A rebel without a clue.

https://www.evernote.com/shard/s315/sh/aecbf413-e5ce-41d1-8804-e83356d0f692/035dcd2698cfca7e4352d600c9e6a6da My first ever memory of cheese was Dairy Lea - full of dairy goodness (I think). Triangles of cheese often sticky fingers foiled again between French and PE. The Laughing Cow? Not until my teens. Primula in tubes? Not sure I was keen. Kids go for Dairy Lea. Unwrapping those shielded triangles and fading out of the eighties to 99% of Gargoyles look like Bob Todd. Some times mother would intrigue us youths with Norwegian Jarlsberg and Jacob's Crackers Australia was only Tasty Cheese and Coon (we POM's did snigger!). Then the gap between comprehensive school and university of COOP universally not comprehending cheddar, distressed cottage, yellowed cream and blandly processed spray on sunshite for Bird's Eye Burgers until my final year when a cheese shop opened in Jesmond Newcastle upon Tyne then matured Gruyère, Montegomery's or Quickes' Cheddar and Shropshir...

There is a clarion bringing me out of my sudden sleep suggesting I have to complete 2013 in a way that will mean everything. Yet why is there this social resistance where I never felt responsible before. No qualms; just a tired yawn lingering into the darkness I wish to banish and be in love with all and every being now my time is served. 

At eight I'm happy to take to the quilted luxury of a heavy bed to float away into Sunday's end without care or conscience.

Something significant has changed in my metabolism that means I am content to retire to solitary reflection earlier and earlier without worry of insomnia or cold sweating or an absolute fear of all our dooms (and I no longer long or hope for my final fatal heart attack); I used to retire but thought my bed was a trap for the unconscious ego - and the only place yet the worst place to rest my head. For many years I have been unable to break away from these noises in my head long enough to sink into a blissful relaxing and deeply refreshing sleep - the 'drink' brought on a kind of submission. But as I lay here and unconcerned, Popol Vuh In den Gärten Pharaos (krautrock/ambient) drifts upon the breeze I have flowing through the room. With the window ajar, and the winter approaching us, the simple unrestrained oxygen lifts my mood. While Paul McKenna claims there are only two things you should undertake in bed: sleep and sex, I have discovered there are many equally valu...

Be not loud. Be deeply conscious inside and the truth will cure you of any malady or strangeness. Look to the core of your being and forget what you think you are. Return with nothing but love because that is all there ever is.

With only one parent remaining I am losing touch with my hereditary. While she is blankly glued to another untruthful nostoppable monologue whenever I enter the room she feels a need to regurgitate this unnecessary diversion for my sanity. Then she chokes and I laugh because there is no stopping her TV dinner breath death. At a splutter of tension feeding back into what is already over I restrain against her forced process. This is not you and you just morphed in my father. Unreal to watch two parents vanish into transfixed hell brain sucked out of their noses while they fail to register me. Conversation? What is that? I never knew conversation which wasn't three way between television, you and I. What do we know of each other really? The truth I am finding is very lonely. Oh mother you are returning to the creator blind to the realities I so need to spread. Backwards I fly and arrive to spare you the need to maintain the false triumvirate. ... And ... ...