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This story is not educational.

I refuse to educate anyone not consenting.

So, my month had been full of interesting activities. I visited carparks, two premature BBQ's, a museum and a phone booth filled with photographs of semi-naked women urging everybody to give them a call. We even had a feast after the 'easter' celebrations. This fascination with guilt-tripping your children after you gift them 8 chocolate eggs produced a feast of chucked out chocolate for my mate Barry and I (he is an imaginary friend, I've created to make this story less self-obsessed), anorexically seen as terrifying by so many poor souls. I blame the parents- not the government- for this choice to agree with their unscientifically backed 'suggestions'. 5-a-day, twenty litres-a-second, don't-chew-while-you-walk. Guidelines, advice, laws, legislation.


This month had been interesting, until I realised what newspapers are. I read a fair bit- they are everywhere, I had previously ignored them, as they taste of hands and bank notes. My month was ruined by the news. Elections and pain of the bottom variety. Since then, I became aware of everything I had been missing out on. Stress, worry, concern. My future. A volcano. My future family. The environment. World war. The word: peace. Eighteen youth deaths in the last year. Electric appliances attacking their owners.

I wept and cried and worried and expressed my concern. Barry got so bored of me, he decided to hang out at number 45's bin (fine by me, 47 are so much fitter, making me get more veg in my diet). And then suddenly I realised how I had wasted an entire month of my fly life on nothing. I am not entitled to vote. I'm a an f*in fly.

addition

complex ideas.
twenty million bubbles. all enclosed. small space.
physical warmth. exhilaration.
i could walk for hours. in an imaginary straight line taking me from here to forever.
or just sit. empty and full.
what is more rock and roll, fighting or fleeing?