A rebel without a clue.

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...

When you get me within 2 meters of Facebook and I've had too much to drink I don't know whether I can be held entirely responsible for the series of actions I put in place. The vile and pointless things I may write on chat or on a profile which, while profound to me in the inebriated state, are absolutely disjointed and fragments of a booze troubled mind. 2 such discussions took place yesterday evening. Both pitifully rude and intrusive; plain daft. The detritus of 'Metro', 'Shortlist' and 'Stylist' that follows me on my journey. Waste paper, discarded drinks cans, cola bottles, graffiti on the windows and chairs and the dusty, muddy faded seats. The crummy x98 with it's fading purple seats and glum faced brutes. Paping thin wasting away with cracked and yellowed teeth and salt and pepper hair. I ate all the Ben and Jerry's the night before last and chucked 3 lemon puffs down my neck last night. Fighting my girth again. With boredom comes tid...