Jonesy, simply a human

Well voting is now underway for the members of the Labour Party to either reinforce their backing of our already democratically chosen leader or to pick the man that believes the membership can be bought by gimmicks, backstabbing, character assassination, plagiarism, censorship, threats and bribery. A man who would rather support a corrupt and oppressive establishment than stand up for the rights of a nation.
This vote is important and although is but one more battle that needs to be won, must be won for democratic change to remain a possibility within the UK.
The British People are starting to wake up from their years of apathetic slumber. It is not what those that rule and control our lives want to see. They know once peoples focus is finally diverted from trends, celebrity, soaps, materialism, self indulgence and greed, once people begin to recognise the true enemy to freedom, the reason behind why we have people living and dying upon our streets, why the sick, elderly and disabled are at risk of losing not just their homes but lives through poverty, why children and families are ripped apart by the effects of unemployment and abject poverty upon their entire communities, that when the public see through their propaganda, lies and finally realise the effect of their rights being stole from them, something immense and world changing may happen.
Whether we should be proud of it or not the truth is that the British People have historically taken control at key points within the past. When the world has had to change and move on it has been often been Britain that led the way.
When oppression needed to be challenged its been upon many occasions from our civil war where Parliamental democracy was born to the industrial revolution of the entire globe and subsequent formation of effective unions and the battles for workers rights we the people have stood up to the mark. This maybe the beginning of yet another example.
This is another potential historical hub where the paths open to us now separate. From my own perspective I see a few options for our society right now.
One the nation continues to be subjugated by the rich and powerful elite, by the 1% of the wealthiest individuals not just here within the UK but globally, to be oppressed until all we truly have to give any hope within our lives of any opportunity to change our enforced destiny of yet more poverty and oppression at the hands of a corrupt and to be honest vile few. The people continue to be the cattle of the wealthy, our lives controlled by their fickle whims. Their greed pushing us down further until its your family that is the bottom of the pile. To drag us into more wars and ‘police actions’ to line their pockets.
The next option is that we get behind honesty and morality, that we not as a party but an entire populous wake up and use the few remaining legal ways to take back control of our lives. To allow democracy to be our weapon to challenge and fight for a future where we all have a chance to thrive, where society provides a safety net against poverty, where we realise we need to mend our own infrastructure and culture rather that getting involved in destroying that within other countries. Where it does not matter if your male, female, black or white, lesbian, gay or ‘straight’, able, disabled or unable, rich or poor, young or old, christian, muslim or atheist, we all have a chance to thrive and progress. A society where hope is their for all. My view only true socialism can do this. Capitalism has and continues to increase the gap between the rich and the poor and the cost is lives.
The third option I see is a looming threat of real violent revolution. This is a real possibility. People the world over will only take so much and thats historically proven to be even more true of the British. We now have access to knowledge that was not available to the ‘common people’ in the past. The establishment know this and that truly does scare them. From Boris buying Water cannon to the scrapping of the Human Rights Act all the signs are there. Each freedom we have stolen in the name of National Security is done so to ensure any rising of the people can be put down at source, its to prevent not terrorists but the likes of you and me having ‘free thought’ ideas ‘above our station’ and realising that our financial infrastructure is nought but a con to keep us in our place.
I prefer the second of these options, there are more choices to be made but these I believe are the most likely at this point. Individually we cannot decide. As a single party we cannot decide. But as the most stubborn and at times in the past moral or even at times immoral nation we bloody well can and maybe will.
I am not a ‘Corbynite’ or anything else that defines me as a hero worshipper of Jeremy Corbyn but I do think he has the morality and building popularity to wake up the voters of our nation. I think he will stand up for whats right and has already displayed empathy and understanding of the plight we all live in fear of, poverty.
The establishment are that desperate to discredit him they even use images of him walking through a carriage of reserved seats to challenge his integrity. Its ridiculous and insulting for them to believe the British people will be swayed from a path of what is right by yet more cheap propaganda.
My illness restricts my opportunity now, from working with families in poverty that were disenfranchised and disadvantaged to living in poverty. I did not give up a good wage, good job and my self respect to live on benefits with no reason to wake up each day, despite what Channel 5 or Jeremy Kyle would have you believe. I paid my entire life into a system that’s failing, as have so many others. The safety net is being reduced more and more each day through government and corporate greed. I have seen poverty from many perspectives and its terrible however seen.
This is your chance if a member of the Labour Party with a vote to choose the right path, pick wisely.
If you are not a member I truly hope by 2020 you will have a choice to vote in a truly socialist government and that we get to turn things around not just for us but for the generations to come.
Jonesy.

T’is literally the middle of the night as I lay here in t’dark contemplating life, dragons, futures, pasts, friends, and all the other discombobulated but vivid thoughts that pass through the mind of a Jonesy.
I am neither happy or sad as I ponder imaginary scenarios, schemes and decisions that may actually work to the benefit of myself or others but due to lethargy and my own apathy and my totally withering levels of commitment will never be acted upon and likely never again grace my thought process further due to my scant patience at suffering fools and recognition that I myself often am the biggest fool I know.
All this sounds so negative and self-deprecating but it truly is not. I see with some clarity my life, my family, my circle and my world. I can imagine myself alone but in truth in many ways am not. I may now see few people. This week there have been days I have not seen another living soul and craved contact so much that on one of them even the opening the door to the post man was mildly exciting, and it is true upon these days I have felt morose, vulnerable and isolated, however you, my ‘audience’ those often faceless people in the ether that have pressed a like button, commented, messaged or phoned, you the ones that have reacted to my self indulgent ramblings have done more than you realise to sustain me, to assist my regaining some level positivity of thought to keep me from hurling my soul into some imagined pit of despair.
Life is at this moment in time is surviving in an enforced limbo. Its dealing with the effects and limitations of the various illness’ that I have allowed to encompass my decisions. I have been and still am in a rut of ongoing consequence to each action. Its been of late as if I have to ration my energy, that anything I attempt will drain me. Almost like a faulty car battery. One that does not hold its charge. So do I keep turning over or hold off until I can find a set of jump leads? Because I am referring to my life buying a new battery is not an option. I can park upon a hill on the chance that I can bump start but daren’t drive at night for any light drains too much energy. Sorry if the analogy confuses.
What I have to do is focus and keep focus. I need to find something that I can do and then get motivated enough to do it. The trouble is my concentration currently will not remain upon a single path. I have no ability to even read a book. The contradiction is I rarely watch TV these days and if I do I just watch entire series in one sitting as its easier than trying to bridge my thoughts from one story to another.
My memory is useless. Its not I believe that I have no ability to remember things so much its more that there is a level of apathy in my mind to continued existence, I do however get confused at times through ‘brain fog’ which is one of the more difficult symptoms to cope with. This has eroded my self confidence more than anything. I avoid social situations for fear of making a fool of myself. Conversations are a nightmare at times especially if face to face, losing track of thoughts or having to stop because I cannot find a word that defines my point is to me embarrassing beyond comprehension. I know its ridiculous, the objective me can see that. But I am human and emotion defines confidence.
Don’t read this and think me suicidal, I am not, I am a parent (whether good or poor, suspect to a greater degree the latter) so that never can be an option. I just cannot find a path that is both achievable and challenging enough to capture my imagination. To grab my soul and push it forward despite my vexation at limitation imposed by health.
I have intentions of writing a book, or submitting articles, of setting up some kind of business, but I cannot push my self enough to reach my goals or even dribble the ball towards them. People have been kind about my writings, about my imagination and ramblings but in an odd way that adds to my frustration of inactivity. I cannot find that way forward.
This week has been unusually hard, not due to pain so much but because I have been so overwhelmed by exhaustion. It’s like I ran a marathon but never recovered my breath. I know even when fit I never ran a marathon but this feeling is exactly why I didn’t (ok and that I was never ‘that’ fit). Even pegging washing out on the line set me back. My sleep patterns are none existent. In fact its in the night I feel most energetic. I could I truly believe physically achieve more at night but mentally am useless.
‘Useless’ now there’s the key word. As writing that last sentence I realised ‘useless’ defines how I see myself. I know some other will argue that but their denials will fall upon my deadened mind. From where I was to where I am now has been a slope of ice with no hand rail. Do I still have a reason? I am not sure.
Writing this is pure arrogance. I know that. I truly am no worse off than anyone else effected by illness. Far better off than the majority. This pondering is not me asking for sympathy or pity, its trying to firstly share to some degree my experience, my thoughts and hopefully voice how others in the same or worse positions with chronic illness to some extent feel.
My experiences are at times all ‘I own’. I share them but wish them upon no one.
It is cathartic too. Lying in bed with my thoughts just trapped in my head is more than frustrating so this is a release. Allowing them to travel off into the ether.
The clarity of night time is unequalled.
But the main reason for me in writing this drivel is just maybe one of you out there may be able to ignite some inspiration within me, identify a way to force what is there deep inside, my point, my reason, yes find my ‘use’. Give me a reason for waking up Jonesy from his slumber. Give me something to truly capture my imagination and force me to climb the grey wall barring my path. There is something I can achieve, something to once more give me a meaning, I just need to find it.
To those that have read to here sorry.
To my friends, thank you all, to my critics see ya.
To all, good morning
Jonesy

The corruption within the Labour Party was visible before JC. The ‘New Labour’ were governing under a false flag. They re-branded and from the start displayed a disgusting level of greed and corruption. Tony Blair, (the guy whose own apostles now claim his name is an insult) was himself set from the beginning upon implementing Thatchers plan that Major had diverted away from. The Tories could not continue because the public had seen through their greed and had enough, decades before they had planted their own sleeper careerists into the party and now promoted them by steering donors toward them including Blair n co.
We can look back to the 50’s and 60’s and happily accept that the soviets planted people in our parties, so why is it hard to accept the Tory led establishment had only learnt from this.
Many of the party members were swayed by the party’s new found affluence. The fabled ‘Establishment’ took even more of a grip and brought in more and more legislation that was brokered to the people as ‘security’ but in reality was to serve to only protect the rich and powerful not the rest of us. It was actually designed to ensure we are kept in our place. ASBO and fixed penalties were actually to ensure conviction without trial. They were aimed solely at the poor. The party fell for this. The nation for a while fell for it. Blair and his spin doctors pushed our nation further and further towards the right. The difference between New Labour and the Tories was now non existent. The Libs were the socialists in this weird hidden coalition of thoughts and process. I and many others left the Party during the Blair years. We could not see a way to fight from within and I could not be seen to support a right leaning party that in my view betrayed all the principles of socialism.
Now we are trying to take our party back, to give the UK a chance to reverse some but likely not all the damage the greedy ‘establishment’ has done to our society. To try to reignite a passion for honesty, integrity, morality and fairness. We are trying to end greed being the motivation of those in control.
Its not about Corbyn this fight, its about me and you. About our kids and their kids. We need to win this before the corruption damages and destroys our future beyond measure.
So you now need to start ignoring the propaganda. Our woes are not caused by immigrants, gays, disabled, elderly or scroungers. Austerity is not needed for any other reason than keeping the poor in poverty. How can Austerity be real if the bankers are getting bonuses and big firms don’t have to pay tax?
Your and I are living under a con, being cheated and stole from, controlled and subjugated by the Rich and powerful for their own gain.
We need to stop them now!
This is my belief, my understanding, my truth.
Jonesy

Hard work result.

I look at the envelope lying by the door,
Bow down with trepidation as I pick it from the floor.
I hesitate as I weigh up all it might mean, rip nervously at the paper dreading what may now be seen.
I pull at the contents and unfold the page, tension is killing me in what now seems an age.
I focus my eyes on what lies within, the words focus and my head suddenly begins to spin.
A star it states and yes it confirms it’s me, and for the next twenty four hours my life is filled with glee!

Brian – The Life of

Brian stumbled over the belt from his dressing gown and had to catch himself before he fell down the stairs. He paused to catch is breath, chest heaving and swearing to himself as he continued.
‘Another bloody grey boring day’ he said aloud to the empty hallway.
After standing over the kettle for what seemed an eternity, with tea in hand he slumped into the worn out grey sofa.
He picked up the remote and scanned the channels finally stopping on another rerun of Stargate.
As the speakers blurted out a jumble of noise the picture blurred and he began to yet again assess his life.
42 yrs old , living on benefits, a council house that he knew he was likely to have to give up soon. It was three months since Lorraine had left with the kids and now the house was devoid of life, just a cold stark shell. Memories swirling around him teasing him with visions of a fabled ’happy’ past.
It was funny how when he thought back, the arguments were superficial, meaningless now without substance. Most in his recollection were about money, or rather the dwindling reserves that they had built up over nineteen years of marriage. ‘Marriage’ he mumbled, even the word seemed dated these days.
The battered mobile began to vibrate, Brian glanced at it and resolved to ignore it, it couldn’t be Lorraine, not now, more than likely it was some flaming PPI tele-sales. Why they kept ringing him he had no idea, he had never had a blasted loan, he found himself wishing that all of them would just fuck off and die. ‘die’ what a silly little word that means so much. ‘Die, to die, death, torment, mourning, release’. He knew that his thoughts were stupid, even pathetic but still they held a fascination.
A loud knock at the door startled him. He began to stand up but then flopped back down into his seat. What was the point in answering it? It would either be the postman, asking him to sign for a letter, or worse the bailiff come to hassle him yet again for the arrears on his water bill.
There was another rap, but all it did was steady his resolve not to answer. The banging continued for a further few minutes then silence. After a while he plucked up the courage to sneak a peek out of the window. At first he could see nothing, no one at his door, but wait that silver escort did not belong there. Then a noise from the back of the house, a clatter and bang. Someone was there, prying spying on him. He felt his stomach churn, the acid taste rising in his throat.
Were they here to evict him? Had he missed a letter from housing? Had he done something else wrong? Was it the police? Was it some local kids trying to break in? if it was he would give them what for. Brian looked around for something to use as a weapon. Something heavy, something firm. He took a deep breath, looked around the sparse room, and tried to relax. What was happening to him? This was not who he was.
He walked through the kitchen and tugged at the back door handle, ‘damn’ he said as he realised it was locked. He turned the key and after the briefest of pauses he again pulled at the door. As it opened he moved forward and tentatively poked his head beyond the door frame.
‘Hey up’ a disembodied voice came.
Brian felt himself jump and spun around to see a figure dressed in maroon coloured overalls staring at him, a cheery smile the most prominent feature.
‘Where’s yer recycle bin mate?’ he was asked.
Brian felt himself redden but also calm. ‘Er the kids’ gesticulating with his hands as if drawing a circle around him, ‘they er, they bleeding keep nicking ‘em. ‘ he stammered out the explanation.
‘ah well, don fret mate, give the council a ring and they can sort yer another one out’. At that the workman turned and left. Brian stood there for a moment, embarrassed that he had behaved so dramatically.
Brian again slumped into the settee and focused upon the TV. ‘Ah time for the news’ he thought as he pressed the worn out buttons. The familiar red banner under the presenter read ‘Chancellor announces further austerity measures’. The news reader’s monotone voice in contrast to the half grin upon their face. To Brian it was as if they were thinking ‘ha I have got a job so it doesn’t bother me you losers’.
The camera panned over to a slimy looking man with dark short hair, a navy blue suit and a blue tie indicating him to be a ‘Tory’. To Brian it didn’t matter which party they represented, they all seemed the same these days, all corrupt and out for self promotion. The Eton accent proclaiming that this person had no idea what austerity meant, he would not even blink at spending Brian’s entire weekly income on one single bottle of wine. The smug face forming an almost cartoon expression of seriousness as he droned on about how these new measures were needed to ensure that the deficit could be significantly reduced by 2016. By now Brian was only half listening , taking in the basic message but not the detail. The overall message that benefits would be cut further, that services would be reduced, that the poor would become even poorer.
Brian switched off the TV and laid back. The grey mist descending around him. He tried to think ’happy thoughts’ but couldn’t formulate any. The despair growing, Brian was self aware, he understood that he should not be feeling this way. He knew that things could be worse but was unable to think how.
He felt trapped, stuck within this tiny cage. Yes he was mobile, he could get about, he could walk even run if he put his mind to it. But to where? He had friends, people when he had some money he could go out with, socialise with, but that was before, before he lost his job, before Lorraine left with the children, before he lost his world, his meaning, his will.
He tried to concentrate, there must be a way out, something he could do to end this torment. But what?
He stood up, picked up his coat and with an imitation of confidence strode out of the house. He cleared his head of all consciousness and opened the rusting iron gate. Without a glance back at the unkempt garden he picked up the pace. At the end of the close he turned left and headed towards the town. His gaze wondered, eyes moving from a straight ahead view to scanning the path. The endless grey tar only giving in to the occasional crack or blur of brown where some feral dog had fowled the ground. When he bothered to glance up there was only dismal skies and the monotone mass built houses to see. The drone of traffic further dulling his senses and directing his thoughts further into the abyss. Even the blank or at times suspicious looks from passers by only adding to this.
Brian ambled past a row of shops, glancing into the windows, sub consciously wondering at how what was a vibrant area, almost affluent ended up being solely made up of charity shops and take-away’s.
His vision now increasingly blurring, all his senses shutting down en mass, the world spinning into a mosaic of black and white.

Brian felt as if he had awoke from a nightmare. He felt devoid of pain, almost cheerful. Who was that? A figure became solid to him, the features forming into a face, a friendly face, a recognisable face, a face from the past. He could not understand how this could be possible, the confusion building. The face belonged to Lorraine, he looked directly at her and was saddened that her eyes were filled not with joy but with sympathy.
Her gentle voice asking him how he was feeling now. He tried to sit up but felt restrained as if his limbs were tied down with straps. With a start he suddenly realised it was not Lorraine, the face belonged to someone wearing the uniform of a nurse.
‘Where am I?’ he demanded.
‘Mr Blake’ She stated as if taking details for a form, ‘Mr Blake you are in the Hope Wing, it’s a mental health assessment unit, can you remember what happened?’
Brian tried to think back but all he could remember was the grey mist. He shook his head. The nurse explained that Brian had been found in a heap on the path. After being assessed in A&E a decision was made to place him on a section under the Mental Health Act. She went on to say that they believed that he had experienced an overload, what would have been described in the past as a breakdown.
Brian again tried to remember what had happened, but there was no recollection.
The Nurse explained that they had a care plan in place for him and that he would be reassessed after 72 hours. She gave him a small cardboard cup with four pills in it and a glass of water. All she said was, ‘these will help‘.
Brian woke up to a piercing scream, then the rapid footfalls of a number of people hurrying down a corridor. He lay motionless, at first a feeling of anxiousness giving way to a wave of apathy. The same Nurse came to discuss Brian’s needs with him.
There were then numerous interviews, meetings and groups over the next few days. He was pressured to tell all of his life. Soon the conditions of the section were lifted but Brian remained in hospital for a few more weeks.
Upon his release he did not return home, his home was no longer his. He was given a council flat in a small sterile block. All the memories from his family abode now fading. The prescription medication keeping him numb, forming a gate against the despair, never quite closed but holding back as if he were trapped in the event horizon of a black hole. No thoughts to the future but living within a timeless world.
Even his battered sofa was now gone. In its place a small 2 seater ikea bed settee.
On the odd occasion that he found a dog eared picture of his family in a drawer, or left on the side he would almost absent mindedly attempt to think back, but then be distracted by the TV or the echoing foot steps of the old lady next door dragging her shopping up the concrete steps.
At least he had visitors now, they may be paid to come and see him but were company, some link to the forgotten outside world. Less and less would Brian venture out.
Time moved on, the support provided was cut further and further, the disability benefits that had made life almost bearable for a time after his hospital discharge now removed. The daily visits from his CPN waned to weekly then monthly. Soon they too stopped. The ‘Austerity measures’ were putting a greater strain on what was once a welfare state. Health and Benefits were hit the hardest, hospital wards lying empty, people unable to get even basic non urgent care. Most state benefits now were only provided with numerous conditions to be met by the claimant. Suspending of benefits was the norm.
Every town and village had local food banks operating as this for many was the only means for them to survive. No longer a welfare state, Britain had become a Charity state, and for many even this was not enough to sustain them.
It was eight months after he had moved into this new self contained world that it happened. The vagueness won over, he took his medication, had his tea of a microwave meal. Sat down wondering if he had already taken the pills. A wave of panic took him, if he did not take the pills then the demons would break through, he took his medication, had a bath. As lay down in the tepid water, a question formed, had he taken his medication?
When Brian rose from his slumber he was amazed to see not just Lorraine standing there but both his children. He jolted awake, staring at the impossible vision before him. His thoughts now coming with clarity. A unfamiliar emotion, overwhelming happiness, but more, hope. It could not be true, surely it could not, at last the horror was over, the pain had gone.

It was three days before anyone decided to check on Brian. It was only that the old lady next door had not heard the TV blaring out. When someone finally took the decision to break into the flat they found the withered body of a man.
At the weekend the local paper had a small obituary simply stating that Mr Brian Blake 42 had died on the 13th June. He was a widower surviving his wife and two children who had tragically died in a car accident. He had no living relatives.
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David and Goliath
The engines strain at their worn and rusty mounts.
Bolts working loose the revs increase every second counts.
Another peak then trough jolting my already aching spine.
I grab the rail knowing the day may still be mine.
An explosion lights the sky off on the starboard side.
Another flash behind telling me his aim was a little wide.
I see the effervescent tracks marking out a eerie grid.
The voice beside me cut short as a shard kills the young mid.
The boat beside me stops still and glows bright red.
I feel the blast, knowing her crew, my friends are all now dead.
I shout my orders, which can only surely fall on deaf ears.
My eyes scan the wrecked bridge and I now realise all my fears.
No one can have lived through such devastation I decide.
But movement amongst the destruction puts paid to that visual lie.
I pull myself up forcing my inner self to carry on.
The small fair haired subbie now looking done in and wan.
Blood pools and offal now making each step slip.
I feel the deck rise then fall into what seems an endless dip.
Another salvo from our main four point seven inch guns.
The fear of capsize as the turbulent sea hurriedly runs.
Finally on her the glow of fire betrays a direct hit.
This no longer a one sided duel although we aren’t fighting fit.
A cheer is raised from our now skeleton crew.
We aim our bows at her, vowing to sink her I promise a new.
No longer noticing the tracer and explosive splashes.
Knowing it’s scant seconds til through her our bow smashes.
Alas the poor Glowworm won’t survive this day.
She hits the Hipper then the demon depths pull her away.
My lungs fill with salt water my life may end here.
But our story will live on in history for many a year.
At home our families will have pride of what we achieve.
Though that will help only little as they continue to grieve.

I am painting a picture with my mind.
These words are for me so don’t be kind,
I am enclosed in a room of magnolia cream
The drab mono-colour causes me to scream

Feeling so very trapped within this un-life
Every comment offending with unintended strife.
It’s as if i live within a sepia silent film set
No longer searching for that challenge still not met.

My motivation has gone from this empty me.
My body and soul longing to live near the sea.
I don’t recognise this person I have now become
I just want to write stories whilst sat in the sun!

The inner me still fights and claws to get out
The tension still there as if I really need to shout!
Where has that which was me now finally gone
That bright good within that to me really shone.

I am still here somewhere hidden from sight
That young boys soul that was full of light.
The journey so far now going nowhere good
A miserable man where an innocent boy once stood.

Destiny:
Well looking back to that lad that sat in the junior science lab in January 79 wondering if the heating would come on, a little scared that the latest prediction of the worlds end was but hours away and it was Chicken Supreme for tea!! Looking back I remember my aspirations.
I wanted to live long enough to ride a bike, drive a car and have sex with a girl.
Everything else would be a bonus. I wanted to be a dad but did not believe I would be. I would feel lucky if I lived until I was thirty. I was thick and stupid because Mrs Forster at Great Moor Junior School and Stephen Flegg maths teacher at Stockport School (Mile End) had kept telling me so. Stephen also decided it would be fun to get some other boys such as the weasel like Simon Hill and pals to bully me. Praising and rewarding their vindictive atrocities with open acknowledgement in the classroom.
I had no idea as to what my life had in store. I was outside of school an explorer, leader of my gang, well jointly at least with Wendy Hildrew and her sister Gillian. Two of my closest and most under valued childhood friends.
I wish I had then the understanding of the world I have now. I wish I knew that girls were really the same as boys, same insecurity but just different hang ups. That teachers were not gods or many not even wise. In fact some such as messrs Flegg and Forster were teachers because they liked remaining playground bullies into adult hood and would not function anywhere else in society.
I am happy to name these vile excuses for educators on the off chance if the still cling to their putrid abusing existence they may read this and either understand their epitaph is one of contempt or even better attempt to sue me in the courts. A challenge I would dearly love.
I sort of planned to be a daring soldier, hero, and cohort of kings, my experiences and choices led down a different path. I did fight but not armies. I fought abuse, injustice, poverty, hatred, discrimination and despair. I started in the forces of the Establishment, the local and at times central government departments.
Now I tend to see these organisations as part of the problem. Their bureaucracy tending to extend hardship, restrict movement and stamp on motivation.
Now however I am restricted by health, mobility and funds. I fight my fight rarely on a face to face field of battle. My weapons now my words alone.
This is maybe always was where my destiny brought me. With my illness’ I cannot look back and think ‘what if’ for these conditions would likely have snook up on me whatever choices I made, whichever paths I travelled.
Regrets? …. too many to contemplate without a loss of whatever grip I have on sanity.
Future? ….. unwritten. I have to keep telling myself that.
Next?…… who knows

Jonesy.

There is something primeval about lying naked upon your bed. Even though alone and with closed curtains it feels wrong but right. Good but bad.
Now I am not talking about sexual excitement. Though for some it may be a part. Its that feeling of non conformity. Of risk. Of what if…..
Freedom too plays a part. Free of pretence, being solely you. Being the vessel of your consciousness not the canvas of conformity.
There is little fashion or trend in nudity. Yes there are those with Tattoos, Piercings, and hair sculpture (or devoid of hair). And yes there are those that sculpt their bodies in the gym or with steroids and supplements.
But nudity relinquishes all other shrouds. Once naked there is just you. In your home that’s freedom but for me beyond my walls that freedom would become oppression. It would be my shame. My dread. Possibly my greatest fear.
Yet we are not born dressed. Naked is our natural state. Our true self. So why do it have any affect? Maybe its just me. Just my hang up?
Jonesy

I peer through the dark
Looking everywhere for that long lost spark
But all I can now see
Decaying old crone that once was she

The world moves on
I have no idea where my innocence has gone
When we used to hug
Was like getting fixed by the most potent drug

Why did the love vanish
All my emotion was suddenly hers to banish
Now feel so empty inside
Wish I had never found out that my mother lied

The screaming child
Cannot any longer be described as happy and wild
That part has but left
Of all emotion and warmth I now am totally bereft

Hope is no longer seen
Let them call me carrier of the fatalistic Judas gene
You see me as friend
But my loyalty I can promise is only ever on lend

Still blaming my past
Assuring you my mail and armour was built to last
No weakness on view
The creature named in revelations won my heart anew