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Thursday 4th April 2019.

I greet the white blank screen with a nod and a wink, poke out my tongue, take a sip from a glass of Chilian Sauvignon Blanc, drop into my 60's mode when Coco-Cola was warm if you could find it in dear old England. Tales were told it could derust nails and possibly clean your car engine of a Morris Oxford... but for a young lad before the days of masturbation it was a wow...and certainly beat Lemonade...in those times.
As i washed the evening's dishes alone in my humble kitchen tonight, i trembled, or perhaps a glass of bubbles was already half empty...and thus Catch The wind drifted from my i-pod....Josie i won't fail you filtered in also i am not sure, but i do not think i ever knew a Josie....a Mary yes whom i used to sit with her in fathers garden shed drinking imaginary tea whilst she changed imaginary nappies on a plastic dolly...even at that age i was drawn to the fem side rather than scramble in the bushes playing Rugby...long before that seed planted its'self...in this old body....Ballad of a crystal man..spoke volumes and I'll try for the sun adds flavour to those years when life just seemed life....Donovan..was the singer at the time not quite B.Dylan...but hey...my glass is now empty and the weekend begins in a few hours...love and peace to all whom pass this way....So Goeth...

Wednesday 3rd April 2019.

April come she will, Thus the clocks have jumped forward...Why in this day and age, i ask myself each year, does anybody know, or perhaps really care and quite why each year it irk's in a ball of flaming  chocolate troglodytes, blessed after all these years is only known to the one armed paper hanger living down the street...lost in his dreams of sponged soap suds blowin in the wind on some outspoken summer day to come quietly over the horizon in the near future perhaps.
Will this Manchester Basin witness a summer like 2018 is another perhaps without blowin in the wind. I am indeed quite sober, the mistake tonight is Simon And Garfunkel are on the turn table...Sounds of Silence...echoes in the darkness of this room cluttered with memories perhaps from that very era....and perhaps i should say good night all.....before i jibber...with streams of words not making any sense as they trickle down my arms across these keys in a fit mediocre tapestry...Kathy's Song..so Goeth.

Sunday 31st March 2015.

' Smoke On The Water '...means for one day in Great Britain its but Mothers Day...which really means best left there in the blink of a full stop...As ' Smoke On The Water ' i picked up the Deep Purple Made In Japan..album for a fiver in the last couple of days..A fiver was once half my wages back in the year Zonk....and i saw them live for under a pound note back in the 1970's....did i give my mother a Mum's day card back then..perhaps not...did i know where she was living another perhaps...however let me not drift on those thoughts...Instead simply kiss March goodbye amongst the nights bubbles. So Goeth..

Friday 29th March 2019.

Oh..well not out of Europe then...I have promised myself from today not to mention the word Brexit in any form or shape on this here journal for i have eaten enough Cabbage on the subject whilst pondering here amongst the sea of words which have drifted before me on the subject either from the media or simply friends who's opinion i have lent an ear too. May all politicians whom have dribbled words over this subject for the past two years be taken into local market square and thrashed with rhubarb.
...May alll whom pass this way this weekend enjoy in love and peace...So Goeth.

Wednesday 27th March 2019.

And so Ranking Roger...of the Beat...passes away into heaven or hell depending on the prevailing snow storm of musucal notes blowin in the wind what made the three fates cut his cord at this time one will never know, at least his short life was not in a goldfish bowl,blowin down the same old street i knew i took a piccy of him on stage having just looked it's over three years ago the Beat came to Manchester Academy..standing amongst the crowd was a privilage..such a sad loss. God bless his soul.
So Goeth...

Thursday 21st March 2019.

I greet this morning with a ho-hum, beyond my window the grey forboding sky has once more returned...a heavy sigh with added pout is all it is worth spending energy on asking why is not worth the effort. A flicker of don't forget to love yourself sings something simple. Have you ever stood next to an Elephant. If people can't see a miracle in an elephant, life must suck for them i wonder if that quote was ment for myself i have always felt pity for an elephant...the simple name is used for far less than beauty. On the side of buses is a running advert for what looks like a remake of the film Jumbo...is there nothing new in cartoons...The sorry story of Britex lingers on i wonder down the years will they make a cartoon of these tragic two years of non stop Elephant piss pouring from the mouth of politics...Which probably means i must find something readable in light hearted fashion for the summer season as i have just finished reading..another dark book..." Who Killed my father by Edouard Louis..only eighty one pages with the last few pages the darkest shinning a light on politics that do not care the havoc they cause in a persons life...for me it certainly made me think on my fingers, sigh heavy sighs slash at the word hope but thankfully does not right hope off.
On a happier note if i can find a few spare pennies i hope to spend a few days away from this self made madness i carry always with me and get out of this town of endless dribbles So goeth.

Wednesday 20th March 2019.

The hump of the week lies before me......will i roam through the cabbage patch of life in good humour or simply sink into melancholy madness to match the sky above, i had thought that this time last year i was knee deep in snow but looking just now at past piccy's stored on this here machine the date was twenty days ago when snow fell from the giants causeway to make us beggers in snowflakes perhaps this means that any snow is only falling in my mind and thus we are over the hump of snow for this winter...not that i have suffered much this season, simply the thought of that coldness which eats under one hat, boils the blood into ice cubes and sinks ones spirit into the underpants of Godzilla to fester in the flatulence of rhubarb, is hard to lift ones spirits from.

Not quite the last train to Clarkesville..those school boy days when the Monkees were the highlight of the television week flooded back when i was stood at this station waiting for thr last train from Manchester to this small out post....

This small station Woodley in hicksville has in these modern times read it's own Requiem not everything privitised by Maggie Thatcher has blossomed into the promises pouring out of her mouth as if hot Elephant piss....it has become unmaned the roaring fire in winter has long gone the station masters house converted into flats and now an ugly ticket machine  with a mass of posters whispering IF you don't buy a ticket from this here machine we will fine you..triple xxx pounds this is a bid to get rid of conductors on trains whom are quite able to collect your fare with cheer all thought there are one or two grumpy sods but then where would life be with them goblins.
I do indeed hope the coming generations scream enough of machines lets talk human even if we hide our mobile phones beind our backs.... for could there be a day when the only voice you hear is when your mother sighs with relief on giving birth to you but then again i recall once more the 60's tune in the year 2525...however let me not sink to low today i wish to trawl through today's cabbage patch in some sort of humour be thankful warm weather is going to come soon and just to think all those springing t-shirts on fems and what gems indeed hide beneath with thoughts i'd like a pair too...arrrrh life....take care all whom pass this way...So Goeth....

St Paddy's Day 2019.

I think i still have a touch of hair with a blend of Southern Irish from the distant past somewhere in this family mixture of nobody knows, knows anybody, closeness was only found in a fish and chip newspaper wrapper blowin in the wind on some foggy winters night from more years ago than i wish to admit.
It can only explain why i have a soft spot for the Dubliners and as the bubbles flowed in the kitchen this afternoon so rose the volume on my I-pod...a sort of bow to an porcelain emperor in a kimono with navvy boots on. Perhaps the Partin' Glass song, is a trinket in musical notes which wraps around my soul spitting out in the dampness of this bleak mid winter day across the kitchen floor in glee. I luv Sundays in the kitchen for i can hide from the world and all the cardboard words spat forth in the name of freedom providing you vote for me, i expect politicans have killed more people than any war...
Rampaging troglodytes eat chocolate buttons clamped in rollar skates...i once saw such a vision on Venice beach back in 1991...which is why i close the kitchen door for fear of climbing into the goldfish media bowl so i don't have to tell heaven from hell on at least one day a week.
I have also climbed once more back into the work saddle to ride along side the Lone Ranger and Tonto to chase Goblins across the milky way or perhaps to keep the wolf from the door, should i have been Red Riding Hood in youth what fork in the wood would i have taken..would i have escaped the transvestite leaf mould if i took another fork perhaps.Then again would i have seen all the blue skies i have walked under, pulled on a busted bra and thought why am i not J. Wayne...However i am me thank fully there have been a good few blue skies across the world that might still have my footprints...and as Paddy's day is about to fold into history and i have spent most of the day in a cheerful mood the time to punch my last few words has come, plus a small picture
of the working saddle quite where the Lone Ranger rides...is possibly only in my mind and that is sure one lucky dip..
To all whom pass this way have a good week ahead and hope St Paddy's day was full of froth and foaming mirth...
Good night so Goeth..

Friday 15th March 2019.

Winter still holds the field...Mad March winds cause havoc in the garden all those early spring flowers in unison shout out loud what the fuck..serves them right for popping up during this ungodly time. Ha i whisper to myself it  can only get better as i gently slip into the image of lazy slob...during hopefully this last push of crap weather.

Saturday 9th March 2019.

Thank God for this beautiful view...so sings Tina Dico...from a CD...for half a quid picked up in a second hand record shop in down town Manchester one rain sodden week this past year a super find amongst the garbage and the flowers....The week, this week, my week,comes to an end...it has been a strange week of shit on shit..with apples on the top with an odd banana...wrapped in silk making one stretch out to the mountain top...if i had to clutch straws this week perhaps i would have a rowing boat full and would Suzanne take me down to the river and would i see Jesus walk on the water...as long as i can still print the word hope then life is...and the song Suzanne...floats across across the world...missed by millions...chanted by the odd few into the bottom of a coffee cup dance with the devil but eat pine cones....perhaps a glass or two of bubbles and Tangerine Dream on I-Tunes is really not the place to be whilst trawling this big wide white screen...which reminds me i have not watched the film...Searchers with big John Wayne..for far to long...Love and Peace to whom all pass this way...So Goeth..x