The send offs were a group of people who hounded you. Their sweat was like a normal man's, but really it was there because it upset other people and they didn't give a ****. It was easy to be poetic about their patterns (as you wasted away in a false world). But the realistic depths of their evil were either or unexplainable or unknown by other people.

You had a better shot at pinning them down with positive strategy, even love than anything else. That is, before you cull them.

And yes, evil police, culling is different to ******. So give me the **** back my freedom.
Amen. Poonanny. Daisies. Love and light.

The scouts were trailing toddlers again. As out in the open as Amy Elizabeth stares' ex boyfriends Vauxhall had been. Like a casual draw up where the Stony road would meet outer space, as she was getting into the car to get spaced out herself. Basically, the thoroughness of the lack of awareness of space between parent and child either made the parent guilty or the media had once again converted another advert into a coronation street episode.

'i feel low' Amy was saying to her, flaky, at best friends. There was nothing grandiose about Amy, she was wrapped up in literature, always moving school, and as most teenagers too aware of her own depression.

It was a difficult thing to describe, the typical ideas of description were there in her mind, but her conscience, smarts and sponteaneity told her that they weren't the right descriptions.
Once she had gone to a rada audition and chose to do a monologue about the definition of language and what dictionary means,  but it must have flewn far over her head, just knocked into her consciousness an era of interest. Well, she was young then. Only 18. And that had been one of the very first things she had thought of doing. Intuitive little creature she was. And yet an awful bully! If you asked her why he had done it she would always place the blame on the other person or become frustrated and say I don't know. Her favourite food was cheese and the first horror films he watched was 'the others', which she didn't find scary, and wondered after why her parents had not wanted her to watch it; who she didn't like to talk about. But there have been other horror films she'd watched and enjoyed in a decent way since. But overall they just gave her paranoia, or jinxed her life.
Her friends were always dressed up, talking about celebrities, going to gigs, and really, they never even really included her - but it didn't bother her too much that she was being bullied because she was depressed and hadn't even come up with a recovery plan anywhere as close as masochism, or maybe anarchism she pondered. Telephoning people she used to be in contact with was something that fascinated her, because, well, mostly - they weren't in each lives anymore so her friends, or acquaintances as she privately called them, didn't have the chance to come up with a plan to humiliate her, or comment derogatorily on recent events, as they hadn't been there.
'mum is it okay if I put in a call to California?'
''yeah but you're paying for it if it's a seven month call!'
'okay!' she hastened down the stairs, then picked up the imaginary telephone... That was something about Amy... She never gave up, because she didn't need to. When she was healthy, the gymnastics that flowed from that girls thats were magical.

The past was her bedrock. Especially in terms of writing. But she'd done so much of it in the past couple of years that thaaaaaaaaaat she didn't really read it much anymore. And they could take her historical history that, but she was definitely owed intellectual copyright and permission - without interference - to publish her works if they were or are good enough, under her own name. And be involved that legally without third party consent with any legal contract she enters into. And receive profit for her work according to the legal contract.

'that sure ain't what I set out to do Rudy, ****** anyone... I mean good Lord... If God would even think of testifying for me.... I just want to get what I want; you know'

'so who did you ****** and why? Just to get what you wanted?'

'a bunch of aliens, and there was a timing on everything that made me uncertain, y'know, spooked, under control.'

'so you did it to be in control?'


'well in the heat of the moment yes, because they were torturing me/had tortured me for locking me up and kept me locked up for the longest time, deprived of many things.'

'was it revenge for taking away your freedom?.

'no because I came to realize they'd take away my freedom away completely for it. It was to regain humanity's and the earths' and it's creatures' freedom. Amen.'

Of course I had to make an imagination fuelled toodoo
By not writing uneducated instead
But maybe that's the issue

We try to be the people we are not
And buying in to our own identities is buying out
Like a rapeseed field remnant scattering under paws and
Wellington boots.

Never though, in the wind
For it retains it's emptiness and colorblind mauve
At all times.


Now, in my defiance
Comes the logical rant
But, alas, for now, I am uneducated


Amen Apollo. Poonanny lord. Good times Vishnu :D ***

It's so difficult not to be sentimental when you're writing about something you know little about, but itf you cam grab the idea, in this case - loyalty to a cause - yet the cause is unclear, and in this case also the cause conflicts with loyalty to a family. you can start as I just have. now lets not get building any literary coffins yet because, with the unknown, there's always a chance of a scientific or creative or physical spark. my fingers are still typing, that's the fuel and what's unknown so far in this story. no,, we musn't forget the story line is my cause. The simple answer, is we were to go back to basics, remember all the most insignificant moments of my life, and admit to the reason why i haven't achieved much, except for disillusionment - is because my cause is to take the ****.

But i know one thing, there should be a law dictating seriousness outdoes itself everytime and is therefore to be suspected. Like, the truth behind a masked ball is really just reality tv. And the yellow stones that come out in some mans *** are no longer alien because I just wrote about it in a pleasant  way. So good things can come from the unknown then.

Once I was parading down Oxford street and all my plans were coming into fruition, but it was still like, as if, the lights there were hiding something. Sometimes I think, it's make believe, society, that it's all dressed up in pale moon like glory, where it's eclipse is the click of a camera, it's circumspection is the way only aliens (or nerds) know about the true identity about its status and the stars engagement with it.

The way the moon hides behind symbol sounding clouds makes me question myself. They seem always to be antagonising each other, and yet so many myths, scientific theories and even reality tv shows have been constructed about the moon... it could easily be misconstrued as a political pawn, used to create padding around the prowess of many a great mind, keep the soldiers out the way who wont snitch, (not because they're kept out of the way but the other way around) steady out the different and various dimensions the population is living in to throw everything else away.

My life has been half kisses, aggressive pity aimed at any one who interacted with the plasmic moving force inside of me, maltreatment, blessings of attention in tough times, having quirky mannerisms, dreaming, arguing, healing, drug dealing, drug taking, smooth sailing, and an unnatural acceptance of change.

I suppose all these things, you would think would come with an acceptance of change but it's actually a dissociative disorder specified dissociative 'fugue'.Where you make an effort to start new lives all the time. So although when I choose to start afresh, that's technically change, I don't like change I have no control over. Partly because it could stop me investing in another new life I want to make for myself in the future.


I've thought about becoming a mother a normal amount really. but there's noone I really want to have them with. Pottery classes and sage are two tear some, lonely examples based on my instincts about what parenthood would be like for me... pragmatically boring for me on a pragmatic level and an excellent form of spiritual wellbeing that could possibly be selfish because my forever non existent child my not like sage.
and i liked pottery as a child,, and sage as an adult, anyway.


There's so much time for therapy, but it's a rare occurrence tht it's not converted from productivity in the first instance or place. It's like a big globe the psyche, and however long you can hang on for, the smoother it gets. like waking up at a festival or ina  tent in the woods. Safety isn't really a a vision to have, although many law makers etc portray it as such. I would go as far to say it's not even a case of not feeling safe but more, having a coat to wear in winter, a decent amount of money, so noone has to trench about the Streets all day making themselves recognisable faces, and love thy strangers; in the same context as love thy neighbour.

But then I think, why or how does it mean anything anyway? do we deserve to be safe when we can't comprehend the emotional consequences of our own peadophilia? Wealth? Specific responsibility?

When we talk about terrible things happening as if it's safe once more. oh, oh, for now it's safe. Well, no it's not. And rioting isn't safe either. Why cultures involved in safety I don't know for a start... people follow culture - everywhere everyone, different cultures - and we all know the police force are a force outside culture... so all culture either leads in the right direction. Or it's bad for safety.

It's so difficult not to be sentimental when you're writing about something you know ittle about, but itf you cam grab the idea, in this caseloyalty to a cause yet the cause is unclear, and in this case also the cause conflicts with loyalty to a family. you can start as I just have. now lets not get bulding any literary coffins yet because, with the unknown, there's always a chance of a scientific or creative or physical spark. my fingers are still typing, that's the fuel and what's unknown so far in this story. no,, we musn't forget the story line is my cause. The simple answer, is we were to go back to basics, remember all the most insignificant moments of my life, and admit to the reason why i haven't achieved much, except for disillusionment - is because my cause is to take the ****.

But i know one thing, there should be a law dictating seriousness outdoes itself everytime and is therefore to be suspected. Like, the truth behind a masked ball is really just reality tv. And the yellow stones that come out in some mans *** are no longer alien because I just wrote about it in a pleasant  way. So good things can come from the unknown then.

Once I was parading down Oxford street and all my plans were coming into fruition, but it was still like, as if, the lights there were hiding something. Sometimes I think, it's make believe, society, that it's all dressed up in pale moon like glory, where it's eclipse is the click of a camera, it's circumspection is the way only aliens (or nerds) know about the true identity about its status and the stars engagement with it.

The way the moon hides behind symbol sounding clouds makes me question myself. They seem always to be antagonising each other, and yet so many myths, scientific theories and even reality tv shows have been constructed about the moon... it could easily be misconstrued as a political pawn, used to create padding around the prowess of many a great mind, keep the soldiers out the way who wont snitch, (not because they're kept out of the way but the other way around) steady out the different and various dimensions the population is living in to throw everything else away.

My life has been half kisses, aggressive pity aimed at any one who interacted with the plasmic moving force inside of me, maltreatment, blessings of attention in tough times, having quirky mannerisms, dreaming, arguing, healing, drug dealing, drug taking, smooth sailing, and an unnatural acceptance of change.

I suppose all these things, you would think would come with an acceptance of change but it's actually a dissociative disorder specified dissociative 'fugue'.Where you make an effort to start new lives all the time. So although when I choose to start afresh, that's technically change, I don't like change I have no control over. Partly because it could stop me investing in another new life I want to make for myself in the future.


I've thought about becoming a mother a normal amount really. but there's noone I really want to have them with. Pottery classes and sage are two tear some, lonely examples based on my instincts about what parenthood would be like for me... pragmatically boring for me on a pragmatic level and an excellent form of spiritual wellbeing that could possibly be selfish because my forever non existent child my not like sage.
and i liked pottery as a child,, and sage as an adult, anyway.