there's absolutely no need to write these days - perhaps if i were much much younger and idealistic - what love... what oh what woe... could have could be (etc.) -
today i found myself in love with england for: however many a time... the rolling hills cliche - but i was alone: yet i was legion... i was no anglo-saxon with an army...
i strolled the countryside and for this moment of certainty: i was truly allowed to hold firmness of aloofness -
beside the rabbit i crouched beside two meters away... a wild thing i was almost eager to pick it up: was the rabbit blind?
it's beyond questionably unfathomable... well... there was that fox that decided to come to soup kitchen in my back garden for nearing two months: at a time when i desired a dog... because: cats don't really eat leftovers... fussy eaters... no gluttonous slobs among, them...
my new earned pleasure: to walk is better than to talk... yet even i found myself talking to the wind:
verbatim: imagine! bewildering that such places still exist! even if for an hour... later i found out that this was historical ground i was treading... related to henry VIII and edward the confessor - teasing passing through a village havering-atte-bower...
i didn't see a human face for hours and hours... i did see birds-of-prey, i saw i noted... i didn't bring a pen and paper... i was so entangled... i was so freely there... i was so... freely there... unlike where i am now: "here" attached to an extension of thinking...
come to think of it... i was so pristinely alone that if i were asked anything outside the realm of casual formality: if i were to be implored to bid good day or a hello... i'd straighten out a ******* banana and call it: the staff of moses if i had to deal with this bogus societal- never on a street am i ever asked for a hello...
why do people find it necessary to bid these ****** hello impromptus when facing the base for all dreams... i never liked talking during ***... i never like disturbing the language of the fields and the teasing moors and the chimes of branches with anything that isn't jokingly spontaneous:
like today: imagine... such places do exist... where one can truly spend a worth of an hour or so alone... with the birds of prey flying above... with horses grazing... with a rabbit: i presumed blind...
it's most decidedly unnecessary for me to write this: but i can't allow a good glug of kosher malt to waste... if i'm drinking i'll have to find myself writing... such that i need to restress a fondness for this equipment: a pair of feet... no need to run... if i can catch up with noon and make it home come sunset...
i will most certainly not prescribe myself to live under the cooking instructions of a chicken sold by a supermarket... 1h40... 1 hour and forty minutes? to cook a large chicken? like all women are the best cooks and the chicken ******* need to be dry as a brittle (trans-grammarism)...
i wasn't listening... shove enough thyme / garlic infused butter under the skin and give it a maximum of 55 minutes... mismatching my rooster albert bartlett tatties... i was hoping for a synchronised swan lake esque event concerning the oven enterprise... bad luck moi...
a thermometer is so key... to eating a pleasure roast of chicken... i'll understand pasta undercooked... teasing al dente: but over-cook it... and serve up mush of melting glue: kept together by a "miracle"... same with chicken... oh god... over-cooking or undercooking meat is... i will dare to say... never mind... 165°F for chicken meat... i can't eat chewing gum made from chaw-chaw-chaw barbarous chew... welcome back to civilisation: lost wanderer...
i honestly don't think i needed to write this: that i didn't... but i did... i hope i can be excused with "keeping my **** together"... i'm not a fan of drinking in front of the mirror... or putting my hand in a hot bucket of water... why does drinking supposedly encourage commerady... why is drinking supposed to be this: social event... drinking alone is bad... walking alone is doubly bad... well **** yeah! let's have us a *******-wanking of a marathon! a drinking **** to boot!
drinking alone is all that is "leftover"... if it weren't for the add chance of utilising a plumber... once in a blue moon scenario: since the previous generations invested so much in the plumbing... it's not a question would i be better of... i'd be: off of now... in this currency conundrum of... impersonal justifications... a hybrid anonymous butcher... or some... variation and "other"...
give me the sky! the wind! the fields! and the time necessary to not encounter some ******* baseline pedestrian who... upon venturing upon holy ground... public footpath nonetheless... seeing all this nature has to... pass me by with an invitation for a hello hallow how'do'you'do... weird: if i walked down the street and all that pleasing concrete was in the way... would i get the same "invitation"... then why, bother, my, silence... when i'm standing on grass... looking at trees?!
unfamiliar territory i am sure... i don't need assurances of teasing poker... get on your ******* bus and leave us to its... it's hardly an "english" thing... is just happens to be a human bollocking working up to a crescendo that's only now apparent: who dou 'illed with 'reats again'st the theat're?
the rabbit! the rabbit! the rabbit! was the rabbit blind? i didn't sneak up on it... hello words: congest my mind allow the voyeurs in... i won't be here long... that space between the ears and the eyes... i suppose the eyes... like candy-outgrowths... bulging i pretended to blink they were still intact... a camouflage... this close to a wild "thing" you'd find me expressing details of moth wings...
that there's a an M25... that there's an A406... and there's the great... walk-along to ******* alone work-around for feet primo... i think it's called a circular... like a hand of an hour i imagine walking around greater london 7 times... it really is a bogus project... but it's a mad enough beginning to allow myself to dream...
like in those old movies... oceans, eleven? the 'ctor roost and... the professional boxers... treated as mere cameos on screen... so... here's my cameo... i have yet to find such a footed riddle as i have... no ******* from noak hill will tread these parts... i'm sure of it as i am sure: it's not that i'm a lover of nature... there's no david attenborough voyeurism involved to produce a semblance naturalist...
words architecture, words architecture... word... ugh... architecture... words grammar architecture... it's not that it's ugly... it's just so well-arrived-at... it's pristine... unshakeable... words, grammar... architecture...
i want to walk... to hell with running a marathon while mr. c.c.t.v. is jerking off a commitment of transmission...
acorns and oak-fill... lost for words... chestnuts! chestnuts! all that is evolved monkey and devolves back into a bear... sounds mad enough to 'ave some... i just like to imagine... digressing with winter nonexistent... this parody of insomnia: whether via work or via...
one alcoholic vs. one hundred workaholics... vs. one thousand bureaucrats... vs. 4th industrial revolution staples in the millions... cost effective "work"... and "effective": a work not as: the best that can be done... but as a public service loitering... ahem... sorry... "provision"... have people forgot that there exist a version of humanity that somehow has to be appeased... that people can perhaps relapse into their trained-monkey phase and treat a supermarket cashier as he or she were a heart-surgeon... or are we all so ******* desperate as to: settle our grievances on mediocre pyramidal schematics . tiers invoked... blah blah... whoopsie: it snows.
grandiosity herr engels: i gather.... but for all that toughening of limbs and of making concrete assurances: to borrow bones to somehow delve into carving marble...
how to turn a gorilla into a weakling man pursuit... brain hijacked by a mushroom... and retell squirm with a man-beefed-up-bear-in-tow...
it's not merely... impossible... this of the fewest least... it's this rugged tease of an avalanche... a stampede... when in fact... it was merely a wriggling of a centipede.
demiurge ave! demiurge ave! as one probably does... walking past a curation of budding ***... she's teasing 15... and she gives off quiverings in the air... she's so teen... so prone to angry... all that she is... is a scent of bubblegum... she's too young to become complicated with ***... and *** has become one of those: metaphors... drawing water from a stone...
i'm too tired of wanting what isn't readily available... in the availability of a harem... i'm too tired to want what i must, most necessarily never have... then again... again: i will heave not having above what i could perhaps want to heave: rather than have... all those pornoflicks from ******: should i be irritated by ******* tailor-me-pretty... a kit-kat of fingers usually does the "job"...
yes... my heave: my harth... my liquid lunge... my best and therefore by least... forest of a crown.