As long as you don't go and get stuck in the doom loop of Alan Watts' material - it being so interesting how a certain kind of person has turned him into a refound God.. just as Alan blessim wanted, when he was alive, then, i do hope there is some eternal "divine" to use his fave grooming word, purgatory, as English blokes from London putting on kaftans in the 70s (just like the gunrunner sweet heroic figure of Mister Marchant's book.... dont worry I am soon to Mrs Winn's rescue as she is a mere Janie come lately to the big con he did on everyone - even if it was purest comedy all summer ruining their walking holidays which never are as they are SO intense measuring their 'steps' and their incessant schedule... which is not walking, only landlopeing is... . )
yes the Wattses i saw so early on loitering around the quite good De Bonno bookshelves even in the 80s - at least he asked one to think for oneself, them thinking: how do we get his kind of Messiahship? and.. the girls...
So basically every lined old hag who once had a market stall in S Ken selling very rip off old vintage things goes and rediscovers a corpse... in his kaftans or other Messianic robes telling them all dont worry you dont live in time or even a time when you can't afford the facelift as you werent vicious enough to go and get the Monsanto job, too...
(like... the best laugh on me, Zoe, soon...)
And he gets a 100k clicks each load of nonsense put up from way beyond his grave...
about how you never ever have to care or do anything except bask in Alan's rather maniacal smile .. the whole gig, to shag S Ken Marketeers..
shame i hope there is an afterlife so he can see just how many he could now be a shaggin... had he not gone and died too early
(how hilarious ive never looked him up he died in 'druid heights' hahh hahh... a note to me to remember to uncloak that page soon... and how young he died, of being himself... a lined and rather unhealthy silly man... but so many 'disciples' nowadays its daft...you couldnt make it up...half of them of course live in the SW )
Which is the actual 'history' of the faux 'counterculture' in the only region i am interested in - Marchant monetised (only recently this is not ancient history, this explains all of her Hatesville, too which merely is a 'symptom' of the poison spread from elsewhere.. basically Wattses pad... via whatsisname Lord thingumy 9 wives..ohh yes Longleat Jeremy ... yet another user of women ) , as there was a real one too... where nobody ever was used nor disrespected for attempting to think....
Anyway lets try not to butterfly about even if that's the only language they all understand as of course it avoids ever ever following through with any cause - the ones they put on their dull FAkebooks for 15 years...
Philosophy hurts if one tries to ponder it fully... as does 'loneliness'.
And there's the rub. Solutions are needed to rub upon that hurt... none ever provide. So i shall, soon...
As the real unbowdlerised version of this load of codswallop is far more interesting- even i have had to take time to let it settle and enjoy it...
Anyway all they ever do is complain except about what one should complain about such as in VERY narrow windy lanes in this pestilent dump even the busdrivers don't know despite being flashed repeatedly in a " look i am turning off MY mainbeams you could too if you knew about real rural driving like we've known about for a century since motors became a thing" that when its raining in dark windy lanes well before thisterdawn, and the smaller fry must reverse .. the larger fry should turn off main beam - sidelights only so the small one can see in his wingmirrors the verges... he may crash into ..
their complaints their mind-body...
And the real complaints about the richer one up the road with flashier more green numberplated South Eastern cash paid motor.. they never mutter out loud
But for now... (new final solution to the socket problem... i hope the 'time bank' one is reading this and thinks she mattered, as my ohh my how wonderful to have had yet another gibber around as fake friend who couldnt get over herself as they all read the wrong crap.... which should merely say merely 'mean what you say' and shake hands on even if you are such a sad manhater that ...well they all nag... its like they think they are unique with their absolute inability to man-manage somebody who they need, as they didnt learn to do stuff any old idiot can learn: what products are a con - basically anything sold to the 'retail' 'diy customer, and what is real woodwork... as real country folk have known for 50 years... Ralph taught me so well, even back then: "beware all boxes that have to tell you what goodies are inside."
Anyway all that matters in the happiest place I have ever existed in this very sad Aisle ...
Is i was wrong: quarter of a decade ago ... thinking. " wow this is great but a bit tough... my new region having to hide as my ohh my her wrath.... so lets have a territory... 10km away for water.. 5km the other way if popping to free bread for poo pan emptying and washing.... 5km down to the junky filled coast of Pothleven - so says the born 'n bred lass only became a junky in her 40s.... " cheaper and easier to get coke here than a drinkable beer.." not my words hers...
for my washing line... and the first nose at the path to paradise of Europeans... even if even they in a hurry and may only loiter a day...
But i thought territorial integrity
by necessary dint of Hatesville insanity
was tiring, even if then i realised wow it expands the mind for real...
But that was then
Now its second nature and is so wonderful it's daft
But what of that recent gibber...
(the definition being the JOB gets done no matter what their feelings... and anyway its almost default almost every woman you meet cheating the state.. the first thing they state is always " i woz abused..." and if you had a brother who was the most abused person on the planet by his aupair and even moreso being carted off and shoved under under Yoko's wing fuck me you understand how they all make stuff up... as they cant look at their reflection
wow fuck me...Sebastian..hiding
now there's a much better quality recording of a genius who could actually write real songs and sing as the greatest bird above all ever almost..... real ones never mind sing propper like a real singer with real heart...
but what a syncredent is that as tis iz time in the sunshine....soon
