Rupert Holmes Style

Mother has been expressing her calamity, over the absence of partner in her daughters' life.

Somehow she still fails to inhale the idea I have put forward. To live alone with a nice yard behind my house with a dog, cat, and a goat. The only thing to decorate life besides those wonderful creatures would be the nature surrounding my spirit.

I have always wish to make peace with the spirit(s). The only gateway to relinquish guilt I have gathered in the course of life would be by way of diving into the nature. Serenity blends in with the blood, calming the senses, and slowly sweep the minds off. Having a partner would only embeds even greater despair.

Who claims dying alone is a sad adventure, is a muppet. It is inevitable for all living things to die alone, unless you are exceptionally creative with deaths.

There is constant defeat to my endeavour  in convincing mother that companions are nothing more than life ornaments. Akin to those hanging on the Christmas tree, occasionally settled and soon to be dispose of. To compete with brighter and more attractive kinds. Even if it lasts, it means as little as the thought of celebration.

Since she is convinced that there is no effort channeled, I will seek the other Rupert Holmes style. Though the responses would not entertain me much,since most would come from psychopaths, odd humans, or mental fucks.

From Joey Bartons' twittering, I would like a copy of it without a history behind bars as the mother would be worried of such. Also minus the twitter affliation because birds are the species I despise. Great lad he is, from the birdie viewing point. He should have make sense of Desperate Scousewives from the title itself. A group who engage in any activity with a branding of 'Desperate' speak a volume on the content, or lack of content.

Cheers to declination of humanity.