A rebel without a clue.

Kevin delivers the mail on the south side of the street while Snoops growls, snarls and barks at this daily intruder. No harm ever comes of the larger than life barks he demonstrates behind number 42's double glazed, wood effect, window panes. Up the north side he delivers all the needs I have prior to the 21st and grateful I am. The postman, in his sardonic fashion, is disappointed with our dog. His venom is stayed, but Snoopy doesn't understand that the man in red is not a threat. It may be that Snoopy responds to some mental extensions that proceeds balloon-like from Kevin? I calm Snoopy and explain that the mailman isn't any threat, but this doesn't resolve his desire to warn off. Our dog; he knows more than we can ever understand.

I have a recurring dream in which my father is very alive when he should be dead. He won't admit he's dead and no one in the dream will believe me when I tell them he is dead. He has the same incandescent fury I recall of my youth, but I try to kill him and return him to the place he went to in 2001. I think those in my hallucination feel I should be grateful for him being resurrected in this place;created, but I can not help the moment of the dream. It is usually a complete surprise that I find him quite alive and openly accepted. Everyone in the dream seems unaware of his cadaver reality: strewn dustlike between the devil and the deep blue seas. There is a peace between him and the others in the room, but at the moment I perceive this unreality the abhorring of his usual expression turns overtly on to me. It becomes me vrs. everyone, including him, and there is nothing I can do but turn a vicious murderer and return him to the hell he struggles to escape from. Perhaps the n...

Yes I was frivolous in my life. What ever I wanted I told myself I could have. There was nothing to hold me back. Somehow my mind told me I would be fine accepting the fate of this ordeal. In 2007 I finally went bankrupt. I hadn't felt a purpose in my life from around 1999. I had truly drifted without a clue. Briefly I left these lands for sondrie londs down in Brittany, Sweden, Czech Republic, Australia, Spain I took myself. I lived the crazy life, but my record was playing at the wrong speed. I know I fulfilled nothing long lasting in what should've been a brave escape. I feel my immaturity laid me bare. I was hunting for something I never perceived lingering in the blind spot of my sight. The years grew between regular 9 to 5 and bankruptcy. Between 1995 and 1999 I worked consistently. Then I left for Australia. I returned never to connected directly with that expectation from society in modern Britain, but the debts mounted as I felt I must conform to my peers, mother, fath...

From the right hand side a greyed out man woman became my voice; a rainbow stripped momento of Oxford Dons. Stating something I was subconsciously thinking. Someone struggling against anonymity in hell sent Harrogate and sixty years feeling a need not to be the drifting within an inert body. Having the same deathly battle on their hands: mother and father destroyed another young and afraid face. Glenn and I assailed Harrogate on a very cold, winter and damp May day. I was reminded of a July Saturday in London where the temperature plunged to seven and Scarlett and I were battered beyond our meagre senses; I rolled into a copious puddle and sprained my right ankle. The same ankle I went over drunkenly on in Newcastle upon Tyne back on 1993. Another year where realistic and positive weather eludes the English. Anguish of bleak clouds rolling heavily drawning dreading o'er our fragile pates. In the end it was a quiet day and eventually a deep blue shone down on the Stray and upon our ...

This morning I know the world is mad. I'm sat in McDonald's consuming a burger and a big mac. My first meal today. Waiting for Glenn to join me in Harrogate and battle against the maddening crowd of undone souls. Even the children of this world are mad. They are blank of realising. Something corrupt is present. Witless like the trembling mad. What vanishes into nothing within their something creates anything but truth. This indoctrination of sounds, sights and smells isn't what it appears to be. It is all false. My choice brought me to eat here, but maybe it wasn't a conscious choice. Between the Station and here I saw nothing real. The cenitaph consoles us who are terrified by the cacophony of galavanting mad. The stones permit this hell infernal and doors stand back while plastic bags proclaim a want of empty symbols and misheard drums. Why did this happen and how was I also caught by it for many many years. The cycles and patterns are a web that splays us formulated ...

As I look across the valley I can see the wind ruffling my hair. Swinging in the March breeze, hung from the neck, I see a body limp and raggedy, urine stained and empty of life. Around the circling swaying body stand a number of heavily wrapped individuals. Covered up against the unseasonally cold weather with only their eyes peering out towards the dead deed lingering on the hastily constructed gallows. From a twisted contrived bending crumpled ancient hawthorn the body swings pendulous; marking the passing of life and the gathering of the dusk. They start to drift away, leaving the empty shell as a warning for any others who pass this way of the punishments and summary justices preserving their society; but I am now free. Singular and discorporated. My body no longer the chain binding me to the corrupt and insidiously moralising society that only spoke to me through broken teeth with blackened bile dribbling from the whimsical, half smirking, sinister lips.

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...