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Sunday 2nd December 2018.

As someone once said i'll be back...Good night all and have a good week ahead...So Goeth.

Friday 16th November 2018.

Boo...i think to myself..the blank screen looks melancholy tonight as i begin my march through my 63rd year on the planet.. a scrawl through my friends pages hosted some predictions that Trump will once more be blowing bubbles in the year 2020 i dread to think on such...yet i survived that Twat Thatcher.. in some form or other quite if i had ripped my panties then i am not sure,i don't think i will buy the Guardian newspaper on the morrow even if the review of books articles will hurt me for not being in my grasp for i have had enough of Great Britian leaving Europe this endless propaganda i liken to Adolf...and his pink fairies, then there is the Trump marching to the sounds of three blind mice....

What indeed would those poets scribble about today if they still stood in flanders field....This print of a Wilfred Owen poem i stumbled across in a small village train station waiting room yesterday surrounding this poem school children had written thank you notes and names of local men whom had fallen.
perhaps tomorrow i will rise from this weeks melancholy madness..Rememberance week is not the best to dwell on a birthday, think it's about time i moved it to a summer month when running naked screaming through a wood is possible.
So Goeth...

11am of 11th day of the 11th month 2018.

Every village in England has one of these.....

This morning at sunrise it did not rain...and there was only myself at 7am..sometimes i can handle crowds, be comfortable, feel the human warmth..this morning was not one of those...peace tranquilty and a thought for those whom climbed up over the trench top against the Germans...some say spots never change...the 7 0'clock news/silent night by Simon and Garfunkel.. a song once Paul Simon said was shit is perhaps one of the most soul catching songs i have heard in my 62 years foot falling this planet today it is quite appropiate for the mood of the day..some people say i am...perhaps that is true...
For all whom pass this way..love and peace...So Goeth..

Thursday 8th November 2018.

Yesterday i pulled up my collar zipped up my hoody and stepped out into the outside world cursed the road traffic sat behind countless red lights, just not my day clouted over the road humps which this area is almost world famous for and beyond probably as far away as Mars...zipped here and there in command from requests to fill the empty fridge in down stairs kitchen, much neglected since the tiny trip to Brussels...stumbled across a tiny car park in one of those village centre's where the choice for a smile sake is to turn either left or right and ho-hum down the lanes to either curse or have jollies.
I found a small arcade and quietly sat there amongst the blank shop fronts a second hand book shop in almost orgasmic delight i stepped inside...to discover a mixture of tea house and well racked books...in some form of order which was pleasent from some of the humble places i find my shadow dwelling in from time to time...i picked up a copy of Anais Nin...Delta of Venus...1990 Edtion well thumbed and ageing gracefully i have read Anis years before in my teens as i journeyed along trying to fathom the mamoth of feelings towards the term normal in society of the 70's when sexuality was not found on a cornflake packet and the word gay was found on a beach in Blackpool..also fitting for this time of year...The Secret Annexe...Anthology of War Diarists... as the days grow close to Remberance Sunday...there was a time in youth when i nearly signed up to join the Forces..thankfully something guided me away from such brute force somehow i do not think a transvestite would have quite been so gung-hoe...sometimes i feel ashamed other times who gives a fuck....and thereagain woulf the forces of knocked out the Transvestite whom knows...
I ended my adventure to this tiny book come tea shop no bigger than to swing a cat around by having a cuppa and one of the best slice from a Carrot cake i have had in a long while baked by her very hand the small slim blondish lady whom if i was 18 i would have drooled over ..lol..however at this age i simply admired and we chatted for a short while over books, travel, weather, as typical english do that is of coarse i am typical....

On  kinda note for Brussels.. a picture of those four days...which did not involve anger by any mass band of smuffs..A view from the top was eventful and stood at the bottom watching the cleaners on the middle ball was well...!!...so goeth...

Wednesday 7th November 2018.

The weather outside my window dribbles, the rush of rubber tyres for the tireless work horse ethic begins to build i to begin to think once more in work terms to pull on the old work boots shuffle in line. Crammed inside my head i ponder on my coming 63rd year walking this planet, i am chewing the cud on whether to slip some blinkers on over my busted bra dip my head in the sand bucket until summer once more sparks life in warmer winds, for i have never known such a past year in hammered media hype in doom and gloom as if the four horsemen of Apocalypse are coming over the hill... i am tired of this land dribbling over every action that Trump makes, i would not be surprised if video of Trump having a shit would grace the 7-o-clock news...Britex is another clout i have become tired weary of a few months without fingering a newspaper might just drag myself out of this melancholy madness i feel myself being pulled into and to think i only buy one over the weekend and thats for the new books articles coming on to the shelves....perhaps like soft porn newspapers should be out of reach on the top shelf wrapped in brown paper..with the news on TV...after 9-o-clock perhaps i am turning into a grummpy old soul time i think time to pull on my wrinkled stockings think of some thing with hope  wrapped in side, as thoughts of climbing into the new day begin and  just how quickly one slips back into life as we know it Jim from the few days i spent in Brussels. having already ebbed away into curled photo's and postcards...leaving possible if thoughts on next summer...So Goeth..

Saturday 3rd November 2018.

The first line, first mark, is always the hardest as i stare across this white blank screen on this Saturday morning which does not feel at all like a Saturday. I have climbed out of the pit of dreams pulled on my busted bra turned on this here machine clocked the unearthly time and thought the small word gosh.
I have flopped back into my world with ease it does not take long to pull on the suit of armour to dwell amongst these city streets of the Manchester Basin after four days in spray painted Brussels care of flying in a tin bucket which always shocks me as to the miricle of flight, the pilot of the outbound flight on the Sunday morning must have been a board child with a rubber ball...the way the aircraft was thrown around the sky i could have closed my eyes thinking i was a  gunner in some old world war bomber, the relief in landing was given in a heavy sigh into thinking why do i climb aboard these shock waves which climb through the clouds, i have found the older i become the less joy i feel from being strapped inside a tin plane, only my I-Pod and the intense heat from the hot sunshine pouring through the small window after climbing through the clouds brings a joy taking my mind away from the nuts and bolts of flying.
It has been thirty years since i was last in Brussels the famous market square, the cast bronze lady whom people like to touch touch for good luck and the small iron statued boy in a tiny street corner whom pisses forever and now behind railings such is the world today are the only small spaces in time i can recall from thirty years ago..There are vast changes in new buildings reaching up into the sky some as ugly as fuck others a sort of ho-hum which do not make the eyes squint...It is a nice city to roam on foot around tight compact cobbled streets opening up into small squares of joy and wonder...the small boy mind is set free staring into chocolate shop windows. Only the harsh reality of adult life brings one back into the real world...of the spray panited manic's of the chanting flag waving free Palestine crowd whom gather outside the Brussels central train station chanting away with gusto whilst some comrades cover the city in spray paint, " Fuck Israel "on classic buildings..others grab your arm asking for money for small children but the mind thinks the money is for rockets and bombs so inwardly your mind thinks fuck off but in reality you shrug and continue walking with a mind set of once more climbing into a tin aircraft for home....



This will not stop me from visiting this fine classical city roam its cobbled streets finger amongst the small shops..in the near future whether England is in Europe or not or the sarcastic coments from a few people i met on the streets about us ever leaving which i still do not think will happen or if it does it will not be in my last nine yards of life...and i do hope the angry crowd continue their chants but are they not better doing such back home in the country they feel needs to be free and leave Belgium to sell chocolate in peace. Life is as they say...So Goeth...

Sunday 28th October 2018.

I have thrown some wrinkled stockings in a bag stuffed some Euro's in my Pocket..the taxi comes in an hour to take me to  worst airport rip off  in the world that i have passed through, in all my years...time to eat chocolate drink bubbles and walk around unknown streets without my high heels sadly...for i need a few days out of this Britex madness and to derobe from my maids uniform think i have done everything since April except clobber the ironing board.
Brussels their for the grace of God go I...everyone whom passes this way take care have a good week ahead,God Bless, and i forgive him, her, what, it...for not letting me win the 6B...lotto that someone on LJ...kindly informed me of...LOL...So...Goeth...

Tuesday 16th October 2018.

Liverpool Lullaby...sung by Cilla Black pinches around my mind as i sit here, really i should not pay any attention to I-Tunes as i watch the keys perform across this white screen to many thoughts cross and double cross as my fingers touch these keys...thoughts of the 60's drift in throwing out any other thoughts i had to scribble before i sat down..trying to pull in the good memories without the cloud of forboding..even worse still Del Amitri's " Nothing Ever Happens " keys in...which spins another circus of words until the scribble becomes the Magic Roundabout..which i am sure was on TV......in the late 1960's just before five-o-clock news which throws up pictures of the Vietnam news reels which always seemed to be on...I have even bought a signed limited edition of the new book by Max Hastings..." Vietnam " An epic tragedy 1945-1975..is blazed across the front  cover....The other two 60's news reels which stick in my mind are the moon landings, am tempted to go watch the new film about those days but vanity wonders will all my illusions about that time in my life wash down the truth plug hole...and lie there bare faced laughing it's head off....at my childishness.
The other one was the picture of the future not quite Dan Dare...or Fireball XL5...but Robots would make life easier for all and they were worried what would the people do with all their freedoms....those such dreams have vanished or never even surfaced with the increasing retirement age..what hope for those youngsters..whom were perhaps made between the sheets on those hot summer nights that last thrust between man and women that spurge of seed only to be told now you will work and work until you drop dead..never mind retirement....and so i close for the night scribbled enough madness and the song..The Ballad of Lucy Jordan sung by Marianne Faithful seems fitting...So Goeth.

Monday 22nd October 2018.

7 O'Clock News/Silent Night...Album...Parsley,Sage,Rosemary And Thyme....I recall an interview where Paul Simon stated all before this certain new album he was perhaps promoting at the time was Shit...i wonder if my life before that new album time was Shit also....So Goeth

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.