Sunday, November 22, 2009

maybe one day you will ask me why ?

amaybe one day you will ask my why i feel the way i do .  like all good books its not  going to be any one thing that turns my head , no .its a long string  that thoughts  this bow   so tightly,
I started to read christopher Morley give you a few lines
 It was  very different from such bookstores as he had been accustomed to patronize. Two stories of the old house had been thrown into one,the lower space was divided into little alcoves,above. a gallery ran round the wall,which carried books to the  ceiling. the air was heavy with the delightful fragrance of mellowed paper and leather surcharged with strong bouquet of tobacco.
 now that  makes my mind almost feel the  smell  and i remember as a kid ,going into a bar and finding its smell  so  rich with life's stories it screamed at me and to this day i can rember walking into that old high street public bar ,  
now  why the hate , today with this PC mad world i'm forced to live in its  ,  same story ,i walk into a well light large soulless room with safe book shelving,with  books that at best will smell of plastic and ink    with  the harsh lights   over head  i squint to  read the back cover  as i stand in this people mart , devoid of feeling,  i  hate  this world i'm  made to live in , were your evil if  your not a believer  and  then go to jail for  saying that to a gay , or  a race different to  ones own , armies to keep the peace ,do you even hear what  you say to me ,  and what is this peace  your keeping  , were you walk down a road stinking of fuel fumes ,with rotting food in bins and   the stench of body-oweder  from un washed    rappers. punks  god preaching   ...
 
 
  GO ON ASK ME WHAT IM FELL OF HATE
 


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