Prechtel the towny is such a fake, sorry, especially

 sat in his towns making cash of fake versions of the 'indigenous'

rather than fascinating NOW versions, i don't even make any money from so have to drive their awful lanes to go and eat dirt 

i rather like so im not complaining

other than at fakery

" cup half full'

part 2 

to do

in a bit 

on 

how Former Sovs are truly gifted in their second half

no skit

agghhh i wrote one and then accidentally opened it on the horrid phone and it reverted to the one without gems of wisdom

yes to think that Phoebe Waller Bridge all she had to say was use the liqufied rancid butter to lubricate it " up the bum" eight times in her so called cultural gem

Never mind that one about the 'traumatised' Ruskie who was good for only one thing being a top hitbabe for some or other rich person needing their business rival eliminated...

Is worse than Soviet porn...

Is trypcasting stigmatically...

A real writer like even Pru Leith  spoke of best ever crumpet post fifty or even in her 60s..

Real Former Sov writers should SHARE!

this so interesting transition the actual pros and cons...

that will sustain them intellectually post fifty when refecting becomes such fun..

not con with this never ending we are some poor immigrants made richer fruitpicking cos your lazy creeps cant be bothered

"Commie luvva.."

 opps wrong photo its on my special jpgs to reprise i thought it was the magnificent Zemyatin... i almost feel like reading that again rather than the one tough one left, them Brothers...so i havent read " all of central European books translated into the Mong language" i lie

not at all really, its really just the GORGEOUS directness and simple honesty

" i have a very good memory"

gets an instant retort " well you are dangerous then.."

But with such smiley equality jokily HUMANLY

No English can or dare do any more.

Never mind her "well before you say anything  critical about my peeps.... [ what was that self pitying line  - her having been infected by the Southwestershire Lowlander self pitying disease about coming from somewhere that no longer exists, me ive never had any home 'land' to exist in, knowing the so called family spread was just a place to spread around fancy shopping bags, off we go!   ]  ..Britain should be in the queue at The Hague, in front of ....[wherever doeasnt exist any more]"

But THEY exist in a far far better state

than any in this sorry state.

(as per audios the last 7 days - very good ones if i say so myself) 

Anyway 'soviet' economics well at least they wont have had that issue so much of the economy of rural lands long ago became set to incomer disease of women rightly wishing some autonomy to have their own motor and go to the garage alone where the bloke working there often alone and rather lonesome will nevertheless put aside his natural bent and rip her off above the going rate..

which then of course becomes a nasty little addiction, too..

Never mind the way humans really are is they are set to their formative years setting and if they are raised in an environment (psychologically, subtly) of women being lesser in certain respects they will rip them off for beer money which in my book is disrespect..

HOW...ever... its the whole lloony tunes thing thinking that people change, much... 

or are nice behind their smiles:

landlords especially if female (like Esther as 100 tenants of Horrorfordshire also would attest) play mind games they are so bored deven of their 5 grand number plate on the latest seventy five grand audio...in her case a his and a hers... 

...and PICK ON female tenants AND solo male ones..

 
And solo males are known as easy fodder.... fuck them around,  about their slave work for whichever Jenny come lately  ex office worker, Memsaabs her way around the village - her plenishy semi retirement home ....

 via her charm...

as without a wife to hiss at them in the grocers " why did you rip off my husband booking him for work when you say he is a supreme worker... and then not even have the propriety to alter your booking ...  you b*tch..." is the nature of things...working

I dont mind the rough and tumble but it is the 100% stalinist MAoist Kafkaesque denial of reality

That so so so amuses me

So my life is one of endless funny private comedies

For twenty years it was more interesting then

Twenty ago..

As sometimes there was hope or at least potentiality

" this one bucks the trend....is honest with me"

But only the Former Soviets are actually honest at least privately to me.

In jokey terms....

But jokes aside, the best line ever almost better than Former Titoist

" in my block/ commie town upbringing... my mum the hairdresser was paid by the government inn her government job she loved and was at it every morn from 7.. three times more than dad a hero of The Soviet Union engineer...."

" god that's interesting... nobody ever writes these INTERESTING real recent enough things about their societies..its all cloak dagger spying and pain.... 

" i bet that's why women from Former Sov places under their skirts are so well esteemed as they didnt have that thing: 'go and tart around being a hairdresser thats all you are good for.... ' half the Watford girls were told even by their teachers..."

 Thing is... why dont they DEMAND their real interesting truths are published into books or songs

rather than a self pitying false version all they're ever stereotyped as its a 100% perversion

sweet little fruit picking girly comes to pick Horrorfordshire fruit and thus finds herself in The West

 

THESE are NOT my recent last few weeks of interesting objective reflections...in handwritten notes

all i care about is the sun spots a stupid sucker of a pathetic little planetary event and decides our time is up.... and gets flaring for real...

before i actually finish off my splendid recent reflections as there's no point nobody can even stay still enough all that butterflying around to sup at one little plenishing flower 

At least Former Sovs know that its better out than in....

But did one of them know that the default to "poor us we had nothing in our youth.." is terribly interesting even if the infection has taken hold even in her....and doesnt interest me as it's not true. Go and therapise Gweek with such nonsense. Most Sov peeps had far far tighter family/community....so her moaning  doesn't make sense!

But it does mean she is still in'complete' despite her protestations she is in the right place.

And shouldn't yet be pimping 'therapy'.

That is actual honesty 

And means there is an odyssey still to do...behind her fine smiley face

And Oddysseys do rather take away 

from the otherwise endless samey day-to-day

cant and vanity

...all one hears

In their Lowlands

 

So all i know is that i must get to my notes, for here...

 

it's funny i know it's every mood... ponder a while, thinking.. testing for eau de spam,  means it's gotten through

at least one really made me smile with her give as good as she didn't got, which she didn't get as she tested me,  first... before i had a chance 

RIGHT JUST NATURE PICTURES FROM NOW ON EVEN IF MANY ARE ABOUT INHUMAN NATURE

And the attempted poignant few paragraphs that matter... " Louise that night i knew what was in your mind by your lack of needing to say what was innit.like being on the hills there is only truth and honour two alone suspended  in a tin (and on was that one of his lines i just made that up!)  can on a  dark stormy night above the North sea.....bastard philandering sick sad appetitemad man he should have got Lennoned too.." 

 (ref audios today)

And the point being when actually it has to be said (to his smiley fat face) the KING of communicating his "schema" - he even recalled what i had tried to shut him up with word perfect....

his metaphysical mumbo jumbo that MAY be right...

"matey shut up....you are SUCH a beautiful communicator you are the only one spouting  your absolutely THE ONE version mumbo jumbo i cannot figure at all how to stick a spanner in the works as you work at it so rediculously authoratitiuvely.... ever how to jab  the duelling sword in your gob and shut you up for one second... you must find a way.. ok Croatia does digital nomad  res permits for only 10k a year income ...surely with your unique gift...learned in the scamming factories of Nigeria but dont think you'll ever get a penny out of me ever.... but i will help you rightfully earn your exit visa from hell and entry into paradise...just with my shitty old camera as it can't lie about you.... you really are the one better than all of em Wattses Tolles ehh...Eisensteins...Fatty McGilchrest you could bounce his belly with your bigger one and FAR bigger brain.... JAcqueline the Oracle girlies...Harrisses....  ehh...all of em...  surely you well you do want it....so DO it...."   

io dont judge or know any of their rather small little worlds of meta than mere fizzics... they so compete to have the sexiest version of...

its all their problem. 

i just like a good REAL characterful nose....

shame she never really used it. To sniff out the ... i give up knowing how any of them so so need to be spoken to of and all their rest...which isn't very restful. Not knowing anything at all except what is horseshit..is far far a better place. 

TO ..BE

and all my lil' vids are just my notes for me as one day i shall get to the rest of the volumes...

So you're sucker for even scannin' em...

But my handwritten notes are for now...and now i must must get them here...soon

Now having spent a fair dinkum quite remarkable one, for months, as nobody much makes it up to the hills except a few nice ones

 we better show it off. As i shall not be going back...unless...

but that's impossible, too. 

HOCUS POCUS VIEWING TIME

"simon...c'est TERRIBLE!!"

 There is no emoji, or any one dimensional English mind or even dreadful so limiting nuanced word in their awful mongrel language that can even translate the gorgeous Alexandra's reaction to the letter (why i had to go rogue, although a bowdlerised version 

https://leftovers2022.blogspot.com/p/e-letter-10-april-2023-plus-new-stuff.html ) .. i shared immediately with her -  Queen of Brussels' goody goody sector, having built an immo refugee centre with actually her own hands... even if shetoo sold out to a very expensive dentist...... "terrible..." as covered in a previous audio does not mean it has any 'terror' innit,  it means as Camus taught us life is a big bowl of ripe plumbs and you have no idea if there is a dodgy tooth-eating worm in one or not....

But its REALLY terrible... in the correct usage of wow thank you for trusting me to share that with me isn't life a pain in the bum..or if you are Italian i guess  that's such a  regular thing, they are immune, and feel nothing, ever, so go and buy some silly rattlesnake shoes instead..

it's even more terrible when driving along here the supermodel  - far far far.... too beautiful a better thing than me,  to even think of  sharpen her bigjob scythe on my birthday... the treaty being to scythe in Unison (i wonder if she is) and banter about technique... i still regret my joke at hers which was as usual not entirely understood in One Dimensionsville.. ..

when i was terribly impressed.... 

But this must not happen.... the supersexyscytherbabe gives me SUCH a warm smile on the narrow streets as she pulls aside for me.....i mean the warm kind of warm that well one wishes for but it never happens....

 had i known it was her i would have reversed all the way up the mountain just to show her my reversing skills too...

After the bounce gets all smiley, today,  too...

Add in the fabulous Ruskie... we now know that just a few cutting sentences are all we both need to know we alone are on our own same page...

This is terrible! It is not allowed that anything nice happens in their one dimensional Stuckvilles...

nor any of them actually mean their smiles... that would be far to close a thing to having somewhere where maybe one wished to remain.... which would be TERRIBLE

So lets piss em all off forever with a truly erudite critical thinking  about the inability to critically think that one is allowed to be 

usefully thoughtful

gosh there's hours of it...

FULL bounce, midday sun, one hour non stop, no hat, no hydration... up all the way to the top non stop

one more to do as kit got interrupted...by an academic... try tellin ME what's what about literature and the teaching of it in this land of Wutherin' masochists.. where they only fancy fuckups like Cathy..

rather than seek an unfucked up equal and dare to tell her that's who she is and what you are too...

folder 11 aug waffle

files 95 part 1

96 part 2

The lots of REAL sedition edition...

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1W2NJMk5ippDIz_bTfsJ82VZHutvKHRDK?usp=sharing

I pity you...(YOU that is) . never mind living to spite you...my ignorant stuck readership

 pity being the most traumatic painful never mind insulting  - unintentionally unlike their 'intentional community' that other new 'thing' all around the Swest.. as long as they get a government grant and then they start decommunitying each other with "hate" tipped duelling swords... (i still remember as if yesterday my first of three dreams of her)

taken on the bin a 'moment' ago where it will end up as all my readers are so pityable  as well as pinnikerty when it comes to paying..

they wouldn't understand the above..
And indeed thus will have unequal relationships and think they are subtly saving or dominating just enough..

When at least Leo figured the actual key to f/m long ago....

NOT FINISHED A CRITICAL BIT TO ADD IN LATER...but the hillocks call, between jobs...

And you are just a job, too....

for one recent new reader nosey one

 ... Miss Anne Thropery 

is merely 

the disastrous literary 

direction that the lanyardery

foisted upon a once fairly ok

population, merely as they have been too lazy

to pimp the better books: Michael K

( subtlest lige affirmin philosophy

dressed up in rather nihilistic costume)

Rachel Cusk,

 if a fine half breed one must

(she alone knew its all a bit subtler

 than livin with or  without  a butler)

All of Georgie girl Elliot's except for showbiz Middlemarch

Silas... and Felix especially 

(" hmm im stuck .. what is ' Jew' really...

perhaps to know is not for me

but he is equal even if other, humanity"

a bok rather vague and waffly

on the unsayable, 

deliberately)

And then wow the Zemyatin. We...

magnificent ... Leo's equal...possibly

I'm the opposite of one if them  Missy Thropes

do your actual job as pimper if god books

rather than lazy lanyardin  to same old

Wutherin' and Austen....

is the only way one might inculcate hope...

Life is not a joke ( a bard line 

99.9% of all the rest...mine

and i couldnt write or even think

never mind have the aplomb

 to truth word bomb

and terrible poesie

until all of life was sucked  down the sink)

 (I bet them undertakers know of patterns,  realities... " ohh another smaller than average dick ... before we even lift the coverin'.... its always the same....all that so called body art..  the more, the smaller..")

Of course they don't tell you in the tourist guides or property brochures of how the Rambo looking famous Yank " famous mister tattooed from head to toe... "

 set himself up in Hay-on-Wye 

twenty year ago....

horrible ugly  but more than ugly..

every day infecting my bread queue with his vile need  and nature, to

be seen ...why?

harbinger of ...

(never mind them complaining about the WRONG 'immos')

to be cont

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry - fake - used by the Gwerkomole as camouflage

 Basically anyone called Anthony, was setting themselves up to be on the bookshelves of every Priory runaway,  who ends up in Gweek and preach his not very good Li'l Prince non book...of plenishy splenditude and his silly little one vulnerable little plant representing NOTHING real.... 

That said  indeed a good metaphor for one once  finest fulsome rainforest of a mind  -  she who could 'critically think' stranded there

And poisoned by the lack of any atmosphere around her nana boat - indeed just bad air.

Bein' all actual  real Andean postal pilots ever thought of is how one may encourage some fine native to accompany them for the long lonely Night flight... 

That after about ten minutes of sitting there with coffee and fag as a health and safety item to keep you awake for the next five hours ahead, wondering at the true zen beauty of naycher at his/her finest... with either a bit of Roches on in the Walkman...

or...

uhh ohhh... i mean someone should have some sympathy for the vulnerable undertakers... imagine a profession where you have to see the worst ugliness ever in all of humanity day after day and sponge them down and maybe even tart up the faded artless swamp of ever ever uglier tattoo art

even really quite old people seem to need to ..i give up

But yes...one night, there was no need for even a decent bouncy  dity to pass the time...and get one in the mood

as all of civilisation was theretoo... and all that there ever was....

A Queen... a real one.... the one and only, true modern arty farty Hot Gossip pants...

Just a girl... confused about a very very confused boy...  and me her bridge to him, i should have there and then said, nope...we are turnin' back, Im your fuckin captain and in control... and without any words, just your frequency, energy, and lack of falsity, pure human,  you have just told me what you NEED... 

to stay the safe side of the bridge, 

doesnt matter what he puts in your bank

I know when someone doesnt really want it...

 

BINGO!!

( THIS section rit thistermorn, not the title, that was weekago in a strong moment even if i am always constant merely battery vulnerable 

 OOPS!!!!! this was in the baking tray top oven (draft posts half written)  tray a week ago and its still not finished

as i will do the perfect scene by HAND

A scene where one kindof lonesome chappie -   i cant quite remember the timeline to use their silly word for date. probably before a year later the awful dick-extension pilot Frank, had some tickets to see Mister Thin Duke  and she was blown up projected onto the backdrop

as all peripatetic work-here-work-there peeps from New Zealand to Aberdeen end up a bit bleak inside ... as Primo Levi alone, managed to write 'through' it by making it a true adventure in Other Peeps Trades... into other peeps heads, with nothing else to do...but observe

so... no point chatting up birds, en passant through ones cock pit...  they flounce (without a doubt my word of this year and place) in and out 

but one has them at their most 'vulnerable' - not in 'control. Though even in the 90s they didnt 'need' to always perform being in 'control' and thus were human and so much more attractive and respected as equals...

  so an unusually not at all shaking  with fear bird is sat next to her heroic jockey...as we head off into the deep dark .. or to quote the THICKEST iteration of rote thinking ever 

Dylan Thomas’s radio play, Under Milk Wood, begins with a vivid depiction of a "starless and bible black" - a useless LONDON made poet with nothing of the real land or wales for that matter in him 

I tested them... coffee and fag on take off, (as per last audio here,  is FOR health and safety reasons ) ...she didnt even blink an eye... i couldnt smell the usual adrenalin and cortisol...

" here hold this cup will you please for a minute during the extremely dangerous phase of this night flight when if the engine fails just after takeoff its just you and me babe in one can of stew all mixed up and flamegrilled..."

A fine woman doesnt flinch...and my ESP better than all zen fake Buddhists and WAttses put together...

anyway ten minutes in after she has enjoyed the wonder of the deepest darkness... and every curl of her interestingly whitish hair is unfiddled with in her true zen... 

no nerves no sucker-uppery

just her in the darkness and me, the ultimate conversation began

" so.. what you off to Stockholm tonight,  for..?"

" he.... needs me to 'rehearse'..... with him urgently... he

[ rather publicly married, not too long before] ... is there, and he called you Mister Air Taxi... 

" ohhhaaahhh i don't know..... any more.... he is just so.... [to be cont] .... "

If only i had had the inner core i have now, " Louise...kick the mad nasty fucker in his not really bisexual bollocks and make it clear  Mister Duke, how dare you....  men like you destroy families..are absurd in their greed for more than just one fine looking one...  are sick children who haven't even learned the healing that most kids learn ' its not fair'...  you've just married the poor woman...my father was one of them and all i know about life is not being one of them is all that life really is... and i was lucky to have succeeded in that  one most important matter which nobody writes songs about hence summing up how awful modern day media is... "

but i have to somehow capture in an adult non Exuperrian avoidance literature ...exactly how it felt. 

And how i know she felt.  To be neither known nor judged, merely someone theoretically in control of her very life, in perfect dance step with her, actual inner soul.... and what it needed: not to be flitting off to him

at his every whim

As she was from a different universe.

Called, far far better thing

Than the Thin White fake 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

rit lasterweek

 that's what that note was " why didn't i get her phone number"

it had slipped my mind i make a fair few notes even if most is in my always-sleep-well head etc

Her...with a name like that she's bound to have some qualification for a Frog passport!

And looks very alone, still....

Anyway... the most profoundly poignant why-one-should-decry-England moment ever...

The date is in my logbooks i wonder if i will ever see them again, i hope not ads it is so dull living in a world where a finest mind madfe in Titoland does't know that the English make 'art' even using her... any old exotic will do!

to avoid ever saying ANYthing real and honest...

poor old MBS is now accused of 'gamewashing' his kingdom of the chop chop ... 

The English invented washing their dirty (unnecessary its extraordinary how many pairs you see even mid warm-wave) socks by diverting the viewer into all sorts of irrelevent (TO THEM, not me)  exotics... centuries ago. Which is just a form of enslavement of said monkies. I really did think she would be canny enough to see through with  the worlds sexiest nose !

Fool me.

Well she did telling her maybe lezzie bestie who passed it on to me

serendipitously

that she had and the whole place " ieesss...full of...hate..." just using the wrong word as hate is a silly internet word.

impropriety, and contempt

especially for anything except them (including their own kids as i still do not actually know if the English do even LIKE their own...long ago i realised a bit of a quandary there funnily enough the first visit to Dooneshire invan with lass when there were signs at famous pubs on Western Exmoor or the cove nearby,  the famous one down the steep hill Porlock hill perrfaps... saying ' no kids allowed' which i had never seen anywhere EVER EVER EVER...and i have seen rather a lot of this world) , are far better simpler words for the 

ignorant parochial pests they always were

yes bingo.... right, PROFOUND:

there we are... a very dark stormy night...hop up into our Piper Navajo and off we go... " you may as well sit next to me up front its warmer here,  the heater pumps the air in here first up front .."
that only slightly interesting looking exotica,

 who weren't English got as their welcome aboard after all i had to check their passports 

Anyway therein begins the only most beautiful dance in history and i thought all modern dance was rather overrated once you had seen the circus

" so...ehh... why are we flying you up to... Stockholm tonight...?[ i am sure it was but memory not quite perfect, and detail never matters except the real ones Saint EX omitted from his crappy Night Flight... which omitts the pure loneliness of it the KNOWING nobody else could care and in fact that yes one was a bit weirdly defective sitting up there awaiting the engine to splutter and go bang alone over even The Cheviots...and .. well it was a weird silly egotistical addiction especially in Air Foyle's death traps of the mid 80s....as is all so called 'adventuring' .to be cont ] ...

"work...? ...

"oui...ohh pardon ... yes...."

So... as the nature of said work is described... a certain name cannot be omitted...

... but even i wishing no knowledge ever of any star's private life or life at all was aware of a certain marriage recently - some months before said night flight....

 which  having just dowloaded is actually going to stay on my desktop as the only pic allowed...nothing to do with anything past except everything for decades..

England..a few weeks ago her white almost exact twin wanders past....

so fascinating - but so sad....

her perfect Portobello atttire even up in the hills...

and even what those things called converses and red socks pulled up to her calves

 

why didnt i take her phone numb

Now... talk about the real bloody weird anti kairos or whatever the words are for

 Mister Micawber's " something will turn up.." but there seems to be a pattern, and don't think me some one dimensionalist  knowing that anyone can know the metafizzy "schema"  to quote me to him the supposed lowest caste carer man... from Nigeria...

" yes exactly the right word for all the other religions... not our of course and ours isnt one its a complete mind body soul ...all is only soul...."

" yea right ... look iof you wanna know what my religion is,  smiley wise man of the 'children's places' play park ...she is on The Desert Island next friday,  or she was my religion until i found a far better one... one year 2002 several times i meandered European byways, with my religion on board, and every day we would awake ''parked up' next to some different french 'children's place' and every morning she would awake and scratch her bottom, and then her face would light up... '...ohh god yea a new children's place' to try out  '...now i am sorry but if there IS any schema  - the only word i allow, for the shamania, Death Cultism, ohh what have we had of late ehhh...ohh yes the lovely smiler with a  GREAT 'core' showing off with her  Daoism.... even if that will be tomorrow...  THE only schema i acknowledge is that once we become of breeding age and also get over the horrendous Affluenza and unThach our selves... as i just about managed age 29.... even if pure communitarianism was in me from the most supreme evolved early 80s real counter culture lot [scrappy Stewart Lee could only dream or errata he cant as he was a nerd sat in a bungalow moaning at his computer] though of course i hated every syllable of the word 'community' as it wasn't in me, much and anyway all that dreadful ' you are the individuated individualised one off' nonsense had begun to infect.... anyway it doesnt matter WHO's children....  just being a useful input and/or even roaming around Europe with them or creating a large zoo for mine.. even if i never needed any animal to project anything of 'me'...  after my rather large house bunny died when i was about 27... 

" anyway don't use my splendid word back on me, schema... your mumbo jumbo 'reality' may indeed be the one true reality... me i don't care as all i cared about for years after extricating myself from the last Southern [ i guess in reality it starts at about Preston - draw a line horizontally across even if i was only a true yokel of the rather remoter N Wales hills, all below rather wussy, compared to resilient true grit in yer cracks up Norther ] Lowlander is  selfishism - knowing I am a better person on this planet NOW if i am around kids as i can't not ponder what is good for them at any 'moment'.... me ...goodie goodie or a bit better than before..if kids around...  selfishism, putting them first sorts me out thats all i care about..and them..that's called love 

" however  shut the fuck up about 'The West' which you know nothing of... look even Dominic Cummings admitted she was his goddess... never mind BAnnon, even Greg of Hay-on-Wye my supposed friend... nor the Italian Sannas.. nor quite a few others who ate my daughter alive ... so many of our public figures or so called policy makers never really put kids in, as a splendid religion to follow.. because so many are deep down rather Randish.... 

 Ayn Rand did not have any children. She chose to focus entirely on her writing career and the development of her philosophy, Objectivism, often equating her creative writing process to being "with book"

" put that in your pipe and smoke it even smiley argue  with your VERY 'educated rap' to quote a good poet who nevertheless failed to even say one intelligent thing about the non-physicalist ...to yet again have to keep up with the latest trendy word the smartalex use now for the IN... EFFF....ABLE... wow you know that word too - i didnt until about five years ago on the silliest internet non-date, no duality or merging left and right brains or other bits too,  ever with yet another space cadet ...   if you want "

Anyway kairos or things coming up, are always too late.. silly kairos is a fake too,  as they always come up just when you are so soulless from three years of the Randish soullessness...  

But what a turn up, if i cared

"we're very tolerant here.."

 " i don't have any bad habits to be tolerant of.."

"errata" as i said upon The Bridge......

 what shall i call it?

I am sure in a million tourist pics a year...errata having spent a fair time reading and being in nature there thisteroone... few come by

Really it is the older whitehaired mountain woman's  - my friend's... sometimes in the spring and one dusk we sat there and nattered and as she was a senior shoolteacher all her working life and although 75 plus (as she's one of the truly LET GO just roam women has a superb mind and is very cheeky too  - in a finest quippy way no bullshit English fake politeness the real reason its all hell) she agrees with EVERYthing on  https://www.simonclayton2020.com/ all of it... 

and also knows there is no hope....

Anyway all i care about is truth and yes always discovering one is wrong...

there being in  the I-love-ex-commies post ... which does need to be added to in several ways: a. the first such truly wonderful long chats the last few days with wise ones who have had the time to answer some rather good questions of their formative years... b. if i said 'six superb Former Sov personas-minds-spirits..' . i have to errata it to seven. Though still its a bit sad that they dont FIGHT to for instance get the wanker dire dumbed down publishers of this arrogant punt of a sceptic aisle to allow them to tell fully their story- the real stories of thes eplaces that are so much richer in all sorts of ways than the spastics of the Guardian and wussy-publishimng ever ever allowed..

Indeed if i were Former Sov i would take them all to court as infantilising the 'immigrant' via the most dire books ever ...sop... rote thinking.... Teletubbies have more depth than a Former Sov is allowed to describe in her memoirs...

THAT MUST NEVER EVER INCLUDE SELF PITY...as always they need none being so absolutely fab... 

And as soon as i hear Ivan tell me of his daughter he sadly couldnt value as much as i do due his bloody integrity, principles, loyalties... ...Elaine... i wished to bridge to her 

https://www.ralphschism.com/2026/08/you-dont-sound-too-arrogant-to-meinnix.html

Nature friendly methodism

 Now, what also a lovely family. Mr and Mrs dutch biologists and teenagers. Fourties. Also paddling at the bridge of Sighs... as in how sad they move on...

Bang on.  one hundred percent on all the data 

" have you noticed no wasps at all on your little walking holiday in very warm weather when one would expect them... . ?" 

" yes...i am a gardener  between sessions working as Mrs Biologist,  and  so many species are clearly in trouble..."

blahh blahh...

Mister, even though a splendid classic liberal Dutchman quite aware of Monty python, and excellent culture which travelled there as all the blokes always will though less so if European wants to split hars as to exactly which aspect of Co2 rate of change may make the greatest medium term difference.

Mumand me are however modern. " tell him to shut he's being so English... anyway xenobiotics are where it's at... your young man there on  The Bridge already their fertility is somewhat reduced..."

" you are right Mister bridge man... shut up dear husband.."

" kids... right as you are  only 15 you will still speak english perfectly i won't go iointo short sentence mode... 

" obviously your mum is superb on this environmental stuff.. and i am very fussy, every flower matters i bet i am better than her at emotionally fighting with so many over the years who always end up saying 'chop it all down' including wonderful wildflowers there being no such thing as a weed... i am obsessed that any smallest wildflower io can leave un scythed on someone's land  is a boneus....and ok there is a balance, compromise often but i fight for every single one... i bet she sucks up to her women clients and doesnt fight for absolutely every one which i will do so til my dying day i hope happens soon as its so lonely working on the land nobody else wants to do it the oldschool ways...  for years....and all the women run off to be nearer HArveys Knicks...which are often more efficient than mechanised ways...

" right TRUTHtime... we are on a hillock or relative to Holland topography, a bloody  Himalaya...

" there is a rule of hillwalking which is that there must be honour...  one must tell the truth.. one must honour ones companion or new acquaintance walker, with truth.... and if necessary tell them not to share it with any Lowlanders ..

" so... be honest, i know your mum is very good at what steps need to be taken to prrotect your planet just a touch more... 

" do you care..??. would you like to see Greta Thornburg drowned here in this one last clean river left in this pestilant land... and save up for an oldchool  Ferrari  that guzzles gas... or do you agree with your mother...truth..i am pure and objective..."

"[suspense, silence for a little time passing]  ahh.... we care...."

"ok thats you so sort out your mum ive told her she needs to join the council as i know she is pure ....and simply superb- a beautiful speaker no hesitancy no angles no stalling whist she is figuring if she should spit at a man who says maybe the 'grassroots' approach we have had for fifty years has failed and do what i suggested.. take part around a larger  home...territory... which is very very very hard dangerous and the only way she proves she loves you.... and..and tell dad not to show off with clever dick stuff... "

Five new friends just like that as the kiddies made it clear they rather enjoyed their dad being put rightly in his place, in the same place... just below the Bridge of...

(i have such fun at this bridge though never before  have i missed a heartbeat) 

Difference between Brit and Euop.. he smiled...  a  real one, that just may have hinted:  you're right...and thank you for valuing my perfect wifey so much within ten minutes of meeting us....  and you're right..it's their world...

 why has my last video the squashed frog  got 1000 views? (i cannot avoid noticing .. even if i NEVER EVER set a video as a 'short' they are for bimbos and retards... but IT - Hal9000 decides quite often it will set a video as a short when i am THE simplest pilot of the craft ever and never ever  change my habits  - just a simple upload and i once again forgot ugly hashtags exist...

and only ever promote my material i dont want to promote to those individuals i either meet in person and thats a rare as all i ever do except a bit of work in the boiling sun with no hat and go walking up to the hillocks with no hat... or hydration as the six cups of coffee are to slow me down when i attempt to catch up with my always enjoyed reflections, here at sunrise... )

yes.. "what do you do..?"

"... just landlope when i can IN NATURE... park up as far from peeps as possible and just do whatever i need to,  IN NATURE....  and usually IN NATURE as now -  as i cant write in libraries or Chretien Death Cult churches.or with performative touristy types in carparks around.and in fact must be, as now IN NATURE... to really be at my typing or handwriting best, get rejected by publishers mainly last winter and if they knew the EFFORT to package stuff in cutesy little emails and other webpages (they get)  - god they are so so CONTROLLY what the want you to put in email title and summaries just ferk off and die of the bad literature you peddle  .. various other pages on thsi site   i have held out on, from my so called readers who should only be called the meanest in history which soon i shall decloak...

Oh yes  those publishers dealing in vile confected vulnerability and saccharine victimhood or just 'there is something wrong with me'which seems to be the only language they know which is in fact accessory to the crime of grooming readers via false self pity they peddle seemingly everyone is addicted to in this turgid land...

rather than the rare good stuff i attempt to seek out for only my  lost 'un.... 

https://leftovers2022.blogspot.com/ and always will.... 

SO MANNY new books to add in from such a glorious summer of lots of little books taken up to that lovely bridge...or 100m downstream where a proper swimming pool is...  ohh yes in wankolanguage a 'wild swimming' place

'leftovers' actually coming from a  conversation 20 years ago... a true genius and perfect wordsmith even if shocked into muteness: " dad... isn't it funny sometimes the interesting shapes the leftovers (copyright HER - agent Z)  leave on the toilet paper..."

I don't have self pity about anything

Now... i truly decry the seeming gobbledygook of my three years reflecting upon everything most enjoyably

 not ready til 0800

if the battery lasts

 

 ahhaaahh but as i said i have a "superb memory " however I admit my failures and left my just washed shorts so have to walk back... but not now... there is a reason. I need to be in signal, just in case...

Now

This may seem like some spiteful snide attack, ad hominem even if a sane person knows most things are universal and certainly much of our biology is pretty standard even if we may have had a few dull decades of such obsession about the personal small things. Which is a good definition of neuroses. 

I certainly remember still a previous even longer droughty hurty one.... and i have no recollection of ever taking out a water bottle. Of course the (i must go back to the stupendous chat with the therapising Austrians who really did one hundred percent chimetoo... ) this century descent into such everything-hurts, is just a natural reaction to large exterior events one of course couldn't control such as mistaking buildings for airports in YAnkeeland, then the worst of all death camps in Syria  - 300,000 likely most horrible death camp deaths ... stifled to death underground in MR Assad's torture theme parks Mrs English Assad checking in with her Chelsea PR company to check for the right hashtag so as to move on asap...

But without doubt the most obvious outward expression of the mass formation neurosis sheep dip their toe into nothing is that tyranny of " you aren't hydrating yourself in accordance with my lanyard status...shame on you... " shame being the worst of all the attacks on tghe hominem.

And as for who really started it, even before (wonderful anti Gabor chat a week ago i must get to soon, even if i simply cannot understand her ghosting, ohh well folk are unknowable...because)   yes the modern last 15ish years of all the messianic preachers who's whole act is to appear unpreachy ... 

The worst and first offender

By the River Piedra we sat down and wept...Jesus, what a dangerous pimp of nothing he was... as was evident in the woman he ruined, the only one i really thought had it all licked...

nope - conned into forever looking for the impossible perfect candidate

when she couldn't even

mean what you say, to a lovely six year old...

which is the root of most so called 'mental elf' 

con

fusion.

Common sense fused ....ooh better word  - their trendy one 'Alchemist' ed... mixed in with Mister Coelho's   ' theres always a better one the other side of the mountain'  parasitism of the female mind... 

Makes Eckheart look like a Johnnie come lately, ametuer...

now...no disrespect to real propper walkers of whom there are a few...and wanderers up to gorgeous Hillocktop streams...

But the Neruda " a conversation does not begin until we have been speaking an hour..." is pure and true.

and its so sad to meet a few fine minds and lovely fresh faced faces...  and it all to be flattened out in the polite pants of politeness to visitors who one would like to know their reality deep down inside as most dont even walk up to the hills...so they must be ok 

but you cant as they must walk on

back to my point, my best waffle is in many handwritten bits and bobs and i have lost track of what is up here and what isnt...yet

and what i should not put here...

But as i dont even have the battery to check first thats all that mindfulness really is... i stand by anything i may reflect upon and i know its meant only ever in good faith - and others opinions are only to debate nicely face to face ...

which as usual one evening a few ago one realised is no longer possible...

all the assumptions just one overheard sentence...

loads missed out.... for now

but i have the best ever three year excuse. The illusional gibbers.... they were bad enough in The Marches, but in Swestershire my my they are indeed a different breed 

Pure bred... quite incapable of even recalling what

they said 

(about jobs they book you to do..)

Beyond therapy, as thats what its FOR

Now... REAL 'therapy'

I shouldn't do this now...

As all good black coffee

 flow..or tea

happens at 6am daily

twenty twenty one very very early pre dawn

 " ehh the chap who didnt bother using talc on his baby's bottie

can't join in the  jamboree

4 billion bucks, against Johnnie and Johnnie...."

Ehhhh... LOADS of new science about sunglasses giving you cancer, infact the one thing that prevents almost everything especially arthiritic wrists for slappin my face im so happy

sunshine

And...drum roll...

AGHH i need to get to my archival chronicle that has several months of artistic photoshots of my ohh my of course the council never gets the potholes done as several months popping in to use a council offices - big job spaceship style, socket...

the array of performative water bottles! made my day.

And the way they are used as extension, wussy domination

mine is more spaceship and plenishy colour right than yours

Never having ever in my life taken water on a hike ok one day on tghe second red alert i thought this summer going so well maybe i dont ..need...to die just yet its all bullshit but i shall take one cup  for the 6 km uphill ... just in case 

   

 

How hydrated should you really be?

This parochial little shopping aisle now even former 'colonies' have to go in on a VPN!

 https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m002zrnf

suffice to say even if i knew all along indeed all of life...

But i.m not happy...as it really was the ultimate test before i had science to back me up...

And also have a LOAD of performance art clips already in the can....about what a load of self pityists and suckers, sheep every one

so i wasnt ready i need the ignorance and pity-me performance to continue for some time yet

(except her i think she got my quip - for FRIENDSHIP)

Never mind the REAL test of REAL hilltop therapy

"Is it conceivable you just may be able to ..listen...to me"

( even if it'll take a while.... to return to sanity

sell your water bottle shares...

in fact sue the fuckers for years of all that excess baggage... 

you never needed.... my six cups of black coffee i knew always did the job

the only job all the rest as always engaged upon..

undermining, simple common sense, and me)

Now... Eckheartless ones...I bet he doesn't give abundently to anyone but his Swiss Bank manager either

 All your 'work' that doesn't work.

And then all those little Potemkin villages all around... Firstly The Marches,  and i guess more or less same time the Swestern swamp...

(and there always has been a moral, yes that's a word even if unfashionable in Gweek, of the story which is don't trust a film writer or any kind of writer who takes up the banjo -  always only for one reason, to get a different kind of girl... )

 as i am quite sure did Bruce having made a truly morally magnificent film in 1984, Killing, with the beautiful Dith brought to a real heroic life, that attracted the serious women  who had a real heart, but his weird inner grape sodden compass  rusty from the lack .......well what can one say about abusive stepfathers so i guess he gets a free pass,  but i bet he took it up concurrently with or at some point before  Withnail 87, thus forever destroying music, too... as well as decent deep cinema.

So, one can be all worthy and aren't i truly wonderful having had the LAST it bloody better had be it's so so boring learning even little things about the self.... and being so worthy as to discover, pinpoint even so well in waffled words a little earlier, exactly, ones last bubbling little gaseous farts of Bulldoginess ... or as the Ruskie put if in her fabulous stories in the greatest bench  story war of all time, her DELIBERATELY in a way pathewtic little henry Thoreau could only masturbate thinking of something he could never ever be.... sure...her stories were better than mine and needed spinning out longer than mine, deliberately....to illustrate our POINTS that we are 100% sure of are fact...

it's just so so nice to meet someone who rightly fully believes in her self and her army even if a pacifist like me...

Likely in the marital bedtoo ... having spent all her rocketfuel on her true equal....me, who has no muvva no land and certainly no muvvaland, and believes in only one place, nowhere. 

Anyway  how wonderful to jhave spat out quietly maybe the best decription of slightest lingering Bulldoginess  - that impossible to entirely have cauterised sense of slight 'superiority. even if for the 100th time fuck this world is so ignorant of the GREAT writer Pilger the Ausie... i mean its not as if he didn't also sell quite a few million of his superb books, ever wanna be Alexei Sayle or 1980s-90s non-wuss would proudly display on their bookshelves and yes even read...

  

 Anyway ones inner revelations and admissions of whay 'work' in fact rarely transforms its people or the occasional smelly Black Swan event...

..are nothing really,  especially when you meet HER on the Hills or Moors or as real mountain men like me call them, the hillocks, and are so rediculously constantly happy in almost The Worst Place even if its very pretty up there... all you can think of is just putting up with her ...punting look, my way

that was so ridiculously perfect...

Is that its all very well being so ultra zenny mindfully wise and speak with and of purest righteous love for anyone especially a Ruskie merely due to such true 'critical thinking' - for the Britolish thats not a nasty habit that Zac and his team of plenishy abundanteenies, should come along and save you from it's what your whole so called civilisation is based on....

And then one has to also know that all politics is a game, and i felt love for the AFOREMENTIONED earlier today...

 Ivan's daughter...

I would love to have come to something...

Anyway true evil is being in visitor tourist regions  - any, especially so many years in that awful Potimkiny  BAlack MOUNTAINS / Wye region .. as they pass through, use the locals for kicks, and then pass on... never even give you a bell and say 'lovely to meet you'... theyre always fiull of some PAulo Coehlo style quest to find inner perfection via the next KNaussguard lookalike who actually never has anything REAl to say...

such as ... it needs saying over and over and over and i learned thats all politcics is, artfully not getting bored having to say a few key policies over and..

" women who get over that 52 ish year hump, exactly same for blokes... we all freak at fifty ...

ohh thats a point its the fiftieth anniversary... i mean imagine... there you are the greatest summer ever... wildflowers all summer reading Master Durrell in the  meadows of them, perfectly positioned as she knew full well to catch  the odd glimpse of  the days when women didnt even need to trim their bush indeed that was the whole point  - to tease some poor little just teen to exploding point her and her bikini, and me...

And a few week laters  the wireless  goes berserk ... as if long heralded nuclear war had actually begun.. which is NOT a decadent 'westerner' claim as its all relative....ALWAYS...

when youve got lovely Elton and far lovelier Kikki on a few weeks earlier, and all is love 'n roses .... and anarchy breaks out  

it hurts...it traumatises.... it makes you reassess your perfect summer of No Cider.. but my Rosie was far sexier than his.... even if it was look but don't touch.

Anyway where was i....  spite. One can perform purest worthiness in-blog, audio version as i have such a fun time almost always, on no money, on nothing, and noone, as most employers are illusionistal gibbers... and thus, have everything i need, except bloody battery.

spite.... I take only one pleasure from any writing up of anything, and am glad i have the very meanest several thousand a day minimum readership in history...

As to spite you...it is impossible to have had such a perfect sublime mature real  near-hillocktop ...encounter.

And get such a  warm smile ...back.

and ok in a pretty beautiful spot, too... 

And ... she enjoys too the perfect waters ive all summer long

well... a decent Stevie once sang.. indeed more than sang....

The one and only.... " i try to say what i mean...and mean what i say.."

Even if forced to tell a lie....for raison, de....morality

 

Anyway where was i.... Master Oak.... meetin' izz  wonky one he had to tame... for the first time; Even her seein' madman Heathcliffe... in the English private school girls favourite act of masochism, all they are satisfied with... all of them pale into insignificance... when compared to a simply perfect meeting ... out in some real ..naturetoo.

Yes i must stop interrupting myself thinking of the rather large pile of notes i have in respect of wise little things to just finish off that are outstanding some months - since early March to be precise when the Devils Spawn revealed his likely borderline personality disorder having found me here so he....says...

Which i will be getting to imminently or rather the day after tomorrow as i have the perfect sometime job, to actually work sometimes on ACTUAL farmer Ridd's Doonetown proper farm...

Doing what i like doing best, his dirty work too dirty for him...

Did i repeat or even get the words out adequately short coherent sentences: " loads of babes met  under 50 for one non nightlife reason or another, quite randomly and rather weirdly  as i am a hermit... mainly... not one ever ever ever EVER is even   a BIT desirable.... ok there is one and i told Memsaab that story...and she understands why entirely off limits, which is not why she is desirable...

It's just her smile...and ... non Hunter wellies. and well..... 

BUt as for over 52s... about 10 maybe 20% manage to realise that not thinking they are desirable any more or could be they stop ferkin thinking about it and start to become actually human and let go into being what maybe they may be if they let go a bit more.... and become not merely desirable....   but hot as a cat on a tin roof i built for her logpile...

and all one then wants to do is curl up in her lap afterwards, because there is nothing more beyond that truest true desire... and this isn't some Cosmopolitan made up nonce-piece...

ten years of practice! Allowing 'in' those whom are desirable, sustainably so.... and not one ever has been  who is younger than 52

(...excepting her who is so off limits that of course i test myself... and have passed that test. Not even a dirty thought...no mucky mucky thoughts... only purity.

Never mind the purest muck for many a mile.)

being sure of yourself, via having earned that right to be just that

...even if you don't know which end of the world is best - who can....  when the culture became so awful it never guides us as it once did....but i can...

is the only sexy thing there is

But poor Eckheart wants you to just be.... something other than all there ever was...

And i love to only spite the meaner so called readers there have ever been

BY saying that nobody has ever had such a splendid lovely... Hillocktop...scene as good as even Kundera at his best 

or Ngaio Marsh... at her namesakeland.... or it would be in some other season

one which wasn't this now perfectest, purest  and simplest,  summer