Post-Glebe Experience.

It's definitely made me twitchy. Four days without coffee and now I know why it's such a bad idea on an empty stomach. How do I stop? Decaffeinated seems wrong. And a cup of tea isn't the same. Maybe the toast will help?

Tattoos. I've never really understood them. Isn't it the same as self mutilation or self harming - by proxy obviously. To show an allegiance to some distinct brotherhood separated and special from the absolute Brotherhood. As an individual I dislike groups because that is another way we are divided. As an individual I feel more of the collective than I would as a special element of the minority. It's a paradox of my nature. Suits are the same, Levi's or Nike. Branded and separated. Yesterday a guy, and his wife, left The Bay Horse to drive away in his Ferrari. Fully chalked up in their own distinct "better" class of separateness. We'd both seen the same Escort MK2 RS2000, but, while I only saw a car I'd not seen since the early 90s, he saw it with a monetary value being worth £100K. The value in the valueless. More money than being. Money can't buy happiness. The dog sitting I do is for two pretty unhappy individuals who have money all over the place - Dropped in the sink, on the floor, tucked into the backs of sofas and jammed into the crevices between floor boards and skirting boards - however they bicker and tinkle and jibe at each other constantly and are currently trying to flee the UK for what's on the other side of the fence: Spain and some "space" for themselves to relax, chill or come apart further and further. They're fine people really, but have been with each other since they were children really and are definitely Institutionalised in their relationships. Happiness is a warm gun (only once you've shot yourself in the head) and to "jump the gun" is to give your life/death dualism to Religion instead of deciding for ourselves to end it all. Another suit, with four cups of take out coffee, waffles into his earpiece/listening device about the six million pounds a year, and his gut is praying for, to devour the planet like some malevolent gorging fiend.

Probably should go find Tony, give him the beer I promised him, and head to the pharmacy to adjust my head again? Oh antidepressants why?

Coffee ... I'm as high as a kite. I've not known this buzz for so long: I'm "buzzing like a fridge" and not sure it's worth the brain meltdown? However I've just packed my bags, shat, weighed the album someone wants on Discogs, and had a reasonable conversation with my mother: let me tell you about my mother (another time in a galaxy far far away) ... all prior to flying down to Stand A of Wetherby bus station and giving Tony all my spare coinage (minus £3 for the bus) to spend a rainy day, drinking Kronenbourg 1664 and planning his next saving Grace, dreaming away.