A rebel without a clue.

I'm looking at my snoring dog laid dreamily on my left hand side. We've returned from a penultimate walk before my flight on the 21st May. At nearly nine he is getting just too old for more than a few miles sniffing, peeing and trundling around the Wetherby District footpaths and bridleways. He'll come with me eagerly once I mention 'walk', bound along Braine Road and York Road looking back expectantly and he'll still demand, glancing back in my direction, we go where he likes best; leading the way towards the various paths we've traced over the years, but now, by the last home leg, Snoopy is really thinking of the treats he has in store once he arrives back at 42: a nice rub down with a warm towel, a twisty 'chewy' hide stick, a biscuit (various) and chilling/sleeping until dinner this afternoon: he has his zone on the seat - it is his and he'll always move any incumbent on from there with a nudge and a penetrating stare. I love him implicitly ...

I got off the bus once the traffic slowed to a stand still. We had only come as far as Bardsey and I felt I would be here on the A58 for hours yet. I had to be at work for 2pm at Coors in Headingley for my evening shift. I called ahead to explain that I was going to be late. It was a pleasant afternoon at the end of August so I jumped off the bus and I walked all the way to the Oakwood Clock so as to catch a 12, 13 or 13A into town. It was the first time I had ever walked most of the route to Leeds. This was before Snoopy came along in the early noughties. I knew I had a short time back at Coors before I wouldn't return; I would leave Coors tearful as half of me was going to miss those I worked with. This was either 2003 or 2004 and I had started counselling with a lady called Jean Booth. I used to go to her house in Oakwood every week. It was useful to talk to her. I was referred to her through occupational health whom Coors had onsite. I would get breathless, I had trouble walkin...

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...

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 ...

And she's doing cuts and colours... A rhythm of chops, shears, snips Complete in vibrant gloss style Us women eating gristle and skin Puckering with blood stained lips A cuticle removed by rusting file Rouge tinged cheeks hiding. Why do we sleep? What does it do to our hopes and dreams? It always seems so hard to get, yet we find ourselves there in a second without our knowledge. I have always wondered when sleep comes; in which disguise. While I lived with Glenn we went to Prague for a few days the first week of September. We arrived at the Czech Inn , our backpackers in Vinohrady, on a Tuesday evening around 10pm, having taken the usual bus and tram route from the airport. We were very excited to have ventured out on Jet2 at such a handsome price, this is before budget airlines added lots of additional costs, and had only paid £50 return. Once we'd chucked our baggage in the shared dorm on the 1st floor, quickly saying hi to our room-mates, we went down into the ...

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.