PLEASE please reply!

I went to Brick Lane, this morning, I found it after eating a Turkey and Cranberry sandwich, I sat on the pavement and chewed it groaning...

I have a problem with anything that tastes different, anything spicy or extra sweet, in fact, anything that tastes of something...I gave myself up to eating it, but I had to store the second piece, to have with cappucino, with enough sugar and milk to take the taste away....

Dammit the tea I got later, was Earl Grey!! I had to stave that taste off with two cigarettes in succession, and then I drained the whole cup in one...I was in a 'cool' cafe DAMMIT! I hate anything cool!! I luv it, I lovvve feeling cool, and looking in mirrors more than at women. Bite, bite any women.

Any pretty girls, any gay male couples, anything like your clink clink easy listening dub house chic crap playing in the background, your flyers full of whack whack, white bands with a loser fat middle-aged bass player, in a beret...your damn well-applied graffitti 'paintings' in gallery spaces, your smelly gallery smell, of gay mens feet...the £800 priced pencil drawing copy of a photo next to each other, of distorted unrealistic, 'hobos'...

the big, vintage shops, of over-priced mod military jackets in grey, with BRIGHT YELLOW Hemlines and edging, HSITIT next to cheap crap Pakistani shops selling Leather, things...over-priced Internet Cafes...queers carrying bags of sainsburys shopping into their shared flats together...art school types, art school MIDDLE CLASS DAmit!!

Cools!

I got one one pound book, called Qajar Paintings, that is, DAMMIT, a book full of lovers and dancers, all

looking exactly the same.

Weaing huge birdlike monobrows, a little bit of hair in front of the ears (peculiar to Persians) that curls upwards and long..."Mannie, Mannie, thats mannie...that one her, oh look this couple kissing look the same...me..."

chubby faced puggy black-mono-browed, upper-class freaks...

In the cool caef, which was half, outside?? in a car parking street, sellign beer from fridges at a stall, and upstairs, all in the dark, long leather sofas, and pillows on a bench rolling round a pillar, i dreamt about Persian Royals, I will PAINT, myself in my bandana holding a cigarette, in the manner of Persian Royals...

I storm powered someone I wanted dead. It didn't happen.

I called Allah again.

DICKS, royal DICKS...

He got a divorce and a death at the same time....

DAMIT!! I'm really too...any...

I nearly cried.

I dont know whats next, its not a cool ride. Its full of 'hessians' expecting a ride. Its the death of soul. No-one will suceed. I'm pausing this computer and going out for a cigarette. I'm going to bread, one iced bun, yum. DICKS.

Brick Lane

I jumped on the train, defying future time, karma, prediction, and circular time, I decided to find inner London. Damit, I looked cool I wore last nights clothing and eyeliner, with a new bandana...

Reading the Qajar book I thought about this:

(SHabOOKMET)

The conversations around were to 'rote', but these were good men, clean men, 'posh' men...I listened to two talk,

Shabookmet, here: 1979 (2008 October)

'a given estimate of age that reveals itself to be, of an age, like ancient Grecian, where it is so want it is marriage, marriage is wholly Gods, the ancient has a man, who, invented love, the man looks, the woman is overcome, she says, 'You love me!' They love like they had been forever, the love is fervent, it invents no lies, it is eternal, it is already there in disguise, it is wanting, it is home, it says, Now, I will not woe...',

replace 'Grecian' with the original 'Persian'...

It was something I made that would light, I was at the cafe, and I wanted to kiss a persian, an ancient persian...anyone of the princesses of that time...the conversation, began good and ended as predicted...'commonly' she was stoned last night, we all got stoned and we talked, I talked to her and was sweet...I was waiting for the yellow-man to come back...seedy disgusting talk.

What did I say to Allah, I heard her voice, again. I spent a week and a half believing that I was Lord Allah. I stabbed someone.

That paragraph, was part of alot of writing, most of it science, about Time Travel...I read simple physics. It was a good time for creating, and now it's gone. I can't create. I still am...but I cant.

Damit, I helled someone, DAMN I wanted to fight. I tried. Everything flowed, nothing touched. NO-one was hit, but for me.

What did SHE say?

Get Married, give a divorce. I dont know, dammit, It was Hell, I was in HELL, and everyone else walked free. Even the 'Persian' Grandad said, LET HER GO!

How did it get to God?

I said, I'll leave, I'm dead, it's perverts, free....Let me Avenge...there was screaming, there was a sentence. He said;

Love God Forever.

Dammnit, one guy, with one try, got damned, that *(^*^* yellow-man hears, her scream he is a black infidel, and it souls, it gets him high that he heard a voice, it gets me die, that he didnt immmediately, spontanously combust, or roll around like a snake going insane.

Well, dammit, I bought the kid a chunky watch, for a pound, it still ticks, and it's pink leather, on her it will look cool. Anyone go near and I'll burn, damiit...ducking from fireballs, the brain defies. No more brian. sizzled...

Whats God?