33. Wayward wanderer,biker, climber, kayaker. Anti-social, except towards cats. The Garden of England’s coast. Photos are mine unless otherwise specified. If I like your post, it’s because I like the post (no implications; I don’t flirt by liking posts. Also don’t have spare time/energy to flirt with distant strangers online).
I should go to Outlook Festival and have a mini holiday in Croatia again. It’s been 10 years and I miss it, even if it’s not in and around a fortress anymore.
The view as I mopped my kitchen floor, vibing as the most intense track on my favourite Gogo Penguin record span in the background.
All those people posting on here about a romanticised domestic bliss - where they’re doing chores while their “LOML” whispers sweet nothings - have it twisted. Appreciate what you have and not having some cunt nagging you about trivial, inconsequential nonsense or going out of their way trying to start an argument because they haven’t had attention for 5 minutes. Appreciate peace. The sunset is beautiful, the trees have blossom, the record sounds fantastic.
While out on my motorbike, rode past a girl parked up with her bike, went back to go and talk to her and now i'm in a biker Whatsapp group I have no interest in. Cool to see girl bikers out there, be cooler to see the hot one I met months ago again. The one today was kinda physically attractive but hearing her speak ruined it.
I should buy the double LP while it's available, so I don't later regret not buying it after several months of regularly listening to it on Spotify. Too often miss out on new records I knew of when they were released, because I have to see if it has longevity.
If I will for it hard enough, I can manifest another chance encounter with Liv the very cute biker girl whom I met on the seafront in September and whose number I didn’t ask for.
YouTube click-baited me with some Robert Greene video about ‘channelling your dark side’. Turned out that apparently normal people repress some impulses so as to be agreeable and personable. Can’t relate: people who know me are well aware I don’t care who thinks I’m a cunt. I also think it and am at peace with it. People come and go regardless, pretending to be nice if you’re not is just wasting energy. Some social pseudo-scientist would slap some kind of personality disorder sticker on me, given the chance. Thus concludes this week’s self awareness journal.
Went to the pub last night, my mate and this guy with us who runs a cafe had a 40ish minute long conversation about fucking coffee. If somebody had shot them both in the face with a shotgun right there, i'd have laughed.