Yes but his.....

 Dimitri, 

In Marisa's perfect language.....

"um dois três...."

Your eyes (are), my daylight
They guide me through the dark

His eyes too....as in the Uttermost place in the universe we stood and discussed that Sublime....

But then as if predicted by that very chat even if ive had it so many times before...but not with a  real man, no so called debate - an excurse to show off Rupertine, arrogance...., pure harmony...

" 'it recreates itself every day',,,, to quote the rather mean and stupid old snobby Oxford don.... the last words he said to me.."

to which the man with daylight in his eyes even if rather black like someone i once knew... tells me what it really means....

that little three word meaning of life Ive had in my notepad over a decade, which was rather flashing red on my very assiduously retained ... mental todo list...even bucket.

exactly, in context, and ....with his eyes.

Anyway a sublime, of sorts, it just occurred even if i knew... even fourty years ago:

But 'they' needed us too....

and clearly still do.

If Marisa was in essence only allowed or inspired to a one hit wonder, and Anna, too...

something happens in these 

slightly 'machismo' territories....

In fact you can see it in the poise and hands of the probably very average 

banjo player, stage left

A woman flies,  even further than that far star

 on the way to the gutter the other side of the street, most lucky to make it to

And perhaps the men would close around, own her sublime fabulosity...

and never again would she ever create anything as perfect, in infinity

A pattern in such once macho lands

and dont believe the latterday disco diva versions

are anything but a feyboy-produced perversion...

because....hmmm.....

lets just it put it this way

no agent empressario tv station owner

nor copeformer

would dare to have even left a coffee-ring direction 

about which way next

on something created by Empress Mrs Siouxsi

never mind fuck with germ Free Polly

(finds me one Euro diva desrvent of the label, 

who made more than one sunrise 

and i'll eat my shitpan before  your eyes

and i am quite quite able

i dont lie)

anyway back to business i thought was OVER!!

And bugger me  up at the highest romantic atchin tan

ablutions in one simplest pan..

of luxury so called springwater, deep midwinter tough guy

version...

 And flippin eck up comes one from The Source of all Sources

Well i hope she remembers my little chat on the meaning of life

(whatever it takes both you and your wife!...ehh perimenopause is not a word, either... it either sticks or dont, believe me thats all that matters....doggin',  this new swappy-surrogate trend but make sure the paperwork is iron clad.... 

doesn't matter how... or who's the dad

i can tell beneath the perfect smile ... not sad

but don't become like them down below"

blahh b;lahh right thats enough keyboards never made one jot

of difference to  her 'universe'...

....anyway the very very last fortnight of such a long quest, 

but i know what it's really, for, now...

a few days ago

and as for their "community" well i waited...and waited....

we shall come back to this one day another ten years to get to book 50.

right much more important,  outdoor sublime art for a reason.,... but it doesnt work here

It once did...in the actual 'environment'  - The Wastelands  The Badlands where every picture needs a poignant few paras

And i will.

Hmm home?

now the story in two people's words, collaboration, guestly appearance almost as if one....

well its better than your dreadful Darcy's mum. Fact.

But there's something far far more poignant than getting the servant to run a next bloody loveletter round the corner...

And i can't even hint or give a clue

Well actually i think i could

But.... there's old folks to consider, who aren't us

weren't there.

Meanwhile back in the land of number one gib.

A year ago.....  Queen of every castle 

Local versions shabby discombobulations

I don't fib.

That story soon...

As warning 

Glastonbury really doesnt do much for woman dog or caravan

and discarded rotting awning....

Even when they preach 'global warming' 

soon

merely as aide memoire as really she gave me a clue

Right now i have REAL pongoing business

which will be finished despite her mess.

I complete what needs to be

irrespective of what even she

thinks is fait accomple

("damaged people are dangerous as they know they can survive"  well ignoring them's what makes me always thrive)

BUt at last ten times more important even if i can't remember whats been left in sanctuary here and whatnot

yert

but it wasn't time just yet

but the actually best atch, actually...for duel purpose, infact three

BUt this for sure is new as Im only half way through

**

thats the past i must get to for real

this the future

there is no 

'now'

but there is power.... and i know how to use my superone

I WILL fix it one day!

But the depth of story just behind one seemingly inane nothing imagery 

Thing is i don't know if i could chose I'm so unused to....... 

be cont

right its dumpping ALL TIME

even if i only want to get to thistermay

MY one most prized quality

I can still solo sledgehammer 

(never any assistance all too busy doin their nails)

even the toughest narrow post

And not hammercrack it  ... 

precision force and gentleness and i though i would be ghost

of former self, quite the very opposite dont you know

all i know is i know nothing, except three of us found i think the meaning of life

today, unplanned, and i only do anything to, well.... 

leave behind. 

Right now there is one thing that causes my reader numbers to crash burn and run away hissing like badly made cheap chinese  firecrackers with no purpose in life other than to simper and flicker into nothing but more rubbish upon this already overtrashed planet, which is when i attempt to get very Socratic and seriously good-writerly...

so i expect it will be at zero readers forever more, soon...

as i will succeed.

Its already in a whole years worth of audio longform....

ONLY because i have ten unused giggawatts before reset day

now... this is even more Lady Chatters than err put together with dodgy Darcy  you will see, soon

I've been playing at it, three years,  until.... today

tomorrow

Now, even the BBC ...

 ....couldnt Miss Understand,  vulnerableise, samesexualise,  the great moment in literature, Mister Hardy

has his Gabe, by a bridge if i recall,

being rather blunt, upfront, to the point

promising " a piano flowers and steady care..."  

what a lovely last couple of words there 

And in fact the adaptation was what should be proudly 'nation' 

his matter of fact, no act, just mumble it like it, IS

So beautifully related 

dont think there was even any farmers gated 

stuff, just one man stood in the early eve or was it dawn

" ehh up Missus well... [ive played at least  me  first pawn

in the great game, eventually he got his queen, after rather a lot of discombobulation

melodrama addicted SOUTHERNERS in charge of the wonky nation...].." 

 

however..... 

Now Ma Elliot couldnt quite match Thommy

 in his splendid fantasy

that doesnt have to be

and so brilliantly delivered centuries later, by that so called BBC

(before everything became only about insignificant 'minority'

whom for fucks sake,  havent arrf  'ad for years 99% majority

so theyve grown up now, can we get back to the point)

I listened to it thisterdawn

(several hours merely pondering, no devices

not even a nice email... that can wait)

Theres me at last audio wafflin' the big one:

why, especially in shoulder lands, 

reputation, wage deflation 

(by the time she's knocked off her gibber's quarter

dad's house  - always!,  and the unhappy daughter)  

 Anyway ehhh..... even when you're facing up to boss

If known to be becoupled,  far less loss

of wages .... and even mutual respect 

oops gone and elongated what merely was to rhyme with 'wait'

yes waffling upon it, even at his farmers gate.

I didnt dare listen, even to begin the edit

 "what on earth DID i say to him!!?!! 

bugger me  ....now i've addit!"

Thing is ...if it worked....

Darcy's mum, Maggie Tulliver's  

fabulous creator, even Thomas and his most romantic ever marriage  mutter

will be consigned to second best, mere trifling, no test....

of what its all about

Now to get back to all that matters 2022 even if it began long before

the way they tricvkled in with newwords even if long scholarly intellectual

but first "bipolar" infact before everyone was then branded " asby.." which turned into "narcissist.."

Nothing to do with me propper Gabriels just trundle on and persist and if youve persisted without jumpin off the big one or losing all your hair, quite

and sleep 8 hrs at night

well all is well, "centred" if one must

But i have also done their 'psych reports' and  legal work...

the state must have some care about who's really gone berserk

or where its merely made up so some lanyardist can profit.

(i used to think the Southern 'Guardian Reading' type did  care

silly me but that's ...well its in the 'free speech' audio the other day)

upsy downsy hot 'n cold.... all of that

the one word i would never ever wished to be even remembered in my company

nor anywhere else, is grandiosity...

When you live utterly aside, 

genius at 'stealth' no need to hide.

For four years solid just be

nobody nowhere (in the quietest places, where one is only solitary) 

constant....

and if overeggin' owt, time and space to internally repent

nope.... that audio on why to be two if you can

with a special guest appearance by a finest old man

.... had even my heart on my mouth

and twas mine gob that....

right.... i better run away due South!

So, it WAS [innix] a truth universally acknowledged as true ....

 That Madam George was THE greatest writer in the English language  - of any straightforwardly jolly true novel that is, rather than Shakey's melodramatic death cult stuff ....whom i KNOW wrote in conjunction with the Missus... (even if they will forever deny her that truth even if the letters rediscovered a year or so ago say his Missus remained jolly good chums with her toy boy all her life and kept fully in touch.... and anyway if she was so much his fabulous educator in the ways of the 'world', all that maturity brushing away schoolboy insecurity

under hay rick or in the dark shadows under Bridge of Lurchery...

... older bit of totty 

well of course she was his senior boss and co jotter... 

Until the Chelteethams go and get all gushy and gussety ...

ruining my perfect morning.

Which in fact is the point: nobody gets gussetty over Silas as in fact he vuia his mum stuck two findgers up to ALL of them.... church, aristo, bigwig, midwig (standard bourgeoisie i just invented that innit cute!), and fleas crawling around under the midwig - i.e. lesser petit bourgoisie...  

 (god i hate being creatively cheeky without trying ANYthing - i never rev up in fact thistermorn is the exact opposite the handritten version already slowly jotting... thats the meversion of me.... as my people the mellow humble landgirls of course are intimidated by it when 100 years ago they would have danced a jig with metoo, it.... why Ragged Trousered did sell millions as there wasnt this bolshie modernist nothingism.... )

... because Silas saw through them all even the fake biological dad, and without being rude nevertheless did make it clear what rite 'n rong was and left it to his daughter to chose.....

And she chose correctly so its not as if some pumped up hooray Henry ferkin Darcy or whtever his name was, had ANYthing to do with it, nor any  hoitytotty letters poppin back n forth...

As Eppie Marner knew only the eyes of the man who had adopted her ... and how they always were there gazing upon  her own best interests no matter what...

And her so valiant attempt at trying to understand her own creation, Daniel Deronda,  was maybe even a greater act of genius as she knew ..it was complex....  and thus left us mere readers  not even entirely satisfied with her effort as of course that's the right feeling to inculcate, when all 'people'ing is almost beyond words...

But no.... the Cherltenham ladies have no memory except for whatever is the thing... today or the next day....

Which i understand entirely. As i have now 'lived' it enough: in a quarter of a decade  just... wondering or not even knowing i needed to wonder " who are they?"   Until i have.

Now... there is nothing worse than "giving away your core inner being me,  lived or even dead.... as i care only about my reputation. 

Reputation management is such an icepick  through the head, of a phrase  when all that matters even if it doesnt really in the grander scheme, is does one own descendent even have the first idea of ones basic identity? And figuring not because she is of the (to me) 'other' identity - the great masses of The South...  (defined as East of a line going along the Eng/Wales border and South of around Manchester,    though the former went and got all discombobulated as gradually those who couldnt afford to piss of the poor Pasties making them so much richer than they pretend by buying their spare dog kennels to live in or fill up with their pairs of designer dogs....  ended up gradually buying the land and spare dog kennels in Mid then even West Wales from around 2010ish which nobody would have second sighted...

Anyway i accept every smallest psychogeographical fact, but you have to understand why....just a tad.... or you are forever perturbed which is the foundational myth to becoming angsty...

Pretty much all 'feeling's just modern cultural con...struct

And even if The Source is part of something else, really... (the total destruction of once sane NON 'woke' environmental solidarity)  

Its just the mass formation of bourgeois mores.... even upon their moors.... 

You have to really live, or you cannot understand how a watered down version diluted the once more sane version of at least part solidarity....in the actual country...

side, aside all this....

But its that year, that one seminal year 2022,  all of it... that needs picking apart 

and RAgged Trouserin',  to start 

As the thing about the Southerner B or MW or even smoked out lost little underiggy flea...

is (i didnt know)  they think everything is only ever about "me"

and that is the only way for them it can be

And only a real fool thinks you can change anyone...

well anyone who hasnt been years and years 'aside' 

often with only a few good books within which  to hide

away from decades ago the great bullnecking, dumbing down began...

Anyway yestermorn.....

 on a bracken hunt

she may well have denied me thrice, but at least she told one truth

" so have you read 'Winterings'....?. "

And along with being a great fiddler

Her nuance said enough.

Now i used to like this time of year.

Having revved up no more summerings to distract

a few good longsleeps it was time for action

action done, this is merely practice:

once more go for the pointy hat 'n chalice

brain fogged no malice 

but

(no point cant even read, or listen)

If i can change my name and escape

get to safety higher hills or hide under continental safecape

Who knows one day sipping low alcohol sangria

i shall be most content, " turn on the comedy, opera....

i gave them chapters (that autumn) on what to do..... "

 

you get what you deserve

Minister For Religion and Arch Pointy hat  

how about that 

poor Sarah never had a chance

(i gave her friends recently the real pointy lance)

The remake, the born again Tommy.... emerging from his prison cell

Will be ten times better than that by merely, "Who?"

(and defo all the evangelicals will be "its Revelations whoop whoop")

 all the way to ...hell.

Thing is even Monty Python couldn't have actually made it up

And Stuart Lee's so called 'comedy', you were sold a factory farmed runt-pup. 

Righty ho so much to do

The BBC entirely Miss Informin the peeps 'bout South America

you get what you pay for: rewritten history

Maggie's mate,  Pinochet mark two...

(but just how parochial and wrong they are, about the onepeeps more fado than the fadoese.

 well I may get to that by  about book thirty two)

If i could just get a sockit!

 And start publishing a decade of interactive reflections i must have at least once per each of the 50 volumes  - at least 30 or so volumes meandering Socratically whispering in the ears of UKIPPERS from 2015, and all the so called EU lovers whos rhetoric was merely about lying busses " dont tell anyone especially the greens as all they care about is the made up  vulnerable victimised 1 ish percent who are 'undecided'  ... and thus use the worst rhetoric ever extant....  but the reason we are 'better together' is  never mind all English ones ive known requiring a bit of education  .... in how to be a lover being slow and languid,  or just poppin' into the unisex after a real coffee on your first date....   ideally from Them frogs....anyway, as i jhave said a million times beforfe into my chronicles  i always knew French was the most beautiful language of all.... until forced to learn some Portuguese and learning i was wrong, it being without any doubt is by far the most beautiful language ever...."

which seeing as  their literature can be a bity staid and often contrived (except Pereira,

 hopefully harbinger)

Is unquestionable 50 vol with ruthless editing stream of being very conscious of truth and should get at least a few 

Portuguese cultural medals, often part of formal Orders of Chivalry or merit systems, recognize significant contributions to culture, public instruction, and general merit, with key examples including the Order of Public Instruction, Order of Merit, and historic military orders like the Order of Saint James of the Sword, 

just one will do

as long as there's a passport rightly appended, to what is true

even if i bet theyre also pissed off - in fact i know they are pissed off about

i hear things that are real from real people i ask 

 not the rabbit hole version of the internet

 (the only one all the Glasto girls found) 

the fact that every dodgy snake-oilista and drug dealer from Horrorford (ohh and tax credit thief  claiming them for yerars despite running a cult out there  - espesh that one so called healer-mama who never even let the kids see their dying dad, Dolphin, i organised a free pardon for and wages, if she set herself up by his bed a few months)  went and bought a field - doubtless within a few years littered with old cans like that eco-retreat Goosebarn by Gweek,  and put up a yurt and started a 'healing' business, without the correct zoning paperwork.... too busy all in their 'spiritual' zones .... 

they  - the poor Portuguese saw through it all and  realised some years back, "ooops .."

now..if that book could be rushed out....

May help their indigenous kids be able to afford their homeland once again.... never mind create an actual 'safe space' once more.....

surely a gong in that 

Auntie-fado!!!

 Now i am an 'ist' even if one loses track (still to DO)of what on'es an istabout...

And decades ago the only religious theosophical answer to all - as mine Mong mate, arff Pak and arff Kraut agrees..is interbreed

Then you don't need any iter-farrders or whatnots..

Fuckin' 'ell all along i was wrong, 

Siouxsi got nuthin on this babe! of the true song

and tango is made up prancin' around.....

she means it!....wow !! 

Even if having lost two of them!

Firstly the actual new-era fiancée of 2003  - a real woman comes to visit you in a gaol of ACTUAL dusty 'troubadours'  - the real thing rather than the ones in The Sourcelands who use that as advert too... and i hardly knew her.

Looked like the one above...infact gorgeouser

and smilier

And we parted one night later that year " i have to be ....ehhh...well...its going to take a while.. but really that only dinner for years  ... the empty restaurant middle of your nowhere.... and you even twisted my arm ok i have to admit that wine.... just you 

me and a few glasses of the alentejo.... 

please wait... i'm glad we 'waited'

 but i mean it, I'm committed"

You can't get more world record tragic 

than your fabulous clean living utterly non junky fiancé, 

one didnt know then but her Portuguese passport would have later come in handy...

just a few years later goes and dies on you.....  

cos of just a bit of youthful mistakenly junked up junky flu...

otherwise known as cancer causing eppytightis...

Just a few weeks thats all

seventeen, on the needle

(without any doubt change, learning lesson, causes the best of all peeps - maybe that's the 'meaning of life'

 Ms perfect Pinto, not even ex wife

 one teenage error, takes away her then-now perfect life

And then a second my ohh my

backstop, second choice, 'I chose life!'

a 2019ish FAkebook message, oops, no, email

"if you're still alive down there Isabel Mario Ramos Lopes....

well... ehhh..... i fancy some December warmth.... and ok if youre still in distress

i callously used you  -  both of us such a youthful mess...  

well ok maybe  ehhh..... " if at first you don't succeed

even more tragically, fail!

She having earned, twenty years or more

even learned my language, our amorous fortnight, 

handsignals and body language..... all night

no common words, upon which to, our other minds, impale...

But what a bummer never mind double tragedy 

her kid gone, and both of us free....

just a few weeks earlier, kicked the bucket

life is shit how sad never mind fuckit

i owed her.... even if we made each other laugh at our weirdest on and more off thirty year history.

(sometimes you can go ..back.....and she's even more gorgeous than ever..)

Anyway there was no point EVER speaking, 

I'm sure even Mister Cohen my only  many year supposedly well read male confidant

will have  forgotten my endless torrent:

"god when will YOU PEOPLE...[ Guardian  lite] of so called Hay-on-Wye, listen to some other cunt

"my only ever enemy..... those Greens, blame THEM 

'them' them, for their endless crimes....

pityful rhetoric leads to  wonky lost peeps crimes...

how many times do i have to repeat:

Most important book made me think Amos OZ, most of his

not preachin' just showing.... the backstreets of Jerusalem or Tel Aviv are as confusing and nuanced as my underpants

craziest sexmad lover ever young N London Woman-of-the-book 

 after just one coffee bleedin eck did she ...

Daughter named out of a Zimmertune

Only extant, due my half-Pally pal delivering flowers one spring Warsaw afternoon

....i dont think i ever even paid her back....

anyway do i moan EVERR?!? 

never.... about anyone except them Greens...."

As only 'pity' really works

Is ultimate " shut-the-fuckup

cower crawl.....  and if you ever mature, buck up...

pity the poor gentile, 

lost the race by so many miles

Babs, (and all prejudiced peeps like me leave her Yentil to last on the list

inadvertent cliché  self immolatingly syndrome on ones own petard:  

leave the best to last; why is it so HARD!

Amos, Primo, second-best-to-ugly-Kev,  

Poliakoff quite alone

 chronicled UK sold out all principle,  to ownin'  that castellan home

infact yes come back in a century!

('twon't be in the stats i guess, but youngsters dead,

traintracks ovepillpoppin, 

placcy bags and .... own bonce... 

i would bet my free speech  certain names arent on that tragic list  even once)

Jesus Christ and Jerusalem.... 

proportionality; Bella Abzug was the state of New York's first female senator.

a first; to  even handbag-whack those dreadful stone age men!

its the gentiles, cultureless, useless, pretty damn clueless,  cant even keep their own kids out the morgue...

 And in fact, fact... a considerable segment

have many decades  married 'out' .... 

the modernest modernist only fixing, to 'genetically'* cement. 

*Lewontin 

quite rightly in his  1991 Doctrine of DNA.....

Geneticist Lewontin demonstrates how science (and scientists) is molded by society and how the dominant social and economic forces in society determine to a large extent......

soon went on to lecture on how all 'race' is just illusion.. all there is is cultural construct

 (ahh note to self the FREE SPEECH thing i forgot the real meaning of life.... 

came up later on with the wonderful old couple riffing for quite some time.... them, finest ever hubby and wife.... 

talk about solidarity

he even doses  her  with hydrogen peroxide 

[we laughed - as she alone:  " its the bloody hair products fuck up the rivers... not SW water"]  just a little on the side

home-made fix, keeps her COPD at bay

she'll live to battle on another day

Especially since she's had 'err orders: 

"WRITE your memoir!... yes all these latterday made up disorders.... 

screwed up your adult lad, too...."

well......

 ....  I never edit; but i may have to....

There's me wanderin' up into her hills once again  - " thirty miles [ i can speak local, indeed have ten different identity hats all the one same underneath as its only words....  I'm no fascist  that insists everyone else is lesser if they don't believe my ideal... ology)].... a week the  difference between a longer life and health....  and not"

" so where do we find you then...?"

(i'm still in shock..... " you mean she didn't tell you....  to look out for a pikey probably scoutin' tools to nick or... land to 'adopt' 😇.... [  gosh thats weird an emoji can be italicised  merthinks theres a word picture or two in that.. lets experiment ..🙏

wow it works! ... sadly someone i once knew rather addicted to them, rather than.... reality....].... i was kindof testing her i know its not very nice to speak in terms like testing but.... gosh i KLNEW she would defy disobey 

and generally fuck up my day.... wow what a lass!" ...)

Anyway one fact every time you turn on news of the  loonies  - surely Brown has to take almost the biscuit... (its like for several months the world has wanted the next one)   but what's worse is every time you turn them on all they do is moan about the....... flu...

now sadly one cannot yet create the full multi-media experience,  a chronicler i know I am  far better than old man Borrow or even  this one 

but this one is the one that grabs me.....  the amount of times one has needed a helpin' hand even recalcitrant...moody...even footstampy? more often than

 knot 

the smile crack eventually, brought down to earth 

(is it her fallen tree?)

by muckin' in together .. there's no s/he

Anyway the first rule of the land is that unfortunately most farmers, and i am allowed to say this as an actual real  'commoner' for my teens - where i woz as a lad no fancy terms like that, one merely had "rights" to the mountain and i was one of only 3 or 4 of us shepherds up there, come wind rain or snow though ideally in the bracken of a summer attempting a little recreation as all work makes JAck a dull boy....  even atop the well known 'Moel'....... well they   are a tad fascist and they have to be trained

The best moment was 2011 living or rather not wanting to, but having to... on old farmer Jack's land a well known famous sheepdog dog beater and fascist...in fact he would basically admit the latter himself behind the painted on smile.... if you had him to yourself at work, unpaid...

Now this is called a harrow. Real hillfarmers may once or twice a year tend to their land with one... it is dragged across the land and even breaks up the manure so its spread all over the field so walkers can complain about the smell.... and getting it on their boots

What landspeeps have to do as it all went wonky and the farmers rightly assume that the invaders are on drugs just cos they havent had TIME for a decade to cut their hair.... being an actually dedicated parent and animal, husbander... etc 

even if your lass is in fact bred and born just up the road if you dont have the same fascist accent or ALWAYS racist banter well youre not from here....

BUt what a landman  - both sexes can do it but seems one is too scaredy cat not to prejudge, does is bide his time...a year or more and one day oldman JAck - 75ish is in the field next door with his harrow.  struggling as it was all knotted up as he was always  too busy bossing his poor dogs around no wifey left to nag.... to do his job properly and unknot it after the last job ready for the next job...

....so the 'moment' ... " ehh up JAck look you probably think im one of these wimpey precious druggies that have colonised all the Wye Valley but ehh i see yourre strugglin there let me do it for you...dont want you having the well overdue stroke [that would have saved the dogs rather a lot of pain]..."

" you lad ....well.pphhuhhh......."

ten minutes later he's off on his tractor harrowing away with an untangled tool... and a year of fascist assumptions put in his pocket in a  tin called "well  i never..."

In short the most judgemental people on the planet ....  even if the original North Wales hill farmer was in fact one of the least judgemental in that when one is toiling away lonely day after day and some 'stranger' comes into view no matter what their hue... anyone is a welcome break from  cant-talk-back dog or slightly dipsy  ewe...

Anyway where did we get to ohh yes the total inability for anyone ever to think.... maybe a flu may do me good: tune up my immune system.... give me a break - rest from their  system...

of only self....

But then also...in ten years nearlynow..of meandering and giving  just a bit of my 'story' to random pixies, fascists or anyone i meet...

so many times as i couldnt give a shit about mine, when hearing theirs i sagely guru them into Dave....

who maybe did have one grown up 'friend'  - the only definition i know: telling the truth..

to them Feds when after years of him sadly becoming a 'monster'  - his own word, all them drink drugs and the rest

someone tipped the Keystones off about a load of drugs and it lead to arrest.

And nine months pokey 

out of which he emerged drug free

He later said "saved my life"

Hmm anyway there was i meanderin' and  making an audio about why? husband/wife....

And bugger me.... 

an out of the pale blue yonder opportunity

the ultimate in emotional blackmail 

"perraps you'll put in a good reference....

.... never mind fix your wall or fence...

... if she's to run you maybe even to whorespittle....

well she'll be happier ...more content

even drive more safely-faster... if theres someone back home, to..."

be continued.

"well I'm amazed...[over his farmer's gate] .... what a lass!, she can be trusted...and... well.... why ? "

 So yes.... 

Now unlike poor Harry and Sally's dad  - that's what happens if you stay in Loony Land, where tragically even The Kush in her glorious Mars, wrongly denied the Booker by the bullshit precioussists has her heroine all looking up into the big 'light' and we know what happens next,  I believe in happy endings.

And life affirming culture, which a proper student of it knows hasn't been possible in Eleanor's Elephantine land of fat moaners, for attention....and cash, and slots on the wireless - thistermorn moanin about their allergies  - whole great big 'communities' of them curated by moaning Central

London, with a trendy lisp....

And they won't tell you, what with Pereira Maintaining his cool in Rua Da Saudade, Ove laughing at the rope, and that Reader on The 6.27  had me sobbing by surprise - good sobs, never mind The earsex addicted drugadict paraplegic in Untouchable lives to ...crerate new life rather than Britolite (to rhyme with Armalite) JoJo's awful Me Before... and his one way ticket to Zurich...

But i don't know what's going to happen,,,,  I told her " don't tell a soul" knowing she would tell certainly her dad....

But she..... didn't

And what a dad!

So, Mister Campbell, and his mate

 times two.

God,  thirty year'nago.....

Now the problem with those European lands.... 

Is when you've got a 'connected'

 (GOD ALMIGHTY IF I EVER HEAR THAT FAKE WORD AGAIN

I CANNOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR.....  DROWNING THEM IN THIE ENDLESS REFRAIN

even she her briancells brainwashed 'flowed' away

by every ferkin word every day

to make them seem all sweetly Pretty Parker

the fake version, "have a nice day"

and forty ferkin years

i harked her.....

And still do.

Never mind the Englightbulbin' dark materials

can't listen even number one bard

" best ever song, you've all never heard

the word picture behind his perfect grotesque

 facade, but the picture will never die

no matter how hard

you try"

Anyway poor LA Belle France never had a chance

Despite their splendid "allez [fuckin] vous en" lore

I was told in bed,  by a native

speaking "thats the worst insult it means you are dead

tomee....

just go away....

True insultulative poetry

no need for ranty rudeness

just.....allz ....vous [polite] ...en

But there was always something a billion times more pestilent

Whether at fancy Sheraston City Squire hotel or menaderin by tent

Mine.... she even that night maybe nineteen ninety one or two

just before they were to get all " well we'll start a bigger genocide on you!"

A dark winters Belgrade night... 

America... she rings my bell

 or it must of been me her no signal all a bit fifty  years behind on thattoo

" do you mind if i marry him.....?"

Anyway fast forward a few years backward into well what was the point?

"Our book.. all that tooin and frowin across our pond.."

 

But an honourable friend of course stays friend even after the one best ever friend goes and befriends someone else, matrimonially....

And of course on their European tour

"come knock at my door, all three.."

the weirdest ever few days,  her the once sylphest beloved  sylph something of a fatty

but thats mutable, twas them the two men

every other word about their stupid little hightech flasks of coffee

, and minimalistic purity... 

fingers as if playing some virtuoso orchestra

i still remember Bill's 

He used his to "summon the dead"

The sweetnew American used his to herald the death..

of everything pioneer ... 

that infected here

with the obsession fingerplayed compulsive disorder

new order

just fooling around with their space age new age coffee flasks

Now thats a word picture worthe never forgetting

as i know is what the fine Grens over the water really need jeejhaddin'...

but they hadnt a clue

whom they were really up against and what to do...

but i did, or rather....

that's exactly the whole point....

Forty years ago nearly to the day...

I wandered out of a hotel in their Big apple and met the most innocent and perfect trio...

That is the whole of it

Bright eyed ...innocent

Boondock babes

No question of all that biblical bashin

(we wont talk about the gun under Margrets pillow) 

 "it never worked only good for trashin.."

The one perfect one, and all.... 

every quark wasting time vibrationally buggin'

 " Im the REAL fundamental particle"

stuck  between the ineffable  next reality 

and this one  not even visible magnifically

" fuck...i've only ever met one, definite article.."

 whom could never be remastered as perfect in every  original mistress of now, and we....

are in fact the product of every greatest bit of culture...

and kindof ignored Bowie....

(up the wrong  dead end local Cave

 but his two dead kids perhaps one day will speak, freely

of just what a tosser, 

of kids of cliffs, define: loser )  

Anyway Mister Bach's progeny.....

And her arty sister, taught me.....

Every single thing those Europeans missed....

One problem though nobody could know

Especially me innocent limey

The only one who ever truly worked her way into every smallest quark-vacant nook and cranny.. 

the lacuna between mere stuff,

subatomic unseen

  and forever ineffability

Thing is its impossible to put it into words.

(even if i would discover a decade later

flippin eck for all those fancy rockets and destroyers

they cant even make good housepaint for me to fix up christ-o-biggot towers... )

Why is it that Americans seem to only ever have a sell by date?

A "sell you down the river" ... 

sticker on their bum, as unbridgeable as that River Plate...

Every decade or one an' alf....

gotta runaway and .... tear 

up the loveliest and truest  photo of who they were

 

and quite sure still are, inside

and must Forever hide

As a service to humanity The Bible on Free Speech, for free, buckshee! saving you years and years wonderin' if you should care....

 on a finest yeterramble

no yesterwander....

landlopin up in them hillsyonder

(i don't hold grudges*,

 asked the Stroudent cliquine

 if she wanna guide and  a trudge

talk about my latest killer poem need an inside rail 'feminimine'!

experience is only half of it)

free substack audio will be turned into Youtube sermontoo one day soon ..ish

Free Speech - The Bible onnit. By one who knows.. but save yourself and forget about it in UK -NOBODY cares. Nor understands what it was for...this audio saves YEARS of your future life frettin!boutit

https://open.substack.com/pub/ralphschism/p/free-speech-the-bible-onnit-by-one?r=2jdt8a&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true

Free Speech part 2, conclusion bits forgotten, share to save SO much frettin! as literally 99.999999% of UK wouldn't want it. Never mind not understandin it, as it may point a torch at themtoo

https://open.substack.com/pub/ralphschism/p/free-speech-part-2-conclusion-bits?r=2jdt8a&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true

and even if your too effete to use the Substack

here in google filestore drive raw data

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1RDUHE45K6ykMOZ76cGW7-EfhODF_KSWs?usp=sharing

(NEVER ever edited, nor paused...i just meander and waffle

 for a lost cause

of tomorrow being free 

always... unlike she  - thisters,

perraps ik shall see her later )

photos of a silly naive  whatsap received yesetermorn still to add in here ....

i 'post' or publish then have to tweak posts never ready until a bit later or quite a few still a year later

unfinished (too busy laughing at their GRUDGES - i mean three years of them! ) but i know every missing link

* why we NEEDED all them Europeans, your silly internet (my so called 'friends' used to know about Europe, couldnt listen, the men that is, "have you worked IN it, worked FOR it,  loved IN it,  fucked IN it, EATEN gastronomically and SIMPLY in it, bred IN it, thousands of KM wandered IN it opened a few bank accounts IN it been arrested IN it, even hilariously and so enjoyably engaoled IN it ...over 20 or more years...well unless you have you know nothing such as ive never known well any European who holdes a grudge - that's a decidedly Sceptic Aisle kindof behaviour.... not innate as all humans are the same, merely constructed... which means you can dethefuckconstruct too....  why we needed Eurotrash all over here interbreeding interfucking intereverything..." and i gave up on them  - the silly so called UK men, by 2020 when you realised every single one [m.] had gone and got lost down their rabbit hole forever which wasnt any one way fun-hole merely rather dark...  and they're too mean to share the torch to find the way back out...especially the Quakers - my first some year male ... attempt at sharing reality....nope even Cambridge uni doesnt allow that - for a silly man to listen.... about somewhere he's only ever been on holiday...and even he after decades of Internationalist  'better together' goes and falls victim, prey...to .... what he only ever read on your silly interweb.... of nothing but unreality...never mind if anyone had said to The Pyrenean or even Foothill Frogs " you will welcome Macron and his technocratic townyism and shut up about it too...." nobody would needto SAY anything, as the pitchforks amassed would say quite enough....  there is no legalistic cohesive "EU"  - local identity is all quite fine and keeping to what its known forever.... silly city boys and girls try... but they can never influence any real hilltop peeps....  thats for them Rosbeefs over La Manche....   who never fight for anything unless its the gaze of others watchin their pointless non-performance...   them Portuguese got them bang to rights centuries ago " for the English to...see..[ the p;atinated picket fence all shiny and gloss, 

when behind the paint was rotten and flaky as candy floss"  )

Right there we go the end even if five years ago it obviously was... but what a fun half a decade in part 2, the ....??? 

except ten more days to go or is it nohh twelve.....

Now that's quite good.... ( " are you a clique of fools?")

 Now, 'tain't their fault....

As Poliakoff harbingeringed, in his 98 The Tribe, a load of tribes cults whatdyerknows which would 'flow' into every workshop, clique and gang of fools in the world moves over to the safety of the SW.... and any sane person had left their theme parks way before, as i did, even 1992 as they spread out from Fulham rd., potion sales operations all over, slowly   dribbling up through The Cotswolds in parallel with 'family assassinations' and all that which only come along when the big expensive SUV with 5k personal monogram on the front, can't be paid for any more... and thus 'identity' is nomore....

none of my business as any sane person in fact heard in 1979 my ohh my that year,  we - my thensane wonderful tribe which included Princess DI later the drug dispensary, we had on loop the great album,  and the great allegorical   thingumybob just a word picture of the really rather stupid book, that tried to hard to be the bible of the ones who heard the great album and didnt get it: "youtoo"

in other words if you have only skimmed one rather silly showoff 'surreal' book and then buy some little cottage off the tramps of Stroud, Hay, even in time Presteigne... Gweek all these places they later (much later than me who had run away only to escape them 15 years earlier, about 2007 being the big year...

all going on about some 'milennium bug' End Times...or whatever they obsess around...around,na decade earlier hadn't worked so they were bored of melodrama and decided to go and seed it elsewhere,  the keyword, melodrama... drama queens... or just bored OF themselves....

Anyway thats all impossible real history as they are so plenishingly abundant they cannot allow any real history....

Such that all 'this' the magnificent poet chubby Kev saw through nearly fifty years ago! ...and you will still have the tribes of HAtefilled smilers gathering now on Gweek park pretending they actually have some 'community' in any other way than transactional, and wanting to be prettier than the next Whickerine  flouncer.... so that they can fang-sink, them into Rupert's antique landrover which like;ly jhas a few million quids worth of mummy's L'Oreal shares  exchnaged for somewhere to park a few 'patinated vans' (he LOVED that yesteraft another refugee, from Wadebridge this time, and fine artist making jokes about the 'ancestrors' who had a real funky sense of humour in 500BCE as he showed me at great length " god it got SO greedy and fake i had to run away..." 

 Thing is about the Pretty ...parkers..parkups.... they can't laugh at THEMselves any more which is the definition of a clique and also the worst workshops ever ... and basically fascismtoo.... 

None of which interests me other than maybe over time weave something just a tad tenth as good as The Count's Resurrection " but tear out the last two seditious pages!!"

Being i don't think there is any other book or thinker who thunk better on how the 'working' class  are their own exact realised whatnots and some guilty aristo who tags on to save his own soul should be told to stay in his own posh compartment of the gulag train.... as " im quite alright without you thank you very much on your cross... furthermore i am in love with this splendid smelly tramp who i snuggled up to lastereve to prevent myself from dying of cold...but you can be our friend if you want until you get bored of Siberia..." 

Anyway .... nobody ever can even think of any joint humanity here there and everywhere...in The LAnd of only self 'realisation' that invaded my last territory 20 years ago.... funny thing not one know what happiness is.  (never mind a rare honest artist, perhaps because he was so 'ugly' in a nonmutable way, and so must never be mentioned as so,  and thus couldnt trade on prettiness )

 Or  see what you do NOT see is so interesting - often moreso than what you do....

" ehh so what do you call a gathering of fools, a clique?" (there is a backstory to that notfornow...)

I should have blurted out " a business!" as twas on my mind.... " like a business of ferrets [BIGSMILE] ...one difference they cannot be bought..."

anyway an evening of foolery ... not one had bought along any man....  it never occurred that i would be sat in a room of only woman 'artistes'... 

But of course when every word for decades (" ehhh avante garde theatre was invented like a hundred years ago nuthin new...") is rather 'seperatist' they get what they want..... (in Lower Sourcetown this is) a room where theyre all separated forever.... except well i did intro myself AS The Fool....

me whom thought one smile was real.... (long long knew that one! god every single incursion upon simple humanity you had thought they had invented twofacery the smugness and revelry in... 'passive aggressive' bad manners via being ghhostly!   )

Anyway if only they knew: what eight magnificent hours shut eye no matter what unless i am busy with the minor flotsam after their gunboats have been at it as so often for several decades...

I adore it the way at 0600 faces even if double sided that one met a day or two ago, at dawn after eight hours shuttersdownsville come back in absolute high fidelity... 

( i wonder if she saw me atchin-here.... quite deliberately?? ... 

she liked to speak quite sincerely...

some things cannot be faked nor sold, even for free)

Now the subtle art of.....

 (i don't lie, i have zero interest in any place in this whole place that sold itself to Mammon decades back.  My only interest is why he, mister Muttin'am, ranty

supposed beefy 

builder-poet,  

could be quite so sold out...

five yerars ago.

And then why the nexteryear, the so called hardnosed lady of her 'famous' stud

way up high in them midwales hills

 fine old stables left rotting for years...

and a man comes along to fix em up...

all one hears day in and out is the saddest sort

of naggin', even by her oldtimer dad.

And then gets gibbed - a fancy word for stealing.

The old-code being one always pays the day man, especially if he bought your groceries on the way up.

How could things have got to that?

Nothing SW even wobbles ones rainrepelling £1 hat

As every drop expected

Anyway yes at least i say it to people's face

Before pondering how to chronicle the commonplace.

All about.

So much more interesting Pastyshire without a doubt.

Lastereve the 'poets' gather.

And two rather good. especially the old woman rolly smoker.

To all four faces "sorry rude to sit at the socket all evelong... yes ive an 'offering' so you wont get me wrong"

"thing is ladies...or is it women.... 

last time i went to one of these

Bodmin, dead poets society [tm someone else]  if you please

All of them, all night moaning

about body, problem, illness

THREEblokes versiifyin  on  their prostrate!

of three there. [i saw their expensive antique landrovers pulling up, so much distress..]

i felt like goin' down on my knees...

surely poeming's to make you be alive, fight on...  eat the stingybees live

  one by one by the gobful  wholesale  hive by hive

But no merely moan,

 'cos of my prostrate i nearly [southern grammar]  stayed home'..

and the women with their far more aristocratic conditions... 

i left in the intermission

shouldv asked for my 'donation' back...

ohh forgot i have second sight and kept my pennies back "

 Anyway the subtle art of its impossible to make any bought in to their fantasy

think one has one millisecond of interest in their fantasy "community"

Just like hers down Hatesville way and i didn't say that! t'was she...

But i did see something beautiful today. 

Keeps happening  where least expected.

None of my biz,  my safety fencer erected.

(but who was that thisters waved at me ..." did you see her do you know her..?" "no mate not me.." 

No not her the fabulous book of old timers pictured.

especially the moorish lasses  haytruck laughing,  and i know not staged.

some real smiles do not age...

oops forgot why i even turned it on...

especially on a walking one)

Anyone else with empty unmajyycill little lives

 would say " its a SIGN! man alive...!"

The most ridiculous coincidence

As someone else said prior to this... 

But all it was 'for'

merely in truth to (though few occasionally mention reticently)

Is to remember everything still as class-ridden unconsciously

Bovarian cancer ate their brains " We're aware and conscious, look at me"

If you tell a Source woman - as always, middle, but in their small minds consider themselves just slightly cut above

" dyer know  that silver grey hair of your'n,  and i can tell no chemicals involved... truly is quite so astonishingly gorgeous i hope you dont mind me sayin so..."

The middle+ will look you up and down and just maybe force a smile

The middle- thats moody blue collar, cut above the 'working'

stood there so splendidly mean and moody and wont look anyone in the eye

her lapel borne camera's newage solution for that, 

catch em bang to rites in their abusive chat!

the only thing would make her kind happy

until someone loiters, prowls... awaits his moment

why not ... I'm content

And i couldnt stop her talking and laughing about how much time 

" it just took SO much time...and now i'm free! :-)  "

as usual the only sincere, smiley 

" well take it from me, its also TEN times more sexy..

as is your joy thats borne of sincerity"

  

 

so, it's almost like full circle...

 "no dogs Irish and diggers here.."

And they get a new pumped up little whippewrnapper of a  recruit their Tommy....

And all the  fancy dogs in Christendom...

For now that death cult we shall leave aside 

As the othercults ...

well the thing is when you go to 'THEIR' poetry bash 

in their Hampstead-on-hash

And there are only four there

Well, it's the definition of Narniac fantasy

 

I have no interest in whatsoever

other than how the fantasy came to be

is whilst pondering High Mts Of Serbian, freedom, 

all that interests me.

As nobody has done it, yet.

As they can't.

As it's their bubble

that frankly never was. 

As per....(allthat swanky posterage!) just four.

Me only there for the sockit.

splendid one too.

Thing is though yesteraft at exactly 

oops wrong camera what a pain to have to revolve and pivot round three 

just to capture the stories, not even for me

 

Ahahhhhh....full battery at thedawn...

 The... even if the best time is that wintering-the-fuck ..

around

05.15 and drifting back....

thisterone: " wow those gibbers... even if the first was exactly twenty years ago about thistime

of year.... 

' uhhh i just cant do it any more...  we kindof like to come and meet yer ferrits mine three and your'n....  but you'll have to come to mine.... [ horrid little Lowland pad, noise of the invaders just over horizon,  and proof pollytunnels make you mad]..."

Even if thirty years ...

the thing is what they steal these Southern lasses raised on the sharp edges of suburban Paperchase

packs of control, their desk then the suburbs then the world...

but never mine territory

Thirtyyears ago just do the JOB

Living in the coldest dampest very Olde Shoppe

Brilley

Rich landowners and his, overtly  ...Christian... agent

 Never mind a few years later: " ohh didnt you know...

'ohh how lovely a child to be born in our parish, [radiant smile]'  Segrot's

 tennant policy: up the duff, and a notice 21 later, off you go.."  

But that's another story

The only one that matters is the footings of thewall, no damp course, several years on, the first job, no consultation no remuneration

just DO it yourself....

A whole week  of pick axein' and tough ground diigin.

No fuss no liability no asking no self pity

Righty ho but twenty years

Twas that whole class, her a 'journalist' fiddlin' with her Paperchase

then polly, tunneling around the world on her internet dates

funny that, three kids back home

But because your guru is Rudolph Steiner

" well in my last life, i was a humming bird, and the next i might get to be a gadfly..[ even iof they only ever assume and aesthetically design, butter...fly"

off they fly just cos the winter is being winter.

At our glorious just at the snowline

But all gibbers - or charmy time wasters absolutely NO idea who they are...all the same, as they spread in like an oil slick  over their previous suburban pile of Paperchase ... neatly folding the world into their  English private schoolgirl, very very flat land as folding compresses, reality....

into nothing but sterility

As paper needs to be damp randomly creased and mouldy diseased...to be alive

Ahhh oui un artiste !!! 

sur mon playliste

 

 (for the smoking poetess yestereve..)

The meaning of success, and winning infact the battle and war...

The very first of the new phase of mad ones well she wasnt...

That first glorious winter we would natter and she even got mine humour, " get on yer broomstick now babe.... its only ten mins from your Laurie's Slad... and the very idea of Serfina makes any dad worth his name a very hard lad....."

But i could not even remember her name

And i never admit failed memory

But then you realise why, 

and what gettin one over onem

is

As they say time speeds up getting middle aged

well, when your  absolutely non-life is so so full of endless people pleasing bullshit and every word you love 

as Siren song one eyed monstresss

bonkers Odyssic poetry

Even the one nine months back

It really is a whole good as decade... feels like so rediculously much has been

between then and now....

it.....you....stretch time and feels like almost forever

all you want.

Bet you aint got it.

No workshops available..... only the work of you, can MAKE-DO