putting the punk into village

it's a blindingly sun-filled saturday morning on oxford street. a handful of punk monks are at the markets. the lovely taylor square sustainable farmers markets where we played every thursday night for the duration of october.

 

lou steer from ESP gallery coaxes succinct word beats from the mic. her heartfelt character driven stories are witty & locally relevant. i'm not the only person laughing out loud. i am probably the only person who pisses my pants however. hurray for TENA.

today we've returned to the scene of our past street party crimes to add a little village ambience...

or a lot. inspired by lou, i break my spoken word bubble jamming an assorted jumble of love-worn haikus

and weetbix has a green drink while he mixes up sounds of the day. sometimes he has to adjust his output because we're somewhat too fast-paced for the slow vibe & the clothes swap beneath us is quite genteel. i blame the spirulina & we try to act all incognito.

noone cares. it's saturday morning on oxford street after all.

meanwhile andrew/andros & rebecca are live arting up a storm on yonder heritage fence. there's an extraordinary amount of pigeon shit at the base. oddly enough it perfectly matches the undercoat of our painted panels.

 very odd indeed.

nothing to see here. just a bunch of nonchalant punk monks... move along please.