A rebel without a clue.

Right on my way, late, to meet my Internet 'date'. This might be the last ever if it doesn't work out. I've joined those website from loneliness, not necessarily to met the kind of girls it has linked me with over the years. What is the point if you I don't have anything in common. And I'm getting too saggy to care. Some girls, on the late X98, discovering hen party cheeriness. I stand and fire straight between their eyes. Joining us are the Hindi/Urdu tribe who climb aboard at nPower(where once I worked oblivious of the world beyond Leeds). I really can't stand England anymore. It's become ruined and empty. Even the Victorian gatehouse at Roundhay park is a mere façade as I piss into the brambles. The new hybrid bus creaks and shakes. It's been on the road a month and I can't stand the reek of burning plastic from somewhere.  How big are the batteries and how bad is all plastic for the environment. Not a logical improvement. Just anot...

M onkey puzzle trees right, left and left left. A solitary weeping willow too. Arranged around the Eastgate/Quarryhill roundabout, which is now disused where once there were fountains and before that a Fina Garage. I am travelling back towards Wetherby on the 3rd of May and I am telling myself I need to visit Mind, the mental health charity, on Kirkstall Lane, and I must venture there soon. This bus always takes the same forsaken route to get out of Leeds; with its bland 'To Let' bulldozed wastelands, low rise warehousing with its pulled down shutters and a Nissan flagship and another few dozen flurried showrooms which are so out of place in this cheap rent part of Leeds. Where the very nature itself springs from the roofs of too often forgotten Victoriana: Tailors', Machinists' and Pressers' Trade Union on Cross Stamford Street . From behind me on the bus I hear the sound of second hand 'r n b', the dumb and chavie youths music of distinction, but ...

Got up and about for 7:50. Ran bath, washed and brewed coffee. Spoke to mister dogg and told him he's my favourite dog. Off to Leeds for a night to try to find another job. Still not heard from Salsa Mexicana's. Boring old persons on bus. Discussing decline of magpies and cook-coos.  Yes yes: no no. Yes yes they do yes yes. Yes it is. Yes it did. Honest that's what they say! Yes they have, hmm, they have yes. Consanguinity so much to answer for. I recall ignoring DG on Sunday afternoon as he endeavoured to attach himself to me. I can't stand him for a good reason. A person who I used to look forward to seeing immensely all the way from School, through Uni and up to a few years ago. This is only my observation, but he has real issues when he drinks too much and becomes a vibrant example of a sex pest. There is a dividing line in the night between normal discussions and openly obsessive fantascism and I think I want the old Dave back. The swallows have arrived. Wh...

S now melted leaving damp muddy Slipping steps caked shoes and wet toes Greasy and rotten brown ridged tracks Where all clothing must be ground. Old lady misses the bus And shits herself in the rush Trousers poo splattered And we sped on road. Fear of loving Live to not love Life free of loved Clove of lovers. All this rotten Brown coffee grown Trodden these feet Mud cracking soled. Soul is not hear Just impressed their Rubbered plastic Lipid feet trudge.

I t was like someone reaching 70, or more, Who had never been on a bus before.  Ah. She didn't know how to ask for her destination And maybe the bus had but one. To take her to where she needed to be?