7 day travelcard

Cramped vehicles carry the passive and easy to please, workers wired on coffee or agreeable pop. See the songbirds too, labouring under their own hunger, a global hunger that burns through all struggling, perpetuating and decaying life. See the flock of gulls hanging from invisible strings above the jetsam-debauched canal, pathetically trying to clutch edible nuggets from the effluence. A ruddy-faced bloater, ego inflamed with brown rock and cider, wails insults at a gaggle of innocents on the other side of distant railings. One of the greatest crimes of life that we survivors of Gods' bloody deaths still have rights to waggle our fingers at is the blistered alabaster sky is this: why lovers, reduced by time to friendship, insult and interact with each other in the most sickeningly horrible and violent way. Or savage indifference. Drunken abuse is hurled from one to another, the miserable relationship dynamic coarsened in the active abuser-passive self-victimising sulker.

The titanic battle between stress and hangovers. This bloated and overheated body, rolling us its stone or having its guts mercilessly munched. I want intoxication to be unusual, occasional excess rather than nocturnal norm.