A rebel without a clue.

It is now; I turn the body over to the spirit, entirely. The body is worn numb within the ego's demands. What is its purpose pushing everyone through a trillion distracted trials? Watch it effect afflictions on the eternal. It betrays the everlasting in its need for our piles dead. It couldn't be on the side of the sinless as it tells you that you are guilty of faults in all ways; you're responsible for all the errors and you can never ever say 'I am sorry'.

We will never reach the sun. As we sit, stand or stride, away and towards, it just watches us trying to grasp it closer; clinging to its bold presence for eternal warmth. "It is three am, Tuesday morning Lying wide awake and Knowing what is wrong. Why we are always waiting? Not wanting to be held fast, Unable to be a patient, In-line, to allow this willingly. And to be played by the machine Whose Stubborn fingers Stabbing down Strike a discordant key, with Some airs throughout Spaced by mental disorder Slipped phrase, some suggestions To attend. Run water Down to boil the kettle And hold steady to Assam. Silently, quietly, as a tombstone Sleep will return again, But for now considering more Than merely hanging on. For whom? The place has been reserved Where a seat hastily emptied, Only temporarily, But it has been developed Out of dissatisfaction Struggling to sit still Struck by how sinister It is to be enveloped, while Always restl...

I note the 'return mentality': nothing to do and nowhere to be. It has ground to a halt. Just waiting the passage of time. Short attention. Puffy mind. Noon to leave number 8. Then another 8 hours until the Ryanair gears start up once more. Time to distract myself. Will walk along the shore a while. The weather must remain clement. The waiting game. How easy the mind shifts to ruminating. There are two options tonight once I hit Manchester Airport: either a short train to Piccadilly, accommodation and onwards late on Sunday; or else put up with the trials of Planes, Trains and Automobiles to arrive back early Sunday: the price is the same. A third, if unlikely but fortunate, means might offer it's self if anyone is heading east from the Airport? Leggiero Caffe in the City Galleria has a spoon that has only one function: missing entirely the middle piece: like a polo mint. I joke with the Barista that it is a diet spoon or a wish spoon: it is not a soup spoon. It is a tenn...

Last night I finished the evening with home made tomato soup: local beef and cherry tomatoes, veg stock, garlic, salt, pepper, olive oil and oregano. Which followed a bottle each of Medvedgrad Pivnica Wheat (Dva klasa), Amber (Grička vještica) Black (Crna kraljica) in the bar (60kuna for three). Seems a good brewery, although they declare their use of extract by percentile and it is almost impossible to pronounce the names of the beers. Had a very funny and informative conversation with the skipper of a yacht who was brought up learning English through Blazing Saddles, MP Holy Grail and 'Allo 'Allo - was tempted to call him Raymond Luxury Yacht - about who to blame for the war and whether cartwheel surfing might become a sport. The bar is called Zodiac and it is bluesy - the only one that is truly BoHo that I've seen, although Split and Sarajevo must have their share - It's where the locals go after putting up with travellers, 'excursioners' and other zombie fl...

Stop the blame game. If you lived in Albania, where Norman Wisdom is a national icon, shouldn't you be celebrated for, during all the perceived hardship, they still have a slapstick sense of humour? There are less and less people to blame for misfortunes. First the French, German, Spanish and Italian, any greasy spyk, wop, wog, nigger; Liverpudlian, Mancunian or Loiner. Now it is Bulgarians, Romanians and Albanians - Roma and Gypsies.  Not allowed to blame Jews any more, but it happened a lot, but Muslims get it from everybody all the time - even from Buddhists in Myanmar! The one thing this all has in common is judging an individual on a conceived national, cultural or religious identity. As long as the true enemy, the corporate and political oligarchs, ain't seen as collectively responsible for all the divisions in society, by creating the sense of need and the servitude to money, possession and identity with thought forms, the hatred will not cease. Muslims are not innocent,...

Walking around Sarajevo early, just passed six, the sun is just reaching the souk area. I am running low on atire suitable for this weather - the short shorts and Canadian Speedos. Life is such an unexpected beauty, but why is it so thoughtless, short and painful? Why would anything come into existence but only glimpse a fleeting moment of love? There is a huge error I am sure. A girl's dog, someone on Instagram, was destroyed by a poisoner: isn't that the ultimate low level act of a human? Killing is so cheap ... In Srebrenica the same evil was metered out to the Bosniaks, but at least we can speak up or speak out from our place - maybe other humans will respond to our destitution - animals place trust in us but what do we do? Franck espresso. Sarachi. What kind of arsehole chants at 7 am. Passers by, seldom though they are, look this way: it wasn't me breaking the solace. I think there is a bakery near by? Flat breads? Breakfast, back to bed. Body exceptionally tired. ...

Plavac Mali Sivi. Interesting to see this grape used to make an off dry wine. But the wine bar is a joke - I know wine bars can be so beyond everyday ease; it comes with the cravat wearing, faux sommelier charmlessness and "higher than thou" grape descriptions that I would swear are memorised before bed every night; a cliché that has very little to do with wine, but everything to do with Jilly Goulden monsters. Don't fall for it. Fucking Game of fucking of Thrones. I nearly choked on my over priced cheese. So this is actually worse than Split - I've brought myself to the end of a sock - cut off from the rest of Dalmatia. And now I am surrounded by Game of Thrones walking tours. This room will be a base, even if Magdalene was virtually forcing me to eat below in a restaurant run by one of the cartels who control the carbon copy Konobas and Pizzeria. No. I have some garlic and while I do I can stick to Prsut, cheese and tomatoes and sit next to the bus stop at the entr...