‘Thank You, I Don’t Like It’

A few points I’d like to make. Already thought this way before the event of cowardice on Monday. And I don’t want a discussion about it. As I have said in a previous post, I write, you read. 

The Koran is based on the Old Testament. As is the Tora. All written by scribes employed by the wealthy. To control the masses. Pattern emerging…

I really want the ‘news’ providers to stop playing clips from Monday. Everytime I hear that shithouse press his button, I hear the screams of last minutes. Lost last minutes of people who have a baring on my life and the ones I hold dear and love intensely. It must be fucking annoying beyond belief for those closer to. Stop it.

Manchester United. To be honest, and I can’t actually be anything else, it doesn’t matter if they sang a song in the dressing room which didn’t ‘fit’ the sombre mood of its hometown. It matters that they won. For them. For their millions of fans around the world. Sure, whoever instigated the song should get a kicking and some abuse next season, but I have seen mates comment on it like it’s the worst thing that’s happened this week. It really fucking isn’t. Trust me on this one. I really am not arsed what MUFC do as long as it helps MCFC out in any way in the competitions we appear together in. And to re appropriate a Scottish Scouse legend:

‘Football. Life and death? It isn’t as important as that…’

I have already complained through the relevant channels and will continue to. It might not make a difference in the long run but I’m not prepared to sit on my already flat hands and not do anything. Complain. Make yourself heard. By any means possible. It’s in us all. Create. Produce. Help. And most of all, fucking love. Wherever you think this world is going, show someone you love them, before you reach the destination on your own.



‘What are you thinking?’

‘I’m thinking of you’

‘I only wish that that were true’

‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

‘Do I look that thick?’

‘Here’s my cat I hope it fits’

‘How can you be so sorry and glib?’

‘Years of constraint and a smile on my grid’

‘If now was forever, what would you do?’

‘I’d spend it tightly wrapped up in you’

‘When You Try & Clear Your Mind’ (part two)

Marveling madness makes much mistakes

Never now not near nowhere

Obstacles obscure oddly old obsessions

Perfect peace pretends principle passes

Queer quality quite quietly quits

Ring right rich repaired reserve

Stupid salient soft speciality surprises

Tender tricks taken twice today

Ullesyes understood undone ultimately underneath

Victory vanishes vapid velour velocity

Wednesday wished weaknesses well within


‘When You Try & Clear Your Mind’ (part one)

Are answers asking any alternatives

Bring back brilliant bastards briefly

Catching copiously caring contradictory confidences

Don’t deny dripping dangerous denial

Each elicit expression expands education

Flavour fear fully for favour

Glory gone gets grabbed gibbly

Hidden hurt hints harsh hunger

Inside interest includes illicit interception

Jesus justly jumps jobs jealously

Kicking kings keeps kissing kinky

Loss loses loose lust lately

‘Gedanken Zu Verlassen’ (part one)

What do you miss?

I miss black scratchy cat head bowed nonchalant owning the space it paces. Tins of tuna spoilt sleep the day through yawling little neighbour pet. A prince or a piercing?

I miss tickling talks with friend from yonder at the drop of a cuppa, gin on Christmas marking excuses, the woes of teens and veganism. Growing up different like we all did. Music and same difference. The smile in black we all smile.

I miss the annoying establishment at the mouth of the cul de sac. Poultry plentiful and out of date crisps. Practicing English and counting beans. Convenient and close yet a continent away.

That’s about all, to be honest. Everything else ended up as a noise. Pecking Napoleon wizards and proximity fear; the rumble of rolling stock from wherever you tried to sleep; the roar of blues and twos pursuit; the fucking barking neighbours, and their dog, scratchy scabby shithouses. 

I don’t miss having to inhabit any more. Still can’t escape it. Still stained sideways through ignorant indecision classed as bliss, although i’m beyond delighted that knowledge isn’t. Facts figure fortunes flavour. And I quite like the taste.


​I’m surrounded by all sorts of potty. The muttering the mumbling the sanity cracked delights that stutter and splatter it’s morning awake.

Free paper dripping egg yolk scratching lend us a quid for the bus fuss. Get back in your flat twat. Babies falling flat on their face whilst mother fills her. Smutty lost talk and missed chance dance. 

‘Can’t get there today as tomorrow I might be bothered more.’

Can’t stand handstand yet the vodka tastes better in my brew. Chunnering Irish lamp shaded racist with green. Clean dirty Newton’s. Soft arsed retard chip shop bus stop. Jurgen…

‘No, I don’t want to help you read thank you.’

You don’t deserve help if you’re that helpless. You blame the same shame again. Catch caught in your own moment. Spend the time believing more than your own lies.

If you blow on that brew any more it’ll end up on the floor.

It’s gone now. Slipping away into it’s own half day hours early.

‘I’ll be unbalanced carrying something in both hands’

Nothing to do with your timber? Not a thyroid because Greggs don’t sell them yet.

Cleaned your garden for a bottle of piss and some gratification. Media star scar. Empty vessel echo blue.

Surreal is the moment you observe what you’ve heard. Clever and classless and free from any sense. Nonfuckingsense.

Let’s talk about farts shall we? Shall we not? I’d rather talk about socio economic lateral integration within the Ant world than the smell of your rancid colon.

Cack handed, part one blends in to part two.

Where’s my feet? Laugh at your own jokes folks. Batter a bastard on the way out.

‘Don’t shout. I’m not blind’ although you do like the sound of your own fucking voice. Take a breath you daft twat.

Up pops silly bollocks with a backward peak and ticked feet, all disability bumble stumble pip pip away day. Another voice for the choir desire.

Ring a ding sting. All ordering each others toast with the most and cake. Every day cake reserved for your blood sugar spike.

I’ll buy you a smile if you rub me off. That won’t work again friend. Ice cream bollocks shedding lies in disguise. Different hat same head. Hot vimto cackle. Not mine. Shithouse.

Pancake day having your say i’ll spend over a flag to get ten percent off my heart attack. No wonder you can’t move. Silly silly slug mug.

Why can’t you look me in the eye jesus? Have you lost the nerve I got on? All simpering shite foresight. Piss poor and sore, start your day in the way and you will stay as an obstruction. 

Burping a barrage of ignorance as you learn the dance. Perhaps by chance you lose your way you end up back where you deserve to be. On your own. Again.

My bus was late and I didn’t pay to stay so it was half way.

I arrived safely where I wanted to be with whom I wanted to be with and i’m staying put.