Matthew Lyons Illustration. Poised I’m ready to wield my flailing limbs. There is only one place I could be. In the disco and humans want to have a pop with other humanoids. Cramp crusty dance floor it’s clammy, only a thimble full of room to flail. In the olden days they had room to spread engineered eagle eyed choreographed joint bending to the stretching. Sensual shuffling is our best. Tucked away too long on a cluttered cramped world wide web our ideas all the same. Just met Ethel and she supplies streamlined silky small talk questions. I answer them and explain the corner of the web which I’m tucked in, it’s saying nothing to you, I wish it did say something to everyone.
Now I’m trying to get away from you which I’m representing by spouting the word ‘anyway’ at you. He is a stubborn spouter he spouts sharp anyways. He has anyway clout. Now the artists who inspire me walked through the door, I type my login details. Do you look into my compositions as art. I make my textures for Photoshop by scanning in my poo smears on the toilet paper, go on you can trust me I am a fine artist. Anyway my dinner is going cold, anyway my cereal is going soggy.