Costa-lotta-notta?

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 reality is central to all Solar Systems. Definitely I should say: how could a Universe reliant on the same universal laws being different in anyway? Again it's all one. It may look, to our backwards projection, to be a fractal and fractured thing but a fractal is not a reality: it's a mathematical estimation of reality. Nothing so simple as Mathematics is the Universe. How can a human sat at a PC know anything about the ultimate reality of anything? Such conceit. Our arrogance is our downfall. Same as perfume is our downfall. Same as my unwillingness to forgive is mine. Pride is our downfall. These false gods. These idols we bow down to. How have we lost ourselves in a finite, ephemeral, nothing? The meaningless is all we scope for. It's too limited for a son of the Sun of the Universe of Being; oneness.

No not North Street Deli because Costa is such an amazingly dull moment where conversations are cliché, but the music is not the bland badness Alan and Diane play irrelevantly. Bad music is such a waste of possibilities. To be given sanitised pop is mindless, thoughtless and childless: it's barren and infertile, and Costa is a parade of fat bottomed girls and crisp suits and Lloyd Pinder propping up: he's OK and will be forever. He wants to get past 50 ... actually since I discovered I will be 50(Wetherby "bleeding" High School - 1MD 1983) on 02/02/2022 so did I!