merchant - was watching her every move with longing in his eyes.
sadly, stan was in the chip shop next door with two cod and chips and a flirtatious flossie (i don't know what stan was eating).

as soon as doris finished her solo jive to the strains of 'I get a kick out of you', she spun round and bellowed stan's name.
this disturbed the bull elephant at kev's zoo, which replied with a lusty roar.
doris misunderstood. so did the bull elephant.
i'd rather not go into the detail, but let's just say the police found the bull elephant exhausted behind the bike sheds.
doris then invaded the chip shop.
flossie picked stan up and threw him at doris.
she snogged him hungrily, then asked him to open his mouth so she could get at his chips.
meanwhile, flossie had armed herself with two bar stools and a deep fat friar (i think he was called father eric),
with which she set about demolishing doris.

until rose broke up the fight by yelling that it was last orders at the hungry hippo cafe.

i still don't know what happened to stan, but no doubt he'll be first in the queue at my open audience with the people
in my state rooms tomorrow.
i'm really tempted to marry them off.
but then i'd probably have a jealous bull elephant to contend with.

just another day, another set of problems.
that's what it's like as a world leader.

on a gloomy day like this, you can't beat a ray of sunshine.
so here it is...
this was taken in a garden in yorkshire, england, where the rain had been teeming down and then suddenly stopped.
i caught probably the one bit of sunshine that day and it seemed to be beaming on this big hosta plant.

i'll be glad when halloween is o'er.
it's doing my head in.
every time i go into my kitchens, flossie is doing something with a pumpkin.
i'm sure she swallowed one whole but i wouldn't say that to her face.
speaking of her face, i hope she's good at maths because i haven't yet been able to count all her chins.

anyway, flossie and doris and rose hit on this idea of dressing up as witches for halloween.
i made the obvious comment..."just go as you are my dears."
the broom was finally surgically removed after extensive treatment in hospital and at least two jars of vaseline.
but did i suffer.
there was no point sitting down, so i just walked around and swept the floor at the same time.

doris has applied lots of very white make-up and looks like something from ghostbusters.
flossie is dressed in black and is wearing a hastily squashed pedal bin on her head.  trouble is, the only way to talk to
her is to tap three times and press the pedal so the lid springs up.
and as for rose...she looks a complete idiot in a straw frock with two dustbins and a snake belt for a bra. 
but what can i say to them?
they're convinced they're going to pull the best looking blokes at the party.

they'll have a job finding any, i'm sorry to say.
there are posters all over my island warning unattached man to stay indoors because the three amazons are on the loose.

and what will i be doing while the three witches weave their magic?

i'll be exchanging emails with world leaders (except george bush - he hasn't worked out how to use a typewriter, let alone his new My Little Pony keyboard from Toys R Us).  it's hard work, but someone has to do it.

i love this picture.
it was taken in the garden of an historic house on the isle of kevin.

the stone and the light give it a nice atmosphere.
it's quite a poetic image, too - makes me think i should try to write some words to go with it.

i might try and do that after i've walked the dog.

bye for now.

i keep a lookout from my lofty perch for people called kevin wilson...which is a very nice name, i think.

anyone with that name is guaranteed one of the finer homes on the isle of kevin, probably with sea views and a shotgun to scare away holidaymakers (well, they don't live here do they?  why can't they visit their own towns?).

this kevin wilson designs fantasy video games, with titles like
   arena maximus (a bloke with that name runs the chip shop just down the road)
   descent - altar of despair (i've offered to loan that one to the vicar of st kevin's - he's got so much time on his hands)
   fury of dracula (which reminds me, i wonder if there is a kevin dracula anywhere)
   mutiny! (the exclamation mark comes free with the packaging)
   runebound - walkers of the wild (i think you can get a course of treatment these days, if you are runebound)
   warcraft - the board game (tank tops are obligatory).

kevin's games sound like a good laugh and i can't wait to try one out.  there's a lot of pressure on
you, though, because the object of the exercise seems to be to save the world from dark evil forces.
and that's ok, because once kevin sets up home here, i'll be asking him if he can design a software programme to save the isle of kevin from wide bottomed ramblers.
it's no wonder skylarks have been in decline - the sound of chafing corduroy and the distinctive aroma of over-ripe hiking boots is enough to put anyone to flight.
but i digress...

i've sent off my invitation to kevin wilson, with the keys to the door of his executive home.
he'll love it here.
hope he won't be too nervous about the ferry crossing, though.
the ship is called 'voyage of the damned' which has put a few visitors off for some reason.

you know that famous french dish - frog's legs?

well, did you know that the french banned the harvesting of french frogs about thirty years ago, and the frogs they eat
come all the way from asia?

apparently, the french government decided the frogs were performing a useful function in eating pests.
and they decided it would be better for the eco-system not to kill them.

so that's ok then... who cares about another country's eco-system?

further proof, if needed, that the world has gone bonkers.

here's the latest edition of the newspaper they tried to ban because there is no bad news in it.
regular readers will know i have already turned down an offer of £5 million from the daily mirror.
now sky television have asked for the tv rights so they can add it to their breaking news service.
i told them:  if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR:  Dear sir or madam, i am appalled. yours sincerely, A. Palled (Mr)
                                                     Dear Ed, When is the local council going to do something about the roads...and the drains...and the library service...and the education service?  These are questions that must be asked.  And answered.  Yours etc, Councillor Gob O'Pen (Leader of the Council)

TOP STORY:  Firefighters on the isle of kevin mobilised three appliances today....  the coffee machine, the hair dryer, and the exercise bike.

NEWS IN BRIEF:  Firefighters mobilised three (we've done that one already - sort yourselves out in there or i'll sack the lot of you...signed the Editor)
                                 Police were called to the town centre after a woman walked into a shop and asked the butcher if he had a pig's head.  Chief Supt Eymin Charge said: "The butcher took great offence, and chased the woman with a cleaver, after he'd checked himself in the mirror."  He was later charged with causing public disorder by being ugly.
                                Council Leader Gob O'Pen was sacked today after writing a protest letter to Eagle Weakly.  Mr O'Pen said:  "i'm being persecuted just because I exercised freedom of speech."  (Actually, he didn't say that at all - journalists on this newspaper just made it up because Mr O'Pen couldn't think of anything intelligent.)

SPORT:  Star footballers have donated cash to charity in an attempt to stamp out criticism of their high earnings.  Wayne Rooney has given £5 to Mensa;  David Beckham has donated 50p to Fashion Victims Anonymous;  and Michael Owen has offered a tenner to the How To Earn a Million By Being Permanently Injured Association.

ENTERTAINMENT:  EXCLUSIVE! Cherie Blair has agreed to appear in the Smpsons.  But the animators have refused to co-operate,  After viewing her photographs, one anonymous artist said:  'i thought homer was ugly, but this is going too far.'  Producers have relented and offered George Bush a walk-on part instead.  "The good thing about george is that we won't need to do any redrawing," a source revealed.

poor old rose has been feeling left out since i assumed the throne (is that the right expression or does it mean something lavatorial?)
doris and flossie have been scrapping like orangutans outside my chambers (lavatorial, definitely) most evenings, desperate to be invited in to roll my scrolls.
but rose has just been sitting in her room, combing her hair (she's only got the one but it's quite long).
so, my lovely rose, here is an ode to you...

ah rose, you lovely thing
i bend so you may kiss my ring.

your eyes are blue
your head is bald -
i expect your face is always cold.

but soft! hark! and lackaday...
just how much do you weigh?

how lovely your teeth fit so tight.
it stops them coming out at night.

ah rose, rose, you gorgeous creature.
it's so hard to choose
your most fantastic feature.

but i suppose i must declare
it has to be your flowing hair.

that should make her feel better about herself, don't you think?

you won't hear much from me tomorrow.
i'm making a state visit to gloucester.
rumour has it they're going to beknight me in the cloisters.
i don't much like the sound of that.

i have to do it all the time in my capacity of head of state on the isle of kevin.

today, for example, i was signing autographs in our capital town (population 151)  when one of my messengers said...
'you wanna get down to the river, there's a x%@@£**ing riot going on!'

turns out that a coach party had unloaded its tourist cargo of the lame and the sick three paces from our only riverside cafe.
even then, some of them didn't make it.
those that survived the long march had grabbed every last slice of madeira cake, emptied the coffee machine, stuffed the sugar sachets into their pockets, and were now complaining bitterly about a flock of pigeons who were strutting around on their tables, under their tables, on their heads - generally being a bit of a nuisance.

ever mindful of the need to protect and preserve our older people, i ordered the firing of the thunderflashes we reserve for these occasions.

once the sonic booms and the clouds of smoke had dispersed, i was able to survey the scene.

one woman had been blown into the river and was struggling to push damp madeira cake crumbs into her mouth while treading water.
one distinguished looking gentleman was (i think) shouting something about losing his dentures.  it came out as 'maaa
maaaa hmmmm eeeeth' but i'm sure that's what he meant.
there was a rather large lady lying on the decking with her legs in the air.  i soon lost sight of her (thank god) because a crowd of old men threw away their sticks and began crawling in her general direction - presumably to give her first aid.

that was enough for me.
i retired to the bar to assess my strategy, trying to learn lessons as all good leaders should.

you may be thinking i made a serious error of judgement.

i disagree.

tourists have got to learn to give as well as take.
local people are just as entitled to entertainment as they are.

it worked a treat.
i must admit, i've never seen pigeons laugh so much in my life.

by the way, i did order a river rescue boat to drag the unfortunate woman from the water.
they took me at my word, and dragged her out of the water, up the cobbled slipway and onto the pavement.
they were loudly applauded for their heroism.
one or two kicks in the side were enough to get her breathing again.
they administered more cake, and she was right as rain in minutes.

the only blot on an otherwise perfect evening (the disco and darts dinner to mark my coronation as ruler of the island)
was the sight of a drunken george bush trying to smooch with queen doris,
he managed to get his hands onto her hips by standing on tiptoe, but it must have been very difficult to smooch to the strains
of 'my old man's a dustman'.
a few unkind onlookers remarked that his splayed posture made him look like one of the soft toys with suction pads you sometimes see
stuck on car passenger windows.
flossie perked up after sulking most of the night, when she won the darts.  she beat that frenchman - sarcastic and dozy, or whatever his name is - in the final.  her final arrow was thrown with such force it split the board and gordon the brown got a triple twenty right on his head.
he rubbed the spot, forgetting he'd just taken part in the lucky dip and had rather unluckily grabbed hold of a dog's poo bag.
he was rather unamused, especially when cherie blair laughed at him.
i distinctly heard him tell her: "at least i'll be able to wash this off.  it must be awful for you to know you'll still look like that in the morning."

other than that, we were a happy crowd, and i got ringing applause for my enactments.
which were...

• address me as king or you'll be eating hospital food
• all hospitals to be shut down:  if you're sick, you can get off my island
• kev's cafe is to be nationalised
• kev's spam and tripe fritters will be the only food served to all visitors to the island (except my mates)
• there will be no legislation or any changes to the education system ever again

george w bush collared me afterwards and asked for a copy of my speech.
said he was due at the united nations tomorrow and thought it would be more environment friendly to re-use other people's speeches.

so that's it.
my takeover bid was successful, thanks to a few of my most trusted friends.

i should add that doris and i sleep in separate rooms.
flossie and rose insisted on it for reasons i don't really want to think about.
suffice to say, i have stationed kev the chauffeur outside my door.
let's hope he's the only protection i need.

an old lady walks into the world headquarters of HSBC and says she wants to open a savings account with £120,000 which she is carrying in her shopping trolley. 
but she wants to see the bank president about it, and no-one else will do.
she gets her wish because of the large sum of money involved.

in his office, the bank president asks the rather scruffy looking woman how she managed to save up so much money.
"i made it from bets," she tells him.
the president nods and smiles.
she carries on:  "for example, i'm willing to bet you £25,000 that your testicles are square."

the president thinks for a moment, then laughs out loud.
"Well, if you're really serious," he says. "i'd be quite happy to accept your bet."
the lady replies:  "in that case, how about i come back tomorrow with my lawyer to act as an independent verifier
and we'll see if i'm right?"
the president, knowing he's on a winner, readily agrees.

that night, he spends forever in the bathroom, looking and checking at all possible angles, just to make sure his testicles are the normal sort of shape.  he goes to bed a happy man.

next morning, the old lady and the lawyer are admitted to his office.
the lady says: "would you mind dropping your trousers so i can check?"
the president drops his pants and submits to a rigorous and intimate examination.

looking across his office, he sees the woman's lawyer banging his head on the coffee table repeatedly.
"what's the matter with him?" he asks the old lady.

"oh - he's mad because i bet him £100,000 that today i would walk into the world headquarters of HSBC bank and fondle the bank president's testicles."

got fitted out with me new tiara and feather boa - just in time for my incarceration (is that the right word?)
ah - ok - inauguration... as king of the isle of kevin tonight.

i don't apologise for not communicating with you, my loyal friends, because world leaders such as myself do not
apologise (unless you're gordon brown and you have lots of reasons to be sorry).
i'll just say that those who stood at my side as we invaded the island, will be remembered (but not by me, unfortunately - i've completely forgotten to whom i promised a villa).

anyway, the only problem was the in-fighting between doris, flossie and rose about who should be my queen.

i came up with a plan to decide the issue - a series of game shows.... they had to do a dance routine (that didn't work because rose decided to pogo to the sex pistols and split the floorboards);  sing a song (doris won that easily with her rendition of 'three wheels on my wagon' which she sang while driving round the yard in a reliant robin);  and a dragon's den show where they had to come up with a big business idea to promote the island (doris won this as well with her scheme to only allow people earning more than £100,000 a year onto the island, to quadruple the ferry fares, and force kev's caff to donate his heavily stained coffee mugs for scientific research into alien life forms.

so i am pleased to announce that from henceforth (or is it fifth - i'm not sure), my queen is to be known as Her Massiveness Queen Doris.  Her coat of arms is two meat pies rampant. 

she will be a titular head.  but then she always was.

and so, dear friends and subjects, i must away to the chambers (they served scotch eggs at my welcome banquet and karaoke night yesterday, and i haven't been right since).

i must be at my regal best this evening, which is when i announce my legislation for my first year in office.

excuse me a second....
doris?  are you sure you want that corset pulled so tight dear?
i admit it has made your waist look merely obese, but all the flab has gone either to your knees or your neck, my sweet.
you won't be able to walk unaided, and i doubt your perfect little arms will be long enough to reach your petite little gob at the dinner table, my duckling.

better get on... all the world leaders are coming to the island for my constipation (is that the right word?)
ah - ok - coronation... ...and i do not wish to look like a divot.

nice to be back among friends again.

(memo to blog.co.uk.....could you please arrange for the creation of one of those icon thingies for my exclusive use...i want one that does a regal wave.  ta very much.)

farewell dear friends.
i shall arrange time in my diary to give you a full account of this evening's disco and darts evening...

i fell asleep
i had no choice -
my eyes were closed

i had a dream
it woke me up -
i was annoyed

i got out of bed
and then i saw
myself, lying there

i slapped my face
i made a noise -
it woke me up

i awoke and saw
me, standing there
- was it a nightmare?