A rebel without a clue.

Hanging. Suddenly feel yesterday's fill. We were going to catch the 10:19 am into Trier. But we're going to wait until we stop with the hot and cold sweats. This happens just too often. Forgetful of where we are by five pm is not a sensible strategy. Be Sunday. *** Most of the day was sultry (35°) in the extreme, we ducked into museums, cafés, terraces, ice cream parlours trying to keep cool. Eventually we crossed the Mosel over the Roman Bridge on both sides. Found the Rathaus and I think the architecture of something built by the National Socialists near a school. A route behind the Dom took us to the North Gate and Saint Simeon's Abbey - which was closed. Then I had a sudden attack diarrhoea in the main market square and it seemed a good time to return up to Irsch on the 84 (49 minutes past). As I pack away for another summer it tries to rain. Friday until Sunday is enough for Trier. It is a compact city. There was very little open today so it was very quiet on the we...

Strange day. Begun with a fine breakfast, provided by our Airbnb hosts, and they say I can move next door for the next two nights. Before we go sight seeing I move my things to give Steven his space. The Roman's were very much in Trier. It was a significant regional capital of the Tetrachy and had a lot of money spent on it in the 4th century by Constantine. It was nearly a frontier city but it was created to have a magnetic charm. It was a significantly unexpectedly great Roman city and the Kaiserthermen is the largest Roman structure I've every seen - with the exception of Diocletian's Palace in Split (but that's been altered down the years) - and I felt good seeing it. What was York like during the Roman Empire? Then we drank four glasses (0.2l glasses) of Riesling in the vicinity of the Dom before we went looking for perfume (which kind of got to me) and buying Lacoste polo shirt (which caused me to shout). Then we had two beers before catching the bus back to Ir...

We arrived at the lodgings - around 15 minutes up the hill, above the City - around three pm. It was getting stupidly warm, but it wouldn't be so sensible just to retire as we're a long time dead. A quick change of clothing, Steven pampers himself a little, I brush my teeth and we catch number 4 bus down through the university complex: getting off at the Bahnhoff to look for Negra Porta. It took a long time to find the local brewery. Indeed a tourist info lady in the Karl Marx Haus said there wasn't one - though clearly there was as they had a fully functioning website. But it's easy for a micro brewery to go under the radar. I lost my rag because they wouldn't believe me! Am I some "fraud"? Assertively I apologised for the tantrum and off we went down to the river Mosel. And low and behold: the Braü Haüs appears where the website says it would be. And then Steven says "oh you had sent me a photo of this beer garden ..." The ability to now stop,...

Robots of death. Legions of those descending blindfold into hell. Maybe not blindfolded but blinkered. Those who can only look ahead. Not aside. Their heads are restricted in neck pulling them along the totemic ridged. Glassy eyed these are slaves who never will see until they are at the gates. Even then I think they'll choose to continue into the centre of hell where Satan's waiters and waitresses will pour pure vengeance. This is not it. This is not the answer to that obtuse equation; this was not meant at all. The complete package: fucking Daily Mail or Telegraph, Hello and OK - our thoughts to be controlled inside a Boeing 747-800  At 38,000 feet nothing exists at all. All memory. All past or future must be seen to be an illusion, but they bring us back with their capitalist pursuant. Escape lounge, Steven goes off to buy stuff in duty free like a lamb to the stone and half attempts at women crack open Champagne: it is 7:13 am - where is your real brain, reason, wit or do...

Almost a bad end to a wonderful experience: a hornet landed on my ankle. I didn't know what it was at first. It tickled and I thought it was a big fly. When I tried to shake it off I saw how large it was. It wasn't dislodged when I shook it. It was a little lethargic so it must've been sleeping before I sat near where it was - maybe it's too warm for flying bricks. Now it has left the room, out the window, and I am not damaged. What would the effect have been of the barb in its tail? Time for breakfast with the Sisters and repetition of the same emphasis over and over. Then I realise that I am being unnecessarily impatient with a woman who hasn't probably left this room, walls, cloister in a decade. And speaking to anyone male, let alone British (by birth), must bring all her forgotten skills from the corridors of her mind: a forgotten room so overgrown with brambles, dog roses and briary. She must've reminded me seven times between 7am and a half that another ...

It must be forever. It has to be eternal. Life can know no death. Death is a force employed by the Ego. Everyday it has to be always. I can't be half way through the door. A threshold is purgatory and I belong only in paradise. It is The Matter and all illusion will vanish once it has been acknowledged totally for the reality it is. Every other way is a means of the Ego to kill me. I never was born only to look for death with such urgency. It's a long road, but it is all inside. It could never be found outside: no distraction from this purpose could help at all. Why do I need the escape? Well I don't. It's another illusion. But there an answer, yet it is so deep within that it can be so difficult seeing it - through a glass, darkly. Whenever I do miss this answer it isn't entirely is my fault for I know there are two voices at work. Yet I can never be guilty of anything, I have mis-perceived, in me again. It is an all or nothing change. I am on the threshold of a...

Away from Saint Pierre (on him was built a way so ridged, brittle and unworthy) Maison; a few clouds and a fresher breeze spell a day with a change in the spirit of the heart. Stepping onto the bus from Bourran to the city centre feels a little erroneous: I can't accept openly not walking anywhere and everywhere. My legs ache therefore I buy a bus ticket. Surely a Jazz, Blues or Rock festival would become tedious very shortly? Before Columbus etc what did we eat in Europe? Tomatoes, potatoes, squash, capsicum, etc ... The French are food crazy, but the food is all local and bountiful at this time of the year; celebrate the fruits of the Sun, Earth and Moon - they were in a union last night. Coche - a sow who has been allowed one litter prior to crrrr. Rodez market square Place de Bourg on a Wednesday. The next square - Place Eugéne Raynaldy - has vestiges of a Roman Forum; the Romans were very much in Gaul. Local Cerises (black cherries) are piled up next to Gallo and Cantaloup...