Free

I am free. truly free. My new life is much better than ,my old one, you know the one where I had windows that Policemen could climb through. Well shot of those. My new life is much better. My favourite bus shelter is comfortble and warm, and no wrongdoing police will ever corner me in there - its got two doors.

So look on my life you miscreants and bletherers. See how I have won and triumphed. Your lives are all shattered shallow unelevated and barbaric. Me, I live with the sages and the genus of Waltre Sickert for company. Beat that, les amis.

The best part of my freedom is my mind. My mind is now truly free, free ofall restricions and restraints. I can see and think at liberty, of the sort that maybe, only Sockrates could imagine. Sartre dabbled but Kate Bush really knew this feeling. herewith. “Running up that bill”. What a beautiful metophore.

Untrammelled now by convention or cowardice of logic I am, and I can see further and deeper than anyone, ever. People in the bus sheleter ask me what bus is nexty. and I always know, well within a 44%-78% variable window of rectitude. And thats another window the bent Weinert will only ever pass through in his thuggish dreams.

I have gone beyond understanding. None of you can follow. I know. I expected this as a child and I no longer expect to be understood. This congruently lightens my heart which is now lighter than my designer holdall. I know that I have seen things in Sickerts work that NO ONE ELSE HAS EVER SEEN! OR (and this is the best bit- tee hee ) COULD EVER SEE! I have said so myself before. You can all keep looking but you’ll never see all the ture wizardry of the cluemaster. This is what I of course meant when I said that me and Dad used to laugh at the clueless. Such happy times.

But oh no, some of you didn’t believe me. Well boo hoo sniff sniff blubberty blubberty. You are sorry now, I know, and you will be sorier yet. I will soon be seeing thing sthat not only you can’t see, but tghings that ARENT EVEN THERE ATALL!!! Harsh but true.

That is how free I am. When I was young I lived like a king. I had two pet whales.

So gaze upon my works -my beautiful works and despair, you lot of harassers. Because despair is your olny option you despiar because you will never undertand them. To you they are, of course, not undertsandable. Ozimandias and me. TS Eloit wrote The Waste Land about how his wife was killed by the Bloomsberry Sect, but it fits just as well about the sabotage bloggers. What a waste of land they are!

For I am a visionary and a historien. Not a bravo cat or a gibbon of a media whore.

You wont find any of us historians being a gibbon. That’s a charge that you could never, ever level against any hsitorian. EVER. NOT ONE!!! Well, apart from Edward Gibbon of course. But that just proves my point.

Ciao, a bientot and see ya. Or naff off if you read that other blog.