Lazy from C-Z

'Twas a sweet evening, but overall uneventful, yesterday was. It was mounted on the carcasses of inevitability from the first, with no hope of reprieve. It is supposed to be the case that I should have been halfway to London by now. My journey began yesterday and crashed and burned only an hour or so later. Thorough cowardice and forced elation. Slowly I have acclimated (acclimatised?) to my new nature. Sleep no longer was a pained affair. I wake up and go before anyone barely notices. The only witnesses I have are coming from the eyes of uncaring rubbishmen doing their morning dues. Today the plan is to just not die. By hook or crook, I will survive. Come tomorrow, I will be back in London working once again at Mansion House and Vintners, the usual piss-posh. Wembley after that for two days. Ecstatic, with a little bit of last night's mackerel stuck in my teeth after I threw up a little bit in my mouth after saying that. Tragedy is what would be if a single shift gets sha...

Today is my third day here in Brighton, and it is hardly what I would consider a pleasant experience. However it is not without its own sweet moments. I myself do love to partake in the glorious minutes of peace that I oh so left with my old life. Old habits simply die hard. The plan today was to walk home back to London, and I then chickened out seven kilometres through with my tailfeather tucked neatly inside my asshole. I can still feel the nagging discomfort my anus seems hard-pressed to let go after the morning shit once I was done with my first coffee inside the McDonald's lavatory in Marina Village. It had been a few days since I had let go, and so it felt like a rubbish dump that turned into a nuclear warhead somewhere in between. My gastric space now feels as if it had been turned into an Arizonan launching site and is still reeling after a test run. Also today it feels as though my career as a petty criminal has finally been made official. It almost feels second ...

She was lost to me completely the moment I allowed to let her go Now only the memory of our sweet escape remains I have to start saying no I have to learn to say no She was lost to me from the start She was there sitting beside me when I woke up yesterday And she was there today doing the same I have to start saying yes I have to learn to say yes She was warm to me to the end Our hearts were far apart Maybe just a little bit Maybe because I think it so Or maybe because I'm just afraid She said goodbye, and I hugged her twice for good measure She went in,  and I walked away I turned around, and she turned around She never sees me, and she walks away She walks away She walked away

Some days are filled with tedious nothingness that the only reprieve I can muster are the same things that I routined back when I had what resembles so close to life. Nowadays it has been somewhat a blur. Little things that pile up to turn into... a thaig of little things. Just like what it feels pretending to be Russian dolls undulating in the peripheries of your windshield. It has recently felt like an extreme change of pace from the way I lived my life before compared to where I find my position to be in at the moment. My greatest enemy all of a sudden are my basics of needs; food, shelter, companionship, camaraderie, and whatnot, etc. Not to say it is absent but it feels very antibody-like, and I am a pathogen. I am my own biggest autoimmune disease. My body fails me most of the time. I have been experiencing epistaxis, at the most random of times at that, more often than I bother to count. My head feels heavier due to which I reckon is lack of proper sleep, or a timeslot with...

It has been the most awkward of months since my birthday a few weeks ago. Left home when nothing else was in tow for me. Everyone else around me seemed to give up, and I was left to fend for my own against the harsh jungles of urban England. Homeless is not a word I am unfamiliar with, or even comfortable with, but here I am, a month later, just that. A few days deprived of a good night's rest. I have lost more of my possessions than I am in procuring them, and I have not enough resources to make do with what I have. This is not like one of my spiritual gallivantings where I go walk towards the deeper yonders of neverwhere. I now am stuck to rot in London trying to survive against every single thing and one. Time is long, work is scarce -- ergo money is scarce as well -- but when work does come it is miserably torturous, where in the aftermath of a single shift deprives you of all the joys in your system. It is all fried and fucked up. Like the people and colleagues around me....