Not another flipping cooking show,
On the telly, it's all go,
Weird concoctions in their heads,
What's up with good old meat and veg?
Judges frowning, watching on,
The clock is ticking, must get done,
Sweat is dripping in their pies,
So some top Chef can criticise?
I'd love that job, the eating bit,
They never eat up all of it,
Sometimes they are just simply rude,
So if they criticised my food,
I wouldn't put up with that ****,
The buggers would be wearing it :)

When I was a little lassie my Grandad and I
were very fond of each other indeed
(although not sexually I must add
before you suspicious buggers start complaining).

Over the hills and fields we used to wander just like, er,
...let me think of a nice metaphor here...
er, like a man and his granddaughter or
like a couple of not so lonely clouds.

Oh how joyfully we would seek out rare birds’ nests
so as to smash the eggs to bits in a frenzy of joy,
which we both enjoyed a lot as it was, er, reet good fun
and a statement of individual choice we both appreciated.

Sometimes we would noisily take a steaming **** together
(although ABSOLUTELY NO ****** contact ever took place
I really must reiterate that for all you ***-abuse-obsessives,
but he had a stupendously big ***** for an old codger).

When we got home in the evening dear old Grandad
would usually make us a nice *** of builders' tea
and some ****** great doorstop sandwiches, but
even at that tender age I would have opted for a good stiff whisky.

Or, come to think of it, a large glass of chilled Chardonnay,
and a plateful of smoked salmon or some oysters,
but the old ******* was teetotal (at least in public) -
either that or just plain ******* mean as Hell.

Darling wizened Granny would make us some toast
out of leftover stale Mother’s Pride white bread,
but, being half blind, the silly fat old cow usually managed
to burn it to a sodding inedible cinder.

On Sundays they would get the gramophone out
and put on some tango 78 records
as they loved Latin American dancing and a good old *****
of each other's flaccid, age-withered buttocks.

How happily I remember the old couple tangoing away
just like a couple of wrinkled whirling ****** dervishes
to 'La Cumparsita' recorded by Mantovani & His Tipica Orchestra
on 20th June 1940 and issued on the Decca label.

They also taught me how to do the rumba
(oompah, oompah, stick it up your jumpah)
and I became quite an expert at the Cuban samba
(which my beloved Grandad wittily called the *****).

How joy-filled were those faraway times of my golden childhood.
but one day I went round only to find an ambulance outside
and the paramedics told me the old pair had been found dead in bed,
their boudoir resembling an abattoir at closing time.

Grandad had bashed the old *****’s brains out
with a red-hot poker during some depraved *** session
and then shoved it eighteen inches up his own *******
which must surely have stung his piles quite a bit.

But what a creative way to go - I bet he danced a bit
as the steaming poker seared his poor back passage.
And thus my grandparents ascended up into the sky -
may they stay forever young in the company of the angels.

Let me again emphasis our friendship was purely platonic
because this was in the rare old times of yesteryear
when widespread paedophilia was not yet a gleam in the eye
of some trash newspaper editor eager to engage with the plebs.

My eyes are black holes
Dead, deceased
An ecosystem of decay
a habitat for shattered souls

My eyes are lifeless
Lack luster
Sparkled out
Behind the wall, we are falling
Banging out our heads and hearts against doors off hinges
Against some mad buggers intuitions

Stink up the beer house with unadorned putrid self-thoughts.
Poppy-eyed and hating others is easy for blue bottled buggers.
A sweet thing for you!
A growing circle of six-legged empty.

Filled to the brim with puffed up space. A white brim with a shiny red exoskeleton.

Oh, what a dreadful sight!

Hair strewn across a face and hooked into the teeth of the blushy lullabied insect screech.
Clear liquid not blood, but blood all the same on an empty stomach with full vein-shot bones.

Not milky bones with calcium-love..

A dead, deficient, cracked, neglected, insufficient skeletal frame, limp.

Yellowed with hate-smoke and old book notes.
Splintered, crazed and buzzed through the gridded bulging eye-window of every single one of those insect like Self-Loathers.

Chosen out of pure sympathy "We should talk more"
.......To the sun, the moon and the stars?


Every star mocks,

Every beam scoffs

and every moon likes to deride on the pain that hides beneath the lies of human bug eyes.

A simply formed pound of vertebrate flesh leaks soft plasma on the scaly moth floor.

Oh how we are dusty and unsure!

Forestry consisting of a Sitka Spruce and of a Japanese Larch was a claim I made from the start.
Over gardens of attention arachnid lurking selfish bugs and even those half winged "friend people".
The bell has rung the scariest of chimes and with every soul wrenching 'ding' a furry fang digs at the blotchy eyed, softly fleshed girl.


Oh such a sweet thing to be surrounded by selfish bugs who spin webs with tear stained tissues!

I had that recurring dream again last night.
Awakening with a start.
Perspiration was
Pouring down my face.
The car, the children,
Molly my wife.

The heavy truck spinning in front
on the icy new York   freeway.
Explosions so loud they deafened me.
Then the silence the total quietness
as they drifted away.
And i was left alone.

I moved out of the tiny inner-city cottage.
Is was now over  two years ago
but I just left it the way it was.
The kid's toys strewn on the floor.
Bread and cookies on the table.
I would never return there,  never.
Not even to get my beloved alto sax.
the key for me to making a living.

I followed the cop every day?
The one that pulled me from the wreck.
I did not know why i did this,
Sure she was pretty enough.
But that was not it.

I was once told that if you save
Someone's life they belong to you.
Well, she could have his life.
He did not want it anymore.

She entered the bank
He saw the robbery before she did.
The robber lifted his weapon before
She had time to move.
Without fear or forethought,I jumped
in front of her
and took a bullet for her.

It was in the arm straight in and out.
She put three in the perp,
dropping him dead.
before he could fire another shot.

I fell down she held me in her arms.
As I was bleeding out.
Why did you do that, she said
I would have been killed.
That's why
I whispered.

She visited me in hospital
Brought me grapes
I hate ******* grapes.

She had no idea who I was
When the car wreck happened
I was covered in blood and EMS
Ran me to the hospital.
Names don't stay with people
Only faces.

When I got out of the hospital.
She appeared at my rented room door.
With a coffee and doughnuts
I don't talk much since…..well just since.
Who the **** are you she asked
A God ******  Angel.
I said I don't think God dams his angels.

She seemed to like me.
**** knows why
I wasn't nice to her.
She started looking for me on her shift.
Grabbing a coffee and suggesting dates.
I told her no offense lady
don't arrest me.
But I don't date anymore.

But she was a New York cop.
and a woman,
******* relentless.
She said she would make life hell for me
If I didn't take her for a date.
******* women.

I gave in and said I would join her
At the blues club nearby.
We got there at 10 pm after her shift
She looked ******* hot.
Not like a ******* cop anymore.
The blues were playing
I heard the alto sax wailing
It cried tears
like my soul was feeling.
But my souls eyes were dry.

She saw the tears welling in my eyes
And held me to her soft breast.
Tell me what it is
Is it me she asked?
I was just silent.

The owner of the club saw me.
He said, Tony
where the ******* been man.
It's been two years since you came here.
We miss your sax wailing boy.
He said where's your sax?
Don't you have it anymore?
I shook my head it was a lie
But I had my reasons.

He grabbed the alto sax
from the band playing.
Make it weep Tony.
My heart needs to hear you play man.
I moved quietly to the stage.
And the room went silent.
Just as if the Angel Gabriel
was going to wail his horn.

They remembered me they stood up
and clapped for five minutes.
Blues people don't change.
They just get ******* older.

I said nothing.
But played nature boy.

Peggy got up and took the mike
She wept the words as I played.
Tears falling down
her old sad blackface.

……..There was a boy
A very strange enchanted boy
They say he wandered
very far, very far
Overland and sea
A little shy and sad of eye
But very wise was he…….

My cop was crying too.
She said I don't cry ever see.
I am a cop I see ****.
Who the **** are you she said?
But I let the sax wail for my words.
It poured my sadness into the night.

She got my full name from Peggy.
She says that boy needs a woman.
But then a woman is Peggy's
answer to all men's problems.

She run the info though the computers
at the precinct.
those ******* things
Know every leak you ever take.

She saw the car wreck
the body bags.
Me, covered in blood.
She knew it all.
I was exposed.

She even found my mother in law's place.
And went there.
She said he's heartsick honey.
He won't go home.
Won't let anyone in.
He blames himself.
He's never cried once
It's eating him inside.

She said I can't find him
Do you know where he is?
He's over at the cemetery.

She missed her shift change over.
And went to the Park Lawn
I  was kneeling by a family
grave talking to my kids.

She went to me and slipped
Her arm around me
,I turned my head
Into her breast.
she kissed my head.
and I wept and wept.
I sobbed like my alto sax wailed.

She kissed my eyes.
Let it out, honey
Let it all go
Don't stop let it go
.
She drove us to my house
The mess was on the floor.
The stale food stank.
It was in a mess a disaster.
The kid's toys spread everywhere.
My sax on the hall table.
saying nothing
she started cleaning it up.

She said quietly.
Did I not save your life right?
I  said yes you did.
And you saved mine right
I said yes I did.
She said
Unless we both say  that
we're even stevens.
You know what it means.

He nodded
Yeah...I know.
It means
We belong to each other now.
You got it straight McGraw she quipped.

Two years later
Tony came back from his gig
at the blues club.
He had a recording contract in his pocket.
The money would come in real handy
What with their second baby
coming in a few months.
Kids were pricey little buggers.

Work your fingers raw for a pittance
and you wish one day to bid good riddance
to your destiny,
good riddance to your destiny
Looking up you see them grinning down
but ask why they keep winning
and they'll label you the enemy
they'll label you the enemy
So you've got three kids and you're ******
because your salary's been cut
and you're burning up the furniture
you're burning up the furniture
Well they can trace their ****** blood generations
and their current lordly station
is their holy primogeniture
it's their holy primogeniture
You can sing and dance apologise and grovel
You can mark your x and ******* to the hovel
that you'll never own
the hovel that you'll never own
Meanwhile they will never leave the school
that tells them they are born to rule
till we vote the buggers on the throne
we vote the buggers on the throne
This land ain't your land
this land ain't my land
not the Glasgow dockyard
nor the empty Highland
this land is their land
it's bleed you dry land
and you'll be laid to rest here
beneath the wonder why land.

So aye
We wir watchin
that David Attenborough
or tryin tae -
fower weans tearin up the joint,
an she's like,
See if youse dinny shut it...!
an aw that, ken -
You no gonny tell thum?
So ah'm like,
"Aye.  
Wheesht, youse."

But it wis amazin, like.
These fish.
Years oot at sea.
Tiny wee at first,
dodgin sharks an jellyfish
an aw sorts,
awa oot, miles fae land.
(God!  Youse!  Take it up the stair!
Tell thum, you!
"Aye, boys.  Listen tae yir ma.")

Then wan day, like
they get the urge, ken?
Got tae go.
An in they come,
surgin fae the sea,
these sleek, silver bullets
fat wi feedin.
(I'll no tell yis again!)

Nothin, an ah mean nothing
is gonny stop them.
Waterfalls?  Nae bother.
Just pure hungry
fir the lassies, ken?
The boy Attenborough sais
they dinny even eat!
(That's it!  Ah tellt ye!
Here you!  Take some responsibility,
wull ye?
"Eh?  Oh, aye.
Away tae yir rooms, boys -
yir ma tellt ye.")

These pure ***** divils
will loup up sheer cliffs,
baws burstin, bi the look ay it.
Poetry in motion, ken?
Like, ah dinny ken, pure water
brought tae life, an that.
Jist pure savage.

An then, haw -
they find the lassies!
An it's jist, like,
'splurge'!
Done the deed.
Gemme ower,
job done,
deid.

An there's this shot.
Ripplin shallows,
just fill ay the twitchin bodies.
Craws an bears an that,
queuin up fir the bonanza.
Jist, like,
totally
spent.

An she's aw,
Here, is that no terrible?
Pair buggers!
Eifter aw that!
An ah'm like,
"Aye."

But see inside,
ah'm thinkin,
"Lucky,
lucky *******."

EDNA: Hello there, Dan my dear, please take a seat, but before you sit down, just let me put a plastic sheet over the chair.

DAN: Thank you so much, Mrs Sweetlove.

EDNA: Now, Dan, please tell me why you are known far and wide as Dan, Dan, the ***** Old Man. How did you come to acquire such a salubrious soubriquet? Don't spare us any of the more sordid details. My readers are all agog.

DAN: Well, there are three aspects to my dirtiness. Firstly, my sanitary arrangements and personal hygiene. How can I put this delicately? [scratches head in puzzlement and several lice are dislodged, much to Edna's distaste. She squirts them with super-strength LICEOKILL.] To be blunt, Edna, I don't wash much and I very seldom change my clothes. This means I smell quite strongly. And, as you will observe, my skin is quite grimy and unpleasant to behold; the boils and sores are not attractive to many people.

EDNA: Fortunately I am afflicted with a rather bad head cold at the moment, so I can't really whiff you too strongly. However, I can see your skin is disgusting and your clothes are a total disgrace. Tell me, is there any particular reason why you are so careless of your hygienic duties?

DAN: Well, I see it as a vicious circle. If I were to take a bath or a shower, I would only get ***** again quite soon. And anyway, getting dressed again in my old clothes means any olfactory benefit would be negated. Again, if I were to put on some clean clothes, they would only be rendered odorous by my unwashed body. And defecation and urination tend to get your lower parts ***** two or three times a day anyway, even if you wipe thoroughly which I don't. So what's the point, unless you want to waste all your life on synchronising cleansing activities? Also, between you and me, I quite enjoy the stench of my own unclean body. And it has several benefits: I always get a row of seats to myself at the cinema and I normally have no problem with queues when I go shopping: people tend to give way to me as a mark of respect.

EDNA: And the second aspect of your dirtiness?

DAN: May I talk to you freely about ***, Mrs Sweetlove?

EDNA: Oh yes, be frank! [nods eagerly] Be frank!

DAN: Well, let's put it like this: I am not very particular when it comes to ***. I can honestly say I have never ever turned down a ****** approach of any sort. I am, of course, bisexual and when I feel like a bit of impersonal *******, I nip down to the public lavatory in the park and have some there. What I normally do is wait by the ****** and whip out my grimy, stinking **** and flash it whenever someone comes in. I don't care who it is. What does it matter? Most people run away in horror, a few attack me and shove my face down a pan, but one or two let me **** them.

EDNA: What sort of people would that be, dear?

DAN: Usually tramps, the short-sighted, people with no sense of smell, degenerates, psychos, masochists, you know. A reasonably varied selection. Buggers can't be choosers. Who cares anyway? I've been arrested by the cops a few times, but they don't like to put me in their nice clean police car, so they usually let me go with a bit of a thumping. Which I quite like anyway, although it's cost me several teeth [shows hideous maw of rotting stumps].

EDNA: And how about when you feel like a little bit of the old hetero rumpy-pumpy action, Dan, my love?

DAN: To be honest, I don't get much rumpy-pumpy, even though that's probably what I'm most famous for. Speaking candidly, not many women fancy anyone as filthy as I am, even lady tramps have to draw the line somewhere. So I tend to have to be a bit pushy when I feel like a bit of female company. What I usually do is lurk around girls' schools, ladies' gyms, ballet dancing classes, hockey grounds, netball pitches, the park where the young mums push their babies' buggies, anywhere really where you get women and girls in reasonable numbers. When I see someone I fancy, which is anything female between sixteen and the grave, I just drop my pants and show them what I've got down there. They scream a bit but I can usually get a quick one off the wrist before they've run too far. I've been arrested a few times for that too, but it's a hazard of the game of love, I feel.

EDNA: [gulps excitedly] I think you mentioned three reasons why you are known as a ***** Old Man par excellence......

DAN: Yes, well the third one is a bit more personal. You see, I have a very sensitive stomach and I often get very bad indigestion, which means I **** and burp a lot. And I frequently ***** too, as you can see from the state of my trousers - this is probably a reflection of the fact that my kitchen is crawling with rodents and insects large and small. And did I mention this last bit? I really like eating my own snot in public [voids nostrils onto grimy paw and gobbles product thereof].

EDNA: I'd like to thank you, Dan, for sharing your opinions, emotions and ambitions with me and my readers here today [switches off tape recorder]. You truly are an unusually repellent *******. Get out of my lovely house.

*[END OF INTERVIEW]

The gramps today feels somnolent
My gardens eminence is overseeing the weeds
A good cutting for the high grass today
Pesticides to get the bugs high
As I will spray spray spray
And **** those bugs away.
Languid little creepy-crawly's
Will get smallie
And fallie
Down the hole I created for them.

I am actually a huge fan of Banksy and thoroughly enjoyed Dismaland but the A level kids I teach at a school just down the road from Weston couldn't get in because they've got Art P2. We wrote letters and sent emails but had no reply. They were very disillusioned by it all so their art teacher decided to take them to Dismaland and show some of their work on the grass outside. Security were not impressed and called the police. We made a film about it and I read this poem at the gates. This is the first part.
So this is where this tale will start,
Of What is Banksy? Who is art?
You're the joke now, don't you see?
This ****** ticket lottery,
For crazy cats who play the rules
Not you poor buggers stuck in schools
Can’t press refresh at the stroke of ten
Cos that's exactly the time when
the bell rings for art to begin
The irony is lost on him.
No tickets in your grubby hand
Cos schools cant afford the broadband.
Don't look at me with dismal faces
You lot sure are going places
Yep, you're all sat on a train
Going to weston in the rain
Who do you lot think you are?
No movie queens nor a rock star
You don't fly in from LA
You don't even have a card to pay
No Damien's, No Brad. No Suze.
Pack up your dreams kids,
Born to lose.
Like a load of buckets to the factory gate
Where we'll have to stand and stand and wait
He is not Wonka, he's not your friend,
This Charlie gets nothing in the end.
So looks like we might not get in,
Stare them down kids, take ours to him.
Banksy Inc. has made these choices,
But they can't silence all our voices.
Helllooooooo Banksy?
Are you there?
Going to show these kids you care?
Open up those hallowed portals
For this lot of mere mortals?
They've brought stuff they want to show
It's really very good you know
Because they made it from the heart
Not for a calendar of street art
You know? Like how you used to be?
Before they showed you on TV.
They protest about stuff for reals,
And soon be snapping at the heels
Of all the London folk in there
Sell for a million but pretend they care.
Come on Banksy they'll be good
Take their selfies like they should.
Come on Banksy, just be nice,
They'll snap up all your merchandise
And shuffle round the park like drones
Take out pocket money loans.
Listen kids, this isn't working,
Banksy's in his rolls and shirking,
We don't need to storm the walls
We can show them we've got *****
By standing here and giving free
What they've all spent five quid to see.

All the morbid sad poems
Are like little wicked gnomes
Gnawing at my ankles
Beckoning my downfall

Their little beady eyes
Glare hungrily at me
But who am I to stop them
When I can hardly flee

Maybe I should swing a left
Try a new approach
Kick the buggers in their teeth
And go out on a shopping spree

When you see
the colorful little buggers flying,
it's somewhat comical,
almost amusing,
as if God gave
these winged creatures
the prettiest array of feathers,
the most beautiful beak,
on the planet.
But they pay for it,
it's huge,
it's so doggone heavy
they can't keep
their headsup
in flight.
Well,
maybe that's not funny,
they could hit
somebody
or something,
knock themselves out!

What?

What is that you say?

All the roads are one now?

Old children? Paradox?

I think so but then   those are the most fun of all

The spaced out interplay inside of intersections

That wind to the mountain floor and up again to volcanic shores

Cloud forests , cloud atlas , clouds messengers of the dawns ,

I hear a storm is coming , didn’t we say this before?

The dawn is already upon us , we think we’re waiting , we’ve been playing for months

Well hidden , well hidden , we don’t got no tracking devices but the markers of time that are the rising of the sun and the falling of the stars from space swirls near and far

Closer than the nearest galaxy but not as far as Sirius B

With wings that fly by night , the tips burn orange , the shades turn a musky blue , dipping into the silver water the enclosed shoulders

Harbor secrets yet,

Until we meet again my fair friend , again is right now

The full stop is redundant as there never is a full stop , you don’t have to try to decipher what I’m insinuating with my punctuation , there is no deeper meaning to it apart from my keyboard broke

But, then I decided that it could mean something more , that is the core

Nothing ever starts with a meaning we just add more! There is no meaning to this life , but there is a quest, no not a test but a quest



Mine I figured is in my smile  , my ability to weave together the nonsense into sense by calling the sense nonsense and serving the ball back over the net to sense who bats it back with a sharp backhand to nonsense who hits way out to the field beyond, hitting meaning on the head, poor meaning , meaning to have a quiet  nap under the plum tree , sorry! Screams nonsense or was it sense?



Either way , the quest has lead me here , the ultimate quest to make sense out of the nonsense that is my self

Hmmm self , hmmm self, hmm; well it was always going to be self on the highest  shelf  next to the cookie jar,

Oops can’t keep my hands out of the mess that we call blessed or taboo



Lets meander down that avenue for a while and taste the delights of forbidden fruit

Not a melon or a dragon fruit , nor is it a kiwi , infact I shouldn’t think it’s a fruit at all

Far too litteral although they are good for your body

How about for the mind , I feel like my body functions better without the excessive consumption of meat and milk does make me ****

Oops toilet talk , is that rude? I never got that, we all burp and **** and belch and **** and **** and flake off dead skin cells all day long but you never hear anyone complian “ excuse me Jones, but I did just inhale your dead skin cell” well silly moo , you’ve just inhaled jones’s and about everything you can’t see with your very eyes in that last lungfull



So you see, to me why waste time on silly buggers like swear words, change the meaning of them if it offends you so , who said that all the words have to stay the same? Really are we that stagnant ? didn’t some dude shakespere invent a ton of new sayings and no one questioned him! In fact we still use his words now, I’m sure they all thought he was bonkers, but then I guess the queen said it was cool



Hmm , queen bee , not unlike the popular kids at an out lawed place called school , dictating her orders through her minions – my definition of minions : cute slaves



The same story played out over and over well I wonder why , if we only see what others like and refuse to explore the unknown in our own right? Perhaps we just didn’t realize there was an option not on the tick list



Can I write like this

wItH aLl mY lEtTeRs FuNkY , is that not still writing ?

what?

What is that you say? What am I talking about? Am I rambling again?

Right

Back to my main point



I really like tea and I really like smiling and I really like laughing until I cry do you?

Here is a funny story:



The 3rd most watched video on a very highly esteemed newspapers website was a  low quality video of a monkey swimming in a pool , this ranked higher than a man being force fed through the nose – this is the kind of thing us humans are apparently really good at

No, not swmming silly,

Torture,

But that’s not the funny part , the funny thing is that one time my friend Paul went bowling and he saw a woman wearing a shell suit, she had a monkey polishing her bowling ***** and when she hit a strike he would clap, he also wore a matching shell suit , safe to say , it was an odd sight



Well maybe you just had to be there



But I like that , I like the ridiculousness we have created

Bowling allies and chicken and chip shops , buses , gallaries , houses , shoes , ice cream , microscopes , bath mats ,  fake ***** for children to **** their fake formula while we steal all the milk from a very much alive conscious mammal who proberbly wanted to give that milk to her baby



Ya’know stuff like that



I like it because it reminds me of what we can create , and the true power each one of us holds, because somebody came up with the idea to make high heels that **** up your back and someone came up with idea of cars that are nice to take drives in with music , someone came up with a portable music player , someone came up with the idea for a train! And then someone else built it !!!!!



I mean , come on! But the best thing I like to marvel at is nature, because no one really came up with nature , nature just kinda happened

That’s the best mystery of them all  an open ended mystery is like a really good open ended question

Wednesday morning I woke up from my first night sleeping in the camper, and  I had that  disjointed feeling that comes from unfamiliarity.  I recognized  the interior of the camper, so that was not what was  triggering that closed in feeling that enveloped me, not claustrophobic really, it was more: comforting.  It is hard to put into words that kind of feeling, but as I am supposed to be an aspiring writer ......It would seem to be my responsibility to do so,,  or at least try.
    So as I lay there cradling the warm afterglow of a satisfying night of slumber and with pleasant dreams of…I’m hungry ! I suddenly thought to myself.  No! Actually I am starving, and just one look down at Stormy , lying on the floor and staring at me and  it was more than obvious that he too was hungry..
    “Okay, boy, I know.  I hear you..”
     “All we ate last night was those Fritos wasn’t it?”Stormy just stared at me with those big brown, expectant and hungry eyes..
   “ Sorry boy !  I am new at this.”  I said as I was just  realizing that I was fully clothed, This fact reminded me that I had come into the camper cruiser nine hours earlier, intending to fix me some food, had seen the bed laid out , done while setting up camp hours earlier, so I decided to see how comfortable it could possibly be .
    I remember laying down and  saying to myself, “  this ain’t too bad.”  Looking down at Stormy -closing my eyes- and well , here I am, nine hours later,  starving and being stared at by Stormy .
    .  6:30 AM Wednesday morning- and both of us starving  .   "Man!   Talk about exhaustion.!" I said to the world at large .
    “Just hang in there for a few minutes more  and we  will both have bacon and eggs today....  Okay?”
To which stormy happily  wagged  the whole rear half  of himself in undying gratitude.
     After breakfast I had a cup of coffee in my hands, and a buzz in my head as I sat down in the lawn lounge thingy ( It had even come with the camper) and watched the other people  go about their morning..
     Was this my story--the ever evolving story  of… Come on dude!  I chastised myself,  this is not your mission, to write about camping spots,  and the ever evolving state of one parking spot that                they are occupying.   .  But as I was beginning to slowly realize  ; my story , just might be more elusive than I  had taken time to consider.
      I glanced down at storm to see if he had any insight, an opinion of some great revelation for me,  but he was in his own world; lying there beside me and watching with rapt interest the antics of a pair of foraging gray squirrels as they skipped and be bopped among the branches of a huge white oak;   wherein  Stormy, unlike myself,  saw the big picture,,  all the story he needed was playing out in the branches of that tree.  This tree was his tree ……of life..!
    “Crazy little buggers   ain’t they boy?”  I remarked to him as I rubbed his head and neck , taking away a few precious seconds of his squirrel watching while he looked around me before returning his gaze back to the  acrobatics  of the little be boppers of the tree..  I went back to watching my new neighbors,  for in a sense-that is exactly what this is . Nt much  different from  the cul-de-sac.  I grew up on. ..  With one exception-vital as it is . I mean  that I only have  the imaginary view of these people , not  the  reality  that I had with… But then, I reassess my thought,,  reorganize my pattern as I remember that morning  .
     That crazy day with all the police  and ambulances suddenly appearing in the street..  All the neighbors  having  been bunched up  in curious knots to wonder what was happening at the Angleton’s.
   Like wind swept fire  to a field of tall grass, the rumors began spreading through  the street.
   “He killed her!”  Someone remarked abstractly..
    “Who?”  They all asked in comatose reality.
    “George Angleton” they said, “he killed his wife  and then he killed himself--I think”
    “Whyyyyy?”  They   bleated .
    “Do not know-I heard they had financial problems,  maybe that was it.”  They quoted equivocally.
    “There was always something funny about them.”  The little man said   fumbling the ball
   “Who?”  They all questioned again.
    “Angleton’s…  It was strange, I wouldn’t  let my kids go up there  on Halloween.. and that time he gave all comic books!”  The little man said with an air of superiority.
   “   Why is that?”  They argued in question.
     “You asked me he was trying to lure them kids in.”  He blundered and fell
    “You are nuts!  He was a sweet old man… It had to be… financial”  they persisted..
     “Say what you want-  but I know what I know-and he was weird.”  The little man overstated.
    “You did not even live around here.  That year he gave out comic books-did you?”   Somebody pointed out aggressively.
      “Well.... no,,” the little man sputtered,, “bububut I heard about it..”   The little man  beleaguered now     “So you never even met George!”   Someone accused  ..
     “Not personally; but all  the…” The little man started.
      “Get the hell away from me little man.” the whole crowd expressed in screaming silent looks .

Here's the story told to me about our glorious infantry.

Louts,rapscallions,friends battalions
arm in arm and full of glee
marching off to join the infantry.

In the rear lines drinking fine wines,hock,moselle,some burgundy
and some drinking ginseng flavoured tea from some far flung idea of Empire
while only half a mile along the road the whole world was on fire,
were the fat arsed generals with their horses, waiting on their second courses,
crepes and franzipans and to a man they didn't care that the war was waiting there,
'let the ******* wait',they'd say,
after all that was the gentlemanly way.

The bullets striped us left to right and falling into our own falling ***** we'd call for mum and dad
aye lads
aye lads
war is bad
but for the buggers at the rear who never so much as once came near the sound of a gun,
war was fun a chance to socialise,
society is full of lies and leaders they were not.
But death's got their number on his shell,they'll soon be joining us in hell,
so ****** them and sod the lot
were in a spot,we'll not get home,splintered bone and mangled limb and corporal thinks it's still a sin to swear
well ****** him as well,we no longer care.
As we share a final smoke,Johnny tells his favourite joke about three generals and some place called,but I forget the punch line as the time has come for one more bullet,one more gun and silence.

In Croydon,Roydon and North of Watford Gap,families are spoon fed some wholesome krap from drip fed Sergeants,battle,shield and argent,honour King and all the other little things that the senselessness of death brings home.
Let them keep their fields filled full with glory,we know the ***** **** filled story,
war is bad
war is bad
I'm glad that I cant fight no more.

Blokes in the bar sure do say some weird stuff
Like "love to **** her ******* and eat her ****"
Seem to have animals on their mind all the while
"I'd like to see her ***** or do her *******"

What does all that mean? I'd really love to know
And how does a woman have a nice *******?
If a woman comes close and she's a real **** one
One of them may say "I'd like to give the ferret a run"

A bloke went to the toilet seemed quite annoyed
Said he was gonna shake hands with the unemployed
"You mean syphon the python" asked one of the men
"Not really, just shake hands with the wives best friend"

He said he wanted a ***** to his wife late last night
"Gee mate you shoulda seen it, I had a mongrel alright"  
Apparently she said "no" and he threatened to leave her
Said he wasn't hanging around if he didn't get any ******

Fred said his wife was gorgeous and he had always adored
But lately she was off ***, didn't want any more pork sword
Frank's wife was the same and she hardly left the cottage
Would never let Frank touch her or play hide the sausage

Max, reckoned he'd nearly had more than a man could take
Couldn't get near the missus with his one eyed trouser snake
As for Gerard, He said "think my wife's taking me for a sucker"
"Told me to keep away with the blue veined custard chucker"

A **** dark woman walked past, Marty said "I'd give her a ride"
The barman just laughed and mumbled "they are all pink inside"
Jack joined in saying "leave it alone Marty or you'll get blisters"
"Besides, if you turn them upside down they're definitely sisters"

In the bar I heard a bloke say "I'd give her the old Wham Bam"
"Sure would like to get the old love muscle up her  bearded clam"
As the bar closed Jerry joked " If the flags are up at my place"
"I'll put my ***** between her *****, give her a pearl necklace"

All these men laugh and joke as the barman says to the group
"You buggers won't get any because you'll have brewers droop"
As I finish my wine and leave someone says "on ya bike ya miser"
Do you know what they are on about? because I'm none the wiser