Saturday, 13 May 2017

'private'.....

Two teens, and a ghost....
But what I really want to know, also.... as it is of course part of the only equation that matters, too....
Did Mister Know
Two odd undred years ago
wander up through and over the style that separates
Just an ordinary boring vista of young Oxford tarts vying with their ma
separates the border between
border the separate you and them and
The....definition of the class
never mind the divide
pity divide
divide
pity
The definition of it.
At just one little rickety old
style
One side
Style
the other
'private'
Did he wander... thus far?
I wonder
cos he searched for it
And it is
'cept there certainly isn't any signal so
it will always be
there.

But f'anyun had even dared to mention

Nineteen Eighty fuckin four...
While George is boring himself to'un early grave trying to be something he could never be cos there is only one meaning of all the way babe till the wheels fall of f'unburn
And it is all the way, or nowt.....

Question via Facebook John
ny Boy, even if one would never use such tools of the nasty Mon:

' does the panel believe....in anything....and if they do do they think that coming back into the fray after such an intolerable Aussie~style fuckin load of waffle.....  on drugs, probably painkillers especially now its official anyone who perssss sueded their babe to stop takin asprin for a fuckin moan of the month time.... is GOOD cos them pills do kill. indeed... that bouncin back on big fat black'un and showing as great example to the youth
popularity
such that the commentator has to mid whoop whoop state that the audience may be planted for all he knows
Nuthin.....is better than never ever takin it personally
And showin you can
When the other day you couldknee.....
and the nation needs a real Queen to set example....... John ....mere. boy...or sorry is it David who the fuck cares about nepotism....it never worked. there is only one...off'.

Anyway nineteen eighty four....
had one told me that thirty three yearn later..... it would be so precious and perfect it would make me, cry.
I mean that one farmer Mrs Marner I me err at last ...she knew as she told me how when you stick your knee between the legs of the subsidy man as a quid pro quo for life not being long enough to need his tags and labels ...'they get you via your beasts if they know you will not play their fascist~lite games.... or just not be a sheep' ... almost anyone without beasts for them to go for, its the ex girlfriends or they try to play the madness trump card.....  if mine is wired for vision they would have wrung their hands with glee: ' we got im now!! i mean define manic crazy glazed eyes and streamin with teletubby blue tears....and a bloody liar with all his elitist " i never watch the videos ever and certainly blind one eye if I ever see a picture of one of the enemy on iplayer radio listen again page..."... '



I have known rich, and poor ....
and it is what the word latter was invented for, viz....preference.
No, errata, just bearability.
And if the non~rhetoricians of the revolution that can never be until they tell some true truths will fail to un~rhetorate so direly
never mind the truth.

'private''

I mean a whole damn lifetime those are the two most significant little traps around a word, ever and I never even think of words like extremist as indeed if one is a scholar of it zall a load of cant.... The fuckin Pole [whom deservth his capitalisation]  did get it right like about a hundred yonks ago up to see Mister Kurtz.....its in page the first few.
i mean....nuthin appened.....
cept all of little only one little dream
And only that pesky little variable kept us apart
My favourite place in the whole world.

'Quiet' is indeed saying rather a *kovalot....too....

'Private'.......
And all along, it was the 'yogi tea'.....
'private'...... well if one were to accept that pesky equational factor of tea equals.....time.
As being the meaning of that
sublime....
One certainly has found it...
Why the fuck did I 'fuck' tho....
All I know is that if anyone had told me .... hahhh hahhhhhhhhhhh[really]
'abducted by the 80s' and of course the nasty little girl in her means she doesn't want you to know that proper Ogglin is by dint of the advanced search page and put in an accurate phrase or coupla words and only the fuck get them on the dreadful cant that became the screen....
God it is a good job, jolly show that my minds eye is utterly perfect...in the way i recall....

But..... such a lot of practice over seventeen months and why cannot I get right on cue that perfect line.... that is true because there is no post anything
But luv......i would rather luv a pauper.
Spesh one who admit ...zit...





Friday, 31 March 2017

Middle private lakeside:

thoughtbubbleno be true Joanne was talkin to herself and tellin me she could only think to herself when talkin it to herself ' what about if i keep saying "zero" maybe you'll err in my favour so called...'
talkin to the Whiteys:' hmm "livin in the moment" thats whats the problem with this load of newbreed idiots who have been forcefed the smile that will look good on the compulsory Youtube self promo sales video or Ted Talk....or of course the worse sin of all, assuming that a Hay talk will nourish anyone ever for real.... a word or phrase has to be sum upable in a few sentences to be valid; ehh I know i do live in the so called moment with more real issiiness than every elan bein chased around the Pen by a hungry drought ridden Abbo or ten countin its last moments of mere existence,  but as for even beginning to describe what it is.... consists of in real life that words were invented for in attempting to pass on the info......  almost probably impossible.....which is of course what they know clever them: that they cannot be found out. Not knowing what on earth they are talking about. You cannot fake real. Consistent~real that is.....

I mean...... snub yer hooked one at the cash......

All i really want to know and privacy is ok.....
(hmm where's the notebook oh yes its written on her envelope the moment it dropped onto my porch....cos the time was more perfect than any mere old mouldy book could predict, The Miss O Jenny do stay back at home, Sweetheart, and do my fuckin housework instead of goin out and havin yer boss letch at yer asymmetric boobs all day,  be a sweety now won't you ....
has he repented?
realised now we can hear it actually being born. I mean, to die for....witnessing that birth so at least The Tube did one good thing. Before they know and steal it back.
But the real key to life, is always having a reserve position. Two birds  to juggle amongst the bag of stones up in handy orbit, or if you are  a fascist Saudi paying for worldwide number 2 gunrunner UKs absurd national debt, just drop a sack of boulders on the so called lovers from a JCB ...i know i was there....
And that and its orbiters vcan never be forgiven.
The real key is that she should never know..... that it's no longer only 'about'...her.... And what with all the ridiculous levels i have to weave into figure outable vaguely germane cliches that are called books.... a true artist knowing that art does not shrivel up just cos you are past seventy, would not have a spare moment to bother with any mere gong.



All I really do know.....

is one little wee lassie.....
DID.... do something good. And that's not just me in full knowledge of 'hope' the most dangerous word in all the lexicons of all of Time ...spesh when life's this serene such that you get a letter from Missus Oppression is a beautiful Cruel Nurse....  and know that next to that beautiful prose of Eccles'  with no fuckin cakes as they werent invented when wimmin could sit down and write actual beautiful prose imagining when the time may just be right or not....to go and sow what someone else forgot to reap cos no one cares about their job ever and all they care about is the PR video....
There is indeed a time..... to enjoy what i know for a fact no other person would look forward to..... because she had a sense of humour...in the last place according to our Ken yerever goin to find it...
And anyway never trust a one of em....so ave yer Plan B really really very very...ready.
Now, the key to life that none of the ranty ones ~  the majority it would lamentably seem.... would get, is have one true line ready, maybe for, once the Last Affair is in order and a good promo video made to help others....
One line. hahh it would be fun to know, the true inner feelings if i let it out. Their true inner feelings.....
There is indeed a certain kind of time travel; it may be a loop back to endless meaningful encounters just a bit ago...or back seven or more years ago.....perhaps it is what peace'unquiet was invented for..... and i know what the definition is.

Golly McGosh....I know there is never ever any reason to have a lid open into the later parts of an evening. Ever..... Until there ....just IS. But it must only be once. After all at last the science has caught up with Margeret  and explained 1 categorically that anyone who may have ever uttered ' me i never had more than six in my life..' is just rather sad and that can be mitigation above all others .... that reminds me what a sad thing, I mean i never or rarely waste my time writing to any fine person and her excelent version of forgiveness is a feyword and be careful with it because its just accepting neigh perraps one day understandin..... that is far far more reliable a mindset of livin in the present and pasts are exactly that even if great material for funky song titles maybe one day....
And she never replied!
I always give em 2 weeks before the propriety warning light flickers into the sunset of eternal darkness that so called ease of communication has inflicted upon humanity.... because in the dark even red lines cannot shine out with what they were invented for.



Or maybe they are 'right' and zeitgeistinal.....

there is no such thing as one who could follow the required almost perfect moral philosophising that goes with the job.
Ergo.


Now, all I know....

is that for golly gosh whatzit now.... sixteen months, utterly no Searchin ever at all and certainly no plans to ever. furthermore any half brain who manages to tolerate the pea brained knows that searchin for anythin never got Odysseus's bed fixed ... that was just doin it when the time came and the energy was ok...period.
And that ok maybe Mister or i bet it was a Missus until Shakespeare came along and made all his babes merely in reference to some fuckin bedmaker of a male~king carpenter
Oh yes so upon homeward reentry whats the first line:
' and the prize goes to  and theres me knowin that it was going to be quite rightky at last Mister Cappaldi had become a Missus....no ...oh dear....of deary deary dear..... I mean I bet more than half the very Lordly bad timings themselves have been in actual real life so called gay so hasnt that well and truly been diversified into covering up the fact that all media is an utterly irrelevent little microbiological  cosmic fuckin nonsense cos ehh in the actual country the greater majority never have time to think of such choices between figurin out how to afford their kids sweeties and payin for the busfares for them now the schools go and centralise....
But all i know is if I were a real woman I would not stand for it. One fancy souped up machine...two men...how utterly predictable and backwards in time.
I think it should be feminist rubicon tipping point into actual rage and sedition and even pretend violence. And certainly a lot of getting arrested as the fact of humanity as my only real man knows... you have to pay the price and it generally involves a bit of blood. Whatever the absolute pacifist version of that is....
At least ' no sex anyone ever again with me unless the not~leftie because if they are theyve done a very very bad job of convincing anyone in this proto~Mussoliniist weird little Cardiff back alley I know everyones runnin into,  BBC put a woman at the joystick.... and make her NOT take her frustrations out with her right foot kickin the Tadile levers  ever ever cos if you do that post 25 ish then fuck pity pity you..... some of us know what 'growing up' means...

I'll give em so called remedial.....

So, there comes a moment when democracy, the actual version... the private conversations, with soul verve, poison~grace.... elan, and a duel to the equality of death, can be tapped. Neigh in fact lived, because there is no post anything untruth or fuckin bored little twats with too many media degrees between them, who cant get a job saying real things cos it costs a big price to go and find them.....
like, Emily.... we need a remedy to her or at least for her so that she can actually ask John what Martin was really like..... and how he managed to somehow not let the torture in his own soul fuckup the day job.....
Which is chucklin.
Sooner or later.
No matter what.
('so  if you die behind the tills [to my utterly ginormous friend, and i only use that word as sparingly as the gossamer nano film between her very presentism and mine but for the grace of some truly wonky goddess...] do you get a discount on the final checkput?' ..... ' too fuckin right, FREE... I mean you can imagine some of us have tried to smuggle in the odd cadaver.....and then there was the lady who had two hundred quid on her reward card and i asked wow that must have been a hell of a pricey  party.....  hahh hahh shed just buried her hubby.... and got her points.....' I mean what a horrid beyond valueless and unprincipled society never mind the fact that making your descendents look at a shopping bag symbol over the crypt or pyre..... what kind of weird cult nonsense has default become, I am glad I am not human; in that they are entirely rejected now.

But I like it that the mountain of lard with her asymmetric breasts...and minimum wage wont cover the adjustments.... knows...I am her true friend.



Rivers [the bloody Cannon's full of em], borderlines, anylines, our new skyscrapers.....

all so silly really; spesh when.... you can, unplanned,  this morn, and I never deserve a nap at ten am..... get there. Because there is a there.
***
That was then~there a good full minded week or more back, been sitting on her draft shelf for some time....since then.

' peace and love man'  thisafterbiking along.... a rare afternoon sojourn as there are mornings and fuck their filled up with....one day maybes
...I mean talk about a treble entendre for your lot really should be put down.....if only he knew.
The most important words of a good mil: at last, I a have found him. Mister Beyond mere Identity....
Mister so what if he's Walter...
Mister the only human being I have ever met who is so perfectly above all the arrogance the so called ~ and that's a worthy double underlinin their faulty weddin dresses a~gussets fucked up, so called: progressives

He is....Mister Remedy.
The kind that local dreadful listings mags cannot profit off.
Because he would never claim anythings wrong.
He is above mere Western constructs like peace and love, luv.
He was born by a brown woman to a white supremacist in the lands where you get in trouble rather bigtime for not doin what the supremes dictate...
He could not chose his dad; erhhhhh no comment.
His.... leg is still kickin Afghan's up their butts out of duty.
And that's what was required to survive in his time. Then~time.
And no matter how beautiful she is, he knows that sometimes if you are starved by cirx beyond mere control.
Black Swans are for the barbie too......
And I knew; that there was no way I would find him again after the initial abduction.
But all along, he was there. Almost, though of course its arrogant to assume or feel, because great is such a curious word...in waiting. Almost perraps for...what maybe next. All I know for sure is that only one person, got better.... discovered how to age and what it should mean......
My man, he's no mere man..... I have only ever met one almost god. I wonder, does he dream of his days flyin over Vietnam..... shooting down yanks in reprisal for the hundreds and hundreds of dead people one day in yet another one march the 17th..... maybe.....
And they require us to take them seriously. To lament for their wounds and damage....... sorry, anyone with even half a brain left could have managed an hour of The Deerhunter some dex ago....


Now, only one performance rightly has been at first tab position for months now. But I had to wait for the impossible......
Allies; who may get the joke.......zzzzz Missus....
About all them lotus seekers lookin for the cash at any moral compii cost base behaviour to pay....for their ever more dear remedies, dear....
And this aint about cash. It's about the price, the real one..... in knowing you deserve better brands of mulivitz than the next tart, by right. Or else. period........ and the last laugh wasn't on the many years non flossing bein the science recently proved that that was just false news ... The Mon at her evil emotionally blackmailin sneakiest....
(of course I enjoyed telling my 'stick~it~in~so~gentlist' man that all along i was RIGHT hahh hahh beat you and your mercantilic vandalism of my wallet..... just like all the people dead from neurofen just cos they had a bad tum from what natares always intended ....no pain no gain luv...
(hmm was the best thing seeing 'her'..... cripes there's a her I'm a afraid....)
Except there is another performance; ' luv....I never use the word sublime as its too damn precious a word to Miss Treat to a conversation never begins until its been a hell of a while....face to face... or if one must be a'bell, well double it to two hours to try figure the nuance and maybe truer meanings.... of chaos [never mine]... but Ive had a hell of a rediculously sublime few weeks.......I even stumbled across out of curious something or other why not have a look..... a heckle, surely i would never have ever heard again after all when you don't even understand what the hell you were doin the other side of the country at 16 never mind how you managed the walk back 3 miles in a daze the so called "trains here to serve you" ehhh......but luv, i could have died...of something, perraps pride...perraps curiosity....perraps.... to bee see'

Sunday, 19 March 2017

Hmmm... the smacked bottom, tuf luv party..?

Now the problem with this feral Isle is that no one 'values' the actual fact that the dystopia called, well it is offensive to women to call the ones who try to get regard, wimmin....cos they default to the lowering of orders when in fact in the real world, out of the hedge (literally) comes a man.....from Wolverhampton, a few morninzago
Who told the truth.
(and put away your guitars that need a good slap, because ....well only one quite good singer~male.... Di Doflate......  and about the best babe ever......in my humblest of humile not~allowed~to~opinionate my breakfast at dawn when all the other slobs of the land are just goin to bed, so it really should be called the Get The Fuck UP party.....
But even I had  a reason to be dozingoff lasternight and not quite falling aslumber at the prescribed ten to ten ' hmmm.... is that too far? I think I get the point... Mister Spader slappin her botty with his.... but how curiously interesting all those lines about "sexual harassment legal cases" .... I mean the problem with this land never mind the others so far away even  which ever Ung is still maybe alive can't reach.....and only the expensive people can be barred on the basis of a scalf or not and in a just world they would understand what the ranty old Orange man is actually doin em a favour....'
Anyway what not within my region nowt to do with me...... even if I know the answer which is certainly not baying for more cash, and if those others from Woolly Polly would just fess up Letruth.... : ehhh ...folks sorry, there is no more, they spent it the last three or four decades on an unviable existence and even more unviable entitlements.....perfectly personified in the entitlements of the regional "charity" minibus services to the old and scabid, which even I had always thought were a gift........ ehh no..... rather pricey rip off YUK and its that cloying fuckin self regard the so called Joans of Aark aark ear the OBE trundlin along thats the true splinter in the eye of whatever people dont seem to be able to even think of any more...... essentially patronage not only corrupts but returns peeps to the 1840s just when someone was planning a rather successful revolution~lite i recall.....
so unless ... no one will understand this so look away at your telly ... they tell the truth, which is along the lines of 'ehhhh.... your sharp elbows, even at the very bottom of the swamp end,  and inability to even share a car in rural backwaters hidden in the Woodlands .... never mind the so called according to their own Facebook brands, Green progressive types no only dont share cars but actually when occasionally they may [god that was fun and so predicted a few yearnago...... dont think I am a slouch I've been full time on researchin em for some years now...] use the ride to attack brutally based on some warped reading of Mister tully's tritest brand of tripe that is the only thing that makes me want to throw up my breakfast fully understood, especially that one three or four weeks ago god industrial gobledygook self reverential mindfulness livin in the moment she gets her Ted talk deal and ad rev..... if Dai Hash had a brain he would book the slots next to her gob.......cos there is only one thing guaranteed to exterminate all the West, and thats more and more of this fuckin guru nonsense in respect of pretending there is 'community' or anyone ever actually can listen to anyone ever because they are too busy listenin out for what advantage they may seek in pickin the pocket of one practicioner or other when shes distracted airin her yoga mat on the line..... oops errata i forgot, no progressive type knows about that any more, and certainly doesnt get that thats the only reason weather forecasts were invented and if you havent tuff luv smacked the bum of yer kid if they cant dial up the BBC pages to at least plan which day to get the buckets out to handwash I tall in.....you have failed as a parent so give yourself whatever the pacifist version of a jolly good bend over someone's knee, is.....
 cos they have expensive tumble dryers and the divorce settlements pay for them to leave it on day and night (which you will not see reported on in the three Wye lifestyle magazines all shabby versions of Harpers they cannot yet quite afford to be.... other than tangentially as in This is Not an Advert, no a quite essential local services advertorial for  jolly posh accountant services, discretion guaranteed et cet er ahhh....

Anyway i didn't know. I have spent a week or so in a Stone Hotel room  with a wonderful very black man  from Wolverhampton..... and will never regret it. But I did not imagine that the greatest journalistic scoop for some years has been handed me from the 'Old Timer' ..... decades at the junction boxes, him and I just chewin the grass stalks dicussing 'pairs' and how anyone who has humility may indeed as they come in to my lands at least mention " ehh... yes renovating all these old barns puts a bit of pressure on the party pair..... ehhh well I acknowledge that whilst Woolverhamton could actually cope with all of Somaliland turnin up on hols and Qat dealing trips and other such entrepenuerial activity.... the Llantony Valley can only cope with half a device... and twas ever thus....
But what is so so interesting, is how, sadly...Germaine wont get this of course with her upcoming,  just a bit of solidarity and some good tough luv scribblin ... I have already done it all...  is what makes the rural backwaters 'viable'..... and relationships as in of course the farmer or rural tramp needs 'backup' and even sometimes someone in his bed....  cos you need to train your own ferret handler as the default  position of em all....those whom use our pairs for shhoppin for theirs, yet seemingly cannot [for at least a decade but thats not very long in the great history of what narcissism actually means.].... 'cept one...  ' ehhhwww they smell dont they....'
As James Ferret and I discussed on the bell and drone t'other eve..... ' Aww....so Jim, do you have a wife? aww.... so of course we know what will happen when with no backup and probably all so called neighbours these days unable to not shiver with fearful neurosis  no one would look afterem if one of em ever chewed yer nasals off and you had to go in for a  refit... hahh hahh as we know thats impossible as all even the nastiest bitch of a fuzz can be handled...in time..... if your universal vibrations of the connected ley lines are as they should be in tune with no fear yer little git I luvyer anyway and Im bigger than you........ ear bite it if yer want, and Ill bite yer balls off thatll teach you......of is that what you want? intended.....  fun...... for the fun of it........ well I shall ignore you then see how that hurts!  of course the RSPCA will call that bullying too no doubt and have em off yer for that alone rather than do their job which is not exist off legal settlements....

Anyway hmm tall sharp elbowed ..... she got it ....
That in fact the so called rural regions.... depend above all on backup to drive you to hospital when some neurotic towny throws stones at your glasshouse ... because they would not get it, that living surrounded by glass, simply over time ~not that long actually, causes you to dance between vice and spade.....with even more care and grace. It is called a plastic mind made of iron filings, and dentists are to be spat at. period.

But.... perhaps the greatest tragedy of life is when someone can know 'what does not kill yer makes yer stronger', whatever the pacifist version of that is..... well I know actually, as it is my daily business.....
I mean perraps a couple of seven year gobs of boring time could nbe summed up by the 'sensetive' who invaded, despite the deatrh and destruction to families and relationships, real ones that is.... the ones not based on any fuckin soulmate nonsense but syncronising your whiff, because a real rural person knows that when there is a huge all hands on deck job or two...of the kind that local youth a few dex ago would relish all the enemies together lugin the fallen tree and realise that of course there are no real enemies, really...... and hence would be set great example....noh..... such things the invaders actually can no longer understand....
And will be thinking of their whiff if they did actually do a few hours sweaty work....when a rural couple has to think the long view, which is three days ahead as in a couple of days at the hay no point bathin each night takes too long.... we will however have the best bath there ever was after holding or joint nazals for a couple of days......
of course the sensitive invaders would find too difficult a subject to even contemplate publicly....despite it being the actual basis for their rural garden being civilised....
Which is why I like talkin about it at every conceivable opportunity....so the Green ptrogressives think you are evil; and bad and mad and dangerous..... even if of course one never actually says it is them one is talkin about....
maybe minds can be red after all.
All I see is yellow in theirs......

Anyway so ... funny old world, I mean i thought there was a law which was brought in by the nasty bastard party requiring them to not actually think about elections for half a decade.... until of course it suits.  Short lived (as i have screaMED SEVERAL YEARS AT THE SENSETIVE... ACC CAP. OOH POOR DARLINGS THAT SCARE EM OFF AS NARCISSISM DEFINE  is not knowing that everyone smells the same .. never mind the need for a tea party to discuss a duel with UKIP over the streetcorners....none of them actually even managed to hand one leaflet out at last time around... yet they all moan....
When the only moan should be at themselves for not tolerating each others diversity and managing to ever have those tea parties....
Which is ok as in some ways if nasty bastard # 1 Tony had rewritten his clause four with the correct new paragraph which is that the job of the left is to 'change within' without a violent Road ahead as The yanks of course require which is why Cormack exists... so of course they'll be at each other like a bag of ferrets every day Newsnight Emily so shut the fuck up we are just actually being what we were caused to be ...
However..... for one cause, just nownagain..... it may be good to join hands (if only she knew how good a handhold can be as cure for any weird scabid disease...anyway I cannot complain I took a lovely hand outside T'O~op on the 17th December day goneby of late, anniversary of the revolution.....  and felt her hurt at being in her own words 'they hate us' other..... There cannot have been in all of shopping history a more lingering and meaningful encounter at the tills....
' i thought you would be one of those horrid Sloaney tarts.... those striped leather few hundred quid boots they all wear nowadays to line up their high stakes gamble we do not notice the two hundred quid price tag....and that they never seem that mucky or worn out...... I see yours are well used, for the right reasons..... prey tell me who are you anyway, Linda Mack vegeburgers, a sense of humour...... these things in one person are not possible.....'
And only a real woman who maybe is a witch cos she doesnt care about her black front tooth despite more sense than cash wastin cash to some rotten old gold digger who would never admit it of course which is what vegetarianism was invented for ~  badge of honour......when no one knows anymore what the most basic rural honour is.....
Bein: to actually offer 'assistive technology' [ generaly speaking I am 95% Amish and love it, and at least they have one brain cell which is if you get mucky all day at least wear fuckin dark colours to save on necessary washes........which no woman can brainwash their kids to do any more perhaps they like the sweat stains so they can claim em of one mat or other rather than their nervous wreckin some relationship actually needed to maintain the logpile..... come what may....because rurality without some basic relationships that work over the middle term, even if you hate everyone as you dont go on enough walks.....is the only way you can actually make it viable ] and then ignore ones reminder, is worse than bein a towny who would find the words rural honour threatening.....

Hmmm.... a fine woman knows  that 'whatever doesnt beat you to death due the booze makes yer maybe just about full of poise n grace....on most days..... '  but the wonderful thing is i never thought, bein such phrases are to the new fangled precious Republic who are so busy worrying about one disorder or other of course the dont even know what republic means cos its not in their healin books....: real life... does require a less offensive pacifist version rebranding ... I mean even the word 'stronger' to most of these  blown in confetti fragments has them consulting some Facebook group as to what possible abuse level may follow  .... hmm, no pain, no gain....
All i know is that jokes are good, and best when on 'one'.... A decade ago i would mutter the key to life was knowing for absolute certain that yer only gonna get maybe three out of five 'feelin great' days past forty odd and most busy trying to provide a good Amish kind of existence for a few local kids over time,  I mean getting the most full of his small self Adam to eat his greens.... the quid pro quo of I hear you like Led Zeppelin, ok we can have it on extremely loud at tea, far louder than any adult will have ever allowed at the mealtime table .... however, there is a part you will now play in this non negotiable deal.......
... and i knew that there was no conceivable
And keeping all the zoo in place to chase off any scaredy cat Amish a most yime consuming task.....
#But, [under the CIRX! ] when in fact you are wrong, so so... and  nine out of ten is the newer impossible ratio for half a decade as I realised last summer .... I shall never believe a thing i know again....
Which of course no fascist of the so called progressive left can ever think....which is why Thery can have her cake and eat them.

All it would take is one honest line: ' Ehhhh..... no point moaning any more for another decade...never mind forgetting the bit that pious humble poverty makes people a bit more open and in fact a bit more chatty and friendsly if they can remeber not to be frightened of every so called stranger who chats em up in the Aisles...... and we all know that the so called "sharing economy" is a huge yankee data mining operation to avoid universal paid holidays et cet..... and Messianic crowd fundin is just paying 9% to yankee banks who get free Beeb adverts if they can hype.... but simply, the cash is spent plus the interest cant stay fraud forever...  a billion billions wont provide enough yellow vans [ as was so simply said in my day euph for off to the metal for a hol or so] or therapists to step in and
fix the feral parenting of decades now
get used to it..... all so called services, will only work if you stop runnin the doc slightest bellyache....
muck in a lot more....
beat up the head of hospital food who still hasnt learned in 100 years that good grub and greens makes you recover quicker..
That sugar damages et cet...
And sharing stuff rather than for the self regard of some Uber economy con artist PR CV starts door to door and here and there but certainly not down there .....

Which is all tremendously pious and of course has been Coopted for decades by one nervy thing or other who thinks she can save humanity with a new so called institution set up from her PC...
When Institutions are about gettin down dirty, face to face.... and holdin yer ground even when someone objects to the use of the ALLEGORICAL fuckin finger stuck up.....
And somehow....findin some way to makwe folk cooperate just a little bit..... even the ones on the streetcorners preachin it....
Who do not know of course that the only reason the smalltown streetcorner exists is because generations afore em somehow put aside their sensitivities and without any club or institution  ...at least managed to organise a few winters wood all hands on deck....so that someone would have enough energy to cook up the bacon butties the workmen needed in the V'ictalls....oooh my favourite word

There is no more cash and never will be...... Johnny darkie and even Jan the Plumber... have brains too and caught up! a bit... and the weath of so called nations will be shared....

Unless one leaves resources for the most needy desperate and shares those many in less well off regions already have like motors and all that malarkey.....
there aint ever any vague hope....so go and join the Libdems...
And thats all the so called Left need to say....and they will kill her red shoulder pads forever.....
Because people are not quite as stupid as every single one I know for some years has acted....  and assuming they will not actually say eres a bit of onest sense and truth...is humanist, of the bad sort.....
 that believes they can only ever believe crap. Which is clearly what they teach at all Pollys and unis for at least 20 years so ... me even if Oxford came begging and said i could have Dick's la la in return.... no way fuck off and allez the vous yourself to death.... cos there is no hope ever. Ever..... never. T'end.....
Life is just a smear of bacon fat on your sleeve.... one I shall always cherish.



Saturday, 18 March 2017

so, even if that is certainly The End.
I haven't even began to think of starting yet. because.....t b see
(oh yes, she needs a Roundtable....) oh yes...... hmmmm.... now....
So The Scottie dogs are peein on their cash cow lampost... The Irish want to finalise selling all their soul to Gateway who probably went bankrupt for selling such crap and little niceties like pensions and rights they knew could be evaded in Eire
and.... now,  that other rather problematical little folk. Hmmm....
??: rumour: The English will repeal all diversity law meaning that wimmin canot make up lies any more about witches still existing, as usual for scrapin a few pennies from the rich English tourists ...and be clear this is a very very female means of fraud and breaking trades descriptions laws as I have only one actual wish which is to meet one who's bite was as painful as her bark.... and its certainly a 90% of workers in the crap~witch industry are female ....
But whom would lead them..... I mean two wimmin scorned and a rather smug Gerald The Beardie Bang, is one thing, and that fattie in her sillie red dress is worse than a very old record and she certainly breakfasts on parrots I cant even remember her name she is so irrelevent .....  is there sucha thing as one ranty woman from The West lands..... who will mean it? go ALL the way...... I mean they too did 'vote' to keep the bridges..... or did they seems a curious claim i know how racist they are for real hmmm....
Oh yes Missus Reddress leanne.....
Les Galles as in Pays Du..... what they need is more than a merse symbolic black fdress... they need a troublemaking one who IS black~dress..... who reeks of dripping witchiness fighting for their very fey tourist industry......
At the very least demanding a recount.....
And whom has a very sharp even pointier upstuck finger upon which to show up the wee lassie as not only wee of stature, but of scorn......
....what a thought.
Hmm back to the day job.
  

very small script: note to a writer.

Because you don't want to give any clues away they have to find their own way to the plank pokin out the middle of the gulf in the swamp, but as  I suspected, as soon as their so knowing tine began a few months ago, the ONE [very big script] thing you never ever ever want to think, or broadcast, is there in perfect exemplar:
' oh wow with all this amazing daily amazing stuff gift gift gift...we are going to be so ridiculously funny without even trying  that every Friday evening at 630 we will have the nation peeing their pants in anticipation of whatever wonders, next with all this unmakeupable material...'
means that The Now is so unlistenably to smug crap and predictably now only unfunny...... because no one understands any more, that it is the true fascism of the knowing funny that creates the real fascism of knowing they are not able to know how unfunny they are because they know they are...... it is in nothin..... true dystopian glue gumming up their webbed toes, or rather the webbed toes...of those whom one knows are desperate to meaningfully reconnect  yet cannnot...it is only in the pain and bleak airless smouldering of the fire which simply will not start however good your tinder is ... that only ignores you ..... the only spark to real comedy that there ever was. Nothing...at all...forces all..... but try telling that to the boys of The Now....
Tis fascist to know that that is simply old knowing and somehow all is new.....ehhh.....no especially as in fact nothing has happened except a few swings of the pendulum have gone the way they perraps always do
Which is the only reason i have to make up a few bad jokes for myself..... i hear none elsewhere any more. Now they think that..... of course they can,

right hair, but if she would just get the operation.... cos stuck up ones can be turned into the right kind of power...

Cos if you gonna declare war and know what a chariot is FOR..... and mere tumbledown old walls keeping the snowfields banked up her side thank you very much its lovely and warm down ear...are just obstacle courses .....
even if there are far better ones afrom a few years earlier featuring debates on miniskirts.....
You have to have a certain sort of nose to go with the true inventor of le rock punk....
And she gonna need some magic, of the real variety....to harness all the younger gits who think that they can socially mediate their way to fuckin democracy of right wrong and the witches need to get those broomsticks all lined up pointin the right way...

oh yes the borderline that separates you from the gulf i went and tripped up and fell into headlong and bashed my nazals so bad i cant show my face in public til i have saved up to pay the so called healers......and everyone is so ridiculously in one yoga campr or tother and no one can speak the same language any more even ear......i mean how apt....Ap.....
that was good.

Alll i know........ that wee bint needs a bit of fuckin schoolin in how to really  weave power and pure finger jabbin.... and the boys of so called '76 were only copyin:






ah well.....

at least I have a picture of the most gorgeous crop of Silvery hair......well, in the accompanying footage, never mind a picture of her feet in those boots.... meant for someone else. But i would not even reveal the small big toe of a ghost or angel whatever ...

(that was good yesterlunchtime got one up on err...... fancy panzin it around with her talk of being so called born in my paradise, and not comin over and telling the tales.... the ones that count: 'wow...foxy lady')


now where was I oh yes: ' gizza a kiss yer old thing...[well, active~metaphorical at least].at last we are united in our adoration of one crazy screwed up angry Sit the fuck on this Theryfied me no way luv.....wee bint.... who show'n what a real woman means.....'

But, even if she has nuthin but sinews on hers....

Anyway if one were to wish to educate the younger thinkers, which is utterly pointless as they have been so brainwashed with hurt....
One may say, ehhh... there was a day when

(and the best bit of playing the game of there may be meaning in her[pluralist] s.c. promises..... every single one I have a collateral positive side effect in several ways out of..... i.e. their promises unkempt..I have harvested into something genuinely useful as we shall soon see..)

There was a day, ....one of them...flutterbye meangless lasses which one was it? hmmm....  Indigo something happened last summer..... so many meaningful unplanned encounters I forget good job great diarist...
For several years a song had been on earworm, searchin for one old lost song I mean theyre all daft especially ones that talk of  borderlines that serperate you from me on earworm last night i couldn't even remember who Mitwas bye .... even if my best joke genuine and most enjoyed of all is ' hhahhhh the GREAT song but it has to be the official bootleg version its so rediculously vitriol bitters on you are toast and as for your books i cant even touch them, tart..... of course he still loves her, but there we go.... and as for your million dollars.... blah blah... in an indictment, thats a work of pure performance art meets real weird people in real life I smile at as greatest achievement lasting pleasure...'

There was a day when you knew a truly best song ever, was just a song by a couple of  real wimmin.... who knew what a guitar was for: slappin, hard.....and meanin' it.  And just like the GREAT Joan of the 'darkies' which is what the 'other' lot call them all round ear ~ high priced incomer land now too, dont tell the Guardian advertorial chief,  thats when they arent still goin on about 'gyppos'  who MIbelieve were chased off decades ago...sadly....my only fantasy left after a jolly good ruckin with some sexy old witch perhaps ticked off the bucket list even if even the witches are obscure about if they are one or not nowadays sittin on the fence oppourtunitically awaiting their broomstick to be fixed but no one can find concomitant parts.....would be to look into her gypsy eyes...

And no one would give a fuck whether they were moanining about each other or their roadie.
ANyway that I have no interest in but being my life has also been rather full of metaphorical broken glass for some periods (oh yes tangents no.... if you take ibuprofen which i never have, and have no pills or potions ever in my life unless genuine risk of actual death......  as of course in attempting to inculcate the same in a child in YUK as was my role for many years, they turn it against you and call you a baddie..... and at last the science has come through: you are a +37% was it more times likely to murder your child, or self just cos of a belly ache..... whoo whoop allez vous en which is far ruder than fuck off and die according to my official French translator the magnificent Cecile even if her book about Moroccan men wasnt going too well as she kept sleeping with them and it always ends in tears or often does two cultures rather diverse....blah di...
That radio 4 thinks it can solve by being clever...


(possibly the most meaningful of all meaningfuls

The tramp [thats what she thinks of me .... except she is the only one that knows, alternating between the 80p a cup smiley cafe and the £2 pretend smiles one makes me the only danger to her.... because she knows what that means: i have NO class....], in t'aisles yesteraft: ' god you know [she has only scowled at me for months and now admits to huge rows with her "house guests" up from some Surrey Stately home of course at brekky....wow...is all I can say]...I am so sick of all of, you [ommitted that word] all for the last year trying to out~clever each other....... when its just about spirit, only......  and fuckin creeps like you who never got one small sign saying French wimmin give better pipes {well, technically, in my experience not perfectly true, there was one exception and i seek not any such degrading lipjob either on Youtube or so called offit } because The Left are so busy bitchin about each other and assuming things about people you are too fuckin high and mighty to have a cuppa with and actually make a sign saying the truths that matter.... whereas Nigels camp moved in every weekend so i dont blame Nige, tart, i blame you...... very plural.... and have told lots of tales the last year when i never used to...

Now, no mere weblog chronicle even if Pepys himself had Mantaigne bent over the latters Aga and they were planning on the ultimate post on love death and madness just for chronicling effect and viruses... could do justice to the following true, feeling....
Even if old, wrinkled, filthy rich number one bitch who knows a turncoat, fence shitter, on her type or the other depending on a mere £1.20 deiference as i know she isnt even worth that..... she she never even went to lose the Upper class tart accent... a great song, that actually has powered the chronicles that are still only in draft, for some time, the one
With whom of all of those meaningful encounters, one would and have been imagining with glee....would be the propper partner tangoing in t'aisles .... and muzzlin up against her scrawny neck drippin with posh scent....
' you see....... now we have found the one thing in common, with passion....and for the right reasons...... our fuckin blood you tart..... we are at last, perraps.......welll....no longer enemies any more....me i have none..... and if you would just pipe down.... we could have made something positive of all your negative energy you now have..... whilst reading blogs about fuckin positive....
they dont work... this...... last half an hour of co~rantin hahhhhhh i love you " i cant even touch the dial ....of the clever gits nonsense factory..."
' let us dance...... we alone will not bleed from Nigel's broken campari glasses......  because tbc





Anyway a box full of bits....

And the cobwebs dribblin of the roof down onto the (i didn't say!) local shaggin couch...upon which many a youngster has been spawned if you believe the label they affixed upon it as it was off soon to the tip.
And all I know is that you can believe absolutely nuthin unless three independent sources, not fucked up by said sauce...or other varieties of madness that so often one sees. sadly....
But I met a Horse.......and old time nag. And he told me something which all of capitalism could be brought down with if Mister mcD didnt sit around moaning and trying to sound clever....and inculcating in his disciples stripey trousers and demanding to be thought clever. because it concerns, lines.

And there is one line you don't mess with.  Or else.

But that is 'bad energy'....as Little Miss (well quite tall really) yoga~pants would accuse me of if she gets the chance....
Although, in fact one of the few notes on the cave wall that is only aide memoire: there is one: 'what was her name....I like her'
Now, that could apply to the youngster.....
weds: 'you know honestly.... when she noticed that last month I really really was flumoxed.... I mean noticing things expresses perhaps a care for the fellow human and his dropped shopping list always only a few items.... but I have to admit to that horrid thing which just interferes with pleasure, potterin, and wanderin....and a bit of the odd roam... hope for scabid humanity.....what 'serr name...? and please....your department of the self regarding through the crabbed up legs of your neighbour on the mats planning to steal the local grant money to pay for the "research trip" to the land of the Ashram no doubt, what with all your fancy terms don't ever explain what things actually mean, seekin fuckin meaning in all sorts of nonsense and lost to jargon of The Mat or some other form of exercise thats trendy and you all fall asleep dreaming of monetising to pay for your fancy floss or whatever is the modern more expensive replacement for patchouli ..... me i demand people explain what they mean...and no one can but I do....and i never flatter unless I mean it ...indeed thats the whole point, the word flater is a non word, i know about facts.....no one else is as fabulous as her'
' I know, you mean it...I knew then'
'.....hmmmm....maybe i suppose grudgingly I may posit it may be just down to you an itzy bit....'
If an actually warm radiant genuine meaningful  smile could launch a thousand weblogs......

Anyway where was I. Exactly....
a Week ago exactly....' right that is a quite enough ridiculously meaningful encounters for a lifetime in a year n'abit....several dozen or more...
'. shop is now officially closed, lets get back to enjoying the evil winter gales that require hibernation as no one ever means what they say even in the rural swamps where one may in the past have stuck together a bit.... I like hibernation and horse rugs that keep you alive rather than became currency in that last horrid market town where Parcelforce endlessly show me inside their vans ' ...yep boxes and boxes of expensive wimmins clothes t'day....no, not a  box of books~inbound in sight....' And you have the most ridiculously three or four times a day meaningful encounters. (and i told her, the one, stranger to me and the true enemy of all svelte bottoms and healthy diets.... who brought me over the border, here..... yesteraft... the truth....well, one long held plan, that is..)
Very very very cast iron barbed wire fence bracket open (i don't think wimmin look inside them except to complain or assume, so one may be safe in knowing they won't figure my plan: perraps the key to em is make them know 100% for sure that they even rather fabulous ones are simply one of a load of options...in their own way a range of em just as enjoyable. Wall up:)

But.




I mean talk about as usual so called 'timing'

so poignantly a week too early that I shall leave in the so called.
So there's me a year ago, quite quite correctly: 'yuck especially YUK humanity is so vile and philistine, such that none of em would know what those two words even look like if tattoed across their forrids... and fearful ignore it all, every bit of it and just plod on, potterin, and lime the wise Moroccans just accept entirely that no there isn't a 'throw away' society... just a need for several boxes even if the doctrine of simplify must rule so have as little stuff one depends on as possible, and get good at fixin it ' ...I mean it usually takes just a day or so...
Tidy up after the most benign winter of only one windy night and benign warmth and hardly any rain despite the extreme~o'philes of the weather reports....
But she the silver Foxy, came.....
A week to early.
And probably thinks I am an eccentric old tramp whom would leave his cobwebs up sat there smoking his pipe all day wondering at their artistic insight into the web of deceit and its all just random where you put your foot. And which pile of crap is riddled with canine toxoplasmicity, that they moan about even on farming today so so fearfully....Which even if its all I yearn for, regrettably I cannot be.






A woman...no longer, despite her surfeit of longness....

scorned.
And full of it.

Anyway all I care about in life is fixin. Well, that and thirty miles of walks a week....
And my nasty soul.
Because if it was not then it would be her....
But lets get back to her already glimpsed, well, the disgrace at the sexist advertorialisng of T'O~op.....: 'luv.... I mean thirty years ago it was illegal to brand breasts with some kind of slogan selling stuff surely here of all places.....'
'ear, look you can see how it makes my breast dysfunction disorder one bigger than t'other  even more prominent...'
'ehh...I have just spent five minutes trying not to look at em as thats what the fascist hypocritical  bastards brandin themselves as the so called ethical want me to do....or dont or.... furthermore they will put me off my breakfast...'

But yesterrlunchtime she was so sad. And hurting.
This time not the mountains of flab and spots.
Not even (the rural disease:) that there was no one with long enough arms to reach behind her mountain of lard and scratch the hard to get to ones forrer.... But I meant it.
I mean.

SO all I care about is over a period
(hahhh hahhh now there is nuthin better than taunting your dentist~ a year ago ' I BEAT your nasty fuckin system you mercantile little homo....
'forty years your lot have been tryin to sell floss to us....
' never mind making us feel small and lesser if we are too lazy or have better things to do than put up with ourselves in the mirror fartin around and fiddlin with little strings......
'well matey....... science of The Fox has at last come to my rescue
' And whilst it is true that I tell them all...... there is one man who sticks it in..... and gives a little squirt with such beautiful artistry and skill you never even feel him pull it out after he has had his wicked way.....[actually true i would not lie about what has them i tears]
'I fuckin won..... beat the systems won battled on through..... touche here sit on this finger you beared smartarse.....wow....you are kiddin, this fascist little dump has promoted a fuckin foreigner to near boss...... pathetic, you are so good, that you arent actually boss yet just shows why we should send you all back... but if they ever threaten  here I'm on my knee and she can be witness, I will same sex fake it ...whatever it takes to keep you here..... you know that only you and I know what love is....based on respect, pure Greek philosophical being above all mere feelings like your little prick...... we taunt the gods especially Athene on your couch that is where real men either cry or laugh...' )


So, even if the saddest thing the last year'nabit is her.....

I mean, what a 'meaningful' ditty.....
But the most poignan t'uvall.... : ' look luv, now me handing this over, it is not me, but its all fuckin towny books nowadays......I mean ...I mean..... look, what i want in return is please tell me is there one book with a stoic babe in chapter one the rope around her neck and she is 199% certain its time......cos these societies are nuthin but saccharine cupcakes....
'.... and sad old tarts who think that walking down my high st (Lower O) with a fancy plate of em is what the meaning of life has become.....
' when no one actually does anything about the plague of so called mental health issues....
' which as sure as ferrets are ferrets scrappin in her Knickers for a whiff of what may or may not be up goin on in that other...... or is it some other over the fence?
' anyway look luv.... please....is there a book as fuckin pee dribblin brilliant in every chapter with a BABE in charge of the plotting the narrative journey over to curation central...'
' Cos I neeed one.....just one..... I mean a year of dallyin, and just half a one would do..... a good female hero.... role model et cet......

So she sends it back.


Wednesday, 15 March 2017

oh twice in two minutes.....

Now the only thing that has been 'populist'erised in the last six or so months is that the media even the Beardie herself have found a popular word that they are now licensed to use on everyone almost which is a tautology of dramatic piles of twats especially as now even a most berefet twitter of so called 'social' tab on gmail associated with this otherwise unused so called identity is so full of daily millions of clever lines on one ex violent mafia boss which is what all profiteers from gambling always have been..... never mind selling tickets to see bimbos be bimbos..... (even El Mog last summer i stood next to her oohhing and ahhing at the Queen of Plastered makeup...i call that narcissism in fact i bet there are Moggish quips in her cannon about feminism et cet...but then anyone who hand sout photos from 15 years ago for her PR I think we can call at least verging on too boring and outree or fey or fuckin predictable, to be a real narcissist.....)

But what I do call narcissist is a so so so so called journalist who picks up a Mike and interviews for about seven hours some daft bint who could not figure immediately.....ehhh some supposed ex
Noh lets put that as it should be: that it is really very very shabby to come up with all sorts of clever little chirpy theories about a bloke who pisses off and then gambles away many a hundred a day... they could never afford.....
A bad 'un...lost beyond reason...or maybe memory loss or not....
But it is the journalists who in fact have no memory...of every single study ever which says that if New labour never mind hand holding Theryfiying how ranty ... relax the many decades common sense restriction on gambin yer cash away....  they probably even reported on themselves as cubs....
And surely about a billion twits a minute if my harassment folder from the owners of the sites are anything to go by everyone repeating same nonsemnse without ever mentioning anything other than cleverisms and the N word..... regarding a fat old ex part mobster who one is quite sure would ned a dictionary to understand its meaning....
rather than join a dot: put a narcissistic young journalist in charge of Mike and he will foirget that everyone knew years ago people who are weak go bad and gambling is just as.....  and sorry, luv, stop taking up precious airwaves...... you have had it. period..... At best it will take him a decade to grow up if he has a nipper and still mad as this .....as are the not far off majority....emigrate luv... if you really do care about your kid.

and fat old men who profit  and hold hands whether in the sunshine, behind towny gloves or not....certainly could not give a toss about any news....
Narcissism define: a first timer actually on it. On his channel or was it hers yes a 'hers' of course.....May listen to a bit of grown up advice. 'Shut up, you have a huge problem. Cut....'
' And for your kids sake as there is quite quite standard psychology, find someone who can talk with you on an adult level about problems that only immature ejits have.......  and for gods sake mean it when you befriend them. because as sure as ferrets are ferrets....
tee bee cee...



Pollution....

It was t'bee a'titled: Botts....mere
Or something similar even poor old Julian sweats over.
And apart from my own really very minor moral dilemma ascertained six month sishago.... I have no quandaries at all. But I have done the work....... a lot of it, before the gob is opened.

Anyway ooooh thats fun luv....(she is actually electrocuting my bare thigh, she never gives up ~ but I persist...) which is an excellent memory jogger for the fact that  so called On~Herrs..... I mean the English condition, and I am quite sure it is far more masochistic in mere Scotland, which is what she has really tapped into....splendid lass, whatever it takes, luv (that is a GREAT compliment in mine, books or not), one does have to be honest ~ without total honesty and no shame then the youngsters don't know which goalpost to infect with viral dry rot and take down.... IO mean even in my day quite (miraculously) well adjusted young men would actually seel out the wire seperating you from me dear Sheepie.... and pull out ones little plonker and get a genuine thrill from the free pain on tap, tick tick about every two or three seconds from the electric fence o'meter..... thus allowing  said woolly ones to breathe freely until some other so called National came by on his bicycle.

Hmm all this 'so called' apart from being trite, is in fact taking up a lot of time, and as I enjoy every second of every day especially when under the cirx....and especially when being tortured at her microphone... that doesn't work.....
(even if I were the healthiest beast on the planet I think I would have to omit that truth on that a tad, because I so long for a rematch....  it was the definition, of the so called 'sublime'... the nice version that death cult, light hating, up all night no doubt making themselves ill, and weird [because there is a definition of it even if The World service has defined the entry fee as come on and moan and speak from our script echoing around rather than as they occasionally managed a decade ago come up with some amazing big black mamma riddled with AIDS who decided free speech in a place where in fact she may well get really culled off, by her neighbours.... would most most impress one person tuned in that night, up already preparing the day for a kid cos preparation and organisation is the only key to freedom unless you are a big black mamma and dont have any of the new fangled nonsense and just your eyes.... to look into those of your oppressor or hater with - a real hater that is, i.e. one who is about to attempt to do actions rather than words, chopping off all those nasty AIDS infected bits she was so rightly proud to tell the world about....to make it riguerree...instead of Guuerre on errr.....for even hintin it, in her peeps...),  Wikipedia editors fail to bother with....
So, in future just imagine and imaginary so called as silent sc within or between or after perraps if one is trying to poise for graceful effect...no Green politician or Libdem for that matter van ever any more manage.

(Tip, as it slices through her real courageous forearm, or my calf and no one acted..... the exact opposite of being at peace is needing to be in control, or in fact overthrow sane practices as a few do indeed fall in with the old fashioned common sense test, never mind being the few bits of Psychology that I think even the nasties money grabbing arm of that pseudo label factory, would concur I think we can say are universal traits or indeed rules: When a whole generation, of a whole people, even paid fairly well to go onto the public stage and say yheir lines, they all of course especially on farming Today pretend is not actually the traceability of their putrid cropping system ... have taken to speaking so so fast they actually cannot be heard, and i have superb ears... it is in standard psych terms in fact the opposite of confidence. It is just like self harm, or pretending to be good with devices which most of them aint, cos that takes a real reason to carefully work out whats the what.... that only a cause can bring, i.e. eating, or a home~brew Giant to feed ... it is a desperate cry for help always evident in a wish to control or overthrow....control agendas by speed rather than content, or stab back at a whole horrid fey ferral generation by speaking a language different. And they dont have the actual imagination or education to construct a real new one so as to truly piss off their mad angry lost forebearers, so they take the lazy option and speed up the current one....
Which makes them neither smart or in any way advanced, its all just terribly sad that most of them are so sick as control in all its forms  is the most reliable of psych symptoms I am sure even DSM three and a bit or whatever we are on now can find a bit of genuine empathy in respect of.....all those who ....no I shall not lower myself to yet another tritest triteism v signal.....
exactly: without indeed knowing what virtue may be, for real....cos it takes years and years to experiment, what may indeed actually keep you awake at night.....and then honest talks with your only friend left, the mirror....
By jumping on whatever has of late come out of the fools of Labour central brainwashed launderette unit or Woolly Polly moan without mentioning the other side - the up one.... is indeed stick the v sign up to your own sanity never mind everything else.....which is exactly what damaged by so much trauma, and ruined by so much crass media and their fat mad parents' soap operas , young folk, and brainwashed that a digit matters..... are about. There is only one signal that matters, and that is one fabulous upstuck finger. period or not.
And you can take that whatever way you want....me I have forever only one gorgeous image behind one digit held high one Autumnal afternoon .... neigh it was most ....
There is me being a moron, I realised earlier. Of course this is not knew. Short Childless crazy wimmin, so she should be called Lady Baronest ayt least when i drag her down to the warmer climes down south... hmm the only truly interesting q is I wonder if she wastes her time shaving like the poor lambs seem to think is compulsory and have for seven odd years...me i like a bit of hair ........ I mean all that last year 'forty years aniversary' typical mysoginist white trash....

Le Punk Roc was not even invented by Plastic Bertie...or the other ones they gpo on about, from that vaguely sane place....even if I have a ghost on my (only visited about every 3 months please just to see if she has divorced him yet...t'Book  ... I mean despite being so called Friends....for about thirty years....and one of a select few official ones cos if it says so on your screen of course it is true..... she ignored my genuine request, but didn't block me, allowing me to see her marry the nerd instead and all those perfect Froggy bourgeois photos of cream covered croisants on their sun terrace with petis fuckin fous ........ thats the French for you....fabulous.
But I am more fabulous: the key is not actually even looking.   Or to put it another way, phhhhh she was a mere one of three.... a rational person has plan A. B and C...... while waiting for Zeee to never come cos its so boring so I would not actually care if I expire now....
Except I hate waste, and all arrangements have not been made.....
And as for err...... Little Miss its all fine and dandy being a bit wise with yer 'fit dunnee kill yerr 'Tull make you stronger....' and reading my mind and only a few can do that not that I believe even in the H of Hocus Pocus cos thats as boring as thinking you know the future, or that your business is great or that your pension will of course always be treble locked away and we are not double bankrupt....
Hahh MNiss take ... I was wrong even if amortisation I think can cover the indeed 61% of GDP over there but then they do have to pay for a fuckin war.... bankrupt WITHout any invasions other than a few mad crazed lads who watched to much Rambo or othersuch hardly counts....

But before I write a poem about that one....
Botts, that is my mere browsers or glancers or scanners or whomsoever has found this which has to be read from the beginning near seven years ago to make the slightest bit of sense so.... there are also Conditions about the Terms... which are in shortform though it is so much more interesting, civilans, and those not quite so.... I think ALL youngerish folk below about 35 one would never in any way even hint at whom they may well be (they cannot say of course which is not sickness control disease, its that the culture went and confused it so, they have utterly no idea..... so we let them off even a hint of whom they may be if anyone does ever find out.
And hence (this being even sadder) one does not even slightly hint at any kind of place, role, whatever.... because ... I mean i think, its a 'think' someone set up a blog chronicle exposee of 'me' seven years ago....fuuny that as apart from one youthful person no one knows.... at all....as mo potential journalistically inclined person actually ever spent even one moment in my company so.....
But there is a greater work of art than that one, tis the certainty from day one..... I have not got a moment to waste even reading beyond the url. SO never bothered.....
But there are further parables in that aspect of actually not existing, that are far wiser ..later
Those older, well.....
You would have thought they would be sane enough to recall schoolyard stuff of 'sticks and stones...' but also I mean take Julian ah yes the only actual troubling thing I have encountered for some years (all else being most predictable, or planned for at least, so being wise helps, and nuthin ever in any way irks me at all even if so many rediculously meaningful encounters for fourteen months, despite wishing NONE thank you very much):
yes George Orwell is fabulous yes (even if rather dour by dint of being ex public school boy emotional retard who sat inside when it was nice and sunny smoking himself to death...and English...Mister T berbhard far far more lethally cutting...probably because he liked humanity so was challending her to get her fuckin act together ...
But leave such things for other days..... But Julian's book..... on Julian...
Now of course I follow some events merely to confirm the whole world went American some years ago, which is the definition of suing everyone, so I am not thanks I have so many ground sits daft over the years....
 And keep extremely accurate diaries. Just for fun occasionally...
(that 'occasionally' is the key to peace by the way so pay attention)

A I dont like pasty skinned nerdy types, B etc..... andd those not wise enough to know that as the science has categorically stated for a decade or so that lots of screen time, lots of up late, lots of time zone switching does make you bleak and illish by any sane definition..... prone to hypodramatic bolllox dressed up in a evil nasty Bott no doubt. And having indeed worked with a few quite closely on matters which required subtle pleasanteries, actually taking advice from experts, and compromise with exs regarding children con ceived once in love.....  they all no better, the judges tell em they dont, and i go ergo...cows Ive spent months telling em exactly what the judge will say... thats the 75% not actually doing drugs all the time.... off envelopes stamped with some random postcode too...
People whom, type...cannot be wise. Ergo.  Unless it is insightfully  doing so whilst witing for other things to happen ten times more fun. And ok fair enough ALL these 'type A' types as we used to call them before some sick parentally alienated no doubt, control freak decided to update that word,  are going to fall out, rip each other off, vye for glory, or if you are Guardian, be so sneaky its untrue, which is worse, as you pretend to be ethical and sell your drug with that as top marketing spiv byeline.... a bit like T's T'O'op....
So I believe every word about dodgy duplicitous skuldiggery in the pre publication process .... but Little Footstamping Diss owner....... surely an exhibit for the persecution because to demand your toys back youve thrown out of the pram and hit a bullseye with such wise grace every time..... I mean few writers since David herbert Bates [discussing yest at the shelves with old baggiush]  get me whoop whooping.... Indeed I would say more whistfully 'philosophical' even than the fabulous fact man Pilgers....
And he wanted it back...I do not get it.
And one could posit it is almost as Narcissistic Personality Disorder as the slightly less famous so called julian who gets an officuila communiquee in about his quite a few years step dad who was drinkin his housing benefit away, too alcohol crazed to even admit it, even to the judge....  (LIFE TOO SHORT to call em the glorious so called, i need an assistant I am in such a good mood....always...)...ill, if thats what dimenshire [i can never spell and Miss Oggle has it too or that will be her excuse for not being able to slightly recognise it in spell check so I am damned if I can be bothered to open another tab and wick_it...is mixed in with pink Camparishire, and in loive with Nigelshire....and also spent all his Housing benefit on a lookalike blazer....
But thats old folk....
Younger ones who press release how they are about to save the world..... and yet cant even be bothered with all the possible millions left, not pay a few quid to house the step til the Council divert the old UKippers HB to them rather than the pub and blazer (and UKIP national meetins council whatever) .. or think about helping set up the necessary old folks doss house admission ... I certainly do call a rather more dangerous form of NPD.... cos it makes absolutely no sense, I mean you would have to be banking on worldwide fascist supremacy forever such that all memoirs vaguely true were oppressed forever ...of has he no kids? .... typical... there is a pattern of course.
Andrea was a bit right.....
Oh yes silly me... the a bit wise Julian does have them! I forgot...I always respect a man whom puts their kids in the text its the only reason really to bother carrying on, no matter what..... unless they kill us, which is just another expression of wonky ;ove etc circles turn on their wheels of fire that the fairies came and put out and turned into ununderstandable nonsense....
So there isn't any point getting up.

Anyway the above is only to illustrate a point, which is that only people whom clearly plan to continue to peddle their gobby nonsense over the parrapets ever 'deserve' to be identified...
that certainly involves for example one P Florence as I am quite sure it is in his archive which nasty bastard set the BBC on him...errata them...for embarassing my people by selling his festival to EOS First Class ONLY airlines..... while taking millions from Porrit and Monbiot luvvie fans for the tickets to see said so called  intelligent folk (they so hate me,... I made it official 18 mths ago ' god it is so so easy in fact clearly NPD to preach to the converted...... and be terrified of even thinking of widening it out a bit...' Me, i would ignore the even if running at me with an uncapped lance....
Which is all you can do with truly ultra NPD types..... because of course they cannot even bear their won words being read outside their clique....which is NOT meant at any person called Assange because I have been to busy with the sunshine to study anything in that world....
However, a very very very good book is for passing on....... and it was not only saved to do just that... but en~route shown to a superbly wise woman as example of not judging any book by his cover.
And hence actions and words diverge...I only pass on a very very carefully curated collection of books....to very very special people.....
VERY....
EXTREMELY....
But to keep to the point and not fly off on such enjoyable tangents, and dreams....

Sadly even J the a bit sane one cannot get!!: Ok we can have fun pulling tongues at Mister Big james Bonding his way forever through the air gaps and infecting everyone blah blah..... BUt a wise man must give away ALL his secrets (as i discovered in other blog some was it really five years back..)  in war... there is only one that matters: winnning by being honest. And surely he must have picked up by now a tad of it I was most fortunate to have to process in mid last decade...
Ok the schoolboy version is 'hahhh one can Miss Inform and spread false plots...tee hee naughty wee....'.
But the adult c=version is that once there is even the one chance in a billion fuckin bits of nonsense that someone may be dropping down from yer eaves and using your words against you.... it is freedom. It means after you get overa  year or so of being pissed off, moody, glum, and even a bit stressed.....  you realise that since there is no longer a word 'never' in respect of privacy ... freedom abounds in dancing the Jig with Miss F Accompli..... and knowing any word uttered.... must be you. Or perhaps even accountable..... as long as in fuckin context...which will be the only battlefield of the future and to listen to them ~ PRs from one useless tech or t'other trying to groom their press release and line to make them sound in control..... is not ever worth even bothering to record its so sad.....

But....
I know sortof tons of folk who frankly are sad and lost and dont belong...anywhere. And imagine issues or what people are or in fact all just look for trouble. As they know not the only one reason to live away from most or many of them...my hills.  But a fool who seeks no public money or public regard, or to genuinely influence.... is of course civilian and never mentionable in any detail likely to cause 'Hi Dee!'
I don't know any Dees so exactly, a false trail.
I do know some people I would like at my funeral  cos they can take a joke or so..... and there are some clues that only they would ascertain lead to their playlists at least .... but I dont care I will be getting my fair share of Raisinal Virgins cos I am the only one I know saying No not all terrorists are Musslemen as you quip off some crap telly, indeed all so called terrorists are just yet another extemporisation on the unemployable public school boys looking for extra funding when the only way to actually deal with so called them is ban all crap violent telly and tll em to go home and make friends with their dad...a bit...nown again at least as the finest journalist i have heard, an actual Mosie as he likely went to the Mosque said that was the real issue.... and i trust him.
Plus look the truth is even the ones who wore RAR badges my day they were a bit ignoring of the so called Pakki Shop....
We had a blind spot. Institutionalised and maximised when the famous one turned out to like to sniff the boys pants in his launderette.... I mean no one looked for wise young voices from The Swat or up other deadend cultural valleys of weirdness and body fetish........
All knew it was never possible to find true grit, spunk by the oxcart load, wisdom..... and best self depricating jokes ever from anyone never mind a nipper.....
from below a headscalf.... no mere name was ever on the map (although her Prs really do need a letter or ten i.e. as many emails i get a week from them which never works...even prospect seem not to understand that old addage..... funny old world.... as I think some things have not changed...

Anyway the point, there is great care in relating any actual details to any actual people...and as for those whom if there was a 'plan' to Noonan~like expose... the many worthies [oh yes old baggs and I yest were in loud whoops in the carpark about their mindfulness classes and approach rather than getting the fuck outdoors where they live, and real dirt between the fingernails ...anything else being torture, for someones cashbox.... be claro.....
In ANY weather.... because thats what weather is for....weatherin it out...and then you feel good about it.
 thing is ... it is my duty as I have so much material it is rediculous......and no one can argue with, not even pious Private Eye... But there is only one actual point of living literature and that is to have a conversation (oooh that word suddenly became rather popular a few weeks back....   ) with ones so called victims.... but the thing is if one cannot even handle a basic truth along Einstinnian lines of ehh if you have been having these cute little cliquefests for years and in deed your...[official if they claim it in their name for gods sake] environment continues to be absused more than ever especially by tourists going to festivals about nice countryside and saving it....
Well, ehhh...... as the business of all institutions is to actually put themselves out of business (oops that was meant for earlier, this lot would not understand that fact so they will fume even more here) .... I mean at least do a  report or something summing up local grown up reports by real people with actual minds, who report all is not well......  you don't have to say even 'oops...' Just deal in fuckin facts....

Anyway there is not much point naming any of these people who not only take but only exist by dint of a bit of public money, because they deny that too! Or at the very least complicate it with Messianic nonsense..... I mean at least some long gone myth managed to save on little lost fuckin lamb ....
Because we dont want to feed their narco personal disorders any further by maybe one of em Miss Reading and thinking its not actually their fault.....
I mean ask those brave Bolivian babes facing gun barrels and real CIA fuelled hate..... that often did result in death or torture of the firstborn, theirs..... Wimmins hr i bet haven't done a piece on as envy is a curious old euphemism for shame.....
I mean jen having redefined 'real wimmin'....... I think thats very very nasty.... because there are some. They wont define.
Errr....go and ....

Anyway where was I oh yes... being entirely open about absolutely everything big black mamma of Kenya ish was willing to die for her right to spread gossip about herself...to allay gossip..or ignorance...or people KNOWINg that their secrets will not get out.,...which always hurts deep down as most do sooner or later so preparing to defend or politic or whatever turns you on is called being grown up and soulful...
Pretending you know why one should have 'privacy' especially when it has in fact gone unless you are a very very expensive case such as Vennables or Al.... is reALLY REALLY DAFT AND IN FACT JUST ANOTHER SYMPTOM OF THE SICKNESS THAT LYING AWAY WORRYING ABOUT WHAT TO GET OUT OR LET OUT OR MAY BE TWEETED.... ACCIDENTAL CAPITALS FAR TOO BUSY TO DECAP...
And your head stays far far less tossing from side to side never mind fully on if there is utterly nothing that anyone can tell tales or gossip or ASSume about some words cos either GCHQ have you on speaker phone all day and night or you have taught yourself to not only speak, but exist, within a perfectly legit paradigm.....entirely....always .....
And furthermore know that unless you know someone really rather quite well you have utterly no idea anything REAL about them or their dreams or their fears or other such so what some likely strangerish may have to even poist about some other is not worth reading ever.....
So what the fuck if ones name appears there here anywhere else......
All that matters is Julian has a good reputation for not telling tales on his feeders.....   period.
I hope there is a paragraph in his book about just that: what REALLY matters, is anone, evberyone should learn, above all. To communicate. ' Dont say x or y ever please ...' is in fact truly HNOURING another and i honour few. It is called trust. And it is one facet far far more worthy than even the most gorgeous grey splattered thatch..... '
Not even my so called Christian elder, long known, so called reader of proper books including the wise Coetzee....friend..../ knew that! Fuckin ell....give up forever... there is no hope. ever.....
I do have beautiful evidence of why not.
And i do know that the ultimate damaged control freaks need to prove EVERYthing...wrong.....always.
So logic states as i know they read a bit. They must come and duel!   Beyond that boring dustbowl of an unwatered duelling pitch on top of f fuckin mountain which isnt even grown up enough to cope with a dustin of snow nownagain..... if you believe the towny gits who cant get a real job as a proper investigator which always means you have to live within the walls of your most hostile subjects compounds....
Or in my case (where i live  - regionwise that is meaning for those who cannot read at least 10 mile circle in all directions and that includes the mddest place of all where they pretend to nowadays be as ethical and perfect as Snottin Wye on~on~something...pure ignorance is the enemy i know i test regularly it is scary so there i

oh yes i had a joke..it is good. later. And the whole point is even if it were true and i was writing out my insurance claim ' cmmonnnn.... i can't tell that truth make summat up!!! help me....
'If I write " sorry muster insurance company i dropped it down the bog whilst taking selfies of me puking up down the same place....."...there is simply no way they will buy it....
.......off me even with the smell yes i may have pasted on afterwards....
But, unless yer rather good with DBAN or Dariks Boot and Nukers if you must..... or whatever similar maybe works on the so called smart set....

'luv.... you see.... just maybe it was on, or GCHQ had your mice live as the sound of the spray and gurgle....... so you see you cannot tell some other story that doesnt at least fit in with that maybe recorded version......
so just tell the truth.......and then you wont have to worry if its a fraud or not..... or within the ts and cs..... not only may they be able to disprove almost any so called lie....if they have your data back....
But that theres the slightest chance of course is freedom..... from cheatin, up at night worryin about cheatin......

Never mind, one cannot 'claim' i would not have it any other way for seven years and a bit.....
All that matters is I just wrote that without even thinking....
And it made me piddle down my leg when i sat back in the sun and pondred.....
I could not do that even three years back.
That is what a Black fuckin mamma Swan is.....
Im fuckin possible....
But she [cos only such a brave cotrageous bitch can be female too] changes you.
Always
is the opposite of course of 'never'.
Only one is actually true.



































But a real real real one......

' "arrogance"...trying to be so clever...sour grins they dare not show....as a European stuck ear sortof....let me give yer a tip......  even the frogs knew when i was your age.... the so called English...... why they must always be so fuckin sitting on top t'apple cart and better than the rot ..... Nige..... Naughty Knickers rantin in pinky red tops trying to be a Maggie in a Mini.....it's all only cos they are so weird and always have been....about
sex....'

I know only one true intellectual.
That young mind and sort of neighbour once of Draccers.....
And she did not need any clever analysis of what is in fact reality..... :
'Too right.....'
' SO if you need to go off and shag the world to make up for being stuck ear these years....well, being as there is not just you....we need some good paperwork backing up all that evidence of genuine sanity I immediately gleaned as I can tell, and look..... in fact maybe that should be the true opening line of the position statement; after all So called Onerrs do know about one thing we all know..... they can only get it up alf of em based on some weird English version of so called sex.....
'which isnt sex in either of our books.... '
Ergo....what a loverly word.


Mind you.....

A really REAL Real woman....

would just stand (even Scientist man yestermorn said that fuckin Natalie Lucas thingy Oddjobshare tart.....if she just stuck her fuckin legs up on Humph's desk and slowed down so we could hear her and lite her pipe lite like Kenneth Sir Clark marks on em...and "chill".......[it worked, fuck he was HARD work...... ])

Could tweet it in just a few words....

Thery luv, errrr.....you and your so so sour grins...... who's got all the nukes

Twat two:  don't think they turn around either....


I mean I have no interest in anyone outside my own even better than the original...

...Living version of The Woodlanders on Drugs....
Interspersed with a LOT of time at Upper Office which is up in the not snowy, nor extremely stormy,  peaks above them all....
Always stating never ever ever again bother with drug infested Lower Office...

And only interested in sharing it..Mid and Upper, but in truth Lower too, however don't tell anyone that ..as itz all luverly.... and one meets the most interesting wimmin over the elbow padded jacket rack, no fifty pee max! don't care whats on trend, message, or fuckin T'Book..... poor is dirt, and no choice. Which is freedom.
(But where to have ones body parts fed to the Foxes on expiry date? all waste being waste, I still cannot decide...)

But I mean, the meaning.....
Full of contradictions too hard to figure for at least three more years so the ultimate paradox they'll be munched up with my big toe...
Sideissue: I really should be starting the third chronicle tomorrow i think it is seventh aniversary of Pipe day if I recall.... a fine day of turning ones back, really rather Gahndiish but don't tell anyone that I never thought I had that in me all that theory all very well...hence every moment must be as 'twas as the net effect is all that matters, in all sorts of 'if it doesn't kill you' ways...
Even if all references to number to be American as The World service is by default now so a once a month up at 3am to consolidate all down to perfect zen~nuthin.... (thats the only allowed use of that word spesh as even The Lady cannot admit sadly it seems it didn't ....work...in respect of her fellow countrymen and their children copped to bits for not having the right coloured prayer mat, or is it facing in the so called right direction? one loses all sense of anything never mind direction.......)

The meaning..... I mean i know the fairer sex (that will get confusing when all seven new ones have to josh for a nickname... but then the worthy never had a sense of humour so one supposes that will be offensive too even if it is a nice one.... )and if one were to sum one really rather Neanderthal aspect, it is that Minds can never be changed, Ever. Which is curious as it is in fact the whole one simplest cause and effect of civilisation itself.
Anyway, so working out the equations: One huffy little thing stated clearly her purpose, to the death quite clearly....
One nasty taller one stating hers.
The two purposes are cross.

Well, I don't give a flying fuck about the sickest Affluenza ridden dystopia on the face of the Planet (Yorkie babe said before I did and she is sane and a triple mum) and especially the bit of it that should be re~walled off to keep the dour hairspray and pink frock addicted Mars bar munchers (talk of which how interesting, that Mister D Davis eats half a packet of sugar a day.... never mind working for Big Sugga for so long.... I think that sums it up really)
But these so called young people (maybe thats the best line: no longer able not to be so so knowingly old....old folk just die, period, and according to Babes Hour probably die of them too.... or at least should have some NHS time discussing so called inteligent solutions..... rather than like it or fuckin lump it hysterectomies were invented decades ago... and leave NHS time for people actually dying .. as even the rich did actually know was the definition of society before the fuckin sky fairy lot invaded from America even herefordshire ...and young people failed to notice that in recent history they were rightly derided and sometimes even spat at.... not that one would encourage any form of so called violence in any way being a 100% turn your back on the Pipe pacifist, so a clever version of that would be just nationally en~bloc turn your back on em always until they get it shut the fuck up about stoneage superseded so called belief systems and find a better one that works....which certainly isnt one where seven year cycles may be for anything other than clearing out of ones head all the wonky past babes who could not be as brave and genuinely mad as that wee dwarf who defines sexy by being genuine.... there is no one way or t'other... there is just my way..... or in her case hers ... )

ANyway the equation: none of em ever once they KNOW the way, turn around, and being as they know the way before anyone has even mentioned their actual plan plot path that is the definition of Quantum mechanics gone backwards.
It is utterly imposible they change their mind once gob or email has been engaged. Excellent.
They cannot forgive...let us hope it does not translate into Glasgee.....
So, fabulous..... round two....and three... til the bitter bloodbath scowling end.... splendid.

But thats all very well. The only problem is no one else has any imagination, especially the poor over 'professionalised' youth or even under 45s ....
Because there is only one logical necessity in a corner of the earth thats lost the plot long ago and no journalist can even manage a '  err...its cos they all watch agressive Sopranoish consumerist bloody revenge telly and soaps day in and pout of course they cant think any more other than within that blue print the paradigms by robots...model....of tarts and titjobs.... et cet errr ahhh....
And wimmin are not stupid they know that the option to show off yer latest pair at the streetcorner cafe that is where L'Oriel used to be as sure as 'ferrets are fightin in a sack' I think we had within a few hours of her preemptive attack... oh PLEASE let me watch ....
Costs cash....so much of it.

' OWW...... please, hug..... we are sworn enemies...now even more so as the rerun may be a bit saner so the steak knives need a sharpenin such that every car tyre wall of any neighsayer needs to be fed into the GPS coordinates of in~but central's suite of Apps and other such nonsense as all votes have to be grabbed, slept with, blackmailed, or otherwise generally worked rather hard for which NO fuckin Greens or so called lefties, liberals or other Messy progressives can manage as they are far too busy discussing the so called bad vibes and failure to go to Mandatory Mindfulness classes, of their so called allies so never actually have any time to stab them in the back as the plan is.......... blah blah...'

' If the young had a backbone....... fuckin ead North...Kidnap err.... storm the turrets of the fraudulent old bag and ok as pacifist we can't "do a Romanovs " on err but at least make err hand hoe the vegetable patch with a chain on her ankle for the rest of err life it would take to repay what she owes....and her family....all of em.....
'And lock em all in a cage with hollybush Babs for the night that'll really make em repent and celebrate 100 years to the day near enough ...
' And having abducted an actual one worthy of title, not just titular either...... and stuck err in the top turret .... until that horrid dye has grown out at least....
' Well.... we may have some friends across the water once more at the very least.... blah blah..... blah....

SO, hmmm....two babes short or tall who have made their mind up, already refuse to chat when they promised they would......
hahh .... here is me six months ago i smashed up all my wirelesses as an act of performance performance....
Eyezzz gonna have to fuckin fix em all again....
Cos even I had given up...... thinking.
I did not forget My Heron...... cycling up, no brakes left all worn out.....
On the down bit neither
Smiling......  at how all those lost clicks, being the Shearman I saw his so called version of a Mister Gray...sorry David Gray songs are reserved for grownups whom can spell Truth Stings....
Cages of Tradition
Plastic Innocence (Ed)
Corridors of Rigmarole
The Looking Glass that Flatters YOO....

And its all his fuckin fault for havin lines about Rottweillers and children playing together as this land just became so bimbile I am quite sure that a constituency assumed that was a chilrearing tip.....

 are of course,  unable to know only one line ever mattered......even the fuckin so called Christians far more death cult than so called Otherjobs..... knew that



Now.... there is  a GREAT....woman,  Tory lite or not.....
My plan to die for her......can begin.
Good job I've wasted seven years planning for her, not to ever exist.