Thursday, 28 February 2013

Only for me and my crow

I want to be a tree. Ah memories, just like the wee auld doll who wanted to be inconglubberance...There was a strikingly surreal aspect to some of the lifeless yuppie boy ads back then. Except if you were a tree some asshole would come and chop you down for economic advancement. Nah, don't want to be a tree anymore.

The walls of Newquay, hold on to their beauty. Is there much benefit in the past? No, except there was more money in benefits then. We still had right-wing scumfucks in power who encouraged us to spend and spend some more, plus all their mates were in the private banking sector destroying our lives. But you got more value for your benefits then. Not now. Did the system fail people then? Inevitably. It still does and always will.

Whenever 'Dave' Cameron comes on the TV maybe I should listen to him, instead of growling "fuck off you cunt" and switching the channel. I mean there's people who don't think he is a cunt. There's his missus, his children - so far and his biological family. I'm sure he's made friends who also don't think he is a cunt.

The problem is if you don't want your child to be considered a cunt, don't send them to Eton. And don't fucking think of sneaking them into Harrow either! Do you go to Eton for a good education? Not really, there's many schools which give you just as good, if not better an education. So why send them to Eton?! To turn them into cunts? Well, who sends their children to somewhere for expressive cunt-making purposes? That's stupid. Maybe it's a case of somewhere that has a good reputation but is actually just an endless pit of shit. That would be Eton. The Hitler Youth in the 1930s had the same image of zesty enterprise. The fact that its members were being turned into emotionally unstable, genocidal maniacs escaped most parents attention. That's also like Eton.

Anyway 'Dave' and his ilk aren't Nazis...much. They did say recently that work was the best thing you can do. Work makes you free eh? 'Dave', that is showing your ideological roots to the most boi! Work makes you free while we put large sections of the public sector out of work and make no providence for new jobs and still bail out our old school chums in the banking sector and give them bonuses for fucking up. Put Ian Duncan Smith to work stacking shelves as he's a useless piece of shit at the job he's doing. Thank goodness you don't need brains and competence to be a politician for yew guys would be seriously fucked. 

And there's a point. Say you don't vote for these mainstream arseholes. Say we all vote for the Monster Raving Looney Party and their policies for licenses for all fish under two and Westminster to become an owl sanctuary. They get into government and for some reason they also get rid of jobs and take your benefits away from you. What the fuck happens? The MRLP doing this sort of shit as well. All I can imagine is something totally convinces them that the shit way is the best way and then they all go about singing a tuneless song like:

"Oh capitalism, lovely capitalism. Fuck me up the arse with your big, green dildo..."

That seems the most likely. Nothing turns you into a fucktard better than capitalism.

Hey! Here's a concept that doesn't work. If I try and vote for a party that seems semi-cool, then they never get elected. No matter who I vote for it's some unionist/nationalist pain in the arse that gets in. That sucks, but then are they in power? No, it's usually some Tory scumfuck voted into Westminster who makes all the decisions. I didn't vote for them either plus I don't get to vote for them and yet they are my government. There's something about this Union Fleg shit where it's all going wrong. Of course 'Dave' is currently in power and nobody voted for him. Nick Clegg did but that was some sort of mutual rim-jobbing arrangement probably. Teabags!Anyway I have no say who rules me as I can't vote for them and whoever I vote for never gets in anyway and would never be able to get into power outside Ulster. This is a democracy?! You are shitting me, seriously.

Don't even start this shit about having an elected head of state. Funny how the guys who bang on about a republic tend to be right-on/liberal/socialist/communist dudes. Ok, Britain goes to the vote for their first elected head of state. "Hmm" says the voting population "I think the candidate who is pro-capitalism, anti-immigration and privatising everything tae fuck is the most to my liking..." Ohh! Which side of the political spectrum does he come from? It taxes my grey matter greatly. Oh yeah, he'll lower taxes as well, that's right. This isn't the sort of head of state the right-on wanted when they started pushing for an elected head of state. Oh well, shit one. Ah Britain, how fucking predictable.

Really, I should've gone to Eton, become a useless cunt and get paid for fucking up. I would have been great at that! But then I wouldn't have had this blog. Oh decisions, decisions...


Sweet affectations of the loved and the deluded

It may surprise you to learn this. It probably fucking won't though. When in his civvies, ol' Bisson is actually a very shy and insecure person. What?! Shock me some more! Ok, well being this way can lead to a lot of loneliness and then sadness, depression and even more insecurity. Which without the high dose anti-depressants would lead back to thoughts of suicide.Thoughts mind you is not the same as attempts; that's a whole different game. Oh and I am currently a severe civilian lardarse.

Finished? Yeah, it's just nice to express something once in a while and I don't want you thinking this is just two dimensional shit going on here. It is, but I just don't want you thinking that.

Now here's an interesting thing. Do such revelations change your opinion of this blog. What IS your opinion of this blog?! I'm aiming for 'undecided'. Therefore do you view Bisson in an entirely new light because of these private life revelations? Is he less of a personage? Do you even care? Do I care? Questions that none of us ever thought of asking or ever gave a shit about still don't.

My only major complaint in my civvies, apart from my belly which precedes me by ten minutes, is probably that I didn't stay in the country. Moving to town, to go to school was a stupid thing to do. I could have stayed in the country and become a barely-educated farm hand. Become a piece of meat to be used by wild, sexually unsatisfied cougars coming up from the town every weekend. What the fuck has education ever done for me? I could have been fucking MILFs on haystacks! Less sex and more civilian insecurity that's all education has done for me.

Oh the humanity! In civilian life there is what I call the 'vibe'. Women who were not that mad keen to begin with just don't wanna know at all now. But then again I ain't looking. Though gay guys keep coming on to me. Please stop that as your just wasting your own time as I've checked and I'm not gay, so your wasting my time as well and my sense of self worth regarding being attractive to women.

It's weird, you're troubled by it, but then again I just don't give enough of a shit to do anything about it. Relationships just seem a fucking yawn to me and they require a lot of additional shit to maintain them. Couldn't be bothered, so fuck it. That's civilian life for you.

Then again could this all be true? Well, given my determination to make this blog 100% bullshit or fiction, if you like, then it probably isn't. More fool you if you think it was. And anyway that's enough of civilian life, it is quite tiresome. What does Bisson think? Easy, to paraphrase the great Withnail, if my words are not to your liking you can stick them up your arse and fuck off while you're doing it! That's you told.


Monday, 25 February 2013

Swing and the dearth of the American diner

You're going to hang yourself because you feel life is pointless and you can't go on? Get fucking real, that's a stupid reason!

Watch world business report on Beeb news 24 and then you'll lose the will to live. You'll find yourself there at two in the morning, slumped before the dead flickering images as some adenoidal Australian tells you about how the share value in the eurozone due to the recent plywood extravaganza in Lisbon has encouraged the market to expand by growth showing a promising year of fiscal masturbation for all those who observe the stock market while holding their cocks in their hands, their hands glued to it by long dried, mummified jizz.

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuunh. If you're still capable of emitting noise after that mulch, it will be a miracle. Commiting suicide? Fuck, you'll be running into the night looking for Oscar Pistorius and shouting "I'm your girlfriend, I'm your girlfriend!'

(Why are there so many guns in South Africa owed by these guys? What is their standard defence in having them?  "In case the blacks try to break into your house"...Oh, what a wonderful world it is then.
'I'd love to teach the world to sing...but want to sell it brown fizzy drinks instead to rot people's spines...' Advertising meets the Love Generation meets ethnic harmony, how fucking tuneful.)

And now to look at the south east asian markets. Cut to live VT of a market in Shanghai and somebody buying fucking grapes. And now for money news. Cut to human beast rubbing his paws together and salivating;

"Ahhhhha...Money, money, money, lovely moolah, lovely tons of riches...oooh my dreams of avarice."

Outside of basic needs what do you need money for? What are you going to do with a surplus of it? Be happier? Fuck no, it won't happen, guaranteed. Make the world a better place? Well, considering how much it has contributed to the fucking up of the world in the first place that is SOME trend you gotta reverse.

And now on News 24 World Business Report, here is a fine line of watermelons that need to be sold and here are just the men who might do that...Then to look at the far east markets. Cut to shot of people buying shit in a fucking far east market. What is the point?!

Remember folks, this is the system we have chosen. We have capital venture investment. So we can have iphones. It is worth the pain. Come to think of it, I had an iphone once. Fucking useless, annoying, gimmicky piece of shit it was too. Trying to write anything on it was a drain on my will to live. The screen was too fiddly so it didn't work. So I took a hammer to it. It still didn't work but boy, was that satisfying! 

Suicide? Fuck that, get an iphone or wait til world business report is on again.

And now from Singapore...Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!
Oscar boi? That TV is your girlfriend!...BANG! BANG! BANG!...Don't need the cricket bat boi, but if that's your thing. Thanks in Afrikaans and report to your local police, y'hear boi?

Ahh that is better, life is sweet. 


Friday, 22 February 2013

Not so much rotten, but not that fresh either

Children, man, I just don't get it.

I get the feeling I'm being subconsciously over-cautious, perhaps due to dreams concerning cheeses which have caused visions of Irish medium assassins in the thickets, waiting to leap upon my every syllable. But that's not what this is about here - this is freeing, sprouting wings and taking to the air of thought. I gotta remember that.

Anyway, children. I suppose I don't know what they're for really. Never entirely grasped the concept. I mean maybe you have children in case you're short of food and you've popped out these little lumps of meat on legs that are easy to catch and fit on a spit easily. Is that it? But then what are all the fucking pampers adverts about, with the mothers flicking their tongues over the rectums of babies? Is it over-devotion to your next meal or just the simple whoring, baseless nature of money that advertising brings? Or women just subconsciously want to fuck babies - that is a growing 3rd possibility.

In any animal population where the population is in flux or given to high mortality, reproduction is understandable, you know, keep the beanies in stock and all that. But the human race isn't really on the endangered species list. So maybe all this baby shit is just accessorising your existence. But we have designer bags and fucking chihuahuas for that already.

Then again this could be a part of my grim fascination to do with nest-making around these parts. Watching people get into dating and then relationships and then get a house together and then decay in slow motion. Sometimes I railed against it, taking a puzzled (and often hurt ego-driven) attitude towards what women were settling for. The men they are so keen to spend the rest of their lives with have always looked like they've been stitched together from disparate body parts from a previous night's grave robbing and without even a fraction of the mind or personality. At least Boris Karloff's monster had some elan and grace to him; these's like the end of the fucking world. Somebody had pulled the switch and all there can be is wasteland. Though they are violent bastards, albeit mindless violence, and they can aim well enough to spunk their load into a pussy to make more fucking children. So they have some basic skills and fall easily into the state of matrimony...Which is kind of like 'Full Metal Jacket' except with white dresses.

But then it occurred to me...Perhaps I was colouring these ladies with a personality, sass and attraction they never had in the first place. Perhaps they were just as lifeless as the lumpen arseholes they had chosen to spend (or suspend more likely) their existence with. So...they were idiots too! That's the problem with sexual attraction; you give what you're attracted to more credit than it's due. Any sheep shagger will tell you that I'm sure.

So sez the grand wazoo eh? I dunno, I knew I had the instinct to settle down at some point and procreate and all that baby shit. But there was always something which distracted me or I never engaged in it with any enthusiasm; more with fear and suspicion. As the world turns on there is still something else to do. If there is some Homebase gene to kick in, it's fucking reductive, I tell ye! Probably to me it is just shit and I concern myself more with the blank of the rest.

Fuck. The world is formed enough of this mordant shit. We need the nonsense to return here and quick!


Friday, 15 February 2013

Zod before Neil!!

Sake! Ya wanna see the fucking bite marks around my neck, boi! Here was your humble author picking the lice binding agent out of his burger and gets his bonce near taken off because apparently all this is real.

Real?! Yeah I was just thinking that. I'm thinking as I make this shit up how real it all is. I am a Mantra-ray who buffets his way into photographs living on a lemon juice cloud of continuously tacking vintage bicycle holographs. Now that's real. So I get called in to face accusations of the Existence Perception Committee (in association with Gaeltacht Diet Coke, the only fizzy drink that converses in tongues both ancient and modern).

Well it's a cross border thing and so cross that I was dragged in barely conscious to face accusing from both sides of the religious divide. Oh joy!
Now your humble authoritarian has no political allegiance whatsoever due to his narcolepsy in the face of ANY and ALL political and patriotic ideas so I had to be strapped to an ECT table with the rubber chew toy in me mouth just so I could stand listening to these buggers.

The head honcho was sat on a tractor and spoke Irish in the Ulster dialect, which was nice. To cross the divide he was dressed in a British flag toga. Actually this was the fleg! That's where it had gone! The city council vote had also unexpectedly provided him with clothing. Now only 15 days a year he was naked.

"Senor Bisson...." He uttered in my recall of the Irish tongue which is very rusty.

Bzz..."Ow...fuck you...huh?"

"Tengo los mantiquila y you have been writing real stuff which is quare and confusing."

"Ya what? When?"

"All  these here blogs I been reading I think they're real and yours is the biggest real shit going there. Like my cousin's blog about hiring cars for sexual contact."

Now this was news to me and no mistake. I mean I've just been throwing any old shit I can think off at the virtual wall of my blog and hope it sticks! I have a civilian existence where I don't make crap up but then I sit down put on my work troos and do made up novels and scripts and guitar and shit. Like this. I do write poetry in my civvies, that might be real. It could be, I gave it a poke to see if it moved me. It didn't but felt real enough.

Anyways, I had to nip this crap in the bud and get back to sleep.

"Right ok, this is real, you're right. Now have you heard of the dinosaur park set up by Richard Attenborough on them islands?"

He leapt about five feet off his Massy.


"Yep, that's real. And the school for wizards in a London train station that's totally real and in the news there's that wee girl who is taken to some place with a talking lion and scarecrow, fights off witches and sings the whole fucking way through it."

He was already running out the door.

 "You're right, this is all real. We must save the world, ALL REAL I TELL YOU!"

Pfff. I got home after all that as the honcho went to save the world from the machinations of the Wizard of Oz and many other broadway musicals he thought were real.

He did tell me to stop talking about tits in my blog, which are real. So I'll just talk about boob jobs instead. Happy Herr Commissionaire?! Blimey!


Monday, 11 February 2013

What? Banana?

Banana? Glad you asked because you didn't and you never will. The Long, Slow Fallout of the Banana is and was and could be the notion that all energy could be compressed into one banana skin.Then the humans set it off...

I had an idea for a sketch show which was up its own arse but I dug it. A sketch show that had suffered damaged from the Norman Invasion of 1066 and subsequent harrying by the Norms, to the point that portions of the sketch show could only be recorded as vasta or wasteland in the Domesday Book. These portions would be filmed as such. Up its own arse as I say but there's a challenge in realising that, turning it into physical reality. Plus getting around the pain of it being funny all the time, it was gonna be just silly and nonsense. If it was funny that was a nice accident but nothing else. So now you know you know.

 We're feared it's going to be 1776 again. How? That means we gotta wait for the universe to stop expanding, collapse and reduce itself to all energy compacted, big bang, expand and then wait until the humans decide its 1776 AD again. I'm fucking quaking already.
But Alex Jones, the outspoken radio host in the US, not the Welsh hot stuff on the BBC, says that its gonna be 1776 again if they take our guns. Take the guns, that's some temporal shit I'd like to see.
 Like the guys in Derry* who protest the fleg going part time in Belfast. They can see the fleg-pole from there? I would have said the incredible eyesight of these is a way bigger story than fleg taking.

But they wrote down the right to bear arms in the US constitution. Now at this time most people were running around with muskets and flintlock pistols. Your average US citizen of the time could hope for a pitchfork as his arm bearing right. And if you got pissed off at someone and decided to shoot them as is the US wont, if you miss the first shot, then it's load muzzle, open pan, shorten scouring stick, 'stop running away varlet, I'm near loaded', clear pan of excess powder, return scouring stick, add ball to muzzle...the fucker is halfway into the next county by the time you're ready to shoot him. Oh yeah, he was just going to stand there for five minutes while you went through all this shit, when you were clearly already trying to kill him. Yeah that was going to happen.

Of course when they amended the constitution a second time they clearly had in mind how guns were going to develop. All citizens and non-citizens having access to high velocity rifles with 25 full metal jackets in one clip, telescopic sights, night vision, bullets that explode into shrapnel in the human body, the truism of the Hickster of John Lennon  being shot and Justin Beiber...hit by a plastic bottle. Yeah they could see all that coming;
'Amendment 2; the right to bear arms. Well brethren I can totally see rifled barrels, magnum handguns and laser sights that any fucker can get their hands on. Mine eyesight is better than those twats in Derry*, we shall device this amendment with alacrity.'

Less guns, no guns. Well, you'd think a lot harder about your homicide. With guns you can be a lazy fucker and kill from your porch. With anything else you gotta plan it, leave the house and it might be raining and you gotta get close to the target. You'd then think about it and decide not to do it. Guns are loved because you can murder with ease; they take all that horrible physical exertion and forward planning out of the situation. Physical activity sucks. You're out on the prairie, how do you take down a hombre without a gun? Oh, bow and arrow. They fall off their horse and die of gangrene four days later. Again though your forcing people to leave the house to kill rather than do it from their Laz-e-boy. America says nein to that, boi!

Ah shit it's 1776 again while I was writing. All we're armed with is muskets and pitchforks again. Where's our telescopic sights?! They took our guns that can kill you just by thinking about them and our fleg. Keep me updated if they take owt else. Like bapples, we need 'em!


* Let's say you're a lazy fucker; 'Derry' is quicker and easier to write/spell. You do the maths when you can be bothered and then you see? Piece of piss to write!

Sunday, 10 February 2013

You don't want to play beer-pong...?

Ah at such a time of year, a young man's thoughts turn to expense. Diamonds are forever...well, until the end of the world at least. Don't get the fascination. You get the millions and sit on your gold-plated gazebo and you don't know what the fuck to do with yourself. Riches lead to boredom. Boredom leads to invading other countries with your diamond-funded militia. That takes planning which takes time to think about it and at the end of the day you have a sore head, less money and several cases of genocide on your international record. Terrible LP, sounds of screams and machetes like a Justin Beiber album, which is just another form of genocide. It ain't worth the biscuit.

I dunt know why Ant and Dec would go off to the country with the guy working on the meat counter at Morrisons but they did and they got money for it. Another moment where you don't want intelligent life making first contact when things like this happen. It's like they turn up now, and all we've got to show for ourselves is One Direction. It's never when Beethoven was still alive. In that case you're practically dragging them off the craft to show them the shit we are capable of. Can't we just put a big curtain around the Earth like when One Direction tour? Or break Justin Beibers fingers to stop him doing anything with music. Then again we could nuke One Direction. Break Justin Beiber's neck...There might be hope for humanity yet, those are steps on a good path.

One thing for ol' Bisson to always come back to is the sex thing. Well having a dick causes sexual thought as the Hickster proved so brilliantly. Trying to get laid in this country ain't happening if you over-think it, but that's all there is to do here. Have you been to Lisburn? Portadown? Man save your life and think about sex instead. Back in my youth I had stamina for tantric fucking and still have talent for tickling the old infinite pleasure nub. Women, the owners of the infinite orgasam are totally fucking unreliable in this. You spend ages getting them to the right place and then they meet some beige berk and fuck off with him to have a relationship. I have spoken about this at length already but it's a waste of my time and effort and what do you need a relationship for?! All you do is go to MFI on a saturday and look at pine furnishings. I can do that anytime and I don't because, are you paying attention ladies, because IT IS ALSO A WASTE OF FUCKING TIME. Okay has that finally lodged in your feminine shell-like? I doubt it.
Just stay in bed and have sex. Honestly I ask you!

A facet of the diet of Pre-Columbian Aztec people was insects. Any fucker can go 'eurgh', but think on it. Equatorial countries tend to have large insect species which have a bit of meat on them and fucking cows were too bone idle to make it over the Bering land bridge. So what you going to do then. Knowing you, just stand there, go 'eurgh' and starve to death.

 It is an equal truism that unless you are of North-Western European descent, you will encounter racism at some point in your life. That was an unbending stain of life until the wonder that was Richard Pryor. Clapping on the off-beat it's good yeah? No actually it's fucking lame. Very few white supremacists have blonde hair, blue eyes and stand six foot tall. So why is that so important if none of you look like it. Hitler was five foot something with black hair. None of the Nazis looked even remotely like this physical specimen, Heydrich at a pinch and even then he needed Kenneth Branagh to play him. I mean it's bad enough believing utter bollocks but to not even look like the utter bollocks you're talking about. Hours spent looking at pictures of naked men with blonde hair and they call it Nazism. Actually that's something else and you got sent to concentration camps for that. Your life ruined by five-foot four retards with brown hair who spout utter bollocks about naked men with blonde hair and then go off to build a motorway somewhere. It would be nice to say we don't let these types of stupid cunt anywhere near responsibility anymore but that ain't true.

Still if American History X is anything to go by, you express the remotest notion of wavering in your rabid racism and Fairuza Balk goes apeshit and pulls a gun on you. Fuck that, nobody's going to join that sort of group. Be like living under permanent PMS and you still got to go around spouting complete and utter bollocks. Say one thing for the human race we do find prime utter crap to waste our time on Earth with. 

If I spent my time thinking about pussy I've put in a more worthwhile and positive use of time than the many, many forms of fucktard there have been. Ya know?



I need to stop and cough, I really do...

Hey man, I am in no way Randy Quaid, no matter what the begrudgers or the praiseful persons say. This is important...Randy needs to maintain his independence in this.

There are in essence the occurrence of the ideas of the Id but these are then tempered by the overall balm of the Super-Ego. And anyway they gotta compete with the Ego and that ain't happening. Never mind the hot girl you think of, you then remember that you have nothing in common on any plane and anyway she hurting your sense of pride just ain't fucking happening.

Not that we don't all believe in love and peace and being balanced in this neck of the woods.

Shit happens, then the papers report it which means you become aware of it when you'd never have checked it in the first place, 'cos it's shit. For example some current shite is stuff to do with Perrie Edwards? Man, there's some minutes of your life you want back!

Ok this is going to take time and energy but bear with it, this shit is everywhere. Worse than manure to hide buildings from bombers. So you may as well, if you don't read this crap, it'll be something else. Perrie Edwards, who sounds like a fucking chef, of the gurl band Little Mix, which sounds like some arsehole sweet shop somewhere with gob on the boiled toffees. Anyway its something like she got fucked over by her boyfriend Zayn Malik and...I'm losing the will to write about this gunk, fuck it.
Ein last is, what the fuck is it with these names?! You're in Tyne and Wear and you've had some spunk pennies spent in your lady purse and 9 months later yew spew out yet another of the worlds most expensive watermelons from your grape-hole. Then you go straight to a funky vicar and say her name is 'Perrie'. Being a funky vicar he just does some jive turkey around the church hall and never questions it like any sane, rational person would. Still Jesy Nelson would get it. She dumps that bargain-basement chinless wonder she's been paired with by Simon Cowell and I'll show her a great game called 'A million ways to have fun in a bed over a weekend.'

Oh to be like that guy in the natwest advert, dressed like a kangaroo in the rain. That better be a fucking good party. Like they hand out clean hookers with the party treats. Dress up like a kangaroo then, under any other circumstances you'd tell people to go fuck themselves.

Another kind of conundrum is when the IRA used to rob banks. They needed the money to buy bombs. Bombs to blow up a bank. To rob the bank. To get money for...where'd they get the first bomb from. No bank money, they'd need to rob a bank so they'd need a bomb for that but they needed bank money for the bomb but they had no bomb. Sheeit, no wonder they went on to try and kill Thatcher. That's the kind of vicious circle that leads you to blow up prime ministers for a living.

Remember children, peace is the answer. Put flowers in guns and they don't know what to do. You start getting violent they have no worries, they have plans A to Z to deal with violent people. So it ever be thus with organ grinders. Laters!


The Zayn-bot interfaces with the Per-bot, causing a boot-up. This is here due to the fleeting aspect of modern fame as it'll get irrelevant in five minutes. The trick is to look like you give a shit.


Saturday, 9 February 2013


Mr Lebowski is no longer secluded in the west wing.

Therefore, I'm mulling over my thoughts like some unknown vintage to speak pompously and I reckon where I want to head to be is Hawaii

Home of the ukulele, women in bikini's playing vollyball, cocktails of choice and ever forging land to invoke the senses and enrich the eye.

Then again...I could very well end up the bail jumper of some born again iron pusher who comes to my house with a reality tv crew and says prayers outside my door and then drags me off with pepper spray to pay for some bail I jumped posted by someone for some crime I committed and have no fucking intention committing! Aw and then there's the heart to heart in the hummer. Fuck! That'll take fucking hours, they only use two minutes in the show, but to get that they have to film for seven hours or something. That is all a concern I have to say.

Ah but to sit by recently formed beaches, composing, thinking ideas that are quare and groovy, who knows? Abiding in bliss is a vision. Nol more snow, cold, aching dejection a portion of the year. Perpetual summer is what I want. Even if Hawaii ain't got that it inspires me to find newer comforts to live in.

Appealing. But mebbe should check the murder rate there. Seems to get quite high in hot countries. Mebbe it's the heat, you wake up about 4am, can't sleep with the humidity; it pisses you off day by day, with  mercury rising and you just snap, grab your gun and head out to the nearest spouse/potential spouse boyfriend/parent/invisible enemy who takes the form of some poor bugger you happen to meet in the street/person of a ethnic grouping who, against all intelligence and reason and humanity, has earned your misguided, mindless ire/female person who you desire as a potential spouse but in your deluded state you have already fast-tracked through introduction, friendship, platonic kiss revealing previously unknown feelings,eventual first date through various farcial circumstances, relationship, break-up due to male instransigence, confusion internally about her best male and gay friend as potential rival in love.
There is a lot to consider in making this move.

Then what is the murder rate in cold countries? Folks may just look out their windy at the 24-hour darkness and the icy snow and just think:

'Fuck it. Ain't going out in that shit. Ain't happening, not even to kill my former wife. And possibly her reindeer as a further act of spite and male childishness...not to mention displaying hitherto unrevealed signs of psychosis like they do in them very hot places.'

Again consideration is the key here. Got to think long and hard about this as they say in certain circles. My thinking though well, it comes back to female volleyball on the beach. I don't know why, enlightenment is probably required....heh-heh!

Stop that, and preserve your eyesight! Anyways I say....


Regrets of a cad and a bounder...

But seriously now folks...

This is kind of Year Zero; though more of a try at a clean slate rather than taking intellectuals from the cities and making them starve to death out in the countryside, which is a sage choice on my part for once.

What has been written previously by Junax, me and Pinkeye is, at the time of writing, in the majority and comes over as the crabbed, unhinged rantings of a complete shit at times. And that is because at times it was the rantings of a crabbed, unhinged shit.

But nay more! There are new ideas and happenings fermenting, new ways of doing things and new ways of them being expressed. More of an abiding vibe, y'hear?

Not that the old posts will get deleted. They are what they are, and a part of history, but they're the castle that sank into the swamp to nick a metaphor from a noted comedy troupe.
No and nope, what I'm gonna build on them is a new castle, something a bit more inclusive, open, fluid and probably stupid but hey that's life, that's what the feeble say.

I wanna keep it brave, free, good vibrating and keep the vague notion of love in mind rather than the attribution of hurt. That's what poetry in notebooks are for.

This instead is a world completely unknown that demands exploring. Who is Bisson? Dunno, but gonna find out warts and all.

Join me, I can be bona-fide, I feel it in my non-carpark bones :)


I'm Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!!!!

Well this is some kind of friendly and we have ourselves a fresh new year garnished with new ideas and ways of trying them.

What I want to riff with you this time is responses to a night out in Belfast...

Ya know if you haven't been out for a while in Belfast you think, shit I haven't been out in ages and you go out and find it's just as shit as it was when you were 22 and why you got sick of going out in the first fucking place.

But there's also what you should notice besides what you know; there are two ways to deal with not scoring at the end of Saturday night in Belfast...which is inevitable more than it happens...

Either like a small, over-thoughtful minority you wind your slow, weepy way home and hit whatever you have left in the carryout until exhaustion or sheer boredom get you to sleep. Or to stop you puking. Then the next day is spend nursing an aching head, half-remembered regrets and playing sad songs of loneliness by obscure artists.

Or...the more popular one is to try and kick the shit out of anything that moves. Take that sexual frustration out on the weaker, the disadvantaged or depending on how much of a 'roid monkey you are, the bouncers. They're cunts anyway so no-one is sorry if you slap them one. Though being major league 'roid monkeys they will definitely kick the shit out of you no matter how hard you are because they rove in groups and don't have ten pints and countless shots in them.

Weirdly this is the one state where women don't get punched by men in Belfast, though it is fleeting. After 2am, the mood darkens so even women aren't safe anymore. But men will pick fights to satisfy sexual lust. How does this actually work biologically and rationally? Who knows, but then again it's Belfast, so ignorance is bliss.

As a final aside, there is standing with your arms open, a beer bottle in one hand and the words to the effect 'what about you love' to a group of disinterested women walking quickly past you and completely ignoring that you are there and that you even exist as they talk amongst themselves in the usual inane babble that passes for lady talk. This has yet to make it as a successful chat-up line as is the subsequent add-ons to it concerning your junk and how you'd like to rip that apart with your junk. The insults as they fade away up the road will probably never work. Women only like being called fucking bitches in some cases of S&M and even then there's a prior form of relationship.

Anyway, dat's how this shit can go down. See ya soon!