A rebel without a clue.

I have decided to remove some of the uncontrollable hairs flourishing all over my shoulders and back. I feel that I am looking grizzly like the Sasquatch. I do dislike the rampant sprouting of hairs everywhere but on my head. But you're a man, I hear you say, get a hold of yourself! I'm gonna Veet myself on Thursday. The wind is gusting today, up to 70 mph, and it's whistling through the trees, it's fairly humid with it and in the distance I can hear the incessant wail of a car alarm. My tax repayment claim is sent recorded delivery. I have £500 to come back to me from 2 years of overpayment. Very useful as I can pay off the credit card; the last debt I have since my bankruptcy in 2007. It would be great to have a level playing field if I am to earn this haphazard wage while working for the city council. Interesting Saturday watched Kirk Deighton 2nd's knock up 240 in the cricket in 45 overs. Dan, Nick with his son Cameron, Scott and co. Some cide...

If only I knew how to break out of this persona I have become. I know it follows some very repetitively bland pulses and rhythms. Everyday seems to be about getting up just to get back into bed again that same day or even in a wider scope just like living each day just towards some final longed for moment. This isn’t good I can see that, but why can’t I shrug off that feeling and the demented persistent bashing of my head I currently maintain? I follow the same never ending paths that actually lead me nowhere. I will get up tomorrow walk the dog, get on the bus, get to the flat in Leeds, change clothes, take my pills, look at the mess in the living room, feel the coldness of the emptiness of the flat, smell the fetid and rank stale odours, etc. To find there aren’t any jobs but there is yet more manufactured bad news; then I'll haul back to Wetherby, along the same bus route I have been using since 1983, after no one has spoken to me all day, while trying not to spend any money w...

Office girls get up and dress like whores. Office gentlemen dress like confirming priests. Some of them drag on fag ends in longing for destiny Some of them talk to their handsets like it's war. There is a faux friendship here And blank impotent rage When in years gone bye nine bells would toll The reality of slavish coil doesn't depend on whistles. Fake leather elbows on a tweed coat: oh is that the best you can do? Drag them away one by one and shoot the lot. Put them on the east coast cattle truck to be boiled down to tallow.

Oh little girl staring at me. Roundhay, street lane. Must've been something I said or did or felt? A heart so empty and nick drake brays on too long Again repeated colours of brown, beige, yellow and cream. Random art that we can't help but frown at It is nothing; it is hard to define its edges. My mind is like sludge as i took a decision Severing my tie with dirty bad rotten caffeine Nothing in this coffee and nothing in this daydream. I guess i'll need talk to everyone, maybe one will smile But if i squander my coffee shops style then where? Miles of dreary roads and shopping queues. I text to often and oftener hear silence, monotonous I consider this my death by arabica and robusta And dwell on that hate which murders and kills A high hair wine bespoken ugly brat with voice Ah, winehouse you sing woefully of trouble From your voice I feel a bubble consciously explode.

I left the flat for Starbucks, on Street Lane, but I had to leave very shortly after only a solitary grande mug of their Café Estima Blend® and a brownie. Suffering from no internet I walked back to the flat through what I have decided to call 'dogshit alley' on the Roman's Estate. It is called The Romans locally, but its actually turn of the 20th century suburbia which becomes a 1950's council estate in the north end before trailing off into a mucky park known locally as The Bumps where there is more of the sporadic dog shit; I live on the otherside. I don't think calling it the Roman's does it any justice as it feels foetid and dirty, unusually for Roundhay it is more Gypsy than Ravenna. Personally I have no issues with using parks perimeters/edges as dumping grounds for dog faeces, but I hate having to hop along a path between steaming piles, from gap to gap, hoping I haven't missed one that will lead to a comical end (back in 1985 I remember falling ...