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Saturday 5th November 2016.

There was the song of a poet who died in the gutter....life is a book we fill with pages....it is not always wise to scribble across this blank screen with music coming from the speakers especially Bob Dylans...Hard rain...There are not many Saturdays when i sit here with a glass of real bubbles glancing at the bottle almost half empty...having escaped the warmth of the kitchen...i am not a big fan of flute glasses but this particular one bought in Harrods in the dim past is far too full of good memories to not quaff from it from time to time....drifting to that tiny plane no one can reach but yourself part of the armour keeping out the leaves from the wild wood....
Today in 1605..Guy Fawkes was arrested for trying to blow up the Houses of Parliment..his reasons then were the war between proddy dogs and left footers...Sometimes i wish he had lite the fuse..poor old Oliver Cromwell must be spitting feathers the way 600ish men pass laws for 75 million people....but lets not dwell on that on this Saturday eve...for fire works are rampaging through the night air beyond my window,  children will be full of toffee, grown ups perhaps full of bubbles....and ssshhh it is not raining.....
Today in 1940...Roosevelt...was re-elected..for the third time....i cannot recall any one in my lifetime that has made think wow..lets march as a clown cries in an ally his tears fill the streets for change, as today hope drips from the street lamps as people walk past heads down in face book...and they do not feel the tears fall on their shoulders... or splatter running into the gutter reflecting in passing car headlights, no Hard Rain is on repeat and my glass is now empty...time for a refill as Ry Cooder breaks the hard rain spell....i bought this album because i liked the picture on the cover it is not the first time nor perhaps the last, my life spins and changes on a whim when the wind blows its kissing warmth thankfully it works most of the time....the failures i put down to the spin of the three fates pulling on that strand of string...in pink, they perhaps picked for myself....however as i now reach the last glass tip the last bubble tis best in life to have no regrets or the Goblins have won...Whom Ever Passes this way over the weekend and beyond take care and enjoy perhaps it is why we are here...certainly not flogged as a dead horse....as some say...So Goeth..

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bichoose
bichoose

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