A rebel without a clue.

Friday again? Another working week climbs to the summit of the weekend until, like Sisyphus's boulder, it bounces to the base of the working week again on Monday. All that people want is the weekend. Desperate to lose ourselves in carnal bliss, drug fueled forgetfulness, or other pursuits, which are visible totems projecting our real needs: to escape the clutches of the meaningless levers we ceaselessly pull or push. Oh joy! T'is the season when we get a few more days, thrown in our path to stumble along, before we coming crashing down again early in January. It's all the same: none of it means anything. Yet I know people take it so seriously. Perhaps there is something (another thing!) wrong with me? So many 'good' folks pour their souls into the Christmas mold which I find mouldy, decayed and corrupted. It seems everything simple and nice has become complicated and charmless? Bah, humbug and I don't care - is it OK for me to eat plum pudding yet?

The consequence of separation is entropy. Entropy is the current state of the universe and of God's one Son. Atonement is simply the undoing of the entropic by returning to The Source. Forgiveness isn't arrogance although I've thought it was, but all it does is undo what never was. There is only one true state: Oneness, Eternal and Infinite, not the Ten Thousand Things spoken of in  Tao Te Ching (which in turn is another way of saying entropy). Forgiveness for what? For everything I (mis) perceive; which wasn't and could never be. Mum arises from Golden Slumbers on this azure clad morn.

Dirty man who frantically gobbles kebab, just kebab and lemon juice, from Zam Zam. Poor show you fool. What nutrition is found in that sliced delicacy? And heads back to the 11th floor for another mindless and uncontrollable bout of onanism before falling into yet another life shortening broken night's sleep. I'm a pitiful creature whenever I return to Leeds from the joy of my time with Lola. It was all going so well too! If only I had left when the couple from Sweden, with Siv the Weimeraner, departed for Osmotherly. But the extra two halves of a Kernel Dark Beer on a pretty empty stomach. By 3 am I was awake and at the penis again. Why? That is not the answer. Neither are all the moments from rushing to catch the X99 at 3pm... Twelve hours of mistakes; if you wish to call this a 'sin' I concur. A few days ago I actually understood the parable of the Prodigal Son. This is me currently, it is tearing me apart, but it's never too late to ask for forgiveness? From the...

'Pint of John's, please' Alzheimer's Going to the New Inn, but not 'appy with it. 'e usually comes in as I go 'ome. Cast up from the Dead Time of Plenty. 'we're on BT2 tonight as Man You were on BT1 and is postponed due to COVID... See ya tomorrow, see ya Alf ... I ain't got contactless. I don't pay for anything with cash. I've been caller number one for ages. A voice mail saying you have to ring the doctors... Half an hour.' ... A pint and a half please ... Where have you been? You ahright ? ... Are you a doctor? No I am trying to get hold of them... Is COVID killing folks in other banal ways? Or am I more aware now of anally anxious proles? 'e's not 'ere so I'm off to fetch our lass'

A brittle novel given as a gift in 1980, perhaps read once, and destined for Oxfam? My first encounter with Doris Lessing - and I think it's a ghost story (The Memoirs of a Survivor)? Not the kind which sets out to frighten with All My Love, Paddy, XX written in heavy blue Biro. Trying to second guess the narrative structure, which alternates between 'worlds', in a darkened room, where Mistletoe and Wine and tinsel increase my melancholia towards Christmas. Is there anywhere in this vapid civilisation that doesn't cling to the emptiness of elaboration and the drill of a drift-mine dirge. December comes along once per year matching the lament marching in my heart and, as it beats in sorrow to the shallow mournful rhythm, I hope it fucks off soon!

Ending my day out, morning stroll/meander, via Temple Works, the Hol Beck and Water Lane feeling a little like I've caught a cold (not COVID!!!)and my feet bring me to the same Sainsbury's Local on Whitehall Road - where I had gone for Ibuprofen and a liquid after the second corona virus vaccination on the 2nd of August. After I had walked back to town from Elland Road Vaccination Centre but before I  spent the remainder of the day in the grip of hot cold fever and chattery teeth. The new pressed coconut drink made by Vitacoco is a great source of what my body needs to delay the inevitable onset of a winter cold. At the moment it's really easy to overlook the statistics of the prevalence of colds and flu, and other gremlins, during this media driven 'drivel', which instills just enough fear into an already highly strung and anxious populous, during the winter months? Is this Omnicron I see before me? Is it a dagger to plunge into my exposed neck like the...

Yesterday I pushed myself for seventeen plus miles, between Wetherby and Otley - the first visit in a long time - to connect with Glenn, who I had not seen more than twice since the summer. On Friday I worked on the allotment with Andy after walking merry legs (Lola) up around Wetherby Race Course and along Syke House Lane, but had a little too many Belgian "Christmas" beers. Which means very strong in Abv. and possibly unnecessary in all respects to a good night's sleep when they drive you to frikandellen frenzy or, in my case, a huge roast chicken dinner followed by numerous After Eight mints? Why I didn't eat prior to the Belgian 'trap pissed' event at Wetherby Brew Co. is a question I often ponder as I lay awake around 2am with insomnia brought on by simple carbohydrates running through my system. The knock on effect of the binge of drinking and eating is feeling shite to attempt to gather myself for the difficult slog through churned up tracks and sodden ...