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Damn it how I hate this place!

Fucking England in February, fucking England anytime!

A realm of lifeless grey, packed to overflowing with colourless, shuffling people, who seem to crawl through their days, barely resisting the urge to scream in fear or howl in bad rage, ready to bite or run.

England is just bills and paying out to everyone. Fuck! I came back to the UK from India in March last year, almost a year ago fer fuck sake. Came back with 7k in my bank, it was gone inside a three months. Now I’m working my balls off just to stay afloat, money dribbling in but never enough for the moment.

I watch it appear then worry about it disappearing again, all the while I have debts that sting at the back of my mind like paper cuts.

Maybe I got spoilt all that time in low rent, no outgoings heaven, back when I was losing my mind. Before I escaped to India?

Here all the people are mean.

Out there, they just wanted to get your cash, but to them it was survival, nothing personal. Here the fuckers have nothing to worry about in comparison.

Got tagged in Facebook by a girl I met. The picture was from my first time in the forest.

Nasty profile shot.

Looking old and weird.

But the forest was so green. Fuck me it was amazing to see, when all around me is monochrome, both the scenery and in the stifling atmosphere of England.

I’m finding it hard to feel positive about anything. Maybe this is depression, but without the symptoms, though my sleep is fucked, but night shifts and overdosing on Arabic coffee will do that to you.

I’m just beginning to feel that old familar gnawing anger I get when I feel pinned down. The urge to throw it all up, fuck off and continue in my search for that place of definition.

While all about me I can see stuff growing and growing. Why do I need all this crap, and more importantly, where the fuck is it coming from, all I spend my money on is food and that bastard greedy electricity meter that seems intent on draining me dry a day at a time. Best to calm down and realise that the crap was always here. I just can’t stand the sight of it now, while before it was welcome. Now its junk stopping me from leaving in an instant, like getting a dead leg, numbed of life, when you want to run.

Not interested in much.

Everything I want isnt here, in this damp dungeon I call my home.

Home! This aint my home no more than England is my home. There just places I inhabit.

Maybe a year here has been too long and its time to change, to get it on again and taste the change. The flavour that burns the mouth and sets your senses on edge while you dribble and drool and lust for another bite.

It’s hard I guess for anyone to be somewhere that is so pass tense than other places they might have seen. Travelling can be a burden, because you get your mind broadened to the point where going back to where you were before you travelled, is nothing anymore.

We shall see.

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