VNA

The first page of my interview with the incredible Miso in VNA Magazine.. to read the rest you'll have to buy yourself a copy!
VeryNearlyAlmost.. VNA.. the best street art magazine in existence

Hope..

It can be hard to have hope when you are curled up in bed, battling the pain of what feels like 700 very small kangaroos boxing and kicking inside your intestines, it can be hard to see the bright side.

It can be hard to have hope when you have been battling the kangaroos for the past 15 years, when men with knives have repeatedly come and extracted the kangaroos from inside you, when other men with drugs have tried to kill the kangaroos.. and yet there they are. Kicking and punching and wrecking havoc inside.

It can be hard to have hope that one day they'll finally leave, after so many years of constant disappointment and constantly finding yourself back where you started.. with nothing positive to show for all that wasted time.

It can be hard to have hope when you hear the words 'this time it will help, we've had great results' for the thousandsth time.

It can be hard to have hope of any happy future when you waste away in a hospital bed with wires and tubes trying with all their might to do their best and keep you going.

It can be hard to have hope, but I've got you and you give me not only hope but the power to cope.

Peace out from a kangaroo battling Elf x

I Hate You

Listening to you makes me want to claw my own eardrums out using a ferocious, miniature kitten who has a complex which allows him to believe my eardrums are tiny mice he must hunt and savage.
You are truly one of those sycophantic idiots who is so desperately obsessed with their own life that you can't possibly begin to comprehend anyone else around you and how penetratingly irritating your loud, incessant yapping is to them. On a coach full of people where 95% are asleep it does not enter your petulant mind to shut the fuck up, or at least keep your constant whining down.
'I'm hot. I feel like I'm on a sweatbox. This is the worst journey ever. I can't believe there is still 2 more hours to go'
No, neither can I, two more hours of your childish moans to endure. God kill me now. Did it ever occur to you that the person you are talking to is right next to you, it obviously did as you keep mentioning how squashed you are (which would not be a problem were it not for your fat ass) you therefore do not need to screech and scream your complaints to him, you unholy lump of noise.
The emergency exit is just there, perhaps I can relieve you of your cramped conditions?

Peace out from an irritated Elf x

Bad Career Move

BAD CAREER CHOICE. CLICK TO SEE WHAT YOU WOULD HAVE TO BE MENTALLY FUCKED TO CONSIDER DOING FOR A LIVING.

You certainly got your comeuppance didn't you Mr. Lion Tamer?

I'm sure there are many animal activists, or just people with a penchant for dangerous pussys, who would cry and exclaim how cruel these men are for caging and attempting to train these wild animals and how they deserved to be attacked for that.
Which is true. But not my point.

My point is, if you are so unbelievably disastrous at making life decisions that you would chose Lion Tamer as your day job.. then you more than deserve to be mauled by lions. They can see how stupid and misguided he is for trying to tame them, and they are merely punishing him for being such an arrogant and deluded man.. with a serious god complex.

GO LIONS

Uprising of the Foetuses

Never before have I passed so many pregnant women in one month. Wherever I turn their laden bellies scream out to me "There is a a baby forming inside this mound!". Beautiful, natural, the miracle and joy of life; that's what they say.
But the sheer quantity of pregnant women in the London area at the moment raises a flag of warning in my eyes. Sure it could be down to the need to copulate during those cold spring nights 6months ago, to keep warm in eachother's embrace. Or the concept of spring lambs brainwashing these women into deciding now was the time to have a baby. It COULD be these factors and any number of others. But more likely, and more realistically there is some kind of uprising/revolt/plot being hatched by these unborn embryos.

For so many babies to all be born in London around the same time, there must be a purpose. I can only conclude that a super army is in the making.
Imagine it, hundreds upon hundreds of babies, children, teenagers and then adults.. all born around the same time and in the same area. Growing up together, becoming ever more powerful and structured and organised in their plot to overthrow the government.
We as a nation should be on alert, our security is being threatened by these fingerless foetuses.

Just imagine a vast sea of crawling, stumbling babies breaking into our offices, our homes, pillaging our livelihoods. Smashing our furniture to pieces with their rattles, squirting poisonous milk into our eyes to blind us from the destruction they will surely wreak. Their bibs fitted with bullet proof material, their nappies filled with grenades. WHO WILL SAVE US?!

The next time you see a pregnant woman on the bus, don't give up your seat, you're only helping the foetus inside to gain strength for their massacre.

DISCLAIMER: Please do not heed any of this advice. I have the upmost appreciation and respect for the tribulations of pregnancy. You should always give up your seat.
... But the uprising is something to bare in mind...

Peace out from the suspicious Elf x

Short Nothingness

She never feels. She never smiles or feels that rush of happiness. She never cries or feels the searing pain of sadness. She never laughs or frowns or regrets or feels all consuming jealously. She is neither kind nor heartless. Her face is set in stone as it will always be. If she could experience the pleasure of human emotions she would long desperately and deeply to hate. To know the sense of pure disgust and unadulterated vengeance. To crave the thrill of the kill. To hunt and attack and rid her life of the despised.
But she never feels.

Written by a Blank Elf x

Road Kill

I watched in sickened shock as the crimson blood oozed from his legs like liquid velvet. The syrupy consistency made me think of pancakes. But I quickly remembered not to think of pancakes and instead be more concerned with the baby deer bleeding slowly and excruciatingly to death on my kitchen floor. Then I thought of Bambi and how it always struck me as bizarre that a deer could have a rabbit for a friend. There was no rabbit to be seen here. The deer was dying alone, with no-one to comfort it apart from me, an unsympathetic killer of small animals.

I'd hit it on the road turning into my driveway and had been so surprised to see a deer in the city that I almost forgot to be concerned at all. But, heartless as I was, I was definitely not accustomed to dealing with roadkill in the presence of my neighbours; so I scooped the bloody mess of bones, fur and skin into my arms and carried it into the kitchen. Which is where it lay now, it's hind leg bent at an awkward angle and pointing towards it's right ear.

I wasn't really sure what to do. Most people would have panicked and called the RSPCA, but I just stood by the sink watching it quiver and convulse like an awkward, electrified toy. Right it was time to act. I opened to kictchen cupboard to find a blanket; as we kept clean laundry in the kitchen in those days, space saving was the reason I think.

I gingerly placed the pale blue blanket over the deer - Bambi; I had christened the mess in my head. It turned brown instantly as the sticky gloop soaked through. Oh dear, I hadn't achieved much at all aside from ruining my pale blue blanket.

There must be something to do. Kill it? Put it out of its insufferable misery? No, I wouldn't want to bloody anymore of my possessions with brain pulp. What could be done then? I supposed I would have to leave it to die alone in the kitchen, Grand Designs was on soon anyway and I needed to catch the episode for space saving, laundry storage tips.

He'd clear it up for me when he got home. He doesn't like a messy house.

Written by an Elf x