Sunset.

We will never reach the sun. As we sit, stand or stride, away and towards, it just watches us trying to grasp it closer; clinging to its bold presence for eternal warmth.

"It is three am, Tuesday morning
Lying wide awake and
Knowing what is wrong.

Why we are always waiting?

Not wanting to be held fast,
Unable to be a patient,
In-line, to allow this willingly.

And to be played by the machine
Whose
Stubborn fingers
Stabbing down
Strike a discordant key, with
Some airs throughout
Spaced by mental disorder
Slipped phrase, some suggestions
To attend.

Run water
Down to boil the kettle
And hold steady to Assam.

Silently, quietly, as a tombstone
Sleep will return again,
But for now considering more
Than merely hanging on.

For whom?

The place has been reserved
Where a seat hastily emptied,
Only temporarily,
But it has been developed
Out of dissatisfaction

Struggling to sit still
Struck by how sinister
It is to be enveloped, while
Always restless, flighty, easily distracted

What can this mean to many?

Trapping hands
Preventing anxious
Shaking wrists
Warping, whirling, wringing
And unfurling
Fist striking the temple
Where ever it is freed.

Eponymous warnings
Chains and manacles,
Always given thoughtfully,
When hands dash across
The surface where time suffers
And an urge plunders moments
Plucked from Eternity's branch."

Another tack is required!

The wine regions, East to West, walking from Arles along the via Tolosana:

Les Baux-de-Provence,
Clairette de Bellegarde,
Costières de Nîmes,
Muscat de Lunel,
Coteaux due Languedoc (sub appellations: Vérargues, St-Christol, St-Drézéry, La Méjaneile, St-Georges-d'Orques, Montpeyroux, St-Saturnin)
Clairette de Languedoc.

Then to Gaillac in Tarn before Toulouse.

There are So many accounts of persons walking the Caminos, blogs, ebooks, paperbacks - is it any use or is it any different for a person with my "issues" - depressions, social ineptitude, disassociation, Asperger's, ADHD, male, white, forty something, GSOH. I know I am "good" at beer, wine, cheese and various cured products: are these cause for celebration? An altered ego without arrogance? Not sure. Conceited. Amount of time I hear myself speaking in these frankly sickening descriptors - either playing up or down someones hard work in an aloof despatch disregarding what the intuitively grasp and I only guzzle. My arse-y attitude puts me off snouting, troughing, thinking, regurgitating; it's all lies: isn't it time to celebrate everyone who comes away from life having created something unique? Not made in China.

Sticky floor, messy mouths, move seats. Bus driver stalls on the hill going up to The Windmill, Linton. If you can't contruct a sentence or see a baby as a human why is this all you want? Look at yourself Daniel ... Bright red chinos, minty La Chemise Lacoste, black Converse High-Top and multi coloured Tours purchased Lacoste cable knit. Where everyone on the bus, forward of your rear end, back of the ... uncomfortable seat, is blatantly black, pastel and regimented. They make me squirm, itch, generally break into hives ... Bzzz ... The route to see Leeds Mind Housing again - this time Oakwood opposite the Clock. Still not feeling the idea of being with other tranquilized mentalists, me tranquillized into normality, never batting an eyelid in contempt. Give me thoughtful!? Give me drones carrying each pathetic individual away; fly away, bring them to the queen, her dreadful majesty, for another hive's delicacy.

Here I am again. Another badly engineered cog. Waiting for a hi tech machined mechanical object to point out my foundary flaws. And I really don't care. Opposite the pretentious Awkward Clock. No. I don't require this blind alley: the trees are nice. What can I do that you would want me to do? Skip to the loop? Skip to this loop! To not be couped up. Yes I think I am ready to say not here, not now and not ever? Thirstily what are the options; where might.

Corruption in FIFA. Really? Are you sure?

Me? I realise now I was born to walk, find ways to arrive the path less trod(people, places, food and adventure) and risk it all (jumping off waterfalls in northern El Salvador). I don't know yet how to get from the shore of Spain or Portugal to the New World without heading through customs - according to Guatemala I never left to reach Honduras as I wasn't checked through their minor barrier and that really felt free just to do and please myself - who has a right in any nation to control the movements of humans? This I must find out. As I quibble over how I get a 'long' espresso and watch the staff at Costa intermingle. Blue sky dawning on Wetherby beer festival. I don't want to be like anyone portrayed in a movie: a movie is only a fantasy. Life isn't a fantasy. Wetherby beer festival from noon: come discuss with me not fantasy. Being in heart very alive apart from the illusion; currently being eclipsed Saturday gathers its reins.

The morning is clear; how will the afternoon 'to do' ? Extemporaneous. No way to plan before any plan is undone. Watching vacant girls squeeze oranges with a bridge, a gulf, between realising such mindless death stands readying Johnson's.

For aeons I was staring down the barrel of a gun which was turned towards me from the rear of the cavern. I glimpsed a vein of light (the glimmering of a sliver of silver) and as I yearned for death I turned, saw it wasn't a gun (there was no one holding it steady) but was a deeply entrenched tunnel from which everything was truly hidden. That fraction of unreality had been the totality. Then I saw I was being fooled. Now I am trying to alert everyone else to it's existence; but they don't dare to trust to the brave turning of a cheek: am I damned for trying?

Wetherby "Drear" festival. Wetherby Lions: this is surely the town of "Hot Fuzz". Yes I didn't need to leave my bed, duvet, throw-over or door to experience Wetherby Beer Festival; yet I did because I enjoyed Ravioli more. For some reason I thought 'Hurrah!' a beer festival, even though I hadn't seen much to advertise it, it was a Wetherby Lions event and it was a Wetherby Lions event - five years to perfect it but they didn't (dying one by one doesn't resolve its decline). I've never understood why a middle class " figurehead" would think painting a town verdantly green every spring would get him/her closer to the holy circle? The conceit of "Wetherby in bloom" maintained by those fading into the shadows.

To add meaning where meaning is absent is my biggest flaw. Thinking there is more volume, substance or reality where there is nothing at all is a wonder of my foolishness. It isn't necessary. To see in the afternoon what was never there in the morning suggests my two hemispheres battle each other. The one that used to win had me laid, slobbering into my pillow and bringing on an awful headache followed by guilt; however I saw how hideous my overvalued perception was around five and I  jumped ship. Back into the darkened room to admit tinnitus might win; a nausea intrudes my thoughts so soon: perhaps I'd never seen this truly because the alcohol decay bought me time: time to lose hope. By seven thirty I've grasped the badnbess and can look upon specialness for the traitor it is: it is beer; get over all the labels, names, drivel, etc! Never more.

The cave is all the world I see, being perceived as the ego made it, and I have given this world I see all its meaning - when it has absolutely none. The other world isn't perception at all, but it is certainty, knowledge, conception, it is insight; the truth laid bare. It is beyond this body and mind: it needs no apparatus, scaffold, façade, pretence. Silence, stillness, quiet, solitude, calm, tranquility, plateau; not words, actions, deeds, grasping can reveal it either (or so I state ...).

"To want peace,
Not war;
No longer fight
Anyone.

To be healed
Not hurt;
Nor lack the thinking
Truth; makes it so.

Live forever or die
Trying
No longer to lie
Hiding.

To the ones we share
Speak
Without poison
To see foolishness gone.

Where my tongue
Stings
To bite, but
We're always one.

Division is the trick
But the slight of hand
Has true nature crossed
By fingers bitten."
To be or not to be
To exist or to not the exist
To be at peace or filled with a pressure and noise
Stepping into nonsense - hoping for clarity -
Instead I find not myself!
What happened and why do I fall so often
The means of extraction are all about me
But some magnetic draws me back
This place is a hollow, sleepy, forgetful.

Like a building hastily planned and executed
My mind fails whenever there is any pressure compressing
But this is not what was meant at all.
To lose sight of a goal so soon and too often
Without dreaming in riddles I see the heavy cord
Tied about my midriff; my companion out of damnation.