A rebel without a clue.

Those forgotten happy thoughts And those elusive happy dreams That is the way out of this - I heard you say Or so it simply seems For those who can never see it I feel Glued to a simple seldom questioned singular thought. Alone? But I like alone: I think this yet reverse it often. Seams split and unpacking at extremes, truthfully. Can I tell? Why can't you taste this sourness? The body occupies a strip of land at the end of time, battered Assaulted without hesitation nor finger precious lingering This is 2014 so all falls foul and we are deeply mired souls Nightmares do guide; coming along this hideous way Death soon will lead me beyond the hatred in man. To think I actually thought I'd run away? But to find the truth ... And then return to rebuild Eden to discover only lies Antagonism of my self is the only result found Distraction doesn't come unstuck from the page Flames should burn it black and finally. Broken isn't...

First thing I know is at 7:33 am, my alarm was sent to the wrong day, so I have over slept and will be forced to miss breakfast - my host wants to be away by eight. Although it was cold in the room above the garage, I cherished the deep and restful sleep I managed in the warm (Autumn Snugpak) sleeping-bag (which I found in the spare room @ YHA Coniston Holly How Staff House back in October 2007);  Shrove Tuesday was indeed tiring here is Ash Wednesday. This morning, after one superior Aldi cafe I am being driven from rural to urban Picardie and now wait in a Presbytery for any advice from the priest to the various stages where it is possible for the pilgrim to sleep  - he is late, and I have third thoughts about doing anything in Amiens with it's fields of dead. The PR suggests the Tourist Info, but they'd be unhelpful about pilgrims, pilgrimages and refuges. Once I have breakfast I will depart.  There was a quiet simple openness in the Cathedral and above me the skies...