https://www.truthscoop.net/water-1 LOVE Scotland, sorry for the upset at the door. Emotional, REAL, be the Caley on a Friday night. One love. Secret Squirrel... https://prayerletter.substack.com/ - off to the wilds and Hebrides.
The Caley, Peterhead, (Scotland). Men huddle 'round the bar. Quiet banter, with regular eruptions of laughter glows. A young gal behind, keeps the smiles, the lager and/or shots a-flowing. Be on shandies 'till lunchtime. 10.25 am, and press-publish and spit ye twenty-six ...something's.
November 1., 2020; Shame, was the word. Wrote, 'The concern weighing MJ, is the building of shame and guilt. The C-19, mission.' T'day the word/s are arrogance and avoidance. Enough to write and let the obvious remain conspicuous. A... and the first letter, with all that we need is the opposite. Go against the flow, in the opposite 'spirit' and lift the sublimating, the sack of crap keeping us all —a-runnin' from our (truer) self.
Be... filled. On that y'read and tawk and y'know. All that God-jazz. We, make it seem hard, and a mountain-top unknown beyond clouds. True or false? Depends on our desire and boldness to know. What do we want? We can..., get God, when need overcomes self-reliance, the proud god-like lack of necessity falls to the floor. Beer helps the comic's piss-taking one and all before me. The one decisive factor to fill these old men? Tis me, or; anyone who gets on the good book and chats to the one who makes the claims and promises. Spent years drinking tap water and fulfilling the prat in me. Need a new drink. (And, for now, another shandy).
D'juke box is blasting like a disco. On D.? [..]. Passenger by Iggy is on and Scotland is full of adolescents dressed and looking older. Same 'ol, same... no men, no women. Not possible once the mobile's emasculated and cut our insight and outlook into bits. Broke us all. Worse than the 'smack' that imprisons the one's not dead-younger, than should. The phone has little to compete as the means of our ruin. We're as 'dead' as alive to the slab of plastic from hell. The pop religion. A totem to feel the digi. surge and reassuring connection. TV was the forerunner but escapes to the pub etc., broke the chains. We needed a tag. We got it good/ so bad. The demonisation has its physical-based hook. Carrying a phone in all but non-vol. and genuine no-alt. is inexcusable dependency building us up for a nasty slavery and enduring sickness. (Nb., how no one even disgrees. Honest junky-dom. Sucker, (me) can be, but thank God Almighty: Free At Last.)
Maggie May/ Tin Soldier/ LA Woman, m'selection. More Sh.
E.-mergency. State of... Are we (already) in one, or what would, constitute the alarm, and...,? The Hierarchy Of Needs is one barometer. The blazing no-more denial and apparent change in forced down and one-step lower than we ever expected to experience. Don't mean the bravado bullshit and easy proclamations of ambivalence and a brag in maintaining to know thy nihilism. All with, or without, the cries of contentment and ongoing hedonism? A shallow cover for the oldest of fears. Don't doubt the claim and "ne'er matter be dead or alive"? What isn't held and well, in all but exceptions, is the shudder to consider our own dying, or for that of another? Life in the pub 'ere is enough and the day. Nothing to spoil the party, at least concerning the crowds. A slow decline in money matters seems to allow the oldies a break from shocks. The younger grab what can and cope if they lay off the head-pills (prescribed by Dr.'s, or coke etc., and all that). In the mix are fam's. with children: The last and best among us. The only antidote to clowning craziness is bringin' up babes and nippers. E' done, and F. after a walk about P'erhead.