A rebel without a clue.

Morning has broken. Lola is fed and gone to join mother at six. Time to wait until my long legged perambulation in that "Costa-Coca Cola" bollocks to recommence the positive effects of 100mg Sertraline, 120mg caffeine, 500ml H²O, two slices wholegrain toast, four mini butter pads and 1 mini Tiptree strawberry jam, before to North Street Deli and a peppermint tea and finally back to 42, and a telly fixated mother, to digest a Bircher muesli and then leg it with Lola for a few hours. The sun breaks through the clouds, just as the number 7 heads off its stand towards Harrogate, casting its mighty force into every pore of my reality and deep in my being. The only God I know is the Sun. We are indivisible and one. Oneness begins and ends in this point. To believe that God is a human is totally irrational and sees us as a body not a soul. My inner being is an inner light, brighter than anything we made, and as intense as our creator: The Sun. Perhaps all through the Universe this ...

Another day where I just can't get into any aspect of it. Keep turning the cheek he says, but now being raw and nervy is the consequence. Take a deep breath and realise that there ain't any answer here worth any effort. The other Way is the only way and it is my only true purpose. More deep breaths as I've obstacles to overcome still. I had to cancel a doctor's appointment for this delivery, which again hasn't shown. And UPS are definitely making this experience pretty much zero. It would be infinitely better if I don't let the situation get to me - I've literally no control over their mistakes. But any it did give me the opportunity to clean the flat, pack away the microwave my mother wants and work out how to hang curtains! So it was actually a day and a half getting a very "homely" skill. A great idea came to me while I was having an early morning kip - I'd sprung awake at a little after 4 - to interweave two separate pairs of curtains to ma...

It's May Day; And is May out? The Mayflower sets sail, Looking over the fence, But not reaping. Wave upon crest, Uncertain of rest, Tossed into the ocean Turning over and over Balanced precarious Trip to, tip to, sway to! Chance, too many times Leading an inevitable wake. Frantically searching rhymes, In far off lands, To stand again on Terra Firma And scream back at the spume "You bounder, you cheat" May is not out.

Sobriety has called and I must answer. By Sunday I realised that I've technically been "on a bender" since arriving in Le Puy-en-Velay on Sunday 7th. It is true to say I've had days off alcohol during the intervening three weeks, but I have pushed back recovery from any long lasting fatigue and by Sunday 28th I knew I'd gone too far. Added to this feeling of overwhelmingly tiredness of body (but not of mind) my diet got a little too meaty all of a sudden. Veganism definitely makes no sense at all, so that's gone from my mind for ever, but vegetarianism for at least five days out of seven has to be brought back onto the agenda. Beans, legumes, lentils, greens, wholegrain, organic, live cultured, sour dough, unpasteurised, etc. Pre and Pro biotics. From Monday, and for at least a month, no alcohol will pass my lips which isn't with food and, ideally, getting to the last weekend of August/September would be a very sensible ideal. Me and sticking to principle...

Last night I awoke from another dream: I truly saw the darkness pervading from The Brunswick. My subconscious threw the majority of the Founders KBS 2016 onto their wooden floor and up the wall. As I really didn't know just how truly rotten Nick was, until I was presented with an array of vastly overpriced Belgian beer (obviously gotten suspiciously from a recently closed down beer shop) lined up guiltily in the fridge. It was around half eight and there was no one in the bar apart from the Sycophants who pressed around Nick like he's some Gangsta and this is his meatball diner. Dark ... Never again. Sam has an outer shell encased in tattoos, but somewhere beneath he has a soul. Nick may be a anthropomorphic hell? Or maybe, like Shelob, he prepares to pounce and vent venom and devour the helpless for all eternity? It made my skin crawl, and my disposition was to flee, so my subconscious threw the vile retch to his knees as polished the dark brew off of the wall and skirting boa...

Visit three. North Street Deli for an omelette and peppermint tea. And to try to get Jason along with me for a dog walk this morning: he's off to the Gym. No bother. Will see him later this afternoon. Naga chilli is the death of me. Purge. Dégorge. Dégustation. Old age? What is a dogs purpose? To leave us heart broken? Reeling from emotion. A long walk ahead of us. 3 hours and nine miles: she's a fantastic dog!

Curry dreams and other after effects. The strangest epic nightmare. And now the bodily consequences of a very hot Naga spiced mutton dish. By eck, they definitely like their curried delicacies very hot. The last time I had a curry quite so extreme was from Ali Raj in the 90s. The dream was a saga of getting home, which I finally managed as I woke sweating and desperate to hit the porcelain. Marcel Proust was the only way out of the dream. Bus, café, runaway bus, crashing through a barrier of a building(Victorian Infirmary) into an Egyptian/Sumerian ruin next to a river. Sideways sliding towards the Nile/Euphrates/Ganges/Indes, where it came to rest at the beginning of human recorded history. I was unscaithed but was lost in time having to return to the current over so many hurdles. In the end I'd been interviewed by the "east European" police as a witness to the original runaway bus, put back on the correct path (thinking there were simply too many routes to follow to ev...