bichoose (bichoose) wrote,
bichoose
bichoose

Tuesday 12th May 2020.

Today i have reached the 50th day of my prision sentance, i may not have been fed bread and water, or worked on any chain gang nor as an extra in a remake of the 1994 film Shawshank Redemption. I have indeed taken my once out for a days walk up Werneth Low, to stand and stare across the Manchester Basin thinking a childish Wow in the vast change in the sky line since i trod in a romantic mood scurrying amongst the trees and bushes in a passion thats grips one in youth, with a girl, where cares were not even thought of in those early romantic 1970's and the word Fuck was whispered as if a crime against humanity to utter it out loud, and what the hell was a transvestite was it something you found in a lucky bag of sweets with a plastic toy long before McDonalds was heard of in Manchester, when hope was massive and ones pockets at 17 were always empty.
I have indeed played Johnny Taximan in essential food gathering for the family, and Johnny Taximan only such is my age and a couple of pills i take with orange jucie each morning..but..but...your nearer 70 than 20 was always the answer to my childish plea to enter and float around shelves with bright colours as if a child let off a leash.
I have watched big bad Boris's antics for a few seconds, Big Donalds, across the mighty pond as if watching a Hollywood Musical his anitc's today on a few seconds of BBC..news made me laugh....should i have laughed...having been smashed over the head, drowning out the mind, with so many driven thoughts on wash hands...etc etc...the wall to wall news for the past 50 days that some family have watched has simply been bewitching, such so they have been frightened to open the front door.
Have i felt ashamed to be kept from work when the Post Office has been classed as essential perhaps there is a worm in that a cobweb of  doubt. But then giving 36 non stop years and by the time i finally give it all up to talk to snails and catterpillars in the garden 40 will be nearer the mark perhaps the word vanity in wrinkled stockings of my own plays a part in the sifting sand of the past days.
Here is to the next 50 days i will pull on my old blue uniform drive a tiny red van soon enough,some say i have been missed, judgeing by the queues outside supermarkets Tesco's in Belle Vue Manchester was gob-stopping bobbing in for a chocolate bar will need thinking twice, time will be meaningless at such places, perhaps during these next 50 days... but there is always hope and thats why when i stand in my birthday suit and look across the garden during the early hours of each morning as the sun rises over the Pennine Moors..there has to alway be hope.
To all whom have passed this way Love and Peace...take extra care...So Goeth...xx
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