I have to pleat the saw dust in the fog of my mind to make sure i switch on the alarm clock just in case the demons turn me into a wet rag,lay out my clothes as if it was my last day.There was a time when i thrilled at the joy of climbing into my tiny red van..but alas...work is steadily becoming " beam me up Scotty "....soon every tiny red van will have a black box installed,much on the same lines as an aircraft,though more terrible than i could have possibly imagined....any driver who breaks hard will be took into an office have his pants pulled down and given six of the best,never mind if the brake hard was some daft dog leaping across the road or an old lady who thought fuck it, now is the time to launch across the road never mind the green cross code i was taught by fluffy rabbits many moons ago.Fluffy rabbits indeed..ha..they should have taught me instead about Burt and his six inches,gosh how many kids, i'm fucked, my insides are a bucket of hell.
There again i was once in the Philippines talking to an mature lady who had twenty children,i opened my mouth like a gold fish or was that the cold San Miguel in wondrous heat...pouring down my throat,whilst i thought you could not throw her out of bed on a cold damp night back in Blighty.Even after twenty children..
Casting my mind away from the bewitching hour, better keep fighting, do not want to let the black box fitters think i have lost,that they have me so deep in harness all free thought vanishes.The mere thought of Joy division played loud,the crunch of a chocolate bar,the glance gosh which first the lunch box encased in a male zip or the bouncing breasts lurching by a tall order sometimes
The manufactures of such equipment, what do they think feel,what does the word freedom mean to them..??