As I wrestle with your feathers
I am cold lonely anticipating all kinds of weathers.
God, give me wings to lift me out of here to a place with infinite beer
That sediment which you give a prof
Can be mine to rof.
whenever I like.
I would like to be literate and well read
so I could answer properly your questions and imicipations
which I gather are as popular as ever. Well done you imicipator.
which pre-dates the calculator by hundreds of decades.
I love you Emily as you cauterise my melancholy like cotton wool and gunpowder in a smelling discharge paper. I have finally come undone like one of your buttons. Dear Emily. I will be hated for mine comments berated like so many old soldiers coming home after war to nothing but approbation for killing. Nothing of good service! All empty cups and harsh cornices empty above a cold stove. Hows that for the road on which your travelled to meet god knows who . God I wish we were alone. We could fly in tethers made from telling each other of Spode and architecture Newbold and Pitt The Younger.. Your words are my hope. You give ’em enough rope to pull themselves along rather than hang themselves as is the fashion nowadays.This is truly a melange. A wedding. A shallow bowl containing whisky. We are soaked in Sponges and squeegees polished and finished at no school like the world has ever known. Every flag sewn and flied is a brass eye through which I can see never ending beauty as the horses neigh in approval. This is it our one life and I am living it via a computer. Cybernetics would have interested you soaring above its letters and words like a soaring bird.You would have been a cybernetic wonder. I would have scoffed at your detractors made them plough for a severance a stony field like littered with unexploded hand grenades. In a little village not often seen is a little lane called memory. Do you recall one gliding down it on a farthing cycle feet pushed out wide smiling and laughing? Well, that’s how your words make me feel. Like I have revisited one of your memories. and we never met. Of you, i would dwell on well-kept matters of fact secretly betrothed at a brothel or a hovel. You would have brought it alive.Never meet your heroes. Only beyond the grave. Did the King take you as some believe or was it only make believe of shitstorms and misunderstanding that in your life your were plagued? Nobody is surer of the truth than I whose distilling was crafted from art, born from fire and practised day after day after day. You are the finest wine I drink while music plays and metaphor, the children’s bore is left to fester in a damp room. Play your gloom over me like a shadow and bring me to life. A million surfaces are not exeunt. To be possible is to be improbable like Scotch Mist. You knew this. Over iron works, over smoking shell holes are ridges of selfless trees their leaves rustling in harmony to the gait of the four legged labor burden that is you on heroin. I am not kin to gladness nor sorrow nor loss but to hope lost and found in words on a page. Your words my craziness. Peace.

The need to write drowned out matters of editing past my own and throwing stones in glasshouses. Enjoy
To Emily Dickinson,

A Letter To A Beauty.

Word,words,words,words,words, cannot in my humble unskilled hands do justice to the vision I see before me. I don’t know whether to kiss your hand or grovel meekly at your feet. I don’t know if your smile is real or faked, or why your eyes are straight, as your hair not curly but smooth and shiny, and your cheeks that sit upon bones so high are a pleasure for me just to gaze upon. Beauty. So fair. So meek. So mild. So full of life. I cannot help myself as my words erupt out of this vision spilling like seeds from my child’s hand. Oh! beauty hold my gaze and speak words but softly so that you will not break my wounded heart again! Tell me I was wrong to trust my sanity in so much vanity and to look inside where the dove of your heart flutters gently. Beauty. Hold my hand to your breast and let it there until I can feel the beat of your heart with my hand. Joyous the moment will be when love erupting from within me will know a love is real and present and like looking in a mirror and seeing you smiling back at me I pray for many more such days. Give me a chance of your friendship darling beauty. So wise and caring your face to spare me my shame at not knowing but already loving thee. In your smile, I see no fear.But you are only 18.In my love for you I fear for me.What fate will you choose? Evil or good. Choose wisely. If I had my way I would lock you away and protect you but No My heart deceives me. I am betrayed by my love for thee! Now hear this What is life if not lived wholly? especially when equipped so beautifully.

Remember that a hopeless man will still cry ‘For Valor! For Love! For Honour and for Freedom!’and when your head ignores but your heart answers the call it will be time and only then.:-) It is only me saying what I hold true and dearest.  How could I sink so low? Blessings. Fear me not Fear not man nor woman. Be brave, be strong, be open.And let God alone be the judge of you. And thank you for paying attention to an older man.

Easier than sex


You made it harder but easier than sex

I am getting by but that’s hardly a record

I am nostalgic for painful separations

Must be something in the air.

There is something that kills me

and it’s not the memory of my time with you

You’re not here now and that’s a shame

but now I have to stand literate and proud

I couldn’t live with you. I can’t live alone.

I have tried to trace you but that did not work

I am settled for the time being settled in shame

How can I look for you when I need someone to blame

for the fragments. I have glued into shape A swan in an envelope

couldn’t be more absurd than the garden I tend.

A complacent confidence given in an aside. I need to have faith

in the other side to continue on my quest (to be the best)

When will I see you again? Soon?

I am second best next to you. Jesus would have to argue

but he threw tables out of the temple too

perhaps he has something in common with you

or perhaps I’m crazy or perhaps you are.

Yours Sincerely



Scrubbing Harding – Wizard

OK! I have broken off the main ice and am now floating in the ocean.
Visibility is excellent. Supplies are good. Mood is elevated.
Have been floating for about three weeks now but can’t help the feeling I am not alone out here.
There is nothing to see for miles around but the feeling persists. I could do with teddy, but he is lost, unfortunately.
Still, I could order a new one and an owl could drop it off, I suppose. I don’t trust the emptiness of here!
Experiments are going well. I have invented a new Horcrux and disappearing spell since being out here.
I think the emptiness is good for the magic, helps with the flow.
I might try some really advanced magic I have been thinking about ‘in the future’ sometime, Its not just a matter of making potions, it’s the time, the right time for making it. You might think that out here there is no way of knowing what the right time is, and you’d be right too. However, you and I know that it takes more than three minutes to boil an egg, when you take into consideration all the steps involved and so it is with potions. Sigh. I have so much more work to do and so little time.
When you get this note, read it upside down while wearing only pyjamas in the sight of a mirror for a surprise!
Your servant
Scrubbing Harding

Letter to Another Soul

I don’t know who I am writing this letter to yet I am simply following through on an idea I had about how I might meet / share / make friends with someone who understands and is willing to base a friendship on the basis of an honest letter.

I am attracted to both sexes but in unequal amounts. Physically I am attracted to women but emotionally I am attracted to men. There is emotion where there is physical attraction and vice versa but one dominates. I can also be physically attracted to men without emotion (or much, unless you include lust as an emotion) but it is with a man that I have formed my strongest ever feelings of love, adoration and sheer excitement at being near him. It sounds funny now but that is how it was. It was animalistic and romantic at the same time. I could have covered him in gateau and licked it off or read poetry to him for hours, whatever his heart desired.

I wrote this letter and amongst the other stuff i wrote at the time it sounds positively clear headed. I wrote so much tripe but that is what a journal is for I suppose. One day i might wake up and be able to write like Conan Arthur Doyle but i wont lose any sleep waiting for it.

Back to the letter. Yes I was making sense to me, and hopefully to you, dear reader. Where to aim then. Should i target a sexy lover or a happy companion? What is the most rewarding or can bring the biggest opportunity of love? I am going to a coffee morning next week (oh shit i spoke about the future, now it wont happen) I am hopeless at finding love. I have never once found love while I was looking for it . Perhaps I should learn from that. There is a saying that says something along the same lines so perhaps i should just get on with my life and wait for it to turn up again. Such lack of a plan in something so important seems lopsided compared with even something as mundane as a weekly shop which i plan for. My social life is limited to a ‘never been to before’ coffee morning and the odd friend and my family. I can’t ever see it coming again.

I don’t mean to burden you dear reader. If you feel helpless too then perhaps knowing someone else is feeling the same now somewhere in the world will give you hope in solidarity, no matter how intangible it seems. No matter how bleak the present may seem I take comfort in knowing that i have been in worst shtuck before now and still come out smiling. You never know what is coming, that is one of the beauties of life. Sianara For Now.