A rebel without a clue.

It is eight thirty The zombies join me I wait for them never to appear But they hardly disappoint. Beautiful blue skies White gulls far away Green seas calm Before the winter foam. Not enough ... Concrete stance Frail and lacking Formless Puzzling Saturday? Why should I see a stripped down universe? Did you strand me here? Too much Too young Until the end For something so ancient. Amongst Hard working Little thinking Too tinkering Fools You sit beautiful And reclined I sigh For youth Love for youth. A labyrinth is the complex ways Our seldom easy to plan means NHS can only slowly rattle A poisoning tail at the end of a path. Physiological, tick. Security, tick. Belongingness, no. Esteem, no. Self-actualised? Improbable. Being aware of awareness Inner peace and stillness In the face of the hurricane Of humanities farce.

Working in the weight Inside eyes frightened Scaled in to lateness And your verisimilitude. All psychopaths are ruling us now From the first dawn of consciousness Until the sunset upon this broken throne God it is bad. Gregg Wallace Is a crudely pictorial Probably false Faked from buttons to face. Didn't you realise? Is it possible I've lost interest in Facebook? But am I alone? First I got bored of television, then computers now I enjoy sleep. Oh, dark energy - you flood Our light minds with fear All we think we knew is false Arriving on shore without pilot or mast. The universe is a hologram How can a string vibrate 'one dimensionally'? Take me away from here. Flex a wrist, right No blood there Sure to run free at Least expectation. Today is likely to be numb And suffering mouth feel Which speaks of astringency When something happened Drinking a cup of Jasmine Tea. Is the decline of the pub the reason for the increase in male loneliness...

Information is never absolute Parts are lost Parts are hidden Parts are banned Parts aren't comprehension Parts are mystery Parts suffer misery Imparted untrue Lies take apart trust And deliver malcontents. First in three Third being sunny Twice equally squally. Eclipsed mood First in heart Heated crimson tide Flow in; tranquil, Sublime. Garden grows Between bricks and mortar Falling leaves gather Before the rake People smile against Implemented Being forced: awake!

Is it possible to know The Truth? Where there is no questioning Corporate media will not balance Mouth piece of the slavedrivers. Nothing was said to clarify The impossible achievement And the end is not the means. It is always just over a horizon; too often. Life multiples Life is common Life appears Life exists Life is to belong Life strides Life made it possible But being brought life; All ways and always. Is concentrating Being obsessive on one task - Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle. As all other objects of need fade away. I am a fiction of myself. This I always saw But went along. I was a slave. Now I am untethered - alienated. Who am I? Yes I once knew, I thought, Now I am confused, Thought doesn't untangle. Parts of my body Parts of infinity Leading everywhere Without control Never apart Reflecting Truth Attached variably. There is no authentic relationship ... As I lay alone in my bed, Dwelling on another vanishing Monday, The ...

Perhaps I'll only be popular for my sayings Not inclined to trust my inner folds Saving stitches of thoughts resplendent? Drunk Another 'so-called' ex-footballer Drunk Shrunk to hair and clothes Without skill nor balls Oh, Beckham lay still Decline; chill. The day which never ends We shall never fight against, Being with forever, And seeing every chance As a real goal; treasured Enduring. Today? Desperate to get away The consequence of NHS border And the dull repetition of Every single news headline. Flawed socially. Loathing Attired in wild conflict Hoping Strung out: skin peeled Back bone reveals Rotten disposition. Some Truth pick-me-up. Short of motivation Breath is shorter Feeling confused Turning inside out Relentless It is not working It must be broken? Silence is God The gaps I desire Feed my love. My existence is meaning less Little matters anything here Walking away What would that solve? Masturbation is a temporary relie...

The enfeebled sun of autumn wanes As clouds dart across an horizon Deep in a treacherous increase. If it isn't a Manic Monday Deconstruct the playlist Turn me on to Jimi. The Independent on Sunday middleclass. The Sunday Times middle of the road The Sunday Sun middle of the butt crack. What makes the news tick In the same frame; leaning either way They must sit, code, decide to cover the headlines parallel not parallax. At ten am ingress increases Inversely to progress Less achieved as the stampede Becomes grey. Truth: silence is impossible Silence! I command thee Two shout One sits noble betwixt.

Actionless action Thoughtless thought Knowing knowingless Perception perceptionless Dao is I. Empty and plan. Metaphysic kept our proverbials warm Consider it inconsiderable, All the tangle means nothing All the worlds words are a logical mess. Fury is a firebrand livid flamed Upon a star it burnsout; ending This was never Yet departs Eventually blank: We drift without a candle.

Leaves are yet not willing Straining to rejoin the form And hold up autumn Still standing green. Glowing grateful grin Shining sun sing Slowed in perambulation. Emley Mast slices A westering sun Spicy glows fronds Wait in rows Come down the valley Clinging Branches pointing Home. Leeds City workers are autumn thieves Sweeping up the fragile ends, Along with cigarette butts, Of leaves withering dead. A strip of moon cupping vapour Thinning clouds present Blue, where spiders do weave truth. Instance death Waves body dance Outward ripples An ankle twists Celebrate life. See the mad? They suggest insanity, Being their residence, Is a form we know not. #1 Rich. Never matter. Material is nothing. Bent. Nailed too. Occluded detritus. Included atrophy. #2 Piled up before. A beast who preys. On those who pray. Totem. Lustful licks.

Stood waiting - surely death must be frightenly cold. Such freezing of every emotion, body and pain. But what then? The Universe is inhospitable in all parameters except stars. The season's change makes it seem beyond a joke. We lie in bed and do not wish to lift our head. It creeps into every bone and nerve. Between toes it forces me to rock and fret. Bus home and time to descend into East India Youth.

My mind has been filled with beasts of absurd proportions and I was unheard among the cacophony of their blasted voices.  The space I was looking for was marginal and obscured to my sight. It was there but like the thin ribbon floating on the current of broken branches, spinning turmoil and helpless hopes heading beyond the steady shore in a forced drowning. Between the heaving, the rushing and the dominating of the presence I could find no means, no shore and no foothold. It was all lost for I. Now I stand, after nearing a suffocating end,  drenched and gasping for meditative air; peace brought lower to my soul beyond lungs like a spinnaker forcing and heart bearing a capstan fully wound-up under earthly pressures. It is relief to feel calm as the storm water retreats. After a purposefully felt mindful day (I had resolved to have yesterday evening). The bad weather gone and the demons drowned out at sea. Against the odds I stuck to this crazy confusing track with voices ...

Nothing I do is worthless It is a reflection of Truth Troth to being and equal not being Holy is the whole reality Discernible in pure view.

There is no hope. If I can't imagine ever finding peace, for all time, what real point is there? MOH is the worst head throbbing Four Seasons. The rulers have broken we with more need. 26 weeks. Half a year. Six Months: aeons. Time is pulling my teeth out. If I got a job how long would I last as another mere number ten digits long - vanishing. Should I just grasp oblivion prior to the end of this year? Who can I talk to right now about my absence of hope? Oh buck up your ideas boy - father I am sorry.  I was always sorry but it never made any difference. You hated my faults and you hated my apologies. It must be the poison running along my arteries. How can I connect if I fear leaving this damned bedroom in case I just end up drunk yet again, forget for a moment then running it all over again? What is this emptiness and bitter retreat?

Those forgotten happy thoughts And those elusive happy dreams That is the way out of this - I heard you say Or so it simply seems For those who can never see it I feel Glued to a simple seldom questioned singular thought. Alone? But I like alone: I think this yet reverse it often. Seams split and unpacking at extremes, truthfully. Can I tell? Why can't you taste this sourness? The body occupies a strip of land at the end of time, battered Assaulted without hesitation nor finger precious lingering This is 2014 so all falls foul and we are deeply mired souls Nightmares do guide; coming along this hideous way Death soon will lead me beyond the hatred in man. To think I actually thought I'd run away? But to find the truth ... And then return to rebuild Eden to discover only lies Antagonism of my self is the only result found Distraction doesn't come unstuck from the page Flames should burn it black and finally. Broken isn't...

Broken am I? Thinking not I ... Blank is last - Zero, I am. Not ready for what is next. Fear, so therefore can't leave. Waiting with loose bolt This final thing, anthing, A hand shakes and nerves hasten I can not do; more and more fail. No more chance; Is this the meaning of knowing? I flapped my wings too close This time with such descent Burned it beyond connecting true How nothing thou art, being! Why am I suicidal yesterday, today and tomorrow Eleven bells: are those deep breaths? Shallower now No joy for me means Inside a mist stretches my head A thick fog reaching over my thoughts. Dreams only disappear with a Cold cloaked foe leaning me Flat.

From what was an insightful point upon the Way, I seem to be losing my vision; blinkered or blinded, my eyes pulled out; plucked, gone. What has disappeared behind is too far to reach back and grasp meaningfully for: the branch hangs above my change as the gravity of 'now' drags me along without options of escaping. Embracing this revolution seems logical but it's left me unhinged; more tenuous than at any time before: and I am liable to get my self into deep troubles if these remodelings can not be assimilated, without madness clouding every point of symbolic interest, then it will only worth ending it before it ends me. The Source is beginning to be revealed and I don't know how to dump the old and accept the new with finality. It is possible I've asked for some help before, but that was help to be accepted; now I need help to be something I should always have been. Before I scream forever, at never ever finding this limb that could pull me out another reality, ...

https://www.evernote.com/shard/s315/sh/3bac4119-33ca-4184-a4bc-fcfa7834415e/4c80907926b39ab1064b35c7dbbf687e Only: dread. The world I see is now, In the slow long heavily slumped Blunt march of a funeral, And overcast. A coffin, quite empty, is held; Too low. Unconforming. Not a thing good can ever come? If. What is spread refuses to die; Being toxic Is free without the casket. As the damp earth is pitched

First thing I know is at 7:33 am, my alarm was sent to the wrong day, so I have over slept and will be forced to miss breakfast - my host wants to be away by eight. Although it was cold in the room above the garage, I cherished the deep and restful sleep I managed in the warm (Autumn Snugpak) sleeping-bag (which I found in the spare room @ YHA Coniston Holly How Staff House back in October 2007);  Shrove Tuesday was indeed tiring here is Ash Wednesday. This morning, after one superior Aldi cafe I am being driven from rural to urban Picardie and now wait in a Presbytery for any advice from the priest to the various stages where it is possible for the pilgrim to sleep  - he is late, and I have third thoughts about doing anything in Amiens with it's fields of dead. The PR suggests the Tourist Info, but they'd be unhelpful about pilgrims, pilgrimages and refuges. Once I have breakfast I will depart.  There was a quiet simple openness in the Cathedral and above me the skies...