A rebel without a clue.

Time to kill, Killing time, Waiting until A thing good Enhances Any chance Leaving it all Behind; A merry-go-round. To dance alone Where belonging Is continuous Being.

When to depart is A time you please Those arms are Simply irrelevant But, due to conformity Of laws man-made, Ticking can weigh Grossly on nature! Unweaving truth; Threadbared; Pulling on treuws and Then ties boot laces; Without depending On intense passion To fulfill another day.

In Leeds, a city of several hundred thousand, I am often face to face with the same few people, and I don't mean those who work in the retail or hospitality trade. Like me I believe they live their lives in decreasing circuits, knowing every shortcut, alleyway, ginnel, snicket, to our advantage. Like them I rarely spend much time on the main thoroughfares and go directly to those places I feel safer than the hemorrhaging bus lanes or the bleeding queues! Leeds: for all it has to offer to the mighty majority of West Yorkshire, to me it is a brick piled desert painted vermilion, peeling and inanimate. It is no longer depressing for me, but I still attempt to shield myself from it's emptiness somehow! It is simply because my life consists of the same circles. There isn't much here so I end up trapped in these fewer options. My loop is to open the windows, on a hot day like today, put a load of washing on, adjust the metering to give me a warm bath tomorrow and then step outsid...