A rebel without a clue.

I am slowly building up to explode. I feel like the answer I have been waiting for is ready to present itself to me. I sense it is a final and certain destiny. It's just beyond me now, but I feel like it's in me. Some explosion of angst and frustration that means all I've lived for in 39 years is stoking the furnace of confusion and muddle. Every time I sit in company or near company I begin to panic that I will wobble and deflate in a stare or glance. Only today in Waitrose I couldn't act normally or inhesitantly when purchasing my few items: 2 mozzarella, cherry tomatoes, Maldon salt crystals and discounted sausages. Some guilt was on my face: like I was using a stolen credit card to purchase these items. I couldn't look convincingly into the cashiers eyes. I felt weighted down by manifestations of guilt. I'm surprised I wasn't also blushing. Blushing for my poultry fayre? I absolutely have no idea. I feel almost that the person I am facing might catch me ...

If you happened to see a ghost how could you be sure it was a ghost? Other than approaching the ghost and asking, quite politely, 'are you a ghost?' If you let that ghost walk by then you could never know for sure. If you were to ask someone you thought was a ghost if they were a ghost, and they weren't, what expression would that person take? I see lots of people close to death, but today I watched a ghost cross from the County Arcade to the Thorton Arcade. The clue that led me to believe this man was a ghost was the locomotion employed to cross the distance of those 30/40 feet and his pale and shadowy persona. I am looking at other people in the same space, but they don't maintain that same corpse distinction. The greyness and the physically tinged aspect.

What is this bean which demands so much o'er us? Half the planet over is in ruin in barista or plantation growers Or major corporate density method. Where once tea was the madness that we shared Now coffee is the branch of chains Like slaves rowing to a distant land Locked synchronized we spend all alone Maybe in huddles or meeting Where poets and revolutionaries once demanded more.