The end of London
The London transport office were extremely helpful, even providing me with a map. I looked at the map and saw that I was very close to my destination. All I needed was 3 tube stops and a short walk. The walking distance looked like the equivalent of walking from St. Peter’s square to Market street (about 5 minutes.) I changed some pounds to kronor and set off. I like the idea of the tube, but not the tube itself. I like the speediness of it and the convenience and I also like that it is free -A person in front puts in their ticket and some barriers open, you go in straight after them, you don’t even need to run-.The bad parts are it reeks,is filthy and is occupied by catatonic London zombies who stare at the ground,silently. If you talk on the tube, even with people you know, you are a freak, an outsider because you aren't dead inside like everyone around you. Dead or scared shitless of everyone around you because of media, Government and police induced fear.
I once read that they cracked open a tube seat and found rat shit, human shit, spunk and a new type of fungi.
12:20
I exited the tube and began walking. I was a bit knackered now. It seemed that all the stations I had visited contained only still, concrete stair cases and not the giant escalators all the other stations I had ever visited had. This had forced me to lug my heavy suitcases up countless stairs. Overground, I was distressed to find that I could only walk for about 5 minutes now before I had to pause for a 20 second rest. It was like lifting deadweights and I felt like one of those world’s strongest men, in mind, not in body. I decided I deserved a rest and a tasty spliff. Besides, it had been a hectic night of panic and London in its unique, inimitable style had only added further stress. True, I had no idea how long the bus to Luton airport would take, but I knew that the spliff would make everything in front of me pass silky smoothly.
Outside of some KFC wannabe I see a man sat on a comfortable cushiony type pallette. Due to his appearance, he has been given a lot of personal space around him, more than enoughto share with me. I ask if I can sit down near him and he waves and mutters some kind of acceptance. I notice that he has only one leg and is wearing a black stetson that is covered with a ring of shiny rhinestones. It looks very gay and he appears quite strange although with a dignity about him. We get talking and he seems to know a little bit about Sweden and he also knows about how controlling this country is. From him speaking to me it became clear that he understood Government tricks and lies and about the unwitting level of control we are all under.
We shared a smoke and he talked of how you should always resist and have beliefs, but warned how "they" try to fuck you up if you do resist and go against them. He alluded that this was why he had ended up the way he was. This is not the first person I have met wandering the streets who has independently spoken of such a thing, of how they spoke out and ended up this way, on the streets. He also spoke that he was supposed to visit the hospital to have an operation on his leg,but refused to go because they would try and kill him. I knew that he meant with medicine and because they viewed him as a drain and invaluable member of our glorious society. This talk shocked me a little more as I once spoke with another man who had talked of a similar thing happening to him in the hospital. He had been waiting and saw lots of old people, perfectly lucid, going in for x rays and coming out comatosed. He claimed that when he went in they told him to close his eyes and he wouldn't, because he was afraid of what would happen and someone tried to stab him with a needle. A fracas ensued, he ended up running away. I always assumed this first man, even though he had talked a lot of sense for most of our talk, was talking a bit crazy. I found these coincidences strange, especially as I considered this second man a lot more stable because he wasn't hell bent on religion.
Here was an intelligent man, with a keen eye, probably more about him than half the suited Londoners who think they have some kind of status. Here he was, to the untrained eye, a homeless, crippled, beggar but was in fact an open minded individual who it was a pleasure to talk to. He had life in his eyes, devoid from so many of us. He smiled as he told me that days earlier on Christmas day it had been the most enjoyable of his life which he spent with bikers at a social club somehwere in London. He began to tell me about an ancient code of music with many gates that I should remember...it is now 13:20 and I get a feeling that I need to leave. I find it hard to leave this man as I want to talk more, part of me says I have lots of time because my bus stop is so close, but I have to yield and make sure I make it.
As I left, I couldn't hear clearly. It sounded as if he advised me to travel the world and that I experience the pleasures of picking fresh bonsai during the summer.
14:10
Why the fuck am I still walking....Where is the bus stop.... How long is this road? The tiny road on the map that should have taken less than 5 minutes is now still going on, 50 minutes later, no end in site. I’m picking up the cases now and doing short sprints until my arms burn so much I have to stop. I feel sick from hunger and wish I had eaten something since 20:00 the night before.
14:12
I make it to my bus stop with 3 minutes to spare.
I once read that they cracked open a tube seat and found rat shit, human shit, spunk and a new type of fungi.
12:20
I exited the tube and began walking. I was a bit knackered now. It seemed that all the stations I had visited contained only still, concrete stair cases and not the giant escalators all the other stations I had ever visited had. This had forced me to lug my heavy suitcases up countless stairs. Overground, I was distressed to find that I could only walk for about 5 minutes now before I had to pause for a 20 second rest. It was like lifting deadweights and I felt like one of those world’s strongest men, in mind, not in body. I decided I deserved a rest and a tasty spliff. Besides, it had been a hectic night of panic and London in its unique, inimitable style had only added further stress. True, I had no idea how long the bus to Luton airport would take, but I knew that the spliff would make everything in front of me pass silky smoothly.
Outside of some KFC wannabe I see a man sat on a comfortable cushiony type pallette. Due to his appearance, he has been given a lot of personal space around him, more than enoughto share with me. I ask if I can sit down near him and he waves and mutters some kind of acceptance. I notice that he has only one leg and is wearing a black stetson that is covered with a ring of shiny rhinestones. It looks very gay and he appears quite strange although with a dignity about him. We get talking and he seems to know a little bit about Sweden and he also knows about how controlling this country is. From him speaking to me it became clear that he understood Government tricks and lies and about the unwitting level of control we are all under.
We shared a smoke and he talked of how you should always resist and have beliefs, but warned how "they" try to fuck you up if you do resist and go against them. He alluded that this was why he had ended up the way he was. This is not the first person I have met wandering the streets who has independently spoken of such a thing, of how they spoke out and ended up this way, on the streets. He also spoke that he was supposed to visit the hospital to have an operation on his leg,but refused to go because they would try and kill him. I knew that he meant with medicine and because they viewed him as a drain and invaluable member of our glorious society. This talk shocked me a little more as I once spoke with another man who had talked of a similar thing happening to him in the hospital. He had been waiting and saw lots of old people, perfectly lucid, going in for x rays and coming out comatosed. He claimed that when he went in they told him to close his eyes and he wouldn't, because he was afraid of what would happen and someone tried to stab him with a needle. A fracas ensued, he ended up running away. I always assumed this first man, even though he had talked a lot of sense for most of our talk, was talking a bit crazy. I found these coincidences strange, especially as I considered this second man a lot more stable because he wasn't hell bent on religion.
Here was an intelligent man, with a keen eye, probably more about him than half the suited Londoners who think they have some kind of status. Here he was, to the untrained eye, a homeless, crippled, beggar but was in fact an open minded individual who it was a pleasure to talk to. He had life in his eyes, devoid from so many of us. He smiled as he told me that days earlier on Christmas day it had been the most enjoyable of his life which he spent with bikers at a social club somehwere in London. He began to tell me about an ancient code of music with many gates that I should remember...it is now 13:20 and I get a feeling that I need to leave. I find it hard to leave this man as I want to talk more, part of me says I have lots of time because my bus stop is so close, but I have to yield and make sure I make it.
As I left, I couldn't hear clearly. It sounded as if he advised me to travel the world and that I experience the pleasures of picking fresh bonsai during the summer.
14:10
Why the fuck am I still walking....Where is the bus stop.... How long is this road? The tiny road on the map that should have taken less than 5 minutes is now still going on, 50 minutes later, no end in site. I’m picking up the cases now and doing short sprints until my arms burn so much I have to stop. I feel sick from hunger and wish I had eaten something since 20:00 the night before.
14:12
I make it to my bus stop with 3 minutes to spare.
posted by Swedophilia at 17:34
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