Machine.

If I don’t?

Then I am not who I thought I was and right now, seeing I am all that I have ? Well then I better make sure that all my ducks are in a row, my last will and my stack of “Hey you fuck ,just because I am dead don’t mean that you are forgiven….” letters are up to date and my burial money is in my shoe.

I need to cut back on every bullshit excuse that I have handed myself .

There is nor shall there ever be any incidence of weakness when I am too hard on myself.

I hate that I did it , bullshitted myself ,that my integrity took an unpaid vacation to Shitsville and came home with a moral tape worm,piebald sunburn and a stack of badly made fake designer handbags.

I have never been off the hook ,methodical mythological creatures like me cannot afford not be. The hook is honey dipped and I call it home. I don’t like it at the start. Starts are always creakily painful and I know that it is the price and penance that I must pay for stopping in the goddamn 1st case.  I know its a shutdown-meltdown-lock down situation. There is nothing else for it. Do what you always did y’all gonna get what you always got. No fucking -thank- you- very-much on that front. There is something really perverse in  me that digs it something rotten when the caul is pealed back and the true nature of all beasts becomes exposed to the naked eye.

I like it because it is true, bloodily raw and buck naked in a world of facades, Facebook, fallibility and utter fiction.

I want that way,no ,I demand it. I want every situation stripped down to its sinews because there is no time to loose and if time wasn’t on Mick and Keef’s side what chance does a mere mortal like myself have?

I will sit here and pour it all out because to me you are not real. You are the one. The priest who didn’t get a hand down my knickers. A clean confession. You know me if you come here as often as I do but I don’t know you.

Yet may I thank you for taking the time….

I have no idea how to deal with people. I have so few in my life.

I am all soft circles right now when I need there to be lines, a grid. A self service cold machine. Fuel alone. To cut the soft indulges to their insidious cores ,drain the wounds. I want symmetry and silence, Solitude and resolutions made of stone.

I do not nor have I ever served myself on half speed. This machine that I find myself inhabiting? It’s not the one that I need. The one that I need is locked inside the mediocrity that I have become and it is unacceptable on every level.

Little Mishey tried to mix with the animals. Bad move. Dumb dog. But I have learned my lesson well….

I’m stupid like a fox my faithful few readers. Sickness has left me and iron calls me back to its cold chest. The only repayment i can make to you is to be what i am and do it as hard as I can.

I’m Home.