emilalves

Flowers or a Barber - Emil Alves Andreasson
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theres

- ugly weather.
rotten floor boards and lovley green walls of wood.
the barber is busy with a custumer.

he has long black hair and yet bald on top of it all. stinking of the demon drink all the way to Carloc Gundersons battle grounds through the broken noses of The South Fighters.
all the the stains on his clothes tell storys of the long nights at the saloon, yet unknown to the barber.

but there is one stain that sets apart from the others, a color that is not only associated with a flower but also the fate of a poor barber.

with swettt running down his four head he slowly turn his head and look with Fear and Wonder while the razor is still resting on the custumers Juggiular.

the Thomp of a dusty pair of shoes tells the ravens to gather round the barbers shop.

Thomp

Thomp

Thomp

the barbers eyes turned from look into full stare when a Shadow sweeps gently through the room leaving the custumer sitting in a barbers shop

red like a flower.

 

Flowers to a Barber - Emil Alves Andreasson
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Lil big horn..

 

 

 

wow this is harder now Than it was back in The old daYs.

Back in the day i chould say whatever i Wanted without anyone knowing what i actually ment.

now i use a different way of getting My point forward

 

without anyone knowing ofcours. 

 

and it is 100 % bullet proOf. 

now i can truly say what i want

 

 

 

 

without anyone knowing that is. 

Now now.





What The fuck is going on?...
Ha. Ha. Ha.
Aha...
Nä


Nope...









Mm





Hänger ni mad?.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

hey now you is that a try?
yes and you better try.
what in gods name is he talking about now and again yes?

 

-nau oideah  dear.

no ide in deed.

 

just a quick look really. nothing to serious...
and nothing personal.
not to quick either..
yeh?
we whould not want wallice talking quickly now, whould we?

this is a messidge to yall who do not understand me and this messidge.

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ill be down still.

but i am not with the black birds trapped in solitary containment..

no.
now i am the resictance who whould no  rather se the birds hang from the tree rather than them holding on to it.

it ain't the small things, by the book mait who shant be used as birds bait.

 

but in the mean time.
ill say

 

 

 yeh

10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10

and they say madness don't make sence.
- Ah! well that is a facking question...
yeh.. it is.

- now I! whould assume you whould want a man like me to share the oppinion on such a matter do we now yes?
yeh i sapose so.

- WELL.. madness is such a over used word in hear. so you see i whould rather refer it to eeeeehhhh. over overflow of some sort energy preduced by repetision in a bladdeh nutshel over here. this beeing a tree side effect shant be very normal now shall it? and that is a side effect in it's own race in deed. and thats what we call mad.
batt realy when we think of mad people we thik of eeeeehh... murderers n such nonsence wich is not madness in this lot. NOWWW! what do you have to say youre self about this............?

HA!
that is my word i sing in summer times, yeh?
my work is big kinda, yes?
NOW NOW! haysty are we Jack?
Dont cut the whole cake now boy if youre only gonna eat a pice. and dont cut the cake if youre not hungry in a nut-shell.

what the fahk is ey talking about now?
- no idea

 

ey listen hear mait im not here for the long term conversation so why don't you just get the staff and well be going.

OH!....... ::DDDD
don't you want a cup of dead berryz? i make it my self you know.

no mait im allright.

just a cup really nothing big at alltimes in deed - in need?

fine then just get fakhin move on in hea. it has to be dilivered to sundown in five houres.

d e attans slöseri att läsa ett inlägg som detta.

HA! bara jag vet vad ja menar o inte menar i ett nötskal.

i ett nötskal.

 

Det finns en vinter blomma som blommar när andra blommor vissnar.
bin kommer och går - fast inte på vintern.

i forna dagar fanns det fyra söner som tillbringade sej svart vin i grasiösa mängder tusentals år gick och sönerna blev inte trötta på vinet.
tills en dag når en Hund och en maskerad man träde framm ur dimman och hällde gift ner i hinken där det frossades i enorma mänger.

den Galna Hunden och den Maskerade Mannen kvarstog och de fyra sönerna blev framkallade i svart och vitt. legenden om de fyra Svarta bröderna brättas ennu på dom rökiga gatorna i torg och städer.

det händer fortfarande att de tittar bakom axeln efter en skugga av en    Svart Fågel 

 

 

 

P.S     

det sägs att jag är vad jag heter.