At our monthly film show last night, the discussion got around to why any of us would want to come back to the ‘earth plane’ after passing [death to those unfamiliar with spiritual jargon]. Cue my “I was an Essene and I signed up with others to help the earth move from prison to paradise” statement. I have no intention of coming back. This post may tell you why.
And, of course, all my encounters today were created by me. I create my reality. But I didn’t, as far as I’m aware, create Free Radio.
“Blame it on the night, blame it on me.” Hmmm. This song offers promise.
First off in the gym is a bloke with coconut sized calf muscles. He spends 30 minutes plus bouncing up and down in his own weird way on the cross trainer, reducing its operating life by about 80%. Several blokes, aged from 20 to 35 walk around, looking in the mirror, grimacing, posing and lifting a variety of weights.
“What do you mean? Oh, what do you mean? Said we're running out of time. What do you mean? Oh oh oh what do you mean? Better make up your mind. What do you mean?”
[During an appearance on Ryan Seacrest's radio show, Bieber was asked about the meaning behind this song's title. He replied: "Well, like, girls are often like, they're just flip-floppy… they say something and then they mean something else, you know? So it's like, I want to, like: "What do you mean?"]
Wolverine walks in next [it says so on his T-shirt]. Hugh Jackman who plays Wolverine is 6’ 2” and generally thought to be handsome. Our local hero looks at me with a frown-see I told you it’s me-and would not pass any handsome test but so what, we all need to dream, and is about 5’ 6”.
But he is very fit.
“Work work work work work work. He said me haffi. Work work work work work work!
He see me do mi. Dirt dirt dirt dirt dirt dirt! And so me put in work work work work work work!”
I go on the rowing machine. On the TV to my left is Sky News ‘reporting’ on a terrorist ‘exercise’ shot in a Manchester shopping mall. Most false flag staged [9/11 anyone?] events usually start with such a farce. So, Mancunians, stay out the malls in May…
Or maybe for ever.
“You should come 'round mine. We could drink some wine. In the summertime. It could be quite nice.”
Two or three people are sitting on the exercise machines texting. Another is on the exercise mat shouting down her phone. Or should that be talking loudly?
But she looks good.
Remind me never again to go into the gym between 12 and 2.
My 50 minutes is up. I drive to Waitrose. Oncoming traffic often is in the middle of the road here in beautiful Malvern. Drivers can’t seem to judge distance. Or speed. Or braking distance. Or when to change gear. Or set off. Or stop. Or pull out.
Great if you are a cyclist.
Need some reading glasses. Standard, mass produced ones are £14 here. Could rant about shoppers but we all do it. Leave our brains outside before we come in that is. When reversing people are unable to spot the lights. They walk straight behind you. Get a few things. Have a boot full of ‘bags for life.’ Never remember to take one in. I come out with a box. Saving the planet. Go to Sue Ryder charity shop for my standard, mass produced reading glasses. They are identical to those in Waitrose.
Losing the will to live but for my glasses. I’m ready to vote to stay in the EU. To support mass testing and vaccination of kids. To frack the whole country. To increase homelessness. To cull the disabled. To bomb the Middle East. To donate my limbs to medical research. To watch X Factor. To toast the Queen.
I need those tiles to get a home that says me, just me. But I can’t be f*****. And I love humanity. And the Arcons. Especially the Arcons, because aren’t they the instigators of all this?
“Oh, is this the way life's meant to be? Hmm, is this the way life's meant to be?
I want to know now, is this the way life's meant to be?”
Jack Stewart, Tuesday, May 10, 2016.