A rebel without a clue.

No I am not organised And my goals are hardly ever reached I am too easily distracted. How did I complete an BA at all? None of the MAs have ever got off the ground. There was no appetite in me for the several I attempted. The first time I was surprised by the quality in the consistency of my writing, and the A grade I was awarded by Mr Jarvis, was an essay I had written about some long forgotten question on Chaucer's Nuns Priests Tale - I even mimicked Paul Scott's hand writing style; but it didn't last I returned to my restless scribble. The second time was the 1st I got for an essay on the origins of the First World War in the first year of Uni. The third time was when I was awarded a 1st for an essay on Sketches by Boz. Most of the other times I hardly understood the question, text and never mind the criticism. Oh, yeah, the result of lower 6th English Lit. exam (TS Eliot, Much ado about nothing and Hard Times or Dombey and Son?) was an A too. But I am...

Seems I keep on stalling. I really can't have the two worlds I have created and I must really give up ownership of the one that has no future. The other plan is the way out of this mess. There is nothing wrong with walking the other way. It will bring me personal human success. Those who call others sinners are mindless fools, but why should it mean anything to me? I challenged some "god squad" preachers yesterday. I said what gives you the right to speak down to "sinners" and if you want to teach people that there is another way you need to be humble, come down to their level - and don't assume that the everyone is a "sinner" just because they think they are not you. Such a fierce horror stalks the streets of Leeds, I have become afraid of that city. This was Albion Place. Whether there is God or not has nothing to do with these dizzily crazy people. Talk about intolerance ... They wouldn't know the Christ at all if it appeared to them ......

War is a racket. That is why. Money money money. Delusions. Why do banks need piles of dollars, gold and piles of bones. War is a racket. Four minute men. Patriotic CPI - pessimistic Wilson another fiend. Capitalism isn't Democracy. Capitalism and Democracy are idolatry. If you don't accept them they ignore, deny, hound, threaten, repress you unless they annulate . The world needs ripping up, but I am not sure it needs to begin again. What is their cause? The 1st of June and there is a hurricane descending. "In God We Trust" - this is an utter lie (unless God is Gold, Hearts and Minds). The reformers become the informers, become the propagandists and deny any other truth. This is the unreality I've been seeing.

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...