A rebel without a clue.

Since the phone call last night, I have been ruminating on what difficulties I've definitely caused Neil and Emma, who I was helping over the last few months escape from 24/7 dogs, up at the doggy daycare. Without knowing I've done anything irresponsible I've gone and done something thoughtless. Something thoughtless to them but of no meaning or consequence to me. From Friday morning until Monday evening I took care of those animals, who I feel akin to, in the only way I know how: being out and about, socialising them, enjoying quality time, etc ... The door to the kitchen keeps slamming in Pret so I hastily move ... Drunk in charge of dogs? Is there such a concept? Was I drunk in charge of dogs or is that a perception seen in one person by another person? Maybe they should breathalyse dog carers now? It was Saturday afternoon and I'd walked into Wetherby, via my mum's to stir the Kombucha I'm making and change boots from the wet to the drier. Then I headed ...

If you could see the world I see maybe you would not keep looking over the fence, or to the past or the future? There is no goal to reach. Nothing to hope towards. No barrier to breach. The past you recall isn't the past as it occurred. The past was a former present. There is only ever now. When I look around me I only ever see now. The steam rising off the cup of peppermint tea, which mashes now and chills now. The tag - thoroughly minted - hangs down and will remain that way: only slowly decomposing to the atoms it is structured up from. Which in turn are only ever a moment visible as solidity: moving relentlessly. Apparently stable, but actually nothing of the sort. Impermanence. Movement. Energy flowing ceaseless. And I'm the same. My whole outer surface is utterly an illusion. But I've lost control of it by accepting myself as a limited being. Truth is we're eternal and infinite: bottled up thoughtlessly. I've reduced my being to receding hairline and rotten te...

Whither Byron B-Boy-Byron. What was your surname. Little lad so interesting. With a "pet" snail in his blazer pocket fed on grass: I should've given him lettuce. Ellie in Costa knows not either. 21 years of age he'll been - Swarecliffe, Leeds? There's a lad called Byron Denton on YouTube who's causing a stir. He's too young and he seems to have gone to school in Sheffield. Whatever. Oh, the luxury of knowing that he's turned out very well indeed regardless of the fractal nature of existence. * New mattress - Simba, excellent support, but not sure about the Tog value of the duvet ... I woke up cold. It's getting on for mid May. I shouldn't need to put on any extra layers! But I didn't anyway as I got up and had porridge and a cold brew coffee: warmed up nicely! Maybe I oriented the duvet upside down? Funny smell. The smell of very fresh polyester. Diffuses soon? * A few days have passed since I touched base here, and quite a few days hav...

Yesterday I took it upon myself to prepare for the four/five days in which to walk to and fro Ilkley and York for Robert, my cousin's, Charity fund raiser: Martin House Hospice on the Wharfedale Ton(14th June) - which he/they/them will peddle. In order to make the walk back from my flat in Leeds, to mother's abode in Wetherby, a little more interesting I went north out of Leeds along Scott Hall Road, Harrogate Road, Moortown Corner, the Jewish ghetto, Wigton Moor, Slaid Hill and the west end of Shadwell, where I joined the usual route to Wike Ridge: a stiff 15 miles in four hours plus (I really dislike walking after lunchtime). The amount of plastic litter on our streets blows my mind. A very real problem occurs everywhere: it seems people have zero care for anything that isn't directly affecting them? The damage of plastics to the planet may be quite distant to many simple folk, but this morning I could not just walk passed uncaring. From the junction of the A58, and al...

Andrew Lambert is a name I've just heard Anthony suggest he is a reincarnation of. 56 years. Anthony is 33 and he's a handsome boy. Gave him the only quid I can spare. Is it possible to be the reincarnation of someone still alive? Anthony often talks about the military, but he says a different kind of soldier. Money he is owed by the church. He's definitely entitled to PIP back payment: is it three years since he stepped ashore with Blue (beautiful Weimaraner boy long since deceased) But I think he'd still remain at large outside Costa just prior to its opening times: 8 am on a Sunday. This is the wrong book! It's in the original tongue, but my comprehension of French doesn't go as deep as this requires: "A la Recherche du Temps Perdu, 1" and I stumble at longtemps ... long ago. It's an interesting error. Perhaps I needed to pay more attention to Mr Le Bourdon, in 1MD, before unwittingly climbing on to that Coach to Berck (the cat is on the table ...

Are the customers who come to Costa everyday always so afraid of interaction? A handful of early morning building, maintenance, plumbing, plastering, types engage briefly in puerile banter then head, dusty or paint splattered, to waiting white van - littered with forgotten crisp packets, broken biscuits and mouldy socks - but the other majority look encased in the trap of their paranoia. This morning the paranoia stems from a rain which climbs down from a bright gray coverall of a sky. Whether we like it or not, the weather is simply beyond us! We, who moved away from the open Savannah and migrated into a wetter Northern Europe, queue up for a stimulant to nullify the dull ache of resentment we feel for the lack of control we have for anything in our meaningless existence. Scrambling about breaking, making, melding, tarnishing, wasting and hastening the time when we'll all be one hundred percent crazy one hundred percent of our post-placental time. Oh, why are we doing this willing...

Morning has broken. Lola is fed and gone to join mother at six. Time to wait until my long legged perambulation in that "Costa-Coca Cola" bollocks to recommence the positive effects of 100mg Sertraline, 120mg caffeine, 500ml H²O, two slices wholegrain toast, four mini butter pads and 1 mini Tiptree strawberry jam, before to North Street Deli and a peppermint tea and finally back to 42, and a telly fixated mother, to digest a Bircher muesli and then leg it with Lola for a few hours. The sun breaks through the clouds, just as the number 7 heads off its stand towards Harrogate, casting its mighty force into every pore of my reality and deep in my being. The only God I know is the Sun. We are indivisible and one. Oneness begins and ends in this point. To believe that God is a human is totally irrational and sees us as a body not a soul. My inner being is an inner light, brighter than anything we made, and as intense as our creator: The Sun. Perhaps all through the Universe this ...

Another day where I just can't get into any aspect of it. Keep turning the cheek he says, but now being raw and nervy is the consequence. Take a deep breath and realise that there ain't any answer here worth any effort. The other Way is the only way and it is my only true purpose. More deep breaths as I've obstacles to overcome still. I had to cancel a doctor's appointment for this delivery, which again hasn't shown. And UPS are definitely making this experience pretty much zero. It would be infinitely better if I don't let the situation get to me - I've literally no control over their mistakes. But any it did give me the opportunity to clean the flat, pack away the microwave my mother wants and work out how to hang curtains! So it was actually a day and a half getting a very "homely" skill. A great idea came to me while I was having an early morning kip - I'd sprung awake at a little after 4 - to interweave two separate pairs of curtains to ma...

It's May Day; And is May out? The Mayflower sets sail, Looking over the fence, But not reaping. Wave upon crest, Uncertain of rest, Tossed into the ocean Turning over and over Balanced precarious Trip to, tip to, sway to! Chance, too many times Leading an inevitable wake. Frantically searching rhymes, In far off lands, To stand again on Terra Firma And scream back at the spume "You bounder, you cheat" May is not out.

Sobriety has called and I must answer. By Sunday I realised that I've technically been "on a bender" since arriving in Le Puy-en-Velay on Sunday 7th. It is true to say I've had days off alcohol during the intervening three weeks, but I have pushed back recovery from any long lasting fatigue and by Sunday 28th I knew I'd gone too far. Added to this feeling of overwhelmingly tiredness of body (but not of mind) my diet got a little too meaty all of a sudden. Veganism definitely makes no sense at all, so that's gone from my mind for ever, but vegetarianism for at least five days out of seven has to be brought back onto the agenda. Beans, legumes, lentils, greens, wholegrain, organic, live cultured, sour dough, unpasteurised, etc. Pre and Pro biotics. From Monday, and for at least a month, no alcohol will pass my lips which isn't with food and, ideally, getting to the last weekend of August/September would be a very sensible ideal. Me and sticking to principle...