A rebel without a clue.

Well there are only a few days left until my pilgrimage begins in earnest. I've been keeping away from this blog to put a little room between my convulsive negative feelings, dwelling within my past and struggling with my turgid mental system. I am feeling enthused more than I have been for a very long time; by looking forward and with help from the various positive inputs, since the pilgrimage idea popped into my head, including Prozac, planning, therapy and karma. I am making a conscious effort to think differently. All of this may be helping; but I think I am stating the obvious. In the last month I have been helped from an unexpected source and I am completely thankful of my brilliant and selfless cousin; a being whom has a million senses open and aiding with a fundamentally true understanding and he has supported me with real brotherly love and engagement. On Wednesday, during my analysis visit, I felt it would be useful to try to explain how I perceive the world: so I tr...

After my first nights sleep, when I was woken up without any bed clothes, I stepped out to fix my trip to Piran. Buon giorno: sorted €5:40c, and now I am officially in an Illy caffé house in central Trieste. I have taken a photo of James Joyce walking over a bridge on the grande canal (well a bronze!) First ever Italiano cappuccino. I notice that the modern Italians are coffee crazy! Last night I ate some awesome cheese and pancetta. Pancetta del calabrasi and a matured local cheese. Some bread a few glasses of Merlot and Aperol Spritz aperitivo. Some thing like a Friulian tapas style food along the way. Then bed. I was aware that they all talk so much. From that chattering mouth what must they be talking about. A commanding style of pristine hair and immaculate clothes here, but it's atypically Italian I feel. I will myself to walking up to Castello; it is very windy day today; dusty too. I am less uncertain today than I was yesterday. Will I camp in Piran? Plans? 5 days t...

Eyes full of irritating pus gunk. Slept fitfully waking with crusty eyes. Self prognosis suggests bacterial conjunctivitis. Sun was out this morning but it is hiding a little. So shorts might not be the obvious attire. Quick coffee then a walk. Man having a discussion with the fishmonger in loud voice. So everyone can hear what is being discussed. Politics. Business of the day. Not real. Not real at all. Steven Smith off to do his driving theory test. Was out for a couple early for Jonesy's babies head wetting last night. Everyone in shades of grey, blue or brown. Not a bright contrast of colours except for Lloyd's Nike red and green. Not sure I can do much more of those contrived events. Nice to bump into Simon Handley, though and I am very happy for Mr and Mrs Jones; Westy is weary: he's a baffooning gibbon. I linger. Second coffee. Alerting me: perhaps! No rush today. Louis Armstrong playing his jazz in the coffee shop. Gravel voice. I don't really enjoy Ladyday. Tha...

The stones of the Town Hall groan under the pressure of age. I took the bus. Nothing could stop me disappearing today? As I waited and waited the time questioned my decisions. Some subconscious feed provoking my torturous ego. There I was barely coping and overwhelmed with overt thoughts of my insignificance. All the plans within me coming unravelled as the things I need fight against that I have become. As I look up at the blank faced yawning gape of the bus driver as the routine X98 pulls up to alight the pensioners Wetherby welcomes I am straining to vanish. For a number of years I have been numb to what happens around me. It happens; I hear it, but it leaves me emptied of life’s essential beat. Rat-Tat-Tat. Have I become so distanced from the reality of these conversational needs that the booming voiced chorus delivers in waves of banality. I repeat that I am a ghost. I can't imagine when this happened as I was unaware of my own death. This Thursday I am sat hear...

I think that I might actually be right and absolutely not alone; oh joy to feel that I am not alone; thank you LP. The capitalist world is lost on a journey of self destruction. Some of us look around and wonder why the majority are greedy, selfish and barbaric. Closed in by the tyranny and violence of a small section of the populace. Open to businesses greedy single erect purpose while government bends to become an anal love child of fawning condescension. Where armies destroy thousands of helpless people for the security of the earth’s limited finite resources, picking on the unfortunate individuals repressed in the backwaters where we find most of the fundamentally precious minerals they need to keep the wheels in motion. Those who allow for no separate plan of humanity except short term financial vying – balance of trade, trade deficit and boom and bust. Men and Women sit on their banks of cushioned thrones and decide divisions of labour in far away lands to present the the more ...

Old clothes. I find it hard to throw away a load of clothes from the early 1990's. I have a cabinet filled with a number of tee-shirts and jumpers I will probably never wear again and a few items on hangers that sit there looking uncomfortable and unwanted. SF mentioned the orange quilted Chipie jacket I wore to every acid hazed event from 1989 to 1998, until it was literally worn out. It is sat there in my wardrobe reminding me of other times: fond and simple times. Been in Leeds for 2 whole nights so far, a third tonight and a whole days work in a school on Friday. I'm looking forward to this as it's more like what I want to do; I think? Made an effort on the food front last night. Bought strong flour from Millies and created luxurious homemade pizza a la Leodis. Blanched asparagus spears, refreshed in cold water, slow baked santorini tomatoes, wilted rucula, buffalo mozzarella, rosemary and four cheese sauce as the base. Flawless. I offered one to Anthony, bu...

December 7th 1941 is a day that will live in infamy. Walls that are composed from sandstone are eroded in time. No coffee since Tuesday morning. I am very tired. Fair to say I am thinking of nothing to write. I'm battling an addiction I didn't know I had. Perhaps five cups of brewed coffee a day at most. I am tired and could've followed yesterday's golden slumber from 3:30pm until 8:30pm. When most of the nation was preparing to head for home, family and dinner I drifted away. Why building college? There isn't anything to build. The conservatives will put a stop to any public building projects: that leaves private corporate enterprise when all the banks won't lend. I am in a strange paralysis which hopefully a triple espresso can shift? That derrière is marble. The Oreo invasion: we have our own biscuits. Fuck off back to the States! May? Yep the weather says it all: sunny, but often windy and cloudy. Just had a look at ...

What is this bean which demands so much o'er us? Half the planet over is in ruin in barista or plantation growers Or major corporate density method. Where once tea was the madness that we shared Now coffee is the branch of chains Like slaves rowing to a distant land Locked synchronized we spend all alone Maybe in huddles or meeting Where poets and revolutionaries once demanded more.

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...

From Leeds to Exeter leaving the railway station at a merry 11:11am cross country. Via, by alternative path, Conisborough and Rotherham(and how that town looked changed) and yet as we passed Swinton and Kilnhurst: that mucky canal was still dirty. I sat facing forward, but not in my reserved seat. No matter how many times I book a train ticket I am yet to be on the Table seat! I don't know how one manages this task? I sat opposite a girl heading the whole distance to Plymouth. I switched on my laptop to while away the hours: first ' The Mouse that Roared ' and then most satisfyingly ' ANZACS ' then the temperature rises. I decide to venture to get me a coffee from the concession on most trains only to find this company did away with that small allowance 2 years ago! A train travelling from Edinburgh to Plymouth has no refreshments car, What! So poxy 'Starbucks' brand coffee was bought from the trolley service. The only option of a sandwich for Vegi was Egg M...

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.