The Dining Room

WIN $1,000,000.00!!!

The Dining Room is dedicated to the dead art of true life (formerly known as WONK). Your entry is welcome and will be judged by either Bob or John, whoever gets to it first.
Drawn midnight Sunday September 11th, 2019. Check from midday Monday 12th September 2019. Draw dates subject to change without notice. Entry is subject to LaughingCloudRecords Terms & Conditions (available from a participating store). N.B. John is not on the web – contributions will be relayed to John by pigeon. Employees (including pigeons, friends, relations, & acquaintances) of LaughingCloudRecords are not eligible to participate. No correspondence with Bob or John will be entered into. LaughingCloudRecords is operated by LaughingCloudRecords. Please type neatly.


Have you ever received a poem in the mail from someone you don't know? Perhaps you have spotted an interesting story in the newspaper, or been intrigued by the promotional literature on a biscuit tin. What about the translation skills native to the manual of your new printer? Do you have a friend in prison who calls you in the middle of the night? What do they say?
Laughing Cloud Records now offers you the chance to make $1,000,000.00 from such a scrap. And it’s totally free! Simply type your contribution in the place where contributions go, and leave us your banking details.


Perfect Wonk, Un-wonk, Dumb Wonk, Intelligent Wonk, Industrial Wonk, Beach Wonk, Muggy Wonk, Heavy Wonk, Dilapidated Wonk,True Wonk, Serious Wonk, Idiotic Wonk, Half-Pie Wonk, Municipal Wonk, Island Wonk, Upper Class Wonk, Complicated Wonk, Nuclear Wonk, Colonial Wonk, Wonk Wonk (Wonker than Wonk), Lazy Wonk, “I Thought I’d Finished” Wonk, Anti-wonk, Fickle Wonk, Official Wonk, Avant Garde Wonk, Perfectionist Wonk, Hard-To-See Wonk, Normal Wonk, Spiritual Wonk, Handyman Wonk, True-To-Life Wonk, Shadow Wonk, Clever Wonk, 3-D Wonk, Auto-Wonk, Hard-To-Smash Wonk, Techno Wonk, Pretend Wonk, Concrete Wonk, Trendy Wonk, Scientific Wonk, Hollow Wonk, Fashion Wonk, Wonk-in-Space…

There may be others. Perhaps you have some undiscovered kind of WONK in your neighbourhood?



































WAHO (mouthed)





Something outdated or defunct

You’re completely wrong!

An interesting problem best resolved with the help of a bottle of Jamieson’s



Pay up or I’ll undo all my good work by herding a family of goats into your garden, all the while snoring while I’m awake

Good, we got away with that

A darkness that shines

The improving of a thing by storing it out of sunlight

Depression-Era Religious Furniture

Nifty (or nifty appliance)

A bit of trouble

A lot of trouble

The colour of gloat & entrails


Progressing well

Any unmerkin-like thing

Fast food

All is well

A metallic blue-green

Any democratically elected body

A pubic wig

The study of pubic wigs

‘Both’ but without the B

I understand what you mean – this Pacific island beach is party to a harsh & terrifying world

A reddish brown

An obscure theory that has somehow become mainstream

Stolen. Something for free

More normal than normal

Unproven or non-existent

However, in that case, given current economic thinking & things as they are…

Hard liquor

Yahoo (shouted) like people used to do before our voice boxes got converted into corporate spying machines

A noble challenge to an obscure theory

Any item resembling a merkin

The rightness of wrongness

Atititititit hiab, you adverb. Wibble wibble. Ōth these radio steiners are thing. Twelve o’clock, this here squeaky cupboard-aged uncle is brylcream. Waho

can you speak wonkish? have a try


CLICK HERE  to submit your contribution (this button is currently under repair)

A Ward
Tokanui Psychiatric Hospital
Private Bag
Te Awamutu
New Zealand.

Buckingham Palace

Dear Ma’am, Your Majesty, Dear Mother

You are nothing but a discoloured female dog (q.v.)
Daddy and I are nothing but rape victims since you set eyes on us (q.v.)
There are a lot of discoloured illegitimate people out here; why don’t you even help us? You’ve made a mess. Clean it up Queen Dicky Bell.
There are very angry fucking shit-holes here too, in your mess. Pull me out Bess.
Dr. Medlicot thought that he heard a voice like yours calling him to buy a motorbike and leather gear. But he didn’t do it because he was afraid that it was a trick by someone playing a trick on him.

Yours faithfully

HRH Princess H.

P.S. We know that you breed horses, but the average IQ out here is about 40 – 50.

Ranburn Hostel
96 Tutaenui Road
Telephone 7599
P.O. Box 304
New Zealand


Buckingham Palace

Dear Ma’am, Your Majesty, Dear Mother

I want A.W. Tattersfield or someone else at Thames to get this letter on an England bound ship at his wharf as I have previously written to Prince William, Prince Harry, Prince Philip, Prince Charles, Princess Margaret and yourself and had no reply by NZPO.
Daddy and I are being tortured by a billionaire Russian/USA/Negro/White/Jew and we beg you to write to the Prime Minister in any way at all, but mentioning us. Also, we are very ill.
The 1948 letter saying we were dead was forged.
In N.Z., royalty, the two of us, are just another minority group, like Italians or Catholics. We beg for the privilege or right to say: “that is not the royal way” but Negroes are blind and deaf to everything except similar penises and beating up the others. That is not the white way.

Yours faithfully

HRH Princess H

Coalition broadcast:  "Attention, noble Afghan people. The coalition countries have been airdropping daily humanitarian rations for you. The food ration is enclosed in yellow plastic bags. They come in the shape of rectangular or long squares. The food inside the bags is halal and very nutritional. In areas away from where food has been dropped, cluster bombs will also be dropped. The colour of these bombs is also yellow. All bombs will explode when they hit the ground, but in some special circumstances some of the bombs will not explode. We do not wish to see an innocent civilian mistake the bombs for food bags and take it away believing that it might contain food. We would like you to take extra care and not to touch yellow coloured objects thinking that they might be food bags."

Taleban broadcast:  "Noble people who only fly. We are indebted to you for your information. We did not know that long squares are rectangles. We always thought they were high-rises and tasted yucky. We have been eating the cluster bombs for two weeks now, especially the banana flavoured ones, and are not confused at all. No problemo. You are so nice. Although rather high. When can we touch you?”

Julian shows me his new remote controlled scrub-cutting machine, imported from Germany. I show him a hillside of long grass, gorse and broom. Julian has a couple of teeth missing and smells of tobacco. Broom’s no good, he says. It simply won’t be masticated.
He tells me about the job he’s doing yesterday where some birds are nesting in the scrub and when the scrub-cutting machine mows them down brown feathers go shooting up into the air. That’s how you know if you’ve toasted a family of brown, ground nesting birds. He reckons the mother birds just wont leave the nest, even at the approach of some remote controlled screaming disaster machine. And off they go, eggs and mother bird all, shooting up in a puff of brown feathers.

EXPLANATION OF LOVE (Hoover Dam 2001, for the girl from Ipanema)

Fell in love today
I couldn't help myself
It was the way
She wore her shoulders
In the blazing sun
The way her jeans
Lazily to her hips
Her lilted walk
The way
Her shoes
Just followed her around
We never spoke
I never heard her voice
Or knew her name
Where she was from
Perhaps from Tennessee
Or England
I don't know
I loved her though
It was just
The way she walked
The way she wore her hips
The way
Shoulders move
The way
The way shoes
Follow her
It was not
Her perfect
It was the way she wore it.

The above item, although lovely in its own way, was not considered by either Bob or John, strictly speaking, to be WONK as such, but was felt worthy of inclusion due to the amazing lack of interest in this section of the website

CONTRIBUTION FROM:      Telegraph Group
He has been called “the cleverest man in the world” and shook academia to its foundations when he announced that he had solved a fiendish mathematical problem that had baffled the planet’s best brains for a century. Yet Grigory Perelman, a 43 year old Russian mathematician, has spurned plaudits and wealth to live like a hermit. He lives in a two bedroom flat with his elderly mother in a dilapidated Soviet-era tower block in St Petersburg. Recently he proved again that he rejects society’s norms.
Picking up the telephone, the bearded genius, who is jobless, found himself being offered an academic prize worth US$1 million. He politely but tersely told the American institute offering it that he would have to consider whether he wanted to accept the money or not.
“He said he would let me know at some point,” said Jim Carlson, the president of the Clay Mathematics Institute. “He did not give a sense of timing but I do not expect it will be tomorrow.”

it's a straight street
i’m a crooked man
going through the window
with a gun in my hand

it's a straight street
i'm a crooked boy
i shoot you dead
with a plastic toy

i’m a ball of wool
i'm rolling round
about to fall
out your mouth

i'm a ball of wool
i’m out of hand
i'm a mighty lord
who has no land

it's a straight street
my crooked old hands
creeping through your lawn
a creepy little man

it's a straight street
it's too straight you see
too straight straight straight
for bent old me

I always loved the light of day
I once forgot, it went away
light so bright you can barely see
I want to take it, take it with me

I can’t hide from the day of light
I can’t hide from the dark of night
dark so black you can barely see
please come, come & hide with me

What’s going on with all you pop heads?? What’s with all this poetry? Gimme the biscuit tin!

Do not be alarmed. We have taken over your website. The explosives you can see strapped to my head, although quite real, are intended to be an example of terrorist hairstyling. As you can see, I am speaking from a remote desert location. We have no desire to harm innocent contributions.

Oh Pedro, where are you?
I’m right here watching TB ads
Oyoii! Hab you fed the cats?
Oh Pedro, you son of a beetch
I know you been with that whore
& you haben’t eben cleaned the horse
(Maria sings while washing the baby)
I once knew a cow called Daisy
she was kinda hazy
she ate the hay & slept all day
sure was fucking lazy

So Pedro grabbed his shotgun
put his boots & socks on
black & blue & fairly new
a hundred per cent pure cotton

Oh Pedro! etc


To gee or not to gee, that is the equestrian

101 Uses For Griselinia littoralis

KINGDOM Plantae (plants)
ORDER Apiales (this word is obscure)
FAMILY Griselinaceae (named after the Greek botanist “Griselini”)
GENUS Griselinia (ditto)
SPECIES littoralis (seaside)

Translation: “Plants Some Obscure Ditto Greek Guy At The Beach”

One Hundred & One Uses For Griselinia As:

1. The ultimate ‘beachiana’ hedge
2. A useful addition to any man-like display of plants with hardly visible flowers
3. The focal point for a marketing campaign involving cheap magnifying glasses
4. A horticultural counterpoint to gaiety
5. A free-standing plant where any isolated hedge-like ‘beachiana’ effect is required, or…
6. A free-standing ‘hedgiana’ effect where any full-blown beach-like hedge is not wanted
7. A pleasant aromatic tea when boiled together in water for 80 minutes with any other plant actually having pleasant aromatic qualities
8. An aphrodisiac when buried for 9½ years in the skull of a Moa at a depth of 17.5cm in the peaty soils of Huansu province, then extricated, mud-baked over a low fire for 1½ hours, served on a bed of Mozambique tortoise dung, confit of the Single-Winged Tzakj Beetle & smeared with a pornographic raspberry sauce
9. A randy-slash-implausible remedy for the compulsion to kill nearly-extinct animals
10. A plausible-slash-dodgy business opportunity for the global marketing of an aromatic aphrodisiac cure-all for the compulsion to kill nearly-extinct animals
11. A passable syrup when rubbed to a paste with pure Fijian cane sugar in the sacred bambang bowl, such paste being dribbled over a nearly extinct animal & eaten on toast with cinnamon
12. When slurped as above, minus nearly-extinct animal & toast, a soothing potion for all those dumb & self righteous
13. When waved as a branch from the cliff-top of a desert island, an off-putting reminder to any kind of nasty animal that it is too far to swim
14. A without-which-not in case of cliff-top vertigo
15. An umbrella that doesn’t work
16. Easily plucked greenery for a school theatre production
17. A vandal-proof shrub whereby the plucking of its greenery for a school theatre production will only improve its looks
18. The placebo in a scientific experiment to test the medicinal effect of native New Zealand plants
19. The subject of a pub quiz as to which is the only native New Zealand plant not to have any effect on anything whatsoever at any time, including nearly extinct animals
20. A last resort desert island firewood, when sparingly combined with halfway decent firewood, when roasting nearly extinct birds
21. A diverting conversation subject in the case of some person saying “what is that firewood?”
22. A fast growing & resilient plant for the re-stabilisation of riverbanks & sand-dunes
23. A prime candidate when choosing plants for the colonisation of the planet Mars
24. An ambassador for those plants everywhere which appear to have little or no use
25. A scientific proof-otherwise that plants need have a use
26. An adjunct to any garden whereby the hand of colour, scent, foliage, form, seasonal variation, or any other kind of high-mindedness has been overplayed
27. The raw material for a dodgy-cum-potential life raft if trapped on a subtropical island where a practical life raft is unavailable
28. A political focus for all those against run-of-the-mill subtropical life-rafts
29. A potential cure for those wishing to escape subtropical islands
30. When dropped as an adult tree from an enormous height, a certain cure for inflexibility (in those so afflicted)
31. When chopped down, carved into a short, stubby spear and given into the hands of a redneck, a theoretical cure for atheism
32. When pruned into the shape of a horse’s nostril, a wreath for the slow
33. A plant resembling a small dead tree when stripped of all its leaves
34. Timber for those who prefer not to build anything but less-than-mediocre beach huts
35. A sometime epiphytic which can be successfully encouraged to grow on trams, semi-stationary buildings, large non-walking trees & certain kinds of people
36. A halfway decent exponent of the art of converting sunlight into hydrocarbons whilst in the same breath removing carbon dioxide from the air & thereby, a passable friend to the noble human being
37. A last resort, if needed, as to what ‘humble’ looks like
38. A tree which doesn’t recite poetry (or at least appears not to)
39. An icon of icons among those who refuse to stick up for themselves
40. A candidate for planting where no irrigation is desired
41. An advertisement for the benefits of unscented, microscopic flowers
42. An eloquent example of how far there is to fall, taste-wise, from the heights of the Mediterranean celery plant, whose relation the Griselinia littoralis is
43. An item of significance to the “Mediterraneans Are Way Better Than Kiwis” movement who are known for their disdain for all things tasteless
44. A proof that there is such a thing as the “Mediterraneans Are Way Better Than Kiwis” movement
45. One possible reason for the “Mediterraneans Are Way Better Than Kiwis” movement to have progressed from the relatively harmless regular Sunday meeting of three friends living in the south of France to their becoming a global eco-terrorist network
46. A post-graduate thesis subject on the incapacity of those shipwrecked (willfully or otherwise) to know very much
47. The raw material for a purpose-built, forest platform from which noxious animals can kill nearly extinct birds
48. An easy-to-come-to-mind, reasonably fast growing re-vegetation species and all-purpose shrub in the event that a landscape architect’s mind has gone blank
49. A clue as to which landscape architects’ minds have gone blank
50. A good reason for sacking all landscape architects and beatifying beaches
51. An enigmatic object lesson when considering the proposition that “everything has its place”
52. A tree which looks even humbler under moonlight
53. A counter to the argument that creatures need be cuter when they’re small
54. A tree that is impossible to prune without feeling dissatisfied
55. A subject for the demonstrating of the yet-to-be-designed Griselinia hedge-trimming machine
56. A handy tool when promoting the advantages of feeling useless
57. A tree which cannot understand the concept “noble”
58. A tree which secretly believes there is no such thing as noble, but which carries on anyway
59. A tree which is noble for being humble
60. An antidote to everything English, old lady-like, and the compulsion to plant together randomly selected species from across the once great British Empire considering this to be an art form, albeit merely a foible of English old ladies, thereby creating a “little world’ without having to deal with those nasty Spanish, Portugese, French, German, Russian, Italian, Belgian or Dutch (the Danish luckily being excluded from this list as all they ever conquered apart from England, along with the Romans, Normans, Vikings and Saxons, was Iceland which, according to modern day English old ladies, doesn’t own anything worth growing)
61. The national plant of expatriate Danes and boy racers
62. A useful seaside plant for people who think they’re English but who are probably just hung-over
63. A trendy garden plant for landscape architects everywhere who believe baches are where it’s at but know that no one ever has the time to look after them
64. A cure, when whacked in the eye by some random branch of a tree on a night out whilst cycling about within an architecturally landscape-designed public space having consumed a humungous two and a half standard drinks, for the absurdity of hating specific kinds of trees
65. A categoric proof that the artificial fertilising of native trees is at once pointless and yet worth the effort
66. A plant which spits in the eye of insecticides and greenies alike
67. A background participant in a primary school production entitled “The Miracle Of Insecticides”
68. An emblem for those who are neither right nor wrong
69. A tree that is impossible to cycle across
70. A source of wood which could be used for whittling, but isn’t
71. When buried upside down in the sand, an aid to impeding exuberant adolescents partying on the beach
72. An example of a plant that has never committed suicide
73. An example of a plant which doesn’t need drug testing
74. The raw material for the production of a newspaper in which there is only average-to-mundane news
75. An example of a being which doesn’t complain even if life is comparatively interesting
76. An example of a being which luxuriates in the idea of interesting obscurity
77. A contender for any planting wherein the colour pink and/or the female gender in general has, rightly or wrongly, been given the heave ho
78. The raw material for the nest-building habits of the flightless (& extinct) Moa littoralis
79. Having already achieved international recognition as the raw inspiration for the sixties hit Where Have All the Flowers Gone? subject matter for the as yet to be written follow-up: Where Have All The Moa Littoralis’ Gone?
80. An example of a plant which never turns up to work because it doesn’t have to
81. Material for the amateur wool-dyer, producing, in the finished article, a grey which can only be described as ‘grey’
82. A filler in any nursery so as to give the impression: “look, we’ve got a lot of plants for sale here!”
83. A plant which can grow on other plants but usually can’t be bothered
84. A possible school play idea for extinct drug testing old ladies
85. An example of a being which, having no native motor skills bar the wind, has managed to escape Mediterranea
86. Reason enough to admire the ability of ordinary things to prosper in paradise
87. Excuse enough for anyone, given a sensible supply of home-made Bulgarian fire-water, to compile some sort of justification for the existence of anything
88. An example of a plant which doesn’t have a photo of itself on its screen-saver
89. The main player in an advertisement for the promotion of vandalism
90. An encouragement for those who secretly like to look at rubbish
91. Proof of the benefits of being stuck in the past & having access to only one TV channel
92. A beacon of hope for plants everywhere who believe they’re living in someone else’s living room
93. A star in the movie “Gondwanaland Now”
94. A kind of celery hard to swallow
95. The subject of a pre-school demonstration of: Where The Extinct Birds Used To Perch
96. An example of the kind of self-reproducing thing that will randomly turn up on any giant ball floating around in space
97. An olive branch to those erring on the side of “deep and poetic”
98. A consoling figure to those plants left out of the book “Why Weeds Are The Cleverest Criminals”
99. Proof of Einstein’s Theory Of Criminality
100. Proof that time moves in two directions at once
101. A counter to the argument that ugliness is in the eye of the beholder

CONTRIBUTION FROM:      Graville Dunstan
I’m dreamin bout white four poster pillows and a woman with big eyebrows. I just came in from the pool. The book I been reading is all about the science of preserving humans in nappies; that way we’ll never need knives and forks on the long haul to the Dogstar. It’s hard to say if the idea of taxes will ever catch on. Too much opposition from the pygmies.



It’s amazing how many assholes live in Nelson. I have been living here for eight long years and now that I am about to leave, hopefully never to return, it may be time to set the rest of the planet straight.
My theory is that the isolation of the place, the abundance of stones, the clean rivers, the sparkling sea, the natural beauty all around, the favourable climate, and an insufficient gene pool deriving from an even less sufficient founding population, namely the New Zealand Company, who plainly were assholes, have combined to produce an entire town of fuckwits. And then there is the distinct lack of Polynesian peoples in the area, no doubt pushed out by the noble founding fathers, which has led to the current local’s inability to laugh at himself, on top of a smug racism. Or yet, maybe long ago, some asshole from space came down and mated with the locals. Who knows? One way or another, this town is some kind of asshole magnet.
To be sure, some assholes are to be met with everywhere. The bullying asshole, the drunken asshole, the stuffy asshole, the I-work-in-a-shop-but-would-really-rather-not-sell-you-anything kind of asshole. But a lot of the assholes in this particular corner of the world are not to be found anywhere else, other than perhaps the Falkland Islands. A mere eight years here and I have identified the following endemic asshole types:

• The dumb and self-righteous asshole (a particularly dangerous combination of character traits thankfully limited to a part of town easily avoided due to its lack of afternoon sun).

• The I’ve-got-a-tiny-piece-of-my-head-missing-but-look-at-my-shiny-diploma-on-the-wall asshole (you really gotta love this kind of asshole).

• The I’m-not-here-to-be-liked-even-if-I’m-now-looking-at-a-full-size-picture-of-myself-on-my-screen-saver asshole (closely related to the I’ve-got-a-tiny-piece-of-my-head-missing-but-look-at-my-shiny-diploma-on-the-wall asshole but now recognised to be a distinct asshole type and replacing the outdated coverall term: Golf playing asshole. This kind of asshole distinguishes itself from the former by being somewhat less loveable).

• The I’ve-got-the-people-skills-of-a-mongoose-on-top-of-which-I’m-gonna-talk-to-you-like-you’re-a-five-year-old-because-I’ve-never-had-any-kids-of-my-own asshole (somehow, my boss has managed to combine these first four types in one, which has to be a world first).

• The asshole unable to apologise for anything whatsoever (this asshole type’s genetic pool is so small they never even had a mum).

• The goat-like asshole whose contrariness respects nothing but a confidence in his own shortcomings. (For the best cheese-producing milk in the world, second rate handbags, and the laying to waste of any kind of landscape, goats are cool, but for not much else).

• The I’m-not-a christian-because-Jesus-said-“judge-not”-and-I-bet-you-had-a-step-through-bicycle-when-you-were-a-kid asshole (not even The Falkland Islands has one of these).

• The my-desk-is-right-next-to-yours-and-I’m-not-gonna-smile-at-you-for-at-least-five-years-as-after-all-that’s-perfectly-normal asshole (the perfectly normal asshole).

But my favourite is the downright unfriendly asshole. In Nelson this type comes with a myriad variations, some of them quite obscure. The neighbour with the smiling pitt bull terrier (gee, I thought it was snarling) who won’t come over for a drink because he doesn’t drink!! Or the asshole who never laughs. Not to mention the asshole who never speaks or even waves hello. Some come in pairs: Grandpa asshole driving purposefully at 40kph hoping for an accident and the invulnerable cyclist riding wide on the road without rear vision who wishes he’d get run over. Or in threesomes. At ten past five, on your way home from work, it is entirely possible to witness a whole supermarket full of assholes. It’s like we’re composing a symphonic asshole poem conducted by a proper cunt. But if you really think about it, you can see how all these asshole types are genetically related. It’s called judgmentalism.

So why did I come here? Was I an asshole in waiting? Was it some kind of test for the unsuspecting friendly person? Probably. The thing about the asshole test is that it’s a win/win scenario for the locals. Harassment (by which I mean the normal way here of getting to know someone) will inevitably bring out the newcomer’s true qualities. Either his true asshole will soon enough show itself or, eventually, he’ll just go away. And lo, they’ve been doing this now for a hundred and fifty years, refining and expanding on the original asshole gene, as if after forty two generations they expect to come up with the perfect prick.

Will I miss the place? Maybe the mountains. Maybe Barvant, the owner of the dairy across the road. Or the magic of my front lawn at night. I don’t know. By now I must be a dubious export. I hope I’m not recalled.



Our weaknesses persist because we believe them to be our strengths

Thieves don’t whistle

Why be bigger when you can make others look small?

The easiest problems are the hardest ones to solve

Hell is like being plagued by regrets, only worse

If it’s in the fridge, drink it

The free act alone is immortal

A lot of people’s egos are different, but mine is the same

Work is like drugs. Some people want to get out of it

If I couldn’t forgive I would have killed myself by now

Sometimes the dumbest people got the best ideas

Without sex, no birth. Without death, there is no sex

Procrastination is the devil. Addiction is the symptom

We are already in the afterlife. This world is where we all come to when we die

Love is a block of marble

Pain’s been so long in my mouth the taste’s gone out of it

The artist already knows how to work. Others require to be taught

Greedy people usually end up shooting themselves in the foot

There is no better customer than human indolence

Poor people don’t put up billboards. Consequently no one votes for them

Those unhappy haven’t asked themselves “why?” or acted on the answer

Just cos you fart don’t make you a genius

Democracy is like peak hour traffic. We all travel at the speed of the slowest driver

There is a fine line between knowledge and dizziness

If someone says “I don’t know if I want to belong to this world anymore,” tell them: Don’t worry, there are worse ones around the corner

Days are like bees. They all add up to a colony which is of one mind. And then they swarm

Vain people are hard to miss

Courage looks through alien eyes

Reincarnation is as sure as the fact that you only live once

It’s only my judgement that counts. I’m the only one here who’s mad

Madness is everything

The trouble with any kind of weeding is that it creates the perfect environment for weeds

Love is the power of inclusion. The opposite of love is fear

We see just enough that we might recognise. Beyond this we are blind

Comfort is a grave

Self importance is what dirtiness is next to Godliness

Break the egg or eat the shell

Human beings! Whose balls are full of logic and ears full of grief

Travelling is so enjoyable because you can’t get used to it

People who believe they know God are frighteningly simple. Atheists are even dumber

They say a bit of pain never hurt anyone. But it does

Life is scary. Probably a good enough reason to stop drinking, just in case it could get scarier

Two pairs of glasses won’t help

Goodness is like beauty. You only have to walk into a supermarket to see that most people struggle with the concept

Flatter people and they will like it

You can only limit yourself

Everything is food for something else.

Purgatorial proverbs don’t mean nothing. They just sound like they mean something

Crime is like a tree. It’s easier to climb up than find your way back down

To learn from evil is good

Suspense is for those with no idea what’s about to happen

The pathetic number of contributions to The Dining Room over the last few years has led to a resolution by the board of directors of laughingcloudrecords to discontinue accepting incoming messages of any kind

CONTRIBUTION FROM:      Daniel Theberge
Assis, étendu, j’aimerai parler un français que tu ne puisse comprendre, l’autre, celui qui gît hors de la banalité. Crier que je vois du bleu, du brun, la date ignorée, le déhanchement de quelque femme beaucoup trop étrangère. Les situations s’entremêleront encore longtemps, comme je les ai vues se rire de nous, de notre pauvre recherché. J’avais l’impression de rater une pièce qui portant se jouerait si aisément.
Maintenant, ce maintenant trop present – me revoilà au même point, ne sachant où vous distinguer, trop loin de moi-même pour en rire suffisament de sérénité et la dignité. Les feuilles de pluie s’abreuve, je voudrais que ce soit de moi, je voudrais ce vouloir.
Tu manges les raisins bleu, ta chemise est bleue, en face, les bras bougent périodiquement. Quelqu’un d’autre agit d’une façon semblable ailleurs, pose les gestes que tu en attends. Je me concentre sur les morceaux éparpillés, les mots que j’aurai dû employer, les autres-que-mots. Enfin: où en arriver si ce n’est qu’à mordre toute ligne appâtée?
Je reassemble les morceaux éparpillés.



THE STUDY OF WONK (learn more about Wonk)
OVER-WONKED? (try the Wonk Retreat)
THE OPPONENTS OF WONK (are they real?)
WHY WONK WORKS (and yet doesn’t)