A rebel without a clue.

At eight I'm happy to take to the quilted luxury of a heavy bed to float away into Sunday's end without care or conscience.

Something significant has changed in my metabolism that means I am content to retire to solitary reflection earlier and earlier without worry of insomnia or cold sweating or an absolute fear of all our dooms (and I no longer long or hope for my final fatal heart attack); I used to retire but thought my bed was a trap for the unconscious ego - and the only place yet the worst place to rest my head. For many years I have been unable to break away from these noises in my head long enough to sink into a blissful relaxing and deeply refreshing sleep - the 'drink' brought on a kind of submission. But as I lay here and unconcerned, Popol Vuh In den Gärten Pharaos (krautrock/ambient) drifts upon the breeze I have flowing through the room. With the window ajar, and the winter approaching us, the simple unrestrained oxygen lifts my mood. While Paul McKenna claims there are only two things you should undertake in bed: sleep and sex, I have discovered there are many equally valu...

Be not loud. Be deeply conscious inside and the truth will cure you of any malady or strangeness. Look to the core of your being and forget what you think you are. Return with nothing but love because that is all there ever is.

With only one parent remaining I am losing touch with my hereditary. While she is blankly glued to another untruthful nostoppable monologue whenever I enter the room she feels a need to regurgitate this unnecessary diversion for my sanity. Then she chokes and I laugh because there is no stopping her TV dinner breath death. At a splutter of tension feeding back into what is already over I restrain against her forced process. This is not you and you just morphed in my father. Unreal to watch two parents vanish into transfixed hell brain sucked out of their noses while they fail to register me. Conversation? What is that? I never knew conversation which wasn't three way between television, you and I. What do we know of each other really? The truth I am finding is very lonely. Oh mother you are returning to the creator blind to the realities I so need to spread. Backwards I fly and arrive to spare you the need to maintain the false triumvirate. ... And ... ...

Refrains aren't you proper? Don't smash all troubles down Rain bouncing too loud! You are a very testing and Melancholy thing.

Looking back last night on this final stage I know it was the least 'pilgrimage-like' of all the summer's challenges to overcome. The absolute loneliness I felt while passing through my home country, the Netherlands, Germany and Ireland was beginning to unravel the good work I had achieved during France and Spain, where I shared the experience with others from dawn until dusk. Often I have suggested I enjoy being on my own, but this hides me in a separateness from the majority I want to be accepted and applauded by. It feels possible for me, and has been for 99% of my life, to exist without companionship at a definitive level. But there is another part of me that seems to have been left behind by 'a' society; perhaps I chose not to be a part of my 'real' society who were those who aspired to achievements beyond the paradoxical crossroads bringing the Great North Road along High Street and North Street in Wetherby. A dichotomy to be accepted by those I sho...

This morning I recalled the time in London when I literally couldn't remember a single thought about me. The often deafening noise in my mind, which I am currently working to defeat, was gone. I looked about me and wondered why I knew nothing anymore. It was frightening to suddenly know nothing yet it also felt to me a relief and release. The location I will never forget: where Jamaica Dock joins Shad Thames and runs up stream to Tower Bridge with its bold gothic Victoriana. The last few months have brought home the factor I am being driven insane by this shout'y' voice that interrupts my every breath. I want it gone.