Cheerful Buggers, don't they put a smile on yer face?

"The Stranger on a Train" (Regards to Patricia Highsmith)

The Victories of the throngs
Shadows a Stranger on a train;
And that Stranger on that train
Is the new Messiah,
The Second Coming;
But none but the mad
Saw his Coming, thus
He stayed that 'Stranger on a Train' -
A cult-class compartmentalised sacrificial lamb,
That's what he was, and that's all he can.
"If they cannot see me,
If they cannot read my expressions,
Why, Father, must it be?
Why not create me to be a Doctor of Medicine,
And then I will follow in my Father's Footsteps!"

Early Morning Rock n Strolling

I scribbled this little ditty during my foraging into the mental health services of Nottinghamshire, the largest mental health trust in the whole little continent of Europe, apparently. If you can be bothered to read it, it reveals my state of mind is in the negative fields. I will have to upload some more comical odes so you leave my blog with at least not a noose-making manual. I noted, during my stay in the drug/alcohol ward I was in, that the likelihood of oceans or seas appearing in my verse was concurrent with the more my mental health was going downhill (or uphill, whichever way one views the sorry situation).
I have thus, through my personal experiences with my very own mind (no surveys here) come to the conclusion that the great oceans/seas and madness or mental breakdown is deeply linked - for want of a better word - within the human psyche. Must think of this more. I probably will have no choice...


And the seas and the sands,
And the quiet desperate lands;
And the mountain and the snow
Where the quiet desperate go.
And colours green and the brown,
And the hungry people frown.
Searching for the seas
Where the fragile people drown.
In the cities and the towns,
The screaming shrieking sounds,
Dressed and prepared
In their tattered funeral gowns.

Body bags stricken
Slippin’ n slidin’
In the Setting Sun

Christ, I wish I believed in God!

Time to toss my crap upon this large (compared to a ping-pong ball) globe of ours - please give generously

Dear future skimmers, perusers, and nothing,

Please give me time to think of something to write about, regarding this Earth, my Brain, someone else's Brain, etc. etc., for I am not going to write for the sake of writing. Folks have often said I have some degree of talent in my bargain basement "prose and poetry department", so await eagerly my balderdash to emanate. More when I have my eyes open.

This posting probably sets the scene for an unpromising blog
To add some salt to the bread, here's an image to think about from my warped and ageing mind. Why did i choose this man with a box of frogs in his sore brain? I don't really know. I will endeavour to investigate. A mystery. Indeed a whodunit! Whatever happened to Buttle's brain?