A rebel without a clue.

Who am I really? The anger I feel inside is the mess left over in a life of the stranger I know not. Or knew not. Being a passenger in one's own body with thought and action pretending covering up the reality. Today I no longer see the mysterious other much, it only comes out when I hide my true self in the habit of my lifetime: alcohol. The other me needs this habit to make an appearance, however briefly, and places a barrier on the other path. The Course stated that but two individuals, who truly meant they wanted peace above all else, met then that would be truly enough to save the whole world and bring salvation to all minds. This is one of main consistent reasons I leave the solitary being of my abode. The bed I meditate upon numerous times a day. The absolute stillness I achieve for several hours before I head off on my next attempt at finding a true union between myself and another. But finding a true union between two requires total acceptance of any and all individuals....

Cascading like a waterfall down and down into a greedily abyssal state. Bottomless. it gives no relief. The past crawls up my back and my future is blunted against my face. Narrowed and passage less. Within a tightening noose and a shrinking box; a bag upon my head; I bow my head, lower my eyes, from a force I can't shake off. This is the middle of my life and I can find no shelter from the relentless mass pouring on me from depression and anxiety. Antagonism without quarter; without quenching. To be called a shitty person and looked at with loathing, for being honest about my experiences. To be told I'm playing the mental health card by an old school friend. To have the flood gates open and to be washed into the gutter without a soul throwing me a lifesaver. And I came to Wetherby to relax ahead of the Work Capability Assessment! It's impossible when I've to spend most of the afternoon and early evening hidden away from the berserker who is meant to be my sister: t...

Something has shifted in me: I can no longer bring myself to walk out of Leeds to Wetherby. I've got weary of the many streets and stares I've to cross before the ring road presents itself and I'm in freedom. No desire. Nothing to prove. No advantage traipsing through countless, litter strewn, streets where no one says any greeting and where I only see the insane relentlessness carrying on: runners running, joggers jogging, dog walkers walking dogs and bicycle riders "talking talking talking" while flying through the monotony and never being here now. This malaise is surely temporary? I've just too many bad thoughts on my mind to shake off this nothingness. This morning I've rejected the very idea of walking there. I'm going to get the first bus there and relax at my mum's until the morning when I've to return to Leeds for a Work Capability Assessment at Quarry House. Since the new year I've tried to retrace the steps I'd come away fr...

Wetherby has seemed to me, in the last few decades, to be a town that time forgot - even if it is now considered a perfect "commuter" town - and it has lost any mystery in its original threadbare charm by being gradually overwhelmed with too many houses, people and traffic; and the tedium of retirement flats parked all around where the "overly long" alive wait impatiently not to die. When Wetherby was rough around the edges and had a cattle market and a produce market it was more real than it is now, before I went to high school in 1983, and life was gentler. Only one car to a family - if you were fortunate - now it's too many Range Rovers, Rolexes, boutique, pretentions. Too much Bling and not enough thorough dereliction. And I've lived here, on and off, since 1976. There used to be loads of wasteland. Actually when the engine shed was derelict it was mysterious. Over grown gardens. Vacant houses. During the depths of the Cold War and when the UK was off...

There are so many instances currently where I've come to realise I have no control of anything and this is truly terrifying! ... Yesterday I was in such turmoil so I didn't leave bed, except to hastily rejoin the bustle of yet another automatic check-out. "Thank you for shopping at Morrisons" says the unvarying voice: a voice dispassionate. Where is the choice of not shopping in a shop? Where would I get sustenance from other than there? Grow my own? Oh yeah I, one of the dispossessed, growing my own food. Farmers grow our food, but see us as invaders on "their" land. Animal husbandry or horticulture are roles fulfilled as part of a community. Without consumers consuming farming would wither and die on the branch. There is no community: there is only division. The Ego has driven us selfish and lusting, greedy and deprived, and this is in all directions and all ways. It is essential to "growth" of the human cancer: exploding upon the Earth which ...

The day after. I'm hazy. Lola was such a great girl. And I know she had a fine adventure, also now she knows where I live ... I guess. And she chose the older of the two beds - even she's not sure about the Simba. We woke up around five, initially, to take her for a wee wee and poo poo. Down eleven floors. She wouldn't go in the lift coated in vomit - some heroin affair I feel - therefore I sent it down empty and called the, somewhat cleaner, second lift. These lifts have probably witnessed some bizarre rituals, but maybe taking a dog down to the ground floor for ablutions wasn't the worst event in their history? This is my home Lola and you are the first female I've had in my flat ... The first for so long I've forgotten the date of the previous moment. Obviously this was not carnal, and the other occasions weren't much either! This event was Canine-al. It was a pretty simple walk from Otley to Ilkley, on the left bank, missing out the Moor and a sodden t...

Since the phone call last night, I have been ruminating on what difficulties I've definitely caused Neil and Emma, who I was helping over the last few months escape from 24/7 dogs, up at the doggy daycare. Without knowing I've done anything irresponsible I've gone and done something thoughtless. Something thoughtless to them but of no meaning or consequence to me. From Friday morning until Monday evening I took care of those animals, who I feel akin to, in the only way I know how: being out and about, socialising them, enjoying quality time, etc ... The door to the kitchen keeps slamming in Pret so I hastily move ... Drunk in charge of dogs? Is there such a concept? Was I drunk in charge of dogs or is that a perception seen in one person by another person? Maybe they should breathalyse dog carers now? It was Saturday afternoon and I'd walked into Wetherby, via my mum's to stir the Kombucha I'm making and change boots from the wet to the drier. Then I headed ...