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Tuesday 16th October 2018.

Nothing ever happens....post office clarks put up signs saying postion closed, the martians could land on the car park and no one would care.....and so i stood this morning in front of my mother's front door for perhaps no longer than one minute...still at that hour in her night gown..yes i know there are  days which are no bra bitch sundays even on a Tuesday...i simply lapsed back to the 60's and the valuim days, climbing out of the kitchen window to get to school...was it self defence or a selfish gene which made me smile and simply say i'll call again counting out the months when as i walked down the path, no regrets on the past, no sorrow, perhaps a touch of melancholy madness as autumn begins to bite back at mother nature...my 63rd year approaches i can feel it coming up to horizon level, what kinda head will peek over is the great unknown perhaps a touch of railroading the great devide Perhaps....So Goeth..with a touch of the parting glass.

Sunday 14th October 2018.

Tangerine Dreams..cover album...is stuck inside my head...i am even thinking of drifting through the cobwebs to find the CD...tucked away in a host of compartments just to hold it in my hand...that bad are the songs playing repeat in my head...the utter two are ...Suzanne...and....Wish you were here....
I was also captured on film today in a soggy rain sodden morning whilst watching Sunday league Football...not the best advert for an old transvestite and probably more looking like an old rain coat man in a flasher mac....but perhaps if the Sunday bubbles wear off in fine form i might just shock myself and post it...on this white blank page...
Which just leaves me to say good night to all whom pass this way luv and peace and have a good week ahead...and just leaving thoughts of Sally Cinnamon...by the Manchester Band...Stone Roses playing as i close...So Goeth

Saturday 13th October 2018.

Today as i dropped someone off to their church of prayer.... leaving myself an hour to kill a quick stroll through the cobbled streets of this misfit of an old cotton mill town, a grubby sister of the big city of Manchester to perhaps sip a pot of black tea..scribble a while in my snail journal, whilst God talked to the chosen ones, only to stumble across the large old door closed, a cheeky request in the sweet shop across the way told stories of floods in the night across the wooden floors a repair cost to vast in simply pots of tea money takings, the owners of the flood turned a blind eye...." So you think you can tell heaven from hell "...means perhaps the end for the tea house...a thought what's going to happen to the lone busker whom played each Friday, caught in a rain drop along with a heavy sigh from within me...." i wish i wish you were here "...Left only retreat as the Saturday answer..

On  wild moment...."..The 60's was the age of idealism. We believed the world would get better if we tried. People today don't believe that,and i think that's very sad. "

Haruki
Murakami....13th October 2018...Saturday's Guardian Review.

Friday 12 October 2018.

I have already slipped into Friday without a sprinkle of words across this white screen the Kimono in my head has felt rather in a lazy mood nothing new there then...i have been trying to sort out a heap of paper work..i am a glutton for picking up every leaflet known to man as i pass through train stations etc.. picking up train timetables on places i think yes and which always turn out to be an oh well may be next year....and as i tramp through the last nine yards of my life perhaps i should really think hey-ho and simply pull my busted bra tighter slap my wrinkled stockings and simply go for it....rather than think tomorrow.
That tired old cliche tomorrow never comes is simply bollocks...Manchester's Bee in the City final farewell showing of all the bees in one place starts today which is a sad example of thought i did intend to go however i sit here and scribble perhaps my excuse is your only allowed 90..mins to wander around put me off in a huff and puff stance more of a sissy childish prankster.....however i shall certainly miss the bees next summer for i ventured into dark corners of the City where angels fear to tread and Kojac sucks lollypops for breakfast....The Last Samurai is now so far out in front perhaps it beggars belief...better for me to dance with the troglodytes and wish you all whom pass this way a good and blessed weekend and leave you with a snippit of a Bee in the city....

Manchester Piccadilly train station.......many a photo..was taken in front of this delight......

this one was just off Deansgate...quite reminds me of my self..bit of an old hippy minded nutter dressed in drag...oh well life...So Goeth...

Sunday 7th October 2018.

After 24 hours of freedom to see the world in 2018 my suit gave a heavy sigh, shook off the dust of those rampant hours....and as i placed the suit back into the warm darkness it whispered is that the world now...how the hell is Winnie-The-Poo surviving....in all that chaos...i paused...whispering back just in case men in white suits hear me talking to a suit and carry me away, i simply whispered the Tories are still in power and face book rules the world and the Chinese don't like comments about being tourists especially in Italy....Fuck'um...i paused again smiled and whispered Winne-The-Poo will survive and gently closed the door....God Help the suit ...if i have to wear it again and we never manage to break away from European Jack Boots calling us all sorts of names because some people simply put the cross in the leave box...what ever happened to freedom of speech how short their memories really are...
Perhaps i might just bring it out and wear for 11th November as things begin to move towards, i will not say celebrations but certainly there will be alot of thought and rememberance on those names one passes each day cast in stone memorials in every village in the land..i wonder what whispers will howl on that crisp day.

The second week of October starts in a few hours for whom pass this way have a good week..So Goeth.

Friday 5th October 2018.

Well...
pull on your bra panties over the knee socks..
Don't forget..a white shirt black tie and black shoes..
Remember your mother's words always carry a clean hankerchief in your pocket.
Remember to...Your Old English engrained by family up bringing...respect,stiff
upper lip no tears look at the floor look at the ceiling read every written word on
the walls of the chapel but at all costs do not break however tragic the day.
Ready put me on..

There are three thoughts which tell one is advancing down the last nine yards of life...sat in a barbers chair...taking a passport photo, pulling on a suit, all three highlight your face to the extend if one could climb all over them then mountains of lines etched on the skin would indeed be a trek. recently the first two were performed with the most shocking the passport picture matched against old pictures the words Dear God..are expressed naturally without even a thought....

Today was the third, the suit...the suit does not belong to me..i belong to the suit....i pulled it out this morning dusted off the shoulders it smiled flexed the arms shook the legs whisperd got yer...as it slipped over me as a strangled plastic shrink wrapped bag i only just remembered how to wear a tie...the shoes are 40 years old and have never been rehealed or what ever...

The day was a typical Manchester basin day low dank grey cloud a hint of rain in the cool air road traffic that could strangle all thought of the word joy of the open road...destination Southern Crem...Manchester. time 12 Noon.
I arrived early it is simply my way i like to chill gather my thoughts on how over the years this person grew on me..i do not think i have ever seen any sadness in the eyes, never heard a grumble, loved a glass loved to dance... and always stayed up through the night on new years eve. A walk around the memorial garden was a shock in the mountain of memories hung, as teddy bears scarfs from football clubs, dug into, placed, around the grounds.

Her nick-name was  " Muldoon with tits..."..simply because she had a brother called Muldoon....and nothing else,had she simply passed away after a long and eventful life you could whisper to yourself wow....but to fall down the stairs after perhaps one glass to many crash head long into a stair lift kept only alive by a machine...for a number of weeks before the switch was flicked...These are the times i do not believe in GOD..perhaps a childish thought....The service was modern,  A lady minister whom only talked about her life with the only faith part the lords Prayer and two songs chosen by the family forty minutes for a life time.....Selfishly...i thought of the good times i had known her,my thoughts drifted to else where as the records echoed around the chapel..the writings on the wall..were of people whom had passed along this way each plaque with an age made me rage within about the british govenment quite why is not for this old ladies memory..and i asked myself if my family is quite strange or simply normal for all those that have passed there are no stones, hanging teddy bears..wreaths, postcards, hoiliday banners, photo's you would not know it had even walked the planet....unless my father has changed his mind...embeded in me are his words put me in a card board box take me to the local tip..i recall on his service Dog Tags..the word agnost..

The service was a real tribute..it was good to see all the family how we have all aged when kids talk to you and they are now 40...you think WTF...and smile hug and have a few beers..and i hope the suit retreats in side the wardrope and next time comes out for a better day.....Life is...SO GOETH

Saturday 29th September 2018.

Does it feel like a week has passed since i last sat at this machine to scribble amongst this blank screen....did i mean to sit earlier in the week perhaps, or simply the lazy eye once more trumpeting always tomorrow. However with heavy eyes i have made it if only for a few seconds more, i can feel the pillow calling, whale tunes drift down the landing i have to scribble fast before the lurg of uncommon sence slips down amongst these keys.
Tonight i have just closed the final page of the now classic book.." Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit." Found on a Gay section especially formed for Manchester Pride weekend which passed some weeks ago now...i have been reading a few pages almost each night somehow it has slipped in amongst the song Suzanne..." whom takes you down and feeds you tea and Oranges all the way from China "...as somehow also...Tangerine Dreams..cover of the song has melted enough Oranges across my mind this last few weeks after slipping on shuffle on my Famous I-Pod on day when !!!...to burst across my soul serving up a kimono of thoughts about my younger days when i let this fem inside of me burst from her chains to shout out loud i am here...deal with it...which is a sorta how the story in the book unfolds....I think this book will stay in my mind for quite awhile...My eyes begin to resist this keyboard come back again says my mind whom must be in a chocolate fire guard stance....Therefore good night to all whom pass this way...So Goeth...

Saturday 22nd September 2018.

The day has felt like an age, an enjoyable age, as my footfall has tramped around the streets of Manchester in the search of Bee's from dawn until mid-afternoon thankfully with no madness of the flower pot thrower earlier in the week...Instead i came across another mad fellow in the form of a book...as i flicked through it i could not but help wonder if he knows all the words written about himself...gathering around the world as each day passes whilst he sits in the white house i am beginning to think in terms of the Mad Hatters Tea Party or would that be an insult..to Alice.....i am indeed.....waiting for Christmas Chocolates to come on stream in shops, i wonder would they come in a huge Penis shape and would it be flaccid or erect....??? on such a thought...the evening begins to trundle into the hours of the famous blue raincoat brigade where Goblins run amock until dawn time to put on the tin hat.

And i leave for those whom pass this way a picture of the cover for at least a chuckle on this autumn night....Love and peace to all so Goeth...x

Tuesday18th September 2018.

Today was one of those days when the mind asks questions of which perhaps there are no answers or really one should not look for any other than talking to the tea leaves at the bottom of a pot of tea on a verranda in the Northern Quarter of Manchester city centre...where i was resting and scribbling in my snail mail journal after spending a couple of hours in a cinema watching adverts that make me cringe in the good old days one watched one or two adverts and a couple of new film trailers before the B film started these days nearly 45..mins of adverts and a good half dozen trailers which blasts ones ears to bits..perhaps i am becoming old perhaps my wrinkled stockings would rather watch John Wayne get off his horse and drink his milk...Rather than endure such a state of art bang and bash antics way beyond my imagination or fortitude.
Yet for £4.99....and a dinner time slot where perhaps only six of us were sat watching the new Denzil..film....should i be grumpy or perhaps that's the wrong word..and simply asking myself to many questions of why and where rather than simply drift into the film. I allowed the film to draw me in emotionally i cannot remember many which did not, some i could never watch again simply for the mind bending soul searching i would do for at least a few days after walking out in to the bright sunlight of the day as reality drove past one in a bus, some films could last a life time..The Green Mile..was one such film or perhaps i am a creature that buries ones head in the sand far too much...perhaps the ole transvestite inside me howls at the moon or it's simply being one..whatever, whatever i am me..and i have a crush on Denzil am not sure whether its his gait or voice...and yes i enjoyed the film and could watch it again..Yippie..
Where was i before i drifted..yes my pot of tea...i would say a good half dozen people  sat around in the line of tables and chairs..a man.. is perhaps the most single word..paused at each table...with no reaction from any of us...some i give to others..well...as he came back down the line..into the cafe he drew..within a few moments shouting and bawling at the staff sweeping off the counter of cakes and such before pushing out side and up ending a flower box..whos contents mushroomed all over the floor all over within one minute...i asked myself what if i was 18 would i..or even then still sat there and do nothing....third time this week...i heard in the aftermath..well known drug pusher was a whisper....of the worst kind...at least he did not hit anyone from the young fem behind the counter....is there any tooth paste in the world left..were they like this in the good old bad days or was i brought up wrapped in cotton wool....across the road sat on a plastic bagged cushion..and a starbucks coffe cup an old Rasta.shouting out now and then love and peace and such other strange words, people passed dropped a few coins some gave the usual what the fuck get a job...as i left the cafe and the cleaning up after math of the whirlwind man, i slipped a couple of coins into the coffee peace brother and god bless..what are indeed simple words in this Crazy City and was i guilty of the man and the flower box or did the Rasta singing out simply make me smile in the afternoons sunlight make me drop those coins in his fountain asking cup...So Goeth...

Sunday 16th September 2018.

My soul this morning after rising from the pit of dreams haunted by the much known Goblins during the wee dark hours always dressed in pink laced hob nailed boots, making me push off the covers at the famous blue rain coat hour of 4am...As they scamper away laughing, last nights dreams are already beginning to fade which is always a blessing. The darkness out side this window still holds, the rush of rubber tyres is also silently still, for now my world seems at peace even though far beyond this window on the world it is far from such a word as peace, a time for old transvestites like me to reflect before the wide world of media clickbaits swamps.
With a heavy sigh i open up to the coming day light hours, this morning is Trinity Sunday for my soul, reminding me of those far behind Sunday's which in youth seemed to last forever..Sunday dinner always the best meal of the week and in youth always during the evening...with the wireless in the back ground the smell of food cooking and the tunes of Sing Something simple seen quite quaint as i sit here playing across these keys whilst up loading some CD'S bought from charity shops on to my I-Tunes...Even in the swinging sixties the hauntings of the second world war were felt, what ever was put in front of you had to be eaten...waste not want not..was always rammed down ones throat war rations was placed on your shoulders with a top coat of we had nothing..when your told stories of your grandfather retreating from the Japs from Burma to India..with only your rifle and one bullet for your self...one eats all the vegtables one hates as a child...and remembering to say please and thank you...with a final may i leave the table.
Sometimes i scribble here wondering what to scribble or even why perhaps the old quote from Lord Byron... " Adversity is the first path to trust. " pulls in words which drift through the pool of life..i started this post thinking of Sunday Dinners as a happy family event, the more i dwell on those days this morning, the more i drift into the manic of the day..some say lone child's are selfish..perhaps so..but one needs a suit of armour to even sit amongst this white screen which pulls words from the dark corners of the mind should one pull off the lid. Or perhaps i am tired of screaming children each time i enter a supermarket..which always triggers my days of youth and the sternity-respect we were brought up in..however perhaps i should have some breakfast and simply smile, pull on my wrinkled stockings be grateful as in youth for small goblets of fire and venture out into the wild world take up the invite to watch this afternoons formula one race in Singapore from al old postal friend and slip into nostalgia...So Goeth..x