A rebel without a clue.

Strange One http://open.spotify.com/track/11MxDt Qynu0r3e8QsCkxh2 Can't even get a burger in England without it being a stress for everyone involved. Have they never waited before? People going on holiday never get on a holiday. Life is a choice. Relinquish the angst and enjoy a Whopper(tm); sin queso. Waiting to catch a plane is like being plunged into a hell of brands and consumerism. Walls full of any smell but not homo sapiens and toxins to fill lungs and veins with the life controls. This bullet kills. Shoot it at yourself; pay less for the pleasure in duty-free. The burger did the job. 1000+ calories to burn between here and Lyon; saltier than the dead sea; borax mouthed man. But hey! I am away in an hour. Pissy English forgotten in the contrails; flying south.

Pilgrimage. Pt1. Tuesday morning. No broken bones or random fractures or bruises. So no repeat of 2010, September. The twentyfirst has arrived: nice. Snoopy joined me at 5:30am, but I am awake. A long tiring day will be before me until I reach my destination around midnight French local time. I packed most of my equipment last night and combined weight is just over ten kilogrammes. This morning I made sure there is a little sterling in my general current account to cover June's expenditures; leaving me to worry about July and August when they arrive; and not before. Nothing concrete will fix until Wednesday morning, after the 7am mass in Le Puy-en-Velay, when I hope to collect my general credencial. Tuesday will be a relaxing, mind opening journey. The passage of time will be the becoming of me. In the aspect of my existence you will think of me and think of me kindly. Blessings will support my enterprise as free particles warming the sides of a cup coffee bring fruition and ter...

Bloody beer tourists. Guys who tour every boozer, are very loud, perfectly tedious and only know about axle grease, football and birds (burds). Order with blinkingly empty eyes, wider wondering, any drink that they can associate with pallid Carling or full fat Smoothflow(tm). Down the scales of pointless crazing noises you go moving onto the next expectant lifeless corpse. Ballacks, I ain't.

Eurovision comments abound on Facebook and I hide them, 20 in a row, from me in 2013. It was Terry Wogan who made for me that show; a man with a cutting edge of wit and a delivery, that many might over look, but most would aspire to mimic forcefully upon a listening audience. Yesterday I met with Janice and Fabio to discuss my future, our present, and our reflections on the UK in its divisiveness, where they consumed a 'panini' - bacon, brie and tomato with loosely defined salad 'garnish'; limpid, tattered and torn; the rotten sodden ends of bruised and abused rocket, chard and lamb's lettuce with a heavy mustard vinaigrette. I saw the second reused potatoes burnt into a chip similarity and quarmed for a proper two stage fried chipped potato; not forever baked or boiled potatoes used o'er and o'er again. GP and reuse is the route of all food enterprise and production; it gives them an edge from which they could throw over broiled, boiled and stewed veget...

Rain. Grey. Gray. Regret. Slouch. Slunk. Sunk. Remorse. Rebound. Sink. Skint. Bereavement. Undertake. Coffin. Stiff. It really is me verses alcohol again. Shambolic. Coffee and sugar. Demerera is unrefined but still toxic. Not sure. I reached a land of no return last night. I realise I simply have zero in common with Wetherby. The people here have no idea about life outside the four walls of various pubs. They are really dead people and I can't be like them anymore. I cringe at Carling drinkers. I guess happiness is something else than the driving nonsense that the UK sells. I find the vapid conversations going on in cafes a trauma of Britain. Scooter Works isn't like this at all; oh Lower Marsh. If you have anything: I can do anything. I have always done anything never something. I have no demands, expectations, requirements, just a want to meet people and be useful. I have no use to myself, but that mustn't be the summary of my 41 years. I am learning to see life di...

It's always I, me, mine But never they, them, theirs. Why so? Unitary and solo Standing back feeling hollow. Watching the Swallows, Martins or Swifts swoop Declining level ripple seed Splashing; dividing time. From morning to morrow While from the furtive breeze They borrow lives; temporary, Until the water bloats. And they flee in another Looping gliding hurry Troubled; the river boils, Creeping upon its own flotsom. Moment movements Ousted; fin de siécle, Jettisoned fragments Pushed beyond recall.

I can't be the model of your expectations. Why is it impossible to just let me be whom I am. I never question anyone about all the basic stuff. So many people are convinced that you have to be a certain way before they will accept you or see you as an equal. Why? They don't know what they want more than anyone else; they don't have any keys to the kingdom. A brain filled with money, job, marriage, two week holidays every year, work Christmas parties, BBQs in the back garden, etc ... Is a brain without choices? All the choices have already been made that will ever be. Without consciousness our essence and being is devoid of truth or reality. You don't like me because I have a different, difficult and uncomfortable point of view. I'm happy that you have found happiness in the normal expectations, but that has never delivered me to any promised land ... We will now go our own way, never to meet again.