A rebel without a clue.

Something has shifted in me: I can no longer bring myself to walk out of Leeds to Wetherby. I've got weary of the many streets and stares I've to cross before the ring road presents itself and I'm in freedom. No desire. Nothing to prove. No advantage traipsing through countless, litter strewn, streets where no one says any greeting and where I only see the insane relentlessness carrying on: runners running, joggers jogging, dog walkers walking dogs and bicycle riders "talking talking talking" while flying through the monotony and never being here now. This malaise is surely temporary? I've just too many bad thoughts on my mind to shake off this nothingness. This morning I've rejected the very idea of walking there. I'm going to get the first bus there and relax at my mum's until the morning when I've to return to Leeds for a Work Capability Assessment at Quarry House. Since the new year I've tried to retrace the steps I'd come away fr...

Wetherby has seemed to me, in the last few decades, to be a town that time forgot - even if it is now considered a perfect "commuter" town - and it has lost any mystery in its original threadbare charm by being gradually overwhelmed with too many houses, people and traffic; and the tedium of retirement flats parked all around where the "overly long" alive wait impatiently not to die. When Wetherby was rough around the edges and had a cattle market and a produce market it was more real than it is now, before I went to high school in 1983, and life was gentler. Only one car to a family - if you were fortunate - now it's too many Range Rovers, Rolexes, boutique, pretentions. Too much Bling and not enough thorough dereliction. And I've lived here, on and off, since 1976. There used to be loads of wasteland. Actually when the engine shed was derelict it was mysterious. Over grown gardens. Vacant houses. During the depths of the Cold War and when the UK was off...

There are so many instances currently where I've come to realise I have no control of anything and this is truly terrifying! ... Yesterday I was in such turmoil so I didn't leave bed, except to hastily rejoin the bustle of yet another automatic check-out. "Thank you for shopping at Morrisons" says the unvarying voice: a voice dispassionate. Where is the choice of not shopping in a shop? Where would I get sustenance from other than there? Grow my own? Oh yeah I, one of the dispossessed, growing my own food. Farmers grow our food, but see us as invaders on "their" land. Animal husbandry or horticulture are roles fulfilled as part of a community. Without consumers consuming farming would wither and die on the branch. There is no community: there is only division. The Ego has driven us selfish and lusting, greedy and deprived, and this is in all directions and all ways. It is essential to "growth" of the human cancer: exploding upon the Earth which ...

The day after. I'm hazy. Lola was such a great girl. And I know she had a fine adventure, also now she knows where I live ... I guess. And she chose the older of the two beds - even she's not sure about the Simba. We woke up around five, initially, to take her for a wee wee and poo poo. Down eleven floors. She wouldn't go in the lift coated in vomit - some heroin affair I feel - therefore I sent it down empty and called the, somewhat cleaner, second lift. These lifts have probably witnessed some bizarre rituals, but maybe taking a dog down to the ground floor for ablutions wasn't the worst event in their history? This is my home Lola and you are the first female I've had in my flat ... The first for so long I've forgotten the date of the previous moment. Obviously this was not carnal, and the other occasions weren't much either! This event was Canine-al. It was a pretty simple walk from Otley to Ilkley, on the left bank, missing out the Moor and a sodden t...