
Cosmic Dennis Greenidge
Steak Bake
July 2010
Dennis strikes sixty years young with his tape heads blazing straight out of Greggs...five of his ferrous raygun zaps, mostly in acapella mode, aimed at your heart... happy birthday MMate
Fenchurch Strasse…enough knockout juice to counter a fully harnessed seaside Bosching...enter Aldi Roger Moore...the underage saveloy saviour imbued with an east coast canker…high voltage screamer...a sense of disma….a gurning thing of indeterminate age/sex entirely lacking in social lustre...totally fucking Oberheim...mic drawing breath on the unfurling scableaux with the uncertainty of a tuberculed lung...the queasy anticipation of a piss-alley pasting…Hope Hotel...a lexiconical pie-nosher...veggie abbatoir...ham-fisted shop facades extracting gold teeth remnants from fresh stupidity…discordant Timex tuggings…distress signals crudely piped aboard…a violated sun shard hastily rented from Rumbalows… intrinsic morbid panache…"bye Luv"...Sven