A rebel without a clue.

A broken link A cog clipped A facet dull A tooth brittle To forge anew To append too To polish stone To wear down What is the boil becoming? The disappearance of being, Clinging to a fine ledge and Slipping towards the final fall. For nothing of any substance! Gone within the tenuous air. Self worth? Aka work... It's a mystery Many fathoms deep Boredom replaced by drudgery! What is it worth? Memories are valued work, Creating trails to connect Meaning with being, And not pointless waste, (As time seemed precious?) Squandered in foolish haste.

First I ran into nothing to say, Which meant to cease scribbling; Leaving pages blank. Then I found it difficult listening So I returned the last Audible audiobook (The Order of Time by Carlo Rovelli), As it seemed to be speaking in riddles, And Star Trek(TNG) became banal Making it so... Now I've realised this tinnitus is more intense and my girth is accreting. This Covid thing is the root cause (I am sure), And my front teeth ache, As each of my "joys" are curtailed. Too much of meaningless pursuits. Grasping at straws Where nothing really matters It has no telos. Feeding dry combustibles Into a spiritless flame Where passion fades.

The Earth sighs deep relief, Yet today I am exhausted! Suffering a separate malady, While the old enemy strikes, My pointless hands grasp space, (Praying away a weapons thrust) Or I'm lost! Within a formless version, During a faint day, On hearing a formless chatter, Disregarding my soliloquy, It's back. Between the truth and the death.

We've done this to ourselves, And everything loving! Over a thousand creases woven, But not so blinded behind the Caricature, in a fantastic show! We're not fair, nor equal and never just! Inside me a battle persists Between truly being honest And lying forever to my essence And I don't know why! But I know I want it finished. Perpetual and turning back On myself relentless. Turn this scorning frown inside To display an illusion Where speaking fails. Now I feel lost again, Battling unnecessarily, An imposter, I must relieve From perculiar perch - Most predicable, and Being knocked off, Firmly and hopefully Beyond restitution.

The demon escaped the bottle last night It did it's worst, attacking those I love, For no reason other than Ego. Even while I could see this other 'me' out of control: It was like watching someone else operate My mind, without finesse, And it was perculiar to be aware  These actions and blunt words  Came from a source other than me. ... While I am trying to stay focused during these difficult times, on Tuesday the other pattern in me surfaced and blew off into the path of those, this "most angry" secondary persona, most likes to swing for. Wednesday was a day of feeling bad for the things I said, which came from a source I wish to be free from. This morning I'm awake early and the wave of attack has vanished. Phew. This isolation is going to be very tough, but it's forced me to see the flat in Little London as my home: there is nowhere to run to while Leeds Homes (Leeds Council) website is off line anyway. Currently I have a place to retreat to and be at p...

The last day of March begins With the sun cornered between Clouds and St James' Hospital And me sat in the same space Wondering when this will finish? The voices in my head are reaching Outward, from where they'd been Relegated to an occasional threat, To become emboldened by others Who always judge on partial evidence. Give me back my feet, and my Way, otherwise I will cave in And mutate again becoming lesser When all I seek is magnitude! Yet isn't it still my choice to walk? Bored of switching on the radio With it's list from panic measures, And hearsay, dropping "mights" Into the doomsaying with this Negative wassailing upward creep! Crawling back into the kitchen, Stirring, sideways, this familiar vessel, A subcontinential spicy ration, Breaking my fast, prior to One form of exercise without prejudice. Cruelly formulated in this cell, By those without a free instinct; Charmless, bland or banal. Gruel they serve up in bitter measures Isn't ...

Corona virus lockdown, on Day seven of mind control, (The state says in must be)! But something doesn't make sense To me. To become so overwhelmed - Just like so? By nothing. What is this fear Crippling us universally? Please will someone Speak truth about  What this smoke Is enveloping? And it's actual purpose Disguised. Running, With tail pointed down, From this impossibly Miniscule, but ruthless Sometime killer. Over my flat hovers, Gnat-like, Circling ready to pounce Sirens wailing, flashing Drawing our eyes Away. Just another brick Against the truth And what is coming, Really? Stalking us  When we seeded this Beginning ourselves! Building over The prison Completes. Around those free. A few casualties  Are nothing to the frequent Bombs rained down On Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan, Et cetera. In the name of no-one Human. What is it, beyond this Painful bend, They wish us to not see? It just feels like Déjà vu. And we're distracted Fools, Again!