A rebel without a clue.

Good morning world. No bites. Blue skies and a freshness which was not felt yesterday. Time for coffee. The couple don't drink it. I can understand why not. Not ripe apples: which look like cider apples.

Have I seen all this before? Or have I only thought this before? Looking at anything is dependant on some prior knowledge. Otherwise it is not in focus, has no prospective. These shapes would mean nothing. Who am I? This is as deep a question as it is possible to ask one self? My feelings of loathing or loving are only mine. They are not anything beyond. Hearing a voice. It means nothing unless in give it my attention and some "meaning". This means I really have a choice. It's always a choice. I think I finally understand. This voice inside. The one dictating to the page. Hello. Who is in control of that hello? Why do I need a word of greeting to me? Beyond my simple self I am sure I need no words. Words are abstract labels. I think that's the correct term. That chair is not simply a chair. At it's core it is mostly empty space. Physics holds it as seeming substantial matter. And this physical world seems so inescapably real. But only from my limited knowledge...

I've been there. And I was possessed by my venom, and time. Now I'm full of a poison which it seems impossible to cure. Taken to a sagging rest, and my back curves truly. I don't choke on this toxic breath. Puking in the whimsy. And numerous gasp. I don't believe in me. So the sputum is dribbling my nose, burning a hole in a grave I've devoured. Oh the loam is thrown to finish this body off.

So here's I am. King's Cross. Time till departure 35 minutes. There is a persistently heavy rain falling on Old London Town. But I didn't let it get me down. This morning I woke close to 6:30 and was gone from St Aphelge CSF by just after eight. I followed the railway bridge and was shortly deposited by the Tate Modern. It is a lot closer to Borough Market than my perambulations would suggest when I returned at 6:30 on Sunday night. It might have been my imagination, but the frown Sister Joyce gave me when I arrived at the door might've been reserved for anyone late arriving to the establishment? So I ate the cold shoulder of mutton I was provided and went to bed intent on being gone before any more frowns. Last voucher given to homeless person. I've eaten quite enough this morning so it seems only fair I give what I can. The young white gentleman looked quite shocked as did the young Middle Eastern lady I saw sat in the cold outside Southwark Cathedral. Actually I...

I've decided to stay on the train, which has reached Amiens, to Boulogne-sur-Mer as I can get to Calais from there and then Saint Omer. I think I will be there in good time to get to Wisques Abbey de Notre Dames. It was very difficult to use the system designed to get you from A to B regardless of changing trains in the opposite direction to eventually get to the desired destination. It's a bit like a three point turn. They don't know I am coming, but if the is no way to rest back there then back to Calais, etc. Perhaps it is an illogic of computerised search engines? The conductor will find me shortly to get me to pay the ferry man his demand! Blessings of the day! He's allowed me passage to Boulogne-sur-Mer gratis. He says I will need to pay at Boulogne-sur-Mer only. Maybe it is better if I get it from this generous smiling French conductor? I recall that with my delayed train from Saint Quentin that SNCF would provide a taxi to Laon if the other train had departed a...

It was a very interesting experience finding a place to sleep in Paris. Eventually after a lot of walking, to be told the options I had been provided were full, I was back where I began (thinking I would just have to head north and try my luck there). Just as my energy was on low I reappeared at the Parish Office next to Saint Severin Eglise, but then the Priest was back and he said I could sleep next to a radiator with bedding. I had to return at 7:30pm - apres messe - when I could have dinner with those provided for by the church - which is very powerful in France and is positive as it treats all in need as well as it is possible. So many homeless people in Paris. London feels a pale reflection of this terrible modern scar. This is not a depressed time and not one person should be forced by circumstance - because of addiction, mental health, financial destitution or fleeing tyranny - to beg. Such a lot of France's bounty is provided for those bleeding Bourgeoisie. Reading "D...

Went far so to find a the place I have to sleep is another school floor. Hell, I left all my sleeping items with Soeur Lucie back at Wisques Abbey Notre Dames. Currently I am finding it harder and harder to get a place to sleep frugally. The Office de Tourism tell me the next two etapes on the Via Francigena have only Hotels, special pelerin rates for sure at only €46 per night (oh but of course that includes breakfast). And until Reims there is no donativo at all. Maybe in winter this way remains as impassable as during Sigerics time, but for another reason. Really as I have only €75 remaining of the €250 I set off with and I really don't want to withdraw anymore money until I require it to catch the ferry back home. It would be ideal to cap this treatment for my "head" off tonight (being mindful as often as able) and head back to St Omer. Reims can wait. I am not really interested in any "monuments ancient" as every single church is a repeat of the definitive ...