It’s here again, I’m spared again and today is the greatest and today is the latest. I secede from fear, from hate, from pain, and know now freely that I’ll never go through this again.

But night is lurking, I see it on the horizon. Watching me always so intently and with quiet determined menace it knows I know and it wants to come and hurt me now. I live in shock from the darkness and hatred and I wish this wasn’t the way.

Lightness brightness empty streets offices crammed with people, slaves, like octopi you wonder why they put themselves through the mill day after day after day to sustain this machine, this grey empty concrete machine, stained and rusted, jaded, mutilated, dark and heavy, crushing, smashing, patiently waiting.

They move, I see it, through the streets, through the waking hours, through the despair that is this city, this colourless land, so bland, so drab. Commuting, polluting, disputing, looting and shooting, planning and jamming and sustaining the cycle, a trickle of hope leaks out and flushes through my dreams.

One day I’ll emerge wearing a paper crown and everybody will bow down, they’ll worship me from near from far but no-one will question why.

The shuffling king, making his way along the road, afraid but commanding, sincere but demanding, followed and hollowed, a cloak of dreams upon his back, he smiles and gracefully accepts the bows and flowers, hours pass, city turns to grass, a long way from home, a long way from here.

Mist and dust, the dark unjust, the cats creep the cats slink the night blue deep like walls of ink, the missing link, the missing hour, so much for wisdom so much for power, they glower they glare, like bones on a broken chair. So many stories still to be told, behold! The violence is rising! The hour is upon us! The night has returned!

Yes, the night is with us once more, and people only think of the blood and the gore, best to stay safe behind your door, for the night is upon us and before the day returns such violence and hatred will be visited upon us that we will emerge shellshocked and bitten and smitten by the sun. We will emerge and run, embracing the day, but always aware and always afraid.

Sickness. Growing sickness. In a world of parasitic twists and corrupt virtues we struggle to gain a foothold in the dirt. Gaping chasms are our birthright. Holes or slopes. A fascinating arsenal of lobbyists are here to rob us of what even we don't want. Vultures aren't picky. This is all carcass now. Negative actions are always first class. And soon... I will arrive in the city for another day of labour.

Another day. Can it go on? Can't the sun refuse to shine? Can cold not drift into our hearts and freeze our souls? Ice blue. But then a moment of splendour - a field of cows. Shocked back into reality I come face to face with myself. Awash with myth and insanity... Traces flood my bloodstream. A welcome distortion comes my way again.

And finally it ends. Paranoid fantasies or illusion of fact? Even giants reach their limits. Like a horse that refuses, Pandora got her lot. Sunk down and suffering. Drunk on a cocktail of cheap perfume and fine wine. Microscopic androgynes... A collision of stars, galactic heavyweights joust, box, stop then collapse. Collapsing rogues rejoice. Picked clean.

That's gotta be typo of the year... hasn't it?

I am hurting today. Hurting from all the want. All the hunger and pain and fear that comes my way. Sometimes I get so cold that I find myself unable to move, and nothing can ever warm me. It would be so easy to just stop in the final moment and just wait.

You just wait and see. Taking screams and manipulating them. If God is love then what am I? I am hate. I don't love God. I don't hate God. I have no belief in God. Take this cloak and cast it far away. I am no free ticket. Grey steel, grey stone, grey sky. 665 is the number of the yeast.

Skeletal limbs stretch upwards. Pain on all four fronts. They know I reek of shame and putrefaction. I can't be sin can I? Standing on the edge of the abyss. Looking down into it. Infinity belches fire.

Full moon, empty heart... Make a wish. Cast a spell. Nothing... nothing... But then insistent beats of machinery stir up from the basement. High-pitched moan and the residents complain. Then fire. Then... nothing...

Kittens in cradles, elastic walkways, fading... Static awakens the sleeping universe... Angels sing and life forms and takes its first breath. Life walks. It begins!

It begins.

Poor I can see / no stars in me.

Here's how it works: invitations have been sent out and the chosen have assembled in this giant grey concrete cauldron. There is no roof. Rain falls and the squashed masses shiver as one.

We are the chosen ones, all backward chatter and echoes and slips, repetitions, jams, skips, stop this juddering mess I cannot I cannot think I cannot think stop this juddering mess!

What did he just say? Someone emerged at the front, spoke, turned and left. What did he just say? Say what? He just turned and left!

And now we are ready to begin! Balls of light dance around us, quite pretty but unsettling also. We trusted them and this is what trust does. All is one for now.

PETA's unusual assault on a dead man would have carried more weight if it wasn't for their boss's free admission that she slaughters innocent insects. I may have to go out tonight and buy some fur coats and send them to her, smeared in the blood of bees of course.

Nyah nyah nyah briddim pa-tang. So is the answer of the mystic fang, you crazy overload I motherlode you cause applause and detonate/explode. Sense of sight and doom, the last thing I saw, the first words I spoke, the wheels and the spokes, bespoke, denote, seven floors up and then down again, four, three, add two more, down two.

Violet suffers and violent mood swings, rings, things. Maybe I'm wondering aloud is wondering allowed? Suffering, again and again, A TASTE OF HONEY, night before morning after. Saturday blue jay way fay say day lay. Elvis had OCD and Sid Vicious had MBE.

Friday is a day, a presence of tomb, pretence, presents, mystical fruit tree in Rome, other land. I'd run faster if I were you but I'm not but I'll run faster anyway. Fastest faster fast. Last. Half mast. Ship sinks, links, inks, rinks. Minks.

Cat say hello, below the bellow, fellow. Emphasis on emphasise. Treatise. Paralyse. My demise. Imminence of equivalence. Trivia nation station ratings drop, a pansy drops. Flowers blossom and I'm wondering how to overcome this fear.

It's just a case of Rarghhhhhhhhhh and why don't they understand? Why don't they listen? Why do they come to me five years later and say "Did you know..." and of course I knew and I'm angry. Why didn't you know? I told you for five years but you didn't fucking care.

It's inconvenient but there it is and I'm going to fuck you up unless you change.

Eh?

thisislocallondon.co.uk has a story about the alleged terrorist plot, and the arrests, etc, but this snippet shows just what hardships we're all going to have to endure from now on until the war on terror is "won":

"The unprecedented safety measures have already led to substantial delays. Passengers are queuing for more than five years to go through security."
Blimey. But maybe they'll update their page. Fear not. Here's a screengrab:


Unf. They did update it, ha. Ka-ka-ka PAH! NYAH!

Trinity of clouds
Seven wires
We shoot pigeons because we are civilised!
I have a couple of questions. Well, a handful of questions. One is: will anyone read this? It doesn't matter if nobody reads it, obviously, and anyway I've read it, but that's just a question. If you know me you can always let me know that you've read this. Only if you want to.

Another question is: why do some, but not all, barbers hand me a tissue after they've cut my hair? I don't need to blow my nose, and it's not a universal gesture. I have no idea what to do with this tissue. This is hardly "What is Zen?" but it's still relevant. And it's probably been answered before, because I've probably asked it before, but I can't remember.

What was the other question? Oh yes: why is it when I choose a pair of shoes/trainers/whatever (and I'm very fussy so it's rare I actually find a pair I want) and the assistant goes to check if they have them in my size (11 - most shops in Brighton do not stock the footwear I like in size 11. I have no idea why), they will 99% of the time come back and say they don't have the ones I want in my size, but will these ones do instead? And I say no, and they act surprised. Hmm, so what's my question? Oh yeah, why do they do that? They bring shoes I don't want and then act surprised that I don't want them. I want the ones I chose! Why would I want shoes I didn't choose? It's the same on both sides of the Atlantic. Yes I need new shoes because these ones are falling apart, but I'm fussy and picky and I DON'T WANT THOSE ONES! I want these ones! And you don't have them in size 11. On two continents I can't find shoes I *like* in size 11.

That's pretty much it. I really shouldn't have lost my sense of calm there. I should have just asked the questions. But I am trying to get better.