Order Soon Van
Creativity starves insanity
Wings fold underneath and the eyes bead out intensity. Still of motion. No movement, no flight, no sense or might. Feeble sweep along the cement backyard and the inanimate animation of the back and breathing thrills the feel of seeing death creep by minute after minute.
Cold in the warmth of the heat up from below, a cool breeze suffers the waste of keeping the chills down. Back and forth on the ditch of soil deep undone by the garden hoe, and no silence stays ever as quiet as every breath fading out and escaping.
Feral and the mangy ready in the wings for the wings. Ready to take the dusk and eat their find. Sickening, a scent from the black bird pecking at the chest to keep the head above the horizon.
And gone.
Soon Van - Sunday, 29 July 2007 - 20:27
Grand standing and delivery of human spirit in the Depression Era with a set of capital letters. Clearly out with the pig slaves, the scent of emotion in grunting is clear if albeit a little subtle for the course. Dingy drips of the waterways of the sewers adding to the dim feel of it all.
Hooverville stinks of greatness in determination to rise above the struggle that is sinking further and further into a misery. One as the high rises rise higher and higher into the upper echelons. Solomon so clearly is out to have his own gone and done away with after a most there to be burnt toast courtesy of a Dalek. Thank you kindly salt and pepper shaker.
Sonic screwdriver looks to save the day once more only to have the bit switch off and blast out the fuse of the good Doctor himself. A breather to have other elements work their magic over the whizzing whir of the ubiquitous tool. Always great to see a broken tool weave its influence in absence.
Humans and Daleks getting it on with the leader blending the genes and caking out the greasy suit building the Empire State Building. Best of both worlds and the looks of neither one to win any contest on standards of magazine cover beauty. Strange is but a small word and the face of intent that drive the monster, clearly only the kind a Dalek-Human loves.
No sport or smiles from the remainder Daleks though. Typically of that kind of rejection that says any kind of change that freaks out the establishment will have the establishment kick a dent and bend the knee backwards. Evolution goes right round and says better is best all the way.
Soon Van - Sunday, 22 July 2007 - 12:20
From the twink and the screen blinks on with the white coat of Nish trying to fish his way around the tank. Funtabulator with no real reason for existence. Certainly none at all. Yet the carve up for the explanation seems plausible enough. Not far from the look of finding a few fingers rubbing hard for that, that, what that is. Just not right in front of the mind but on the tip of the tongue kind of solution to no problem.
Fronting later, Hamish Blake in school and ready to just back up and off from having his back up against wall. Confrontational, and a little on the blue, with the feeling that it's all ripe for a litany of cussing and obscene gestures. That's what school is all about. But not in this school and flavour fluff comedy is on the agenda.
Cross dressing the covers of the group challenge, Blake, Nish, Kate Langbroek and Merrick Watts ham it up far less than the a la source material itself. Their direct approach to peeling back the lipstick layers is all class and crass. And it works. Edgy, forthright and Langbroek just all eager to talk about menstruation on national TV. Nish off on the side is not there in both senses and the whole weight sits on the table. Balancing it out, Langbroek waxes out with the win.
Soon Van - Thursday, 19 July 2007 - 12:20
One for the road, or the last for a while, raking it in the mailbox with a blue sky on ground of white. No time, no time, no more. Nothing but sitting on the table of dust and papers of silverfish and mites. No chance to redeem and exchange for darkness and white. Another to the pile, the collection grows one more double pass.
Soon Van - Monday, 16 July 2007 - 11:07
From the cold and a shiver turns one page of the newspaper into a guide for the day is Wednesday yet a feeling of another. So they turn and so they fold, into another when the doors are only the back to the front. Josh Lawson in the meet out front clearly set up for a later skit with much blue hue and few cues to the hair.
Squeezing too tightly for viewing comfort down the front and round the seat, Peter Helliar swings into the black and white with a groovy beat. Low brow keeps it there with a name to match an accessory for the body part in a time slot and an era outside the norm. No pick up enough for the work here, it's a dull rating on the weight of jokes looking to hang below the belt. No go for the show.
Sitting with a want for water, Stephen Curry on the couch for a morning chat show. From there on in it's a loose and breezy move with the flow of the mock interview working to give easy props for the night. Slideshow of comfort and there's Curry with a hand for the wrong that makes light against it being not so right at all.
Thick boots and a monster set of dreads sends Cal Wilson scurrying for explanation after explanation. Caustic acid drops topping each one in terms of the light of poor skills of babysitting. Short of full blown anything and it's a tug on the back, a tongue to bite at the end that bleeds all kinds of blackmail by the end scene. Punch that.
Set up from the start and Lawson is out there with the kind of natural alien set. Affecting the character to the voice with a stutter in the stand. Offsetting the other players is knock down easy work, especially with an open gun for the speech pattern. Nevertheless, no laurels to rest and it's a smashing case for the win.
Soon Van - Friday, 13 July 2007 - 20:08
Catch a frilly dalliance into the books of history and it's a remarkable thing to witness the affect of casual quotes. Quotes to later become the lines in the Bard's very own works, existent and non. Implications into The Doctor's slight tweakage in the stream of history for reasons clear again on another charming keep to his adventures through time and space.
Shakespeare, it seems, looks much like an actor of the likes and bearded display of Kenneth Branagh. Oh, and quite a rat infested times they be living in. Though of far lesser counts in vermin than the back room displays nightly at hours before dawn.
Muddy on the end dash with a jump back into the future time with the installation of Torchwood a case?
Soon Van - Monday, 9 July 2007 - 18:23
Out with abandon to whisper loud in the splitting air; desire and intent for eternity. Calm down and walk tall forever more. Catch a breath lest it renders paralysis in excitement and shock and in fervent joy.
No answer more simple, no question less done so and the union begins a step toward the length of the aisle.
Soon Van - Monday, 9 July 2007 - 18:04
Finger licking goodness with the turn over picking up a steady pace. From the wind goes flows to throw easy. Skill is in the blowing gusts that leaves leaves strewn in patterns of detail.
Confrontation and the gibbering mess of clones, clones and more clones. All over the book with a napkin to spare and wipe away the detail and excess goo in the creation of such. Faces squint with angst and anguish, questionable feeling of loss. That and the support of ghosts makes for a rising break to billow. Only are the faces on display, the emotional struggle within patently clear and there is nothing more than the wait for the break as the dams blow out in the times thereafter.
Innocuous shot in the arm as the saying goes, as the needle jacks in a splint that sickens from the bowels. Interest and the shock of a horror what strips away the decency of humanity leaves the art to deliver the shady world of Snowtown's unmarked. Strong on the outside, to keep them there, and the torture within is the kind of depravity that only seems to be a beat and a step away in this town.
Construction lies fallow with the thought and process of identity and purpose. Pieces start to drop precariously along one another. Pieces of fruit to make a salad of natural sweets and syrup what renders the tongue in a licking state of unrest and unknowing of the end. Ideas are to follow and the blue prints of such mere guidelines for keeping the self in check and in line for the destination further down the line.
Quick underlying jabs poke a rib cage to flex the muscle of popularity. One upping upper cuts a straight fist from below the smack a nice loosening of the jaw. A veritable smorgasbord of smoke and mirrors, illusions and trickery to fool the mind and the very eyes which peel away preconceptions of affected reality. Light and fleet on the trip.
Strip away essences of clutter for the bare face of police investigation overlapping to nudge alongside the coffins of the fresh. There is a look of wanting to be more than the clumsy, the blind and the inept. There stands back a scene which sinks in with a lowered regard for humanity. On from all sides and the witch which burns a stake of vigil looks for one mighty throw down of vengeance.
Jack Frost, nimble and blunt, the star of a thousand tales and a quip or two from the lips that never shut up. Man of a thousand stories and maker of a fine trail to follow. His is a stride that is the kind to watch for all the self harm that falls upon the head. A chuckle, a lost buckle, and a suckle at the fairy tale teat brings about the kind of trip one pays eagerly to ride on again and again.
Soon Van - Friday, 6 July 2007 - 13:02
Cold to the touch and the fingers start a sweat that won't stop with each passing rub between the thinning air caught underneath. Apparitions and the transference or vessels of emotions and thoughts. Now that is what it's like to inhabit the time and space of ghosts and of pasts from the other end of time's spectrum.
Too close on the shoulder with gun powder to sniff for anything less than the slightly uncomfortable. Watching on as the slight changes in temperature move about the house and there's the visage of things such as breathes wafting out into the vacancy of central heating. Or of any heating for that matter.
Quite the drop into the lowering heat sink for a mood to slip stream into that of the scene under the bridge. Shiver and shiver, the quiver is no quicker than the twitter of the killer.
Soon Van - Tuesday, 3 July 2007 - 18:10
"Wouldn't it be nice if the world was Cadbury?
You could taste the sights on a holiday
Take a bite from the Tower of Pisa
Save a piece for another day
Oh what a trip, what a big adventure
So many memories we'd have to treasure"
Weeks on the backing of the ear trails the noon, evening and morning light. One path never follows true and the hunt through the brush dampens the spirits as the weeks drag on. And they drag on. And then the family appear. A family with a penchant for the world's wonders and art.
Tastes more than with their eyes on feasts visual, the family of chocolate takes it steps and chomps further as they devour the landmarks and hallmarks. Feeding on to themselves with a disregard outside the starving need to render the world of architecture and expression in teeth marks.
"Shoot only with a camera and leave only footprints," and here is a blatant throw and chocolate cud spit as they make it known, art is to eat, even if not an installation or of the kind in coffee shops with baristas looking for an escape.
Soon Van - Monday, 2 July 2007 - 11:19
Short, sharp and for the long play record of wait between forever and baby. Noise is noise but when the simple replay of the name hits the airwaves, from the lips of the one, there's yet another cloud to float upon in the dream.
Soon Van - Sunday, 1 July 2007 - 12:09
