Saturday, 14 January 2017

But 'it' knows..... because I only realised a few weeks ago silly silly me..i never even wrote down anywhere the one or two happenings events whatever the word is for paths and crosses that indeed those words i had never wrote... when so much does ina  curious quantum sorted way go to plan....
No... I am above mere influence.... wordgames with most predictable chess pieces....

The 'Other' Lady....

No, not that one..... she, even she, couldn't keep the Mon~o'theists of the Bud from murdering the other lot or was it or indeed is it as so called Buddhists are probably murdering poor little so called Muslims that aren't so called cos they are children, as we speak..... hence all so called thee fuckin anything or official Zen is backwards crap and that YUK let it be even mentioned once again is the only definition of Mor[m]onic i know..... cos The Sorted had grown out of that nasty controlling women hating and in the case of Christian supremely self pitying narcissistic save me no not him as he wont BE saved mee mee meeeeeeeeee crap many a year ago and King Cummin better get a good line on that one soon or there will be no agnostic left..... nothing CAN be known..... which is the only basis to freedom and worshiping the maybe ever invented as long as you don't tell anyone else.....
which
... and that's no rant.... I have done the ...work..... on their true self..... and keep superb diaries ~ most accurate.... whatgift dotcom....
to BE cont....
Honour: there is only ever one Lady, passed down, rejected for her glare.... In Red....
Now... how tritely cute....to have turned her into a family and also work of art. Never tongue in cheek .... honour.  All ones past no matter how seven year ago...must be honoured.
But not yet....when I am ready. Which i suppose must be according to the rules, in a month. The funny thing though, i exist in a world of never any greed, and exploring what that word REALLY means....but thought I may be being greedy.....
But no...after all that kerfuffle for so long, all her descendants were needed it so transpires....
(as proven by only reason I got up and stayed up.... one slave busy three hours now on lookin out the virii or otherbugs ...and the electric is cheaper this time..)

Anyway all 'detail', the definition of which is keeping it underfoot means making each twist and turn of her knotted switch....fun....I have perfected the art of far far better a thing than ever dun..... but the greater detail:

The S word...... indeed.  And the following sentences are not even notes for first draft just an aide memoir that if ever I bother with the next version (knowing I need not... cos its that coffee grinds parable from seems like yesteraft hahh probably 5 yearnago by now.....  and knowing that in fact IS the definition of it...the S word..... actions speaking louder than any maybe definitions of what is and what never should be explained perraps cos you cannot....)
I decry hocus pocus always have
however having avoided entirely that world as in would never sleep with someone with any daft expensive books about any of it never mind blank ones...
No world must be unexplored, when in fact you were ready maybe...sort of
Knowing all human so called worlds are just peopled.
And decry most of all numeric patternisation of anything.... especially if so called Christians spread their memes everywhere the older you get you realise what a  king of a dangerous cult...
 But things have so often in my own life gone in quite distinct seven year cycles...  certainly spring ohh3 to 0hh ohh  ten.... and earlier ones too maybe some you influence 'time to chuck the address book and start blank page ...some curious little loops in it all to a seven year unicycle though cannot be made up in my kitchen especially since months and months of planning for the very opposite....
And other even more curious little serendipities, coincidences call em what ever there is no point talking of.... because perhaps 'it' is indeed as i left it on the page: unknowable...
All I know is that I honour all.... and it was good to get back to that layby where one december 17th in one hour if there were ever a definition of 'were the Worst of Times...then the very Best'...
But to last December the seventeenth just gone perhaps thread round that loopy stitch in such perfect symmetry
 And have the beautiful stranger with her even more beautiful darkened front tooth she far to down to earth to bother having fiddled with.... 'well I hope you will come and stalk me...when stalking hubbie isnt around' is nothing compared to  the definition of 'justice' ~ and poetry, all taking place under the awning of The Evil Empire O~op itself.... sucha  meeting of spirit... then hands... mine over her wedding ring~Ed finger she would i know never need to be upstuck at anyone..... because she flinched not as flinches spread to smiling eyes no matter who the fuck you think you are in the acting world.....

Anyway back to the point which is that actually hahh the definition of what a so lovely sublime moment in time unimaginable...it looped around perfectly and i wasnt even going to mention it... or her several boxes of cardboard yucky Rottin~Linda's at the checkout.... or those kids of boots the particularly aspirational wear... and the invitation to come and hunt her down...
 but that's neither here not there...whats here...
That S word.... well indeed there are two, mine and it....

Perhaps regarding the 'other'...mine's good always held course and says nuthin...  but the other, maybe the deal is  'it' tells you, believe nothing... perhaps arising in The Gothic times or arts and crafts connected towittwoo.....so steeped in mee mee mee religions.... and self pityingt 'woe is us the end times...since Luther himself 500 yearnago..... funny thing is they are still using that excuse even more than ever even in the countrysuide noqw where sanity used to be prerequisite and compulsory or else... for doin nowt... long 'end times' if you ask me...
All that guff for believe NUTHIN except the grandeur ...him atop his Mountain Peak looking down at his notebook trying to remember how to spell correctly ' aesthetics' 'grandeur' 'reverence' 'beholder' 'terror' and 'encompasses' to quote from the English dictionary that ok even a scoundrel ..

thats a point i thought that was rather good...so anyone living off beauty whether 'full', or pageant is a pimp... so it has to be Miss Universal Pimp or some such cleverism i will pin down soon... or just MissUP
(he dont matter.. pimps never have a brain much)
But that conflicts with U Pute....  later
Now I have The Mon, all others are subservient, which sadly is what its always all been only about.... only. Even bad journalists challenged to care a bit is part of it of course..i know the definition of seeking clicks by dint and not in any way for a moment caring to truthfully enquire dot dot...

Anyway the problems of others. Never mine. I think maybe that is the deal and i was sort of born knowing that ...or at least wandered up some hills young enough to have it in the DNA that 'it' and i know 'it' exists...is...  there to endlessly prove dont believe anything. But thats rather nihilist so lets add in a twist and turn...
I so so 'know'' if anything is obvious... i know.... an extra level to that write it and it may be so...
But i refuse point blank to be BETTER than any trick of the Grand Seequence... and downright will not ever do what surely if anything is
It's NOT Up to Me....
or rather it is and I will have no part in believing it is which is the same as being on strike so I am....

'Gift'...ssss Jenzzzzm (there are klots ofem)

I mean...let's say you had writ on your actual so called 'work' website this summer of light ....two hundred years on from Mary's dark one.....and her fabulous creation so human...... even if we made him cry...
well thats what he did in the wireless version 4 or 5 years ago drippin into my half awake ear ear what on earth is that its so boootifullll....
you were off 'doin a George Henry Borrow for the summer..'.. which translates as Allez Vous en yer fuckin pathetic precious ejits.... you did nuthin ...to help...... my team..... so I am off in my tent to hide..in the sunshine..for weeks.....atop my fabulous Mountain....
What a gift. the Mog... I mean I bet half her so called books on being sorted have wimmin wearin a certain kind of attire kickin the fuckin life out of the organisers of so called beauty pageants.... and there I am standing gawping at her gawping at the beautiful sight of the so called Mog smiling at the so called 3 inches of makeup on the so called beautiful.... at her local pageant.... good job i never go anywhere without my camera...
But lets stay away from those who take money for their so called positions..... because the fact that they are all fake is so boring....
Little people are so much more interesting.... but whaqt a gift for the so called 'defence'... of so so many... such gifts this year gone by... and i was resolutely from opening time at the O~op a year ago, not hungover as no nasty dangerous alcohol, in my system .. the odd summer eve pint doesnt count as only fundamentalists count every single one......
Anyway me entirely sober as a judge's ideal man even if they make up the findings of the actual scientific report on him and deny his scientific truth that he is.... so steal his four kids from him and near kill him as thats what it does to even a drug 'addict' [non word, if the spaceship to Mars you accidentally stumbled into had no pot seeds and you KNEW it... you would forget it immediately, the pot..fact.....it's called Fayt'Accompli....she is stronger and more brutal than any mere human mores, or even Musing...... .words are curious things, most 'relative'...],....who showed clean on the scientific report for that side of it too....

Anyway just in case i die.... yes....satermorn
I need no doctor
Nor face or name or any shame...
blah blah (cheating)
I am not lame....
And their crucifixesssssss Jen were all made of chocolate and i had a once a year slip of the rules and munched em up Jen.... with cake too as thats all fuckin WimminsHours and hours jensssssss  has ever taked aBOUT FOR SEVERAL YEARS IT SEEMS NOW.... APART FROM THE FACT THAT ACC CAP THEY ARE ALL FUCKIN HUGE FAT MONSTERS....
AND IF OXBRIDGE COULDNT PREDICT AND DO SUMMIT ABOUT ALL THAT...
FAT..
WELL of course it's part of The Mon too....
It is The Mon
as any sane society not plotting on all sorts of Nobels to come for pills to melt away the blubber....
would just lock em in a cage for as long as it takes for their own good....
And mine, because it is so so lonely hearing so often nowadays '85% of everyone is a fat slob' when you still have the same pair of genes from when you were 18....
Anyway thats my prob where was I

So...satermorn..... only the fat cant manage to gobble up the chockie crucifii and get the fuck on with his Saturday morning many a year habit that tests the muddy waters of life.....
if I can be in my bath by 8am..free of course which means the Heath Robinson gizmo at it since way before dawn....
floors cleaned because thatsa  'dirty' job meaning do it just before bath so as the extra sweat wont go to waste...the bath before....
just enough cobwebs recycled ~ a few left for effect always....
the inside of the piots scrubbed aWAY ALL EXTERIOR SCRUBBING IS JUST WASTE....
ACCERS
... all duties done...as is habit and has been many years.... the bare minimum to please any mad social worker sent in by some warring other on one lie or t'other...to hurt.....which in fact is the sad definition of many years modern britain...
And why on Christmas day just gone... by her own hand with a bottle innit no doubt.......Axl's mum...died.... real death...and she was a good mum...cos Axl and i met eye to eye many a time and a child cannot lie...
Advocating, i mean, how sad... If it were I I would have at least chosen, if it was a choice.. my last gulp not to be polluted by the prozac and cocaine never mind their pained angsty sweaty brows dribblin into their bog residues downstream from Hay-on-Wye.... The 'theme park' i used to call it but of late 'garden party' for those at the top of The Mon.. we shall return to this rather good only 2 days ago dreamed up way of putting it rather proud of actually....and only one heard the ehhh whats the word for first live performance....

Anyway no more tangents far too much proper focused staying on just a few pages of points ...

As long as you are out the door by eight thirty, nice n clean... rugs and rags blowin in that breeze....  desk cleared.... of a Sat... you know, many a year.... espesh aiming for that 930 cafe and watch the weird things out the window musing upon whatever it all is.....before the fuckin tourist open their gobs with oh danmn theres no signal in these here booneys or my fuckin smartomap has run out of battery.....or other such guff....... especially 'oh you are so lucky to live here'  ['you are stupid not to cos only Mrs Jones next door has ever prevented you/ that is stupid why would anyone ever want to talk to a to7urist, in places like "here" i dont live here i live there...where you never fuckin go as you probably heard Baldie on farming today or rambling always with neon and those absurd plastic sticks... moaning about a bit of frost and calling it an Ice Age ..please dont talk to me unless you would like to know WHy and HOW I live cos its ten times more interesting than yours i promise .... no one does any more of course so there is no humanity....'

back to point...out by 8.35...latest...means no their grinders never had a hope.... won

Which is what was left on draft Liesdamage post last sat at 8.33..... and i decided not to bother

What Matters....

Apart from enjoying the fact that they haven't the foggiest despite all those years of clever git Horizon progs that were  my main enjoyment...what it is, or be, or which witch might be responsible for all the mess....

Last sat opening the machine up, or, no, errata, as even when all is happening too much i have a superb memory...which constantly surprises as it shouldn't exist by now surely...
Errating: having had machine open since way before dawn, do all the habituaL SATURDAY MORNING QUICK SWEEP UP, ACC CAP...  scrub the piss pot and air the bedding (of course no one ever gets that one: it's still the only definition of pleasure I know, even midwinter, the weather forecast of for no not inventing some new Eastenders hyperbole dreamed up by all these sad little neurotic townies, doubtless in pain still from broken homes and trauma and all that so they compensate by getting more fucked up with clever new up~fucking concepts and spreading their viruses quite successfully actually...cos words do matter....every week like "thunder snow" rather than speaking of the most sublime easy winter for years the last couple so if doctors or hospitals are under pressure because all the selfish gits go in rather than stay out unless really really necessary... cant amortise in that excuse tho they try of course....you should see some signage Ive been collecting...
...weather forecasts, accurate ones.. the doctors will never tell the 'depressed' and 'anxious' so called clinically so..... are for planning when tom air your gfret laden bedding....no matter what! And even january one can find a sunny sheltered trap to boost the maybe evolved prerequisite UV intake.... ahh and at last someone read my letter to her of the summer ' screens after teatime...closeby the Nazals.... the light emitted affects you...it causes disruption to sleep.....and thena  viscious circle ensues staying up all night surfing for remedies to your sickness...caused by staying up at all...except nownagain for the odd bit o'fun.... call it "blue light" if you must confuse it all along with 'Black alert' red alert purple problems i think it must get very very confusing being a vomit bucket operative in a so called whorespittle these days...[to reveal that previously rather cute unused except for on one.... slight play on Les Entedresssssssss....Jen ]
So, weather awareness... nice well aired pillowcase or in my case woven felt mini rug so lovingly enjoyed all these years ...I have no fear of those loved ish and lost..... I wish though it would influence my dreams... come to think of it all the others have been in dreams the last few weeks in most enjoyable of ways...why never her.... I mean she was the one....surely....
destroyed by The Coasters..... in actual measurable manner..i.e. on paper. trails....
I still often wonder ..whither... menopause, undiscolsed junk issues, or the bottle..... seemingly so natural and pure a woman but there was something behind those floods all night...if only even the so called 'sorted'.....knew the rules, I think chief of them all: tell it all....always.... coyness is only ever cant... face it... but That Darkie Swan to use local lingo.....why of course one day I must move on from this horrible land...all of it...   The genetically as good as identical but skindeep tanned Swannie....
The rule, of the B.S. is that you cannot know how better you will feel after the act of telling all...like it is, at that moment, the emphasis being on the 'that' because that is a past matter.... now is after, you have...
And the doctrine of the B.S. is that you can NOT EVER fuckin never know how you will 'feel' after any act.... or a new one,at any rate.......a not'you' diversion..... a new path... new untravelled road cos  the hungry stole the tarmac to recycle from your usual....
What all those experts never tell you of course is that you nearly always 'feel' medium term...better...
By dint of being always open about almost all neigh i think all means all....
And thats because they are a secret part of The Mon too...it is not in their mercantile interests to actually heal you imediately in five minutes unless its a VERY VERY EXPENSIVE ONLY FOR FIVE MINUTES....ACC CAP...hmm thats curious i dont think that has ever happened an acc cap on a snippet of waffle by someone else ina  song so it has to be en~purpled....
(i only acc cap with this keyboard..... standby...all change, has a price....even if just time to adjust)

Now, I Need You....

(if you, the browser, only...knew....and that's a big big hahh hahh...)

So, morality; define: ....well, I have pottered and pondered a year and of course I now know the answer, to the question.
It is the question that's the problem in terms of what frame to use.

So the first question, is why question anything

(oh that's a point, now...... although no one under the age of maybe just about figurin The fuckin Mon ....which I guess is about thirty five, ever in any way is mentioned other that as some shadow of a ghost dancin on my grave, and certainly never in any way does that shadow ever get unmasked or their photo never mind name stuck up on the world wide waste of time....  which includes reading things other people think they mean, yet one can only ever know what's worth meaning with many a year to ponder.....
So don't
And that fuckin Jefferies guy wazzit...well, he would never say to the Press Conferring behind his back or in front of his Nazals.....  ' ehh well ok I have to admit i like the attention I get at dinner parties I never used to get invited to, or on radio programs for that matter which prior the Pillory i never would even get my voxpop emails read out on...'  ... no identity or journey of anyone underage, which, when its The Mon doin the carding, or chroniclers of what it really is are concerned....get a mention, sorry...unless they give a good case that they mean their saying they so want it...and understand).
Or inshorts.... the under thirty fives are only ever my blind chesspieces. And if they cannot see their name it doesn't matter if it is not clear who they are. My only concern is those who as so oft stated take public money or set themselves up as above the parrapets.... because anyone asking to be heard, has a responsibility if they ever can...to say the kinda right things... no matter whom.

(i do have to say, even if the real problem with the anti~rhetoricians of today, learned in some crap TED factory,  is that if they managed to remeber the first line of their endless childish crap summit like ' yes thanks for letting me on the wireless yes YET AGAIN years and years and years on ~ like so many years a fuckin Nigerian could have a whole new tribe sired.... but lets say just twenty...or so... we have known that cutting down food packaging is one of quite a few fuckin major rules but we have utterly madlyu craply cos no one did naked protests in the aisles.....failed..... and now I am going to give you a repeat of the info on how to reduce it that we fuckin knew thirty years ago when the one four six ohhh was fuckin invented.....  ' thats what i call tough~luv......chalenging those you do, like other volk they say...... to do better, a lot!
Every new media studies graduate on the wireless respinning the thing with THEIR funky new book/ website/ sexy slogan/ stupid slogan/ giggly pleasing radio style/ without yawning into the Mike ' ehh look for about the eighty ninth time and as many new organisations run by the same kind of evangelising failures as they run away drying aftera  few years, unlike Hull~man ....  we knew about wasting plastic decades ago so you're all pathetic.... ' et cet er ahhh......
But no....

Anyway morality, define....well in fact the pictures are better. So you will have to wait.....
But I have only had one question onnit the last so interesting year which I never imagined I could have.....
Is it, moral, to, in the interest of saving every wasted second, when it's this good, for so long....even if everyone else would call it 'bad' .... do that with the waste....?
And now I do indeed, well, define now ~ ehh like since the first of January... exactly a year ago I walked out one sunny morning and spoke to the very last person in the world I would ever chose to.....
And even if she never knows what she has done for me.....
Fuck I have paid her in gold....(even if spare gold, as she only gets the duplicates.... or..... to the man in fact man is incorrect word for yet another fraudster who promised to 'help' with information on which style...are THE ones... the only ones to have and get and spend more than you have on.... because some symbols are real symbols..... of why they were invented, and yes that line of WHAM records being invented to be their victim...made me weep with joy... and is the definition of no The Mon didn't win, in fact maybe even that '66.7%' was a lie...but one can't be too full of onesself...or that would be giving away the game ....anyway yes duplicates, and true stories  'I fell in love with her[for such right reasons its un fuckin believable which i guess means that no, not love,luv...the rational side of that confusing blob of Lady Grey used teabag..., but she  rejected, and gave it back..... that which i bought for her..... indeed them both.... conveniently recycled... but don't tell anyone please that  La G. B. ....well, what a story of the reject....but what a reject!... a rejection to be proud of....and what Grace, Elan [thats got a cute really], Magnificent footstampin.... no one ever ran after me walkin away, callin.... indeed it was worth bothering to have lived to enjoy.... the definition of that Whore... Universally pictured.... and it will always only ever be with a  smile...the reruns....   )

Anyway back to what is impossible.

And what is possible.

And what matters.....

All their so called graceful Elans..... (and the one, a true fake...looks just like the one who indeed owned the so called Mon.....she will be there queing with me at nine today ... them all after what they can steal from us here local plebs scruffs and miscellaneous cheap book buyers...only ever for me and ...well, there is no mine. But never ever ever for cash, moving on
that will always be The Mon
The price of everything and nothing valued....
Only that which a margin can be made upon
But I know
The Truth
even her, and so many years ~ twenty one
I had assumed her maybe just a  bit sane such that stories of selling on the recycled rags would not be stained with the vomit of hype on one fancy business here and there and I am sure everywhere ...
So why Elan to here so sharp the frost and time?
Just to make a few quid stealing from my so called community shop...
To quote some old fella surely beyond his expiry date, probably like me 'live till I'm 100 'just to piss myself off' but it will never be the hands of others scraping at my shitstains with wire brushes which I am sure will be what so called social care will have fiscally drilled itself down to by then have come down to.... as long as some of the time the mind still works...such that...
In fact come to think of it just the last bleedin seven years of such memories despite denying it in any way being sought that way, i haven't got around to enjoying them yet so I shall be busy til the very last wink of mr Judt's eye....
No matter what.... and the final heroine dreams are only going to enhance the thing so all the fuckin moaners.....
Indeed stop press, invest...in the Zurich Shuttle Inc Ltd only by dint of no one ever reading my memoirs and the key to freedom is knowing that if anyone did it would only distract so...
Even if I mean fuckin moanin and showing off expensive Hawk tricks when its just a  routine death in the so called family...I think proves she never had one, or knew what it is for...

Anyway what matters...really......? colon:
(oh yes... you see i have a rhythm even that fabulous Grace would be jealous of ~ i bet she had a pair too........and never ever anyone's Slave)
can you put a colon after a Q and it's mark?
Who cares I know what English is....
Apart from mastering the Mon  in a way that no mere Miss Universal Objectification of the female and profit from her, and her pain......... could ever even begin to understand... anmd no t'aint 'beautiful' .... we knew then, in the times of the Sorted..... JC mark 2, sat in the corner of the pub reading up on local government law never daring to peer over the edge of the page down The Bricklayers....
at what else there was

to notice....
And respect toim too.... I never had the sanity to know. 'Humanity' requires balance to mean a bit of both. In balance. But it wasn't my fault.












That [innix] ...sat, which was yestersat.....

Now, there are 'rules'....all those seven year'nago almost to the day I knew I was right...... there are rules.
Just a few.....
And apart from never get a dog or bitch for that matter unless you know your partnership, whichever binary double barreled rolly polly parrallel dimension your bedroom antics take you to, is secure, and you have several backup plans to your bow as so few nowadays seem to know the rules, which above all is 'animals first' but that means work on yer fuckin people to, to the death if need be.... because other people are required to be that backups......no matter what, their ragged little hearts may feel, be, wannafuckin be.... be brainwashed by crap towny educators into thinking they need to be....
Anyway... rule 2a is loyalty is required to be honest enough to know that yes when the fuckups nutjob eachnowt... its always the animals that suffer one way or other sooner or later...
and being locked in all day as there's no other walker for em means just that...
And the other one in fronto of that one is do not for fux sake do an 'all nighter'
unless you know what 'it' is
For sure.
And also have either had your overallowance of nine hours sleepa'night for the preceding few...or know that no matter what you'll have ten a night for a week thence, commin.....
And there has to be good cause, so that is fair warning.

Nevertheless all that actually matters is that for a lot of Saturdays the last nine months, I have returned to all that matters: up at seven a.m. absolute latest.... hour of  attending to the cobwebs, occasionally cleaning the wellies, never cleaning the car if I had one cos thats what REALLY happened even round here.... they think it matters; ... and like to show you so
when, in the days of the 'sorted'...we knew that only the unsorted needed to shine via removal of grime
Anyway thats them...
To quote a man who in fact the more I think about him
exactly.
I did not become someone other....
But, back to him
Will the fuckjobs of even Nigeria credit him
their so called great seditious poet
Arrested, and beaten just for singing bad tunes
about their Mon*
Really I think picked it all up mainly from him and his like
The Heron



*of course...... so subtle so many years; subtle in what? I remember....the fancy motors, the fancy Biba bags.... and the lack of humanity in recanting the daily grind
Out there in the Saudi sun
The son in the Saudi sun
The same sun that beat down upon the hessian SAC
within which the couple
caught in flegrante, with the wrong partners
Maybe the right partners
But that law had defined right and wrong
Anyway to cut to the chase
But of course not the ties around their hessian sac
otherwise the JCB would have had a helluvva job reigning down breeze blox upon their hot heads
modern day 'stoning'
Enabled by modern day man
of The Mon..
Because someone had to sell them the machines
to build the runways
that launch the fighters yemmen way
And ....all that...
Anyway far too tired, but not weary
Never in life again, ever....weary
weary matters
Mister Elliot of course he stuck in the 'w' word
never ever me.
The purpose of life is simply quite obvious
never be, it
That
Too not quite on top of enough kip
to not write unpoetical hardly poetry
even if of course
I never thought
The man so so subtly at the temple of The Mon
Who probably did joke behind the hessian screens
Away from prying 'raghead' eyes...
The Black Label paid for  with the same liquid gold that paid for
and fuelled the rockdroppin JCBs
 probably did joke
I did not
I ran, not knowing what headchopping marketplace was round the next corner
And will always run
Until it is time to tie it all together in memory of the memory of two people
who i can never forget
And never will even if i would never know their names
And i am quite sure that after the second bottle
the gathered whitey whores of oil and toil ~never their own, immigrant slaves as good as
(human rights one hears reduce by the clever day in and out all the4se new sneaky ways such regimes have of PR massage the truth that slaves have no rights not even a lunch break, and as for standing up for them on the streetcorner, in protest... don't be daft..... nebver forget Missus Assads PR team from L'Oreal.... and I am quite sure King Bin fuckin Saud old git's PR teams I'm quite sure Oxbridge trained too..... )
Where was I?.... multitasking as usual.... such that I noticed that some months ago ~ though the exact opposite of the plan, a cherished one too: to lie in the bracken all summer and forget, all.... so much to do especially if it is always animals first and their palaces and other needs,  so much never wanted ongoing, I have even become near ambidextrous, when I never ever was, nor of course could be, because the whole of humanity it seems if you occasionally pull an allnighter and listen to the Criminal World Service.... believes, ALL, the labels...made in Wolverhampton Polly....
Which is only ever shortcut language being I once spent a few nights in a  gaol cell with a magnificent man, jet black why Brecon had of course chosen his misdemenaours to prioritise in the getting beaten up and then chucked in the hole for doin nowt...queue...
from that very place.
And of many I am proud ~ real real proud
To have met
he's about first equal of a dozen.




so, all that matters.... time out...and that was sat


video
T's kecks

Saturday, 7 January 2017

U.P. hahh hahhhhh

The 'f' word.... even more haaahaaa.
Thank you cruel world hahh hahhh, meaning I care about some non~gob, i.e. not writing in such gobbledygookese that I can't recall what I may have wished to preach to myself, or have fun with, hell fun matters ... and drift off at nine pm on the oldest possible sofa with care in mind: ' hmm that "f" should have been in quotation marks, the first one, but the time... the total time thievery, is the only ever enemy there was.....
the first 'fuck' should have been highlighted in quotes..... never mind now the bimbos of preaching 'the latest scientific study says, swear like a trooper to be trusted..' will be sharing it on their so called social media, which of course never was as ALL my vaguely intelligent or indeed 'sorted' acquaintances gave it up ages ago as the infantile pastiche of saying something relevent in a WAY that's in real life inspiring rather than 'spiritual ecology' on the wireless so as they can stick that on their grant for PR services and hence buy more computers that never will work propper because people make em and people went sick a long time back courtesy The Mon....

hahhh that is of course 'it''s name...Mon....



Friday, 6 January 2017

Now...there is one person who frankly even if I am an adult and know of Grecian yearning for their own narcississies to shit on the mirror and modern London and such Monolith places become them where grown men pay for someone else to so they can then eat it at a hundred quid a gobful...... thats what private school does topeople....
but, Mister Daily Mailisit Oberon.....so called quite well respected by the so called left....
how dare he so public school boy wince and sneer so as to hide the giggle at the far far more austere so called social justice that brought even slowcoach loach to daniel about 5 years too late.....
Even the confirmed pacisfist and complete Gahndiist......  may well wonder at the sight of his effete public schoolboy sneer delivering that phrase as a bit of a problem matey phhh....and to George no less....
I think a special torture involving lots and lots of chipfat enbarellubricated pigs eyes or Princess Diana's retainers as i bet someone kept her toenail clippings for auction one day to the Chinese who will buy any Disney Kitsch and noone willadmit it....
or maybe a bit of ectoplasm frombehind the retinas of what passedfor so called eyes
Roaring crosses made of Moonlight.....
Abuse and fuck off you never made me lame....
Miss Use Me!






actually ballistic bacon bits maybe sounds better more fun....
Arrest The Modest (i always thought it was all those years)
Thieve St Petes fuckin moonlight spoon....
Martyrs....well they are bravest of babes who go and mow down half a dozen Hash heads screamin louder than their bullets ' no raisins for you sucker....on two counts....hahh hahhh fooled you they were only pig meat pellets so just a little sting for a day or so and then you can get back to killing people for the Pink Sofas and flatscreens that people do just as bad things in real life back in YUK so in fact yer just a bunch of rather unimaginative little losers lost in consumerism in such a predictable way...as Amir said'

But the best joke of the year all along on....

[givvin fattie County Seat a hug this aft.....]......on us mate
I mean all along I thought he ....I mean what words, belie but: disqualifies, race, gate, ...... never mind i never knew until i lookeditup and would never have guessed......and couldv died with glee...... at his universal Pute....was bound to be a fuckin yank
with that so eloquent and perfect hyperbole of the kind that even if all the shitttin witches in every infinite universe in parallel with the serial about them ganged up and aimed in harmony they could not silence his rather good pair o'lungs or breasts being used for nasty MissAnthrppe adverts purposes by the O~op which was meant to have been banned decades ago especially by the so called 'ethical' depot, as they always call themselves like ADHD so and sos..... as discussing earlier  with Sweets without of course mentioning the word or she would blush...
until to my horror he had gone and died a Brita all along and theres me about to celebrate.....

At last..... stressin all day and I fuckin beat the blog with 'write and it may come so, no fuckin dont fall for that game.... even if it often was....so' .... I may well have a new Bob and quite deliberately so,in my life....and he she it is King Pin of the new phase in operations
But thatwas then....and this is....only ever...Now.
But now,I think i have the right name...... even if you will never have the slightest idea what I will be talkin about......as under 35 your get lifetime silence....... never mind the fact that there is ten years work rewriting all those threads loose flappin between the Raggety kekflaps.....blowin in the breeze...shootin time just because they and I can....
The thirty five and over in year'n, will take til anyone even a lot under is well into their fifties........even if it will be finished just by a Judtian wink of the eye.....
the poor lost lamb with his ticket to Zurich booked, for show of course......thats what too many Eastender shows do to you...of course....

Now I must.

Even the scientist under extreme waterboarding duress albe it an endless ego pain in the duality of the butt listen to my cleverisms.....
had to admit thisaft.....
yes....words matter.








'Luv.... it's about....

here......oh don't look at me like that surely you know even if not one of them would ever guess..... you alone the one that reads.....  knows..... no, you dont take every word quite so literally...I mean the only reason Mister Hair Transplant may just be saved from death by the suffocation of a thousand gladrags as they run out of the bling~odrome as the shit hits, his last fan had enough.... because to deal with a billion children of a Princess nature genralising a tad I mean I am sure there are a few that dont default to stamping their bound feet on buttons when they dont quite get their way..or do but wanna make you know it too. even if I have never met one blessem..... is the only issue that humanity need ponder, the people.......their mentality........
And being very nice...always....

Luv.... even he I support only one notion the rest executable orders..... don't take me quite so literally...
Which being as they successfully collonised even radio 4 of course no one else amongst em knows...
except their Barbie King...
what a queer old turnup
Doesnt mean anything actually happened for yonks though...

At last......

Now,the casual so called journalist that masquerades as a bimbo, except for Matthew that is, I nohhh ticed him.....
Would never in a million years of forensic anal~hisseessss Jen..... get it. Why everyone hates, yes hates! even if it doesn't actually exist, those Natzis.....oops,forgot, she ran away crying too, when m only actual 'hero' Hull~man, him sat there thirty years plodding away to get back the pensions that the number one Natzi bitch, stole...in a complicated way of course: all sorts of bond talk and private finance initiatives..... art is only one thing, apart from to make people think twice, or even change their mind.....I know the third reason actually and I ain't tellin no one...else.....  to neigh lass...respond.....and thrirty ears with no facebook viruses to fake interest in him...ploddin away..
Not much news taking an interest him....
persisting
And thrirt ears on knowing there was no way he was ever going to stick it out even against The Monolith.... probably on his last legs never mind Woodbines at dawn just to give him something to still smile at...
What is the line? wars...games, and prizes..... not all can be  so called won.....

But there is one war far far harder than taking on every Harvard educatee who becomes Monolee... and infuckin but means they were losing five ear'nago....and ok so Prospect said a few ears back they were starting to overwhelm..... but dont mean that a fuckin proper ;leader couldn't have their nast dandruf scraped from ivanka's shoulder stick right back in the fuckin bottle where it belonged.....and no tax breaks on relocating the fuckin bottle at the bottom of an abyss that even The Chief Siren herself would burst into tears when she looked down and saw the beautiful artistry in those  walls made of the REAL kind of dark energy and fuckin quantumly entangled gravitational waves of whiff eminating from the horrible science man's pant....whatiz name the main bimbo? indeeed...Smolin who's hand i shook over a cuppa 20 yearnago I recall his...Dawkins one can only stand and giggle at his Messianic pants scared of facing down the believers innem....with BETTER dualit.... with the fuckin tip covers off.....(i have, been busy)... that Bimbo professor that makes it all about his trendy clothes...I cannot even remember his name Brian summat....sounds like hes a commoner from fuckin Hull or summat.....
[i sincerely wobbled tearfully at the words upon returning exhausted back at the cave ' well we are off to Happy Hull tonight...' because I have earned the right to be there one place for seven ear near nuf i yearn to understand.....and tell m stories in...]
Anwa before I have my real rest and holiday.... even Hull~man would be a walkover compared to a man..... of course a so called progressive...... a fan of the Natzis....well, as is the actual case as all the slightly more well kept totty can be found on the bike rides...poor dear no one told him that the whole fucking thing rather than about every  teaspoonful of Higgs or bouncing balls of witch crapped entangled with whatever new fangled nonsense some usually female PR person pretending to be scientist goes and so calls out in glee.....

exactly (subcontracted)... as reported in from the provinces last night, theme park actually 15 bearnago i saw thats all it was after Lee n Van rightly ran off in a huff.....even the fuckin slit ....well ehhh.... there arent very good records of who recorded maybe seeing this Higgs or that and the probability of just maybe all witches shit.....is just as likely....

Anway, I never moan, except about cant [no appo].... and would never note 'exhaustion' if it were not for, even if there will never be any prize... after two years in theintensest of ego battle...I wone and defeat was in: 'I guess you are right ["shut the fuck fuck fuck fuck up with your clever gitterisms all off radio fuckin four spastics could do better....actually...it was all, all that Affluenza and subsidiary afflictations just an affectation of as it always was....Missus fuckin Jones...... "][no not Muzz.... thats a million times more poignant...but i held her elbow most briefly on a cold bitter canyon, sadly more so noticeably this so called fall and winterfest]...'....
Who needs an prize....when a battle is all and bloody hell too..... with of course those so supposedly the same side....
To win him....and see him smile at the simplification of fifty years of The Monolith..... and how it so crushed all them poor petals, yours too cos if you havent got kids you are statistically never mind scientifically irrelevent..... because it changes your mind. No matter what. And that is WHY we exist. To have it screwed with....
But to rise above the one song for which the author was in fact allowed to get extremely fat, and die of it....
To rise above that one line, impossible to take and play with and not get bloodied by its impossible serrated edge that is always gone tear your guts out no matter what...
And beat it... today at dusk, all Woodlanders shooed off! (oh fuck, and Sweets, she's on The Mayor again ' I needed to go back once more...and see what I may have Missed [live today, but if she knew what was in my mind when she told me THAT about her footwear a week ago fuckin ell that would have really ramped up the blushing rate....] 'And if she had been told when and where a famous dingbat supplied me with my first copy.....ofafew..... confined to bed a few months..... i wonder what she would think..... except as if to prove all my recent theories i think i know she would say...

Today.... I beat him, that rather frigid footstampin moody old poet so called.....  today...I got there. I never even wanted to.

However..... in a year, when in fact as long ago predicted, and this is a hard one to put into words because I have never been a cynic or done owt with Miss Anne Thrope other than stare at her across the dancehall of the ceilidh wishing I had the guts to ask her for a twirl, but knowing better as I never much liked dancing.... the only ambition left in life to deal with, except.... for certain the rule of life is that things happen when the time is so exasperated trying to tie you down over the rotten log in the woods and have brutal anal sex with you, no matter which binary function you have signed up apwise to... she gives up and allows the biodegradable wrist ties to do what the say on the tin and Mistress N Tropy unrope you for good....
..In a ear when ever comedy writer in the land come winter time gone bombards their colaborators and producers with thumbs up tweets or Snappies or whatever the latest never bothered with digital comms ma be, along the lines of 'fuck what a gift..... wait til the New Season of our Ringers starts I mean its gonnna be boootifullll of genius....   as of course the waiting audience too, know....'
And the whole thing is so flat and over~tried its unlistenable too.... which I think is rather beat example of what I say in the real blog, the oral version that is,  so day in and out, that no matter how previously always organised and preplanned m own words were until seven ears ago, b default, so smugly  top~o~t'game mulled over in knowing authority....earned too......
No, timeto 'think' and plot, the perfect gags and rise to theultimate of occasions....
Does not work.
Spontaneity, just one day perraps to freak out to death about what the fuck do you say to that.... is the only way that indeed the spirit soars to such genius levels of hilarious seeing the funny side AND being able to deliver some Voltairian quip that may indeed last longer than the utter crap that has gone for so called comedy, for some months 'long anticipated' because we all knew that this time ....there really better had be several pairs of fresh undies nearby for the surely 100% sure bet that they would be needed ...on tap.....
Because thats what we told ourselves we would be right to think...of course.

  

Now, as Mister Gerard once said, maybe.....

Time, I may be some of it...... especially when, atop a stack of dictionaries, at last the best is back where it should be, and I did in fact chose out of the thinnest air, the very right one, to sum up what the, all of em, ever fuckin bile spouting bim, cannot simplify ....
And I certainly am not 'clever'

so how the fuck* did that [innix] go and


autosetitself at 86%
When, if ever there was a dawn at which point only 100 will do...... not even one of those beautiful 'naughty one percents'.... failing to be pushing the knob up to number eleven.....
When you know  indeed, the only song of that year, that deserved a replay....


* a now 'allowed' word being, the science says...well that is assuming some fuckin bimbo who can read, CP Snow
and his so wise words so long ago......
That two cultures, leads to the bimbile twats mumbling science out of Hello magazine as if the were summing up the latest celebrity hairdo.... anyway the science so called says that you are more trustworthy if  you fuck a lot......
So, even if I can do it in my mind 99% as if the real thing.....
It's time....'loops', 'non linear' ....weird..... the first rule of post everything times which incidentally are not and the more I think, in fact I think that Mister Fukky~armour may have been more right than wrong.... it is time to get properl fucking.

Saturday, 31 December 2016


























video


Sunday, 18 December 2016

That, in the brackets....was yesteraft.

Rarely am I speechless.
Never
In seven years
Exactly to the seventeenth of december Dichotomous day
An extreme day
Seven years ago
In fact will always be almost as anniversaire in my officially not sick mind
as those we are all bloody born to, without choosing when

Yestereve
Exactly seven years on from
one
Sat in a layby, pondering
Well that bugger~sit
Seven years hard good worthy work
Never mind hell is for coming round the corner when heaven seems just up the hill, and then out of the dark lay~bye bye December evening there is a photon of warmth in the blink of an eye before the front of phone became things to look at yourself with
And within one hour, then, a glimpse of hell
And to ones unplanned delight, a taste of heaven, which will never be forgit

Now, someone once said, time may not quite be 'linear'
roughly then actually
(Never Miss Quote, in these days of some'll get yer nicked for even a wolf wink
whilst others pine for a fang in the bum ~ will assuage their packet of needs they no longer can remember what is on the shopping list)

hold the presses
How did I Miss That?!

So, long 'planned'
Even if a year ago the plan was certainly not the year between then and now
A year that is the definition of those plans where the mice cannot decide to nibble in a friendly way at the crumbs you are too lazy to clear away after a good day on the roundabout so flippin whirlybird it is daft, or pass on mousy meningitis to mere man the planner
Long planned, even if you have to earn the right to be not bothered to fulfill the plan
And pay the price of one's laissez faire (the account is balanced for sure this particular year just gone, to the last particle of witche's crap that pretends it is a quantum field just to get some new book sales)
Absolutely for cert the way to be this time....of year, this one.

Me meeself always a tradition, every seven years clear the desk, whether it is an antique rolltop which just kept coming back to haunt, no idea why, or one built of glass.
Long long planned: being as every little so called curator of the year will doubtless do some ridiculous moaning pious ' well what a year, [with some rotting Thin Duke in the background, neglecting to mention that 97% of his tunes were truly awful, and no, rewriting history and neglecting the amount of nasty little bastards like me who would get some drunk slapper back home after some stilted early eighties party and attempt to coerce them into the sac with his one or two good ones.....  even if Wild is The.....always brings back Jacqueline even if   being as no one has the brain to even begin to think that so called stalkin, or intertrollin is really not very fair on the ones who want to be just found again, but by dint of their common as much names like Lewis or Jones the internet has made them ordinary and beyond   caring who may have written what because the intended even if so needle melted within Bathsheba's badly curated haystack before heroic Gabe had a chance to drown out her raging fire with his bucket of tomorrow is another day smouldering as the drunks [wow super s] melt away to nurse their self imposed hell...





So, indeed, one day before the so called schedule; as

'as', what a horrid little word, clearly invented by someone who didn't 'watch' the interview with Taleb where all he can moan about is the fact that the grub in Beirut is not as good as that in the so called cross roads, of so called civilisation, them of the back streets of Aleppo having had a about ten fucking centuries of smelly so called immos and their smelly garlic and other smelly innos, to incorporate into their Guardian foodie pages.......
rather than demand that the school teachers of many a year who dont even know who fuckin Voltaire is when in fact he dictated their right not to have at least a bit of his fingernail chopped off for spouting religious Vullying on the streetcorner, that is mine.....
Real reasons for emigrating, and don't blame poor little so called Wales, because in fact despite the moaning, based on an incorrect version of history which neglected to mention that half the slave owners of the S'Wales valleys were indeed so called Welsh....  in other words money perverts everything, especially the so called ....
I mean when even jolly little Kings Road addicted 'English' Missus al-Assad's bloke thinks he can cover up his past of chopping the fingers off the protesters at the mosque a few decades ago  is there spouting to Missus Rt.com .... I mean where is the criminal BBC other than offhanding: ' Russian propaganda machine RT...' ?...anyway all that irrelevant, messengers are for ignoring, but  when he thinks he is going to get mates by spouting to his interrogator 'narrative', I think we can safely say that particular word too is rather old hat.
Real reasons for fucking off even if you die, I mean just take the BBC, even if criminal, well there are certainly a most disproportionate amount of Welshmen and wimmin for that matter, so stop moaning about so called diversity, which is the number one 'ergo' the County West of The Cute little Dyke (that no one knows what its for ~ I know Ive asked, a lot, and as for the dyke a bit closer to home, she too has proven she doesn't know what she is for...)... ergo, people even if their so called footie team is very very diverse and cross so called border.... from across the so called border, that may in fact be a folly or installation art piece (hell I know some beautiful follies, by it)... that a region of England, which has people dragged up innit.... fully integrated with the so called 'establishment' far more than their numbers indeed demand by diversity regulations, and for many a decade, too.... like Mister Llareggub the first to popularise a wonderful mystical language of which i have only ever met one native, weirdly.... and then Britain's top geneticist with a good mind, him of the snails....
That peeps from that region, as integrated with (ok, rung 2 down the ladder, the top reserved for the saddest of all ever existed) the so called establishment, the active sector.... and that a part of the horrid footstamp quick to judge, yet leaving thousands inside on their indeterminate sentences when the Supremes have adjudged that unlawful, against the lore of the fuckin lands....all of em...and Orwellian Dystopic today chaps is how we can suck up to our privatised probation officer and con them into knowing you are a reformed being, that side of the cell door..... god what actors, superb, no cynicism intended.....one must not be cynical about the small people....  land
And that is why this land is full of so damaged people, that one day the back alleys of the foodie capitol of the world according to Taleb..... will seem like a walk in the park hand in hand in so called love with your probation officer .... because having to pretend to be something to please others, and get out to where the law says you should be anyway, outside..... is likely the reason Missus al-Ass's bloke is such a nasty creep in the first place....
But real reason.......... I mean it is as if it is some ordinary little bit of news, in the vein of 'all Dave's switching con, and then Ombudswo/men  to enforce the press releases that know they can keep the cronies sat in the London clubs and being jolly nice old well meaning grandads ... has been shown to be a con ESS I believe 'have 90% of customers on the spiv rate', which is otherwise known as capitalism is a pretense, and Englan world record Platinum standard experts at it'

That any part of a bit of Europe, devolution being irrelevant because I am quite sure that the lecture halls of even the teacher training colleges are full of old Campari drinking duffers recanting their narratives of their days at Aunty, never mind that most of the headmasters actually did their training, when devolution was just a political football, and not real....  is bottom of the OECD league tables even a bit..... in real life is irrelevant, because real life is that the British to a beaten old dog are without any doubt world experts at pretending to have a nice version of Obamanomics which, and I am alowed to say so as I took my kid to see the faces peering out from the London Evening Standard, that evening~bonfores all night..... all black. And what a sight, even if world record winner of the Blair Nobel on illusion pretending not to have doubled your military industrial complex   .... and invented mass extra judicial assassination by drone....

So, that, a county no bigger than a county other side of Offa~nd die maybe folly or maybe it was just to give the serfs some exercise all that Gin....
Is bottom of some of the tables, of course doesn't matter~Matter..... cos I know that the serfs are clever: every nuance of playing the role, various ones .... spesh those for the powers that be, often in the Jobcentre...
But, that notion. Notions.... esteem.... mindsets, mentalities.... whilst every clever little git for some decades has been trying to outsmart the one sat next to him at the terminal .... rebranding these words.....it is quite clear neigh incontrovertible proof in the pudding, that every Wimmins Hr seems now terminally addicted to when not goin on about pants....   they forgot to teach them anything...

However.....  there is a little problem, especially when Facebook learns just to talk the so called news... which is that even cynicism is just a level, a layer. The history of humanity is that at least 99% of folk, eventually, are touched in their soul by something.... and even if they never know what it is, so cannot admit it, nevertheless it is still there all touchy feely deep down there in the soul....

(t'abuv, a throwaway, sat en~tab a few days: pious, deliberately badly writ nonsense, of the 'zone' .... the whole thing tongue in cheek, even if that these days some woman will probably think is some wink wink signal to a gang of latent abusers just around the corner to prepare for a gang raping, which as the Queen this late afternoon would, alone, get when I recanted: ' yes... just standing and chatting, is the only key to life, and the stranger the better; that really hugely obese pockmarked one over there, she is the only real real real woman I have met in this near year on The Road,  of many, who looked into my eyes with hers, St Bernardine all the blubber adding to the droopy effect around her lids... "well I don't care what they say on the silly radio, I would give away all my biscuit collection down to the last crumb, for just ......one time .....someone to wolf~whistle at me" ....


Friday, 16 December 2016

Wink, 'consolidate'.....

I mean it isn't a very nice word really, even if from before the age of the little gitteracious brandophiliac, ssssssssssssssss Jenifer, took over everything with their reaper philistinism ..... and the many  a year school teacher does not even know who Mister 'I may well wish* to kill you for your putrid sanctimonious women hating self pitying narcoTerrorising death cult within your bad rewrite of self pitying moaning Gilgamesh and all the poor vulnerable people who couldn't run fast enough to escape that so called flood.... but I would ask you to help, if you would come back and knock on my door as you promised'
Even if I know one, they did not reach.....
And even if she was too shy to be my beneficiary,

*and if you take words literally you end up crying at every single one, or at least getting on the wireless and pretending too, for attention, and grant funding, or at least some failed crowd funding platform, or having some big fat bouffanted philistine baying you not to..... me I wish nothing, because I need nowt, and unlike absolutely everyone I have for some time Socratic-ally [according to MiizzzOg that's an actual spell check word, option] spotlighted and got down to the real nub of it with ~ and no bitterness (as she said) in the tones or even winking....  but I need to know what only one person actually wants,  because the amount of fuckin straight~out~of~Gladwell nonsense that even my wisest acolyte spouts, as usual gob activity coming before the brain can rev up, which is genuinely sad because I thought his was capable of doin'it itself....anyway bully for me, neigh I suppose one would be actually accused of bully'ing' in this New Republic of the Hurt Vullies if one stood one's ground and smiled, a sincere version, stating well actually I know exactly what I so called want .... because there is nothing new or new in my trudging through your swamp, in all of existence that would make me feel as good for the right reasons, that could equal what I was given a peek at a couple of years ago, so just returning some of the time to that place ~ a mental space, no not very safe, but where it works better than ever, is all.....and I know exactly what the ingredients were and they certainly aren't in any fuckin Orbach sermon  ....   but pictures, perhaps are what might help, if they have the right kind of words with them.... short little 140 character things that are all the modern so called brain thinks they can handle... poignant, for example: there are only a few truly querulous quandaries the last seven years, and one of only about three or four, one other being so why did Julian disown his own truly fabulous book* is how come such a magnificently brutal spirit can't organise the self to save money, spesh since thats what they all measure everything is poor sick and lost lambs, never mind the planet, by organising your life just a bit so that your habits, said to be uncontionable, in fact do sort themselves out so that you have a little recharge your batteries system....  spesh if it's someone else's electricity...
So, A: Whither Julian's true soul, because I think even if to also prove the starred item below, there is no way on earth I would ever pick up a book by some pasty geek  who cannot possibly have anything wise to say about any soul cos there isn't an algorithm to help, and never will be, and furthermore all tech for several decades has just drained creativity and original thought never mind made the practitioners as I well know as their legal issues are always, the worst...because they wont listen, cannot, always know they alone are right, alone, behind their all powerful screens, and can't even read a dictionary to look up compromise, never mind have half a dozen open simultaneously so as to figure which take on the etymology may a bit less opium warped than another, as the basis in fact for almost all so called law, and also that tomorrow, postit, is another day....  hmm the only question is how the hell come I did!? But that's me, normally I am so controlled in my habits I would not allow some unscheduled~ because there is one ~ I don't lie,  diversion, lead me to one so 99% well writ and open and frank and pretty wise too.... and indeed informative on the real state of play behind the scenes, even if juvenile in certain respects.... but that's where the grown ups come in, the ones who have the self made privilege of  real balance.... that which no webcam could capture because it happens where there is no electricity, and usually quite a lot of airborne moisture.... over several winters at least...a fuckin cold dry snap a godsend!  That's the kind of shit which really does let you see why it isnt really worth bothering knowing their so called secrets.... yet, bravo, the ridiculous pseuds of The Guardian hypocrites to the last wo/man..... I knew a near 14 years ago, from inside experience....   these stories we do need.


*and furthermore, talk about quantum back to front real things, many years one just knew ~ those sat immersed in circuits all day, the ones behind the irrelevant garbage they call advancing technology or dreaming of an algorithm which will solve their unhapiness or so called Aspergers [actually, reasons to certainly emigrate 1 of many, now she I admired, Missus things ehhhh the one who didn't get deported to The Evil Empire McKinnon, even if she isn't.... lots and lots of boring paperwork behind Theryfying's toss of the coin ... but to then go seek the ever attentive audience of Afshin who frankly does need to spend a few months locked in a cage with Lord Melvyn and learn what being a man actually means, and it is not nodding and smiling at said Ma McK at her endless medicalisation and excuses for a few lads who in fact have such superb minds they can do what I could never manage and that is give a shit about what is in a computer....  never mind manage a bit of Black Swanerism which means in one short tweet, a fuckin nightmare either kills you or turns you into a real man and even deepens you, and may present opportunities never dared taken in the past....because you were not a man ~ bravery is only one thing, to have a choice dagger stabbed into your front....  but the key tickle stick of the whole laugh that is existence, is that in one fuckin Yogi teabag label, you simply have no way ever of predicting how you will feel after the shit and the fan merge into the past which is always a big lump of mess.... yet according to her they will all immediately commit mass suicide for sure and the fanaticism in her eyes..... hmm I wanted to one day meet her, forget it..... and a real man the other end of the Mike would say 'cmon luv ehh arent you goin a bit far, I mean.... Solzhenitsyn just as one example, of thousands, ehh he survived a few decades and then out of it came One Day which then changed things...... these lads have brains, yet you demand we know for Autistic black and white line drawing surety how they will react to a bit of ordinary argy bargy.... that's what I call fascism actually, what your doin luv, or at least the lite version which is probably worse than the full on version because full on things at least a decent focus group sooner or later gets its act together such that they set fore to something or other....[huahhh huahh hahh you hear the sound of his feet being put up on his desk ready to kick her up the arse ]'




Monday, 12 December 2016

So, now, all I ever needed to know.....

About the sweet'un... her 'hero'..... however in the a conversation does not begin until you have been natterin'nour.... of it all..... never enough time to even get in what matters: no, you never threaten to shoot anyone, ever. However.....the project, in celebration of every 63%er and their dreadful outsmartassin each owt with one clever analysii or t'uvver..... largely some consolidation of Evan, Emily because they all secretly want to reserve the table next to her at L'Oriel and enjoy her applying L'Oreal.... and, then there is the new brat on the block who says what HE thinks ~ his opinions! Terrified one and all of course of the so called polaristas, when in fact they do not exist. What does, is rather a lot of Philistines. That's the wrong word though as it is of course the kind of word that one would nastily apply to people who only bought coffee~table types books, or even want to write them, or especially want them to be seen on their coffee table. Because it certainly is not their fault that they were raised in an atmosphere of such bimbic philistinism by philistines up the ladder [hahh hahh got her!], that gobby ranting and raging at not having enough to own the right kind of tit job or cancer death  rather than becoming a real activist like Hull~man everyone ignored for 29 1/2 years,   ... made lazy slobbiness and steroid taking as answer, their blueprint.

So, one more sleep, until despite ridiculously odd odds against ever reaching it, all of level 1 groundwork finished and 1 smallest item left from level 2....