A rebel without a clue.

What makes me lose it in a town like this? Really because I am bewildered by it. Feeling pointless and watching the world speed by unable to connect on any level with it. Not having the skills to rationally deal with the circumstances of "having" to be here. It is always the same problem which repeats itself and I never able to see before it hits me. Before it's too late and I'm in the one state I dislike most. All the good mind work feels undone in one disappointing afternoon. The lack of self-control at this exact moment. And then it's the usual pain in my neck: Americans in Lourdes talking extremely loudly about their "itinerary". I've not heard an English voice in a few weeks and now it is than predictable, superficial American drawl in my head! They get into my veins and give me an ague! Their experience of France seems totally superficial to me  in the way they list everything as though a shopping list. Is it arrogant of me to feel superior be...

Lourdes reminds me of Blackpool. Hotels on every street leading into the spiders web where at the very centre sits an untruth so unworthy of trust or respect: an Enigma. Wrapped up in a silk and brocade fabric comes a villain so disdainful and makes Dracula, himself, shudder at the throat. Except in Blackpool I suppose you know you're being taken for a ride? But I'm here. Hitching here was the only way. I've the tiredness of the eyes where squinting at the clouded skies draws a thousand dry tears to desicated ducts. Coffee next! What would I want here? Very simple beer. Karmeliet does it every time. Bizarre town. Full of all-sorts. I'm going to sit here and clean my boots next to another cleaning her lungs. One of the easiest ways to get about in France is by Hitching (auto stop) what probably would've taken several hours to travel to Lourdes took an hour. Three different people and I arrived. Now I am in a seedy two bit hotel (€18) and I reckon prostitution is r...

In reality I crossed the bridge in a car and perhaps that's enough? It was one bridge too far for me to walk. Strange that I looked across but never set my foot on the other side? Instead I watched the water flow from the right side of the iron structure. The five days from Mas d-Azil to Lortet have been very demanding and I took no rest days since Carcassonne, even with Sunday's hangover, and my knees are swollen, my toes are sore, I've callouses on my shoulders from where the backpack digs in and I'm covered in an assortment of scratches, bites and something on my left thigh. Oh! I feel weary and alone. Perfectly dark and somewhat silent space last night, except I woke at midnight and couldn't return to sleep because during the night cow bells really stick out: how I feel for cows to have them strapped to their necks forever ... never any respite until they're dead? Woke before six and got up. Made scrambled eggs, coffee, toast and am listening to the clunk...