Felt rough. Rough for a Decmeber good but rough. Fun in the air had left as a funeral made me quiet and over reflective. Spent last night outside in Cold Air. Knackered this morning and frustrated too. All the whirls of the stage going through its Poughkeepsie Motions. I had some halo yesterday, and throughout 08 previews of what was to come. With )( now here thinking taking a new turn as Soul's dominance emergges as the truth. Once accepted, analysis of life activities looks different. Vectors open up. As usual for a poet I feel heavy and somnolent. Despite weathering several tornadoes this week, a hurricance, a wave didtortion field and a black hole that lives upstairs in the next flat Elmore Drudgeon decided that fucking the Help;s Wife's Neighbour out on the street is always a good idea. Wednesday came and Wishing She had more to say than Just How Are Yu, flipped a coin and made him come. There was a Galactic Avenue. A Pulsar Close. There was a new building in Easthampton. A smile. More funerals. Tripped off to the pub feeling bluesy and insecure. Made bread of the bakery. Survived ten years on cold fish soup and a lozenge every now and then a pick me up vitamin and a cappuchino. English sandwiches overpriced are sent to Space Station for Gravity Review. Ancient tongues. Mill stones and Carnac and NOW borderlining across the teleportation space, second Wife and Huge Costs Rising. Ached to wake up. Funeral tomorrow. A grave. A song A Charole. The making of life. I tried yesterday to tell him about the New Gravitational Propulsion Theory but because... Why? not listeing. People Buzz busy? I am finding unusual Helpers and new friends. One time only blog like this. Rest of the Blog is different, more guarded, but astill it has truth. Ruth. Ah. BAbe Ruth. Miss Molly. I shall miss her and even when I am gone she shall. And so to dream. It's a fine English winter morning in the seasotted sunshine of the Neo equilibriationist South Downs. LIfe goes ON. I am pushing bones to make it through. Voacl cords to streth again . Living silently inside a bubble that is England. I am pulling in. Coming back down to Eart. It is not easy typing in Space. Not easy thinking in Zero plus gravity. Did you like the shorts I sent you hunny? ANd what of those Brits? Financials and but. HUmanities. When when when will they twig. Never. Sad to keep it all inside knowing that it can't be understood what's been conveyed. J DOnne's troughtthought.
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