unfinished and untitled

and probably ungrammared....


Benjamin Tobias waited for the bus to stop a slight distance from the bus stop. Consequently he did not received the benefit of the shelter provided by the bus shelter, and the large grey coat he wore wore a thin coating of rain from the rain that came down from large grey clouds. Had he recognized all of the faces if those sheltering in the shelter then he might have considered joining them. As it stood though, he elected not to sit in the spare seat and stood his ground, stoically enduring the elements

In time the bus arrived. A brief inspection revealed that it was the wrong one-a forty-one instead of a one-o-one, so Benjamin did not move to meet it. In the fullness of more time the correctly numbered bus rendezvoused with the stop, but there were far too many bored looking people aboard for himself to board. In the fullerness of morer time the bus arrived, unburdened by excess passengers. However the bus driver had a moustache and today was a Friday, so Benjamin could not and would not board. Finally the bus arrived and he boarded, rushing to join the few that queued. He held his bus pass up to the non moustached bus driver with both hands for exactly four seconds.

The bus lurches forward and he stumbled forwards. He sat in an empty seat near the front so that he was close to the door. It seemed to him that Not very nice people sat at the back of bus, taking loudly and swearing loudly and playing loud squeaky music on their phones. Hoping that no one would sit next to him he began folding his ticket into different shapes and wrapping it round his fingers like it was a snake coiling around his fingers.

The bus made several stops at several bus stops. More people got on and no one got off. He was worried that it would become so busy that someone would sit next to him. The bus rolled on and he tried to look like someone that people would not like to sit besides. The air began to grow hot and wet with all the hot wet people breathing in and out. He tried to breathe small cold shallow breaths.

At the 5th Bus stop a girl boarded. She was very pretty and had a happy face and long curly red hair. She did not sit next to him, which didn’t sit very well with him. Instead a large man in a leather jacket with a weathered face sat next to him, taking up most of the space. He very much wanted to move but the movement of the bus made this impossible. So he contented his discontented self with clutching and unclenching his hands in his coat pockets so that no one could not see.

these new duel disks are simply fabulous!

some people i never met commented on my blog! and they're female!! score one for putting pictures of other people online and pretending that their you. fortunatly for all concerned i am farrrr too lazy and complacent to be a competent stalker, let alone an internet predator of the sexual varitey, (insert joke about sticky keyboard). And, as one comment suggested, i think i will give up one of my many vices. And i'm sure it doesn't need to be said that it isn't the holindaze sauce. no its a (temporary of course) abandonment of that little gem that is womanising!

Thus begins my strict regime of mediocre hygiene (catchy). No more shaving or conditioning of hair-grease makes for a poor mans gel anyways. and there will be at least one sexist joke told every day. "how can you tell when a womans about to say something smart? because she begins "a man once told me.." Hiliarity and high jinx will ensue, hopefully with a lack of castration.

I will also act extra UNmanly (DUN DUN DUN) from now on. for example last night I watched clueless and cried at the end of Crash. how do ya like them apples! on the other hand this was somewhat spoiled by my flicking over to celebrity sex tapes unwound during the adverts.

thought of the day-will the hair on my face one day meet that one my chest?

drowning jimminy cricket, but never fatally

Guilt is a big part of the bob package. i feel guilty about things i've done 1o years ago, and if i see someone who i've in some way wronged, then i feel bad and uncomfortable and slighty ashamed when i'm in their presence. This is a good thing i think. it keeps me from making the same mistake twice.

On the other hand, when the mood takes me (and it take me often) I'm also a big fan of the sauce. the two do not make for good bed fellows. for when i've decided to get good and drunk and achieve this lofty goal, i turn into a cunt. not that i'm all that great a guy when sober (though i put on a damn good act) And being a cunt means doing cuntish things, which of course i cannot go into details, but suffice to say a lot of guilt trips arrive at their destination of my concience after a night of boozey Mcgee

so yeah, in summary, i'm not all that

I'd like to stream HER conciousness

Slanty italics look fancy pantsy, woke up this morning doon doon doon doon got my grub on head hurt yesterday starting to hurt today but no drinky poos. i'd like to buy a steak but i might make a mistake and lie awake whilst my bowls quake and owls shake their heads 180 degrees as i turn a pristine porcline palace into a bruised brown yellow shadow of its former self. early out the flat i depart, no expected text so another callus on my heart. still at least i'm getting shit done like a dung beetle, storing it here for impressionable young minds to form a cult of hairy hat wearing manaics. probably not

election day with errections standing for candied dates. 3 friends want 3 different votes. i don't wanna vote and feel shamed for feeling so. great granddaddies didn't die in wars for such impartial apathy. i can only care about things i can see and i spend most days working or alone in my flat while my guitar gently fails to weep. explains my want to travel, get some world weary experience and actually give a shit about the shit by rollin in it

paranoid like an android that thinks its a human. one more robot learns to dreaaammm, something more than a machineeee. will everyone think i'm a pretentious shyster. inner thought are being italicsed after all. everyone seems to be a "writer" i just write out of boredom and sometimes to make folk laugh. sometimes big stuff mostly not. if it goes sour green grapes i'll make up and elaborately simple and dirty lie. so shockingly good at doing so hundreds of masks for hundreds of occasions, copied from others designs. wear them same one and snap, empathy friendly yay. anyhooters, back to lame essays with wikipedia grade research

stock old men have arthritis

The old man walked down the street at night. He felt cold. Part of being old seemed to be feeling cold. There was, after all only one letter separating them. And being old and feeling cold meant being and feeling tired. This would explain to a silent observer why his progress down Sea Street was painfully slow to behold, though the only set of eyes that did so were the bright dark one of an urban fox, staring from the shadows. Pain was another part of age as well. The young felt pain in great flares that could tear them apart. But there were also great intervals between this pain, to the point where they couldn’t remember what it was like until it happened again. His pain was a slow dull burning kind, constant to the point where he himself had forgotten what its absence felt like. Still, that’s what happened when you didn’t have successful children to register you with BUPA.

After progressing in this painfully slow fashion for some 20 minutes, he finally reached his destination, a 24 hour corner shop. It was lit up like a fluorescent island in the dull street lit darkness. He pushed the heavy door open, wheezing with effort. The bell above it chimed and the man behind the counter looked up from his paper.

The old man walked up to the Pakistani. In fairness he had no way of knowing whether he was from Pakistan or not. It didn’t really matter. Old men seemed to be given a little more leeway than most when it came to political correctness.
“20 L&M please” he said
“5.40” the possible Pakistani replied
He fumbled in his pocket for the money. His hands seemed to be working better today, and it was with a shameful pride that he took out the right amount and handed it over without dropping any.

“Thank you sir. Goodnight”
“Night”

He hefted the heavy door open and slowly walked home, his progress charted by the tiny glow of a lit cigarette held in his mouth.

people you really shouldn't compare yourself to

you know, not wanting to sound emo (for there is no higher crime online) but a lotta the time i don't much care about myself. maybe its down to my lack of goals and thereby motivation to achieve. But that don't make me some kinda appathetic kowala, hells no. Instead i shift my mediocre caring abilitities to other folk. folk with goals and plans and drive. Or even folk in the same situation of feeling slighty appathetic. united firmly by impartiallity. might sound high and mighty of me, banging on about how i (think I) put others before myself but then i did use to resemble a certain someone who possibly felt the same way....

Next post....my views on Islam and Islamaphobia. Didn't see that coming did ya!

kowala bob

I'm climbing this ladder
my heads in the clouds
I wish that it mattered
I'm having my doubts

my head hurts and i'm tired. seem to be unable to fully shake this cold, which while not serious, has been making me feel very kowala like, ie so very sleeepy. plenty of intresting things are happening to bob as of late. some pretty damn good and some pretty damn worrying. unfortunatly i can't mention any of them until they resolve themselves, or more realistically until i resolve them. a little bit of resolve's what i need nooooooow, but my gosh by golly by gum and god its soooooo damn hard to come by, especially as i'm in my aformentioned marsupial like state. maybe i should lay off the horse tranquilizers

thought of the day-can zombies be turned into vampires?