Passing on

In the land of nowhere, where nobody goes, featureless darkness, where nothing grows, I can see a mist far ahead, does this mean, I have woken up dead, have I entered another plain?, where nothing is the same and everything has changed, I feel nothing, I am left without shame, no noticeable pain, is this the grace I sought, yet without any gain?, is this hell or is this heaven?, consumed by a quake, soulless, completely forgotten. 

Contemplating Sleep

Closing my eyes, mind lingering for ages, going over the day, it’ proclaiming lies, I am punished day by day frequently remembering the anger, ‘no’ hatred towards thyselve including the varied ways that I am mistreated, often relinquishing responsibility for such actions abated, why then, oh why am I so cut by terrible happenings unrelated?, struggling, tormentiously, psychologically anxious, ending the evening in serative sedation.  

My heart contemplates every shred and ordered slice, lashing contentiously at thy soul causing it to weep deeply without release, throat tightening around vocal chords garrotting words expressed from an abundance of self destruction, a life bound by sorrow, alone as a child at play while friends form without delay, not being in or part of a team or so it would seem, ejecting every possibility of ever being accepted or ridiculous as it may seem, actually spending days being ridiculed and outcast, isolated, hardly ever seen. 

Growing slowly into a man, wound tightly by invisible chains, fearful of making incorrect decisions thus not making correct ones, a whole life of penetrating excursions into unknown movements, untraceable patterns, regrettable truths, a person reflecting worthlessness, yet a moral bounty of honesty, is this the person that I have become or the person that I have always been, hiding beneath an impeccable camouflage of hidden persona’, then ageing, acceptance of change as it derives, fearful of none, knowing the fullness of life, children to continue the genealogy with the knowledge of god in their lives.

A day out in Dorset

Narrow twisting turning roads, flooding deep fords, revolutionary action, driving like a lord, then engine stalls, engine stalls

Damp reality, clouding the mind, feverish storm, falling behind, slipping the slurry, on a childish grind, elasticated tyres, crash then die, just crash then die.

There she was strolling along, looking at the views, an impetuous sea gull lands on her head, the damn sign says it must not be fed, it steals an Ice cream from her hands, an ice cream from her hands.

On another day, maybe in spring, the sun would shine in Lyme Regis, alas not today, still picturesquely charming, the sea rolls on alarming, there’s only one set of young having some fun, surfing the waves, riding on high, riding so high.

It darkens now in this damp dreary place, towards the end of ‘Storm Dennis’, when it is time to go home, pretty as a picture, there’s one little face that brightens the day, he brightens everyday.

(Especially his Mum and Dads)

Klixd’ An alien in the park

In Greenwich Park where it’s stark, in the middle of the night, deserted and dark. The gates are locked, the boundary is sound, not one visitor is there to be found. The keeper keiron works a night shift, he is usually fast asleep, it’s easy with a kebab, a small tipple to the lip, sometimes its a pizza or a curry from the delli, followed by a sound of rupterous snoring, with an over filled belly.

 There is one fella, I haven’t yet said, his name is klixd but calls himself Fred, he is eighteen inches tall. Translucent blue eyes and curly wurly hair, matches his crimson red, shoes made from glittered leather wool, he has a small round bed and a small round stool, lives within a tree, five feet beneath the roots, on this hundred year old oak almost thirty foot tall.

Alongside the gravel path, with his magic stick of Oak the little man Fred began to choke while swallowing an Acorn, he waved his stick at his tightened throat, he opened his mouth, making the sound of a goat, the Acorn flew across the beautiful lush green lawn, it hit a deer, a forlornly fawn, straight in the head, knocking it out, there it lay sleeping quietly until dawn.

The little man ‘Klixd’ had crashed landed hard, while he was sleeping in his little alien craft, he found himself happy not to be dead, instead he was embarrassed to find he’d wet the bed, he immediately chose the most important action ever, washed his pants in our dreadful rainy weather, then switched on the radio to contact ‘Glixcy’ his nine inch friend as small as a pixy.

Fred gave up as the radio sparked an arc, he decided despondently to blow up his little craft, he ate an acorn on the ground of an oak to prepare a magic stick as he’d lost his magic cloak, he broke off a twig from the nearby tree then thought ‘I’ll blow the breath of fruit inside of me’, knowing that would help to be able to survive, some would say a little contrived but it was so good that he was still alive.

The very next adventure that he set himself on, was to find a place that he could call home, he looked at the Oak, so old and so tall, then crafted a door for people who are small, invisible to the eye, so others may not find, a man asleep in his pyjama hide, fred made a hollow within the tree, then spun around to chisel it deep, feeling so tired he needed a good sleep. 

A bed and a stool was to come next, he shook the stick in a rounded flex, poppety pop like a banger race,  they crashed from above and fell into place.   A bed and a stool created in Oak, a perfect little gift for this talented little bloke, exhausted all over from the crash and the fight, fred had, had enough of this dreadful night, so he took himself to bed and set down his stick as a little hazy, homely glowing light with a flicker slick, flick.

Fred stayed a while, some would call it years, to him it was just a glacxy of a Glarkxen. (Meaning only one year), it was more time than planned, he grew a long beard, it changed colour when he cheered, another colour when sad, all colours of the rainbow, but red when he was mad, he never stopped looking for a way to go home even after all the fun of playing in the snow. 

Walking to the river to wash his stick, he observed a magazine that was rather thick, on the front page, some interesting news about ‘Greenwich Observatory’ with its telescope and fantastic Views, Fred became light headed to find it was so near, he quickly waved his stick with excitement and fear to grab a lift from the same earlier Deer that felt compelled to at once assist, without any doubt and close to a tear Fred charged forward with the bewildered deer, in his voice, excitement and cheer.

It felt overwhelming to see his home planet again, 3rd planet on the right of Jupiter, yet further back by two and a half million light year’s, poor old Fred, he could not hold back the tears, overcome by the thought of his little boy all alone in the pit of cheeslegrime, Fred was heartfelt proud, he thought ‘I just want to go home to be with that glooxcy son of mine’, his  mother giver died some deckens of time ago in the grizzlegum wars meaning (war of women), I ask you, who would have a war about slimming ? , only glarkxen women.

I should lock up before I’m found, leaving the building, not making a sound, Fred noticed there was a light on in a shed next door, he quietly peeked through the window, there was a large man, head on the table having a snore, what a dreadful noise, exhaled from his hooter, the only noise that Fred heard like that, was his old mother giver’s looter, (a looter being a slugger that ironed out her figure). 

There no was some food on the table laying around, it looked better than what he’d been eating, food he’d found on the ground’ he sneaked inside, using his magic stick for a key, first he stooped in to the corner for a little green wee, then quietly climbed onto the table, he put the food in his bag, he found more in a cold box he’d opened the word ‘fridge’ in chrome on the front, some odd things he had found, something called M-ilk, something called Pie, something called yoghurt that splashed in his eye. Fred put all things in his bag, then left the shed without saying goodbye.

As soon as he arrived home, Fred took some of the human food, Pork Pie that he ate caused him to break out in an almighty sweat, he had some cheese that tasted similar to a food back on his planet called skeexse, then he drank a glass of a strange white liquid called M-ilk, it caused him to be rather scxilt which as you can guess, meaning rather tipsy to the hilt, straight into bed dizzy in his head, Fred slept for a few days, waking on Wednesday in some kind of a haze, his eyes a glaze, on this fine summer day he decided to have a lay-in until Thursday.

Week on week Fred often visited quiet and meek, to the Observatory and shed, then going late to bed, usually tipsy as the other week, drinking his M-ilk and eating his pie, munching some spaghetti, yoghurt in the eye, Kieron had noticed so much food disappearing, he thought to himself, ‘if only I had better hearing, He changing the battery on his defunct aid, then set out a plan well laid.

While pretending to sleep, head on the table, Food everywhere, Ham, cheese, Pizza galore, Kieron heard a noise shuffling through the door, it was a little man singing to himself a little dainty, words he did not understand - ‘Nixt waxys grux ext’, ‘Soxtys groixcd baxt neext’ meaning -#now what’s there to grab to eat, something sweet would be so neat#, as Fred stepped up to grab a piece of pizza, keiron lifted his head and with shock grabbed Fred, “it’s so nice to meet ya”. 

Fred went berserk, dropping his magic stick he gave Keiron such a thumping kick, alas it was without Joy as Keiron believed he had grabbed a little boy and not a small alien man as tight as he can, he held Fred steadfast, Fred’s strength could not outlast the mighty muscle of ‘Keiron O’Shay’, Keiron waited for him to calm down so he could have his say but Fred was sunken in dismay, it would take a while until Keiron would say, “calm down or it will be a delay that will keep you here until day”, Fred responded with a cry that sounded like “oooxayay”.

Eventually Keiron allowed Fred to have his magic stick after whining ixciii, ixciii, pointing at its way, causing it to flip, he put it to his ears, saying “ixciii oox” on each ear, then Fred cried reduced to tears, he sucked the end of the stick next, he became angry and vexed, out burst forth from his mouth, “let me go home, you ugly whoman, spixiii spix”, keiron replied “now that’s where we are in a fix”, “tell me who you are and we will go far”.

Fred informed Keiron “my name is Klixd, I see a whoman mother giver, walking a big furry shixp Daxs on a lead thingy”, she called ‘Fred’, I liked it, so I am Fred” He explained everything about himself then cautiously asked “pleased your sir,do not make me dead”, Keiron replied, “I will not kill you, have some faith in me and you will see, a better place to pee”. 

Fred explained about his craft, his feeling of being daft, his antics with the deer and the tree, he himself who pee’d, his son who is alone and having no fun and also asked Keiron if he could have another Hot Cross bun, he spoke of how he’ll never get home to the planet third from Jupiter, the radio on his craft that arced exir xir, had died, Keiron a Citizen band radio fan, told Fred he had another plan.

Keiron met Fred the very next night, in his shed he turned on the light, on the table was a Kebab, some wires, some bulbs, some things that were fab, in the middle a radio thingy, it had squelch, a light, a thing called a Mike, Citizen Band was Keirons hobby, he looked at Fred with a promising smile, “will this help or will it only reach a mile?. Fred waved his magic little stick and once more it seemed to do the trick, a squixy fixy thing occurred, when strange things on the radio, could be heard.

Fred listened intently to CB Radio noise, he could here Glarksen voices saying the military is waiting poised, to attack the planet Earth without a delay, for capturing their brave friend ‘Klixd’ and keeping him away, Fred replied bravely, squeezing hard on the key, “hmm’ interestingly, when will that be?”, the voice came back, speaking Glarkxen glooxy Tongue, “nine O’clock tonight we’ll be taking a run.

Fred relayed the troublesome news to keiron standing near, “never mind that” he replied “let’s have the Kebab and a beer”, they settled down to eat but Fred was in a dread, he knew he was in some trouble when choking on his bread, he jumped up immediately and keyed the CB hard, he spoke in Glarkxen language, “iox grooux ti krouxx gri card” and “ix grox ti Klixd, Eex ti roxe xowe”. Which in a roundabout way said he’s free to go home now.

The radio replied “soox soo Di minxsissos”, wait ten minutes you do not have a choice!. Fred waited patiently for a slow but quick reply then on the radio came a gooxi grammar, “see you at Big Ben Clock at three O’clock, goodbye”.

Keiron had a rusty car that sped along the embankment while waiting for the lights to change Fred looked on in amazement, a big clock shown the time high in the sky, Keiron knew it was a time on which they could rely, ten to three Big Ben displayed when the car abruptly halted, running to Parliament square, leaving Fred and Keiron exhorted. 

Three O’clock came and no sign of any craft but all of a sudden at ten past three, Fred began to laugh, some lights grew large above Big Ben, growing closer by the minute, whizzy Fizzy Glarkxen lights with Glarkxen people in it, the ship was extremely large it filled up Parliament Square, crushing a few bigger trees it was a cheek to dare, lots of Londoners looking on could do no more than stare. 

The great door slid open from the crazy lighted and round ship, the leader speaking through a speaker saying “hello Earthlings”, “toodlepip”. lots of Glarkxian people came walking down the slope, Fred was sobbing loudly with happy, expectant hope, then stepping through the crowd a familiar sight indeed, his son ‘fluxi wix” was plainly there to see, running up and in the arms of his little bouyant lad, sobbing even loudly now as if he was real sad.

finally the time came to forever say goodbye, keiron was invited to ride to Glarkxen with Fred, way up high, Keiron declined but said to Fred “please, always stay in touch” I have grown fond of you and like you very much. Soon the Glarkxens all stepped back into their craft, Fred was pleased that he was going home to be in his pod at last, “goodbye keiron my friend” I promise to keep in touch, I have enjoyed your friendship and food very, very much.

The door soon closed tightly, on the fuzzy lighted ship, then slowly lifted off the ground to sounds of ‘oopsxy gsssh’ , away the ship passed, too soon, out of the Earths atmosphere, all that could be heard behind was the sound of the Londoners cheer. 

Blackheath

Refined and wealthy, reminiscent of a great Britain with a glorious past, stooped in monarchistic history, a warm aura of familiar peace, houses bedded in by acid rain, orchestral educational chime, surrounded by the mean of time, great observatory view of the sky, blackened soil under foot Rhododendrons pleasing to the eye, a peasants revolt would be welcome here, if you were born long ago, in another year, now the grand piano, untuned by rust, dark green ivy squeezes brick to dust, exonerated with forgiveness, John the Baptist church, loved  by ancient duty, Blackheath quaint all over, since my memories of a child, sadly now lost in transition with the traffic of lorries, cars and buses running through wild.

Lillies

I observed Lillies in the garden grounds, elegantly growing, spectacular natural gold blooms, such a shame, a week later perished, red beetle bug the size of a penny munched the stems, until there wasn’t any.

Almost gone forever

Golden Leaves fall in the breeze from a ruthless rupturing storm, the oldest trees are holding still with vigour, strength and brawn.

 Forests here remember an age they spoke with a thunderous call, to those now gone before mans birth at the beginning of Earths first Dawn. 

 winter approaches cruel and fast, a grand old oak stands tall, wondering when the year will end, he shakes with cold and yawns

Passed through in the night

I stroll through life without a purpose, surviving every storm, the rain falls almost everyday, it’s  to seem the norm

If the sun does not show itself soon, then.......

I’ll be gone. 

Not even knowing. 

Siblings

Brother grown down, rocked to and fro’, forever fornicating with a guitar string low, brass section of trumpeted blues, impressing the world with the musical news, should have seen him wearing wide brogue shoes.

Brother lost or never found, superiority earned at a distant sound, worry often of the impetuous fiend, some are worthy, some are deemed, ridiculous situation or so it seems, mostly swims like a trout, right direction, wrong stream.

Sister warm, the comforting kind, sometimes astute, sometimes blind, a caring nature will die for a cause, neglects herself as nature calls, angry in retaliation for being a fool, hurt real easy yet stronger than all, loving sister to everyone and all.

Sister burdened by feelings of grief, intelligence of a martyr, clever as a chief, artistic hand shows a beauty in the heart, quick with humour, early to start, never had time to finish what could have been, wondrous places where she should have been.

......~**

‘Tis a bitter storm that changes                    
colour to black, quick                                
ere the moment twists our fate  
Ye’, a cruel ghastly flick. 

Black Dog Watching

A black dog attacked today,
no reason or rhyme,
bad timing to a fragile mind,
this morning started fine,
then unexpectedly clawing a person down,
dragging away fragments of happiness,
replacing a naturally warm face with a frown
gasping for air with a tightened grip,
an eventuality of leaving a host blind.

gnarling sharp teeth,
biting as it chews,
within an analytically sensory brain,
eating it as if a delicious feed,      
sucking out the soul,
a presence of darkness,                          
with no hope left at all,
peering gradually beyond sight
one can often catch a glimpse of it behind,          
lurking on the wall.

Plastic Seas

Fragments of plastic everywhere, US of A, Europe, also here, stacks of bottles in all colours bound, take a peek,  every service station shelf and shop, look all around, you’ll be surprised how much plastic can be found.

Frustrated, in despair, I emailed a local MP, to receive some positive action only to find she gave a kind, sorry reaction, too much profit in plastic sleeves, I must admit I feel somewhat aggrieved, it is becoming hard to believe.

Can anything be done to heal the glum for every Girl, Boy, Dad or Mum?, plastic rules the waves, I hear, have no fear, my dear, there is a plastic reef deep in the sea, within it all types of Marine entity.

Waste of non-Banksy art on display, we can go to see it one day, just visit the beach anywhere in the uk, see fragments of plastic shopping bags within the waves, Clownfish breeding in a plastic anemone, Yellowfin Tuna ‘POP’ up dead, covered in oil from fin to head.

Word from Patricio :- governments and those in a position to make changes must act now!.'Everyone can do something to make a difference however, like refusing supermarket vegetables wrapped in plastic, carrying shopping in paper bags instead of plastic, cutting down on pre-packed meals.

Whoever you are, have a think today!

what difference could you make?

 

A million insignificant changes to lifestyles or changes of things one can buy, Becomes significant without a try. 

Chemical imbalance

A loathsome, inconspicuous, depersonalised fool, with what purpose does one have to live, at all?. 

Perturbed in mind, thinks so deep, simplisticly requiring a long peaceful sleep. 

Frequently concerned with troublesome news, biased self harm alas inconsistent views.

Voices heard are voices dead, clearly thinking without a clear head, arguing with self is an easy win, deny the wrong, and refuse to sin. 

Pause for a week in Nottingham

Faster world, modern Living, lots more music, much less singing, cybercrime rising, thefts decline, see that old rusty bicycle of mine.

Opium is a cure for the addiction of coke, water drinking as a vodka joke, rainbow cloud a wonderful gleam, ever so hard the workers seem.

Rivers run fast through every vein, vicar says “when will I see you again?”, has anyone here seen the gas in the main?, awkwardly having a fuck in the rain

Mortality revisits morality, a little bite to the neck will do, sister dear “wipe the slate clean”, this type of stuff is hardly here, seen. as night passes it begins to get cold, another young victim, will never grow old, how could she have been so bold, never try to ever be told.

Slice deeper  with a sharpened knife, patience for a week, see the gas rise, go ahead, have a fracking good time, for a crude dollar each, I will claim you as mine. Increase erroneous action then confess erotic mime, “not today dear, I haven’t the time.

Quarry Gate

Deep, round historical quarry, houses so low, difficult to breathe, obstreperous to know, the wind hardly blows, the sun rarely goes, it frequently floods down here below.

See the Good

When I’m asked by others ‘why am I kind to people that hurt me?’ I simply reply “I see the good in them”

’Why do you smile and say good morning to hundreds of people every day when they cannot even look at you or they kiss their lips at you in a rasping fashion? , my reply is “I see the good in them”.

Why are you keen to wave and smile at another road user who has just called you an obscene word and used their hand with a swearing sign?, “because I see the good in them”.

Why are you kind to others that do not even appreciate your existence and will not give you the time of day?, “it’s simply, I see the good in them” 

’ You say you see the good in people, yet you are easily angered by political decisions and those like David Cameron, Theresa May and Boris Johnson!, Why? “The only reply to this question is”, 

“Their actions towards the National health service, the disabled and the general population are heinous, not to mention the forcing of people into homelessness,how many people must die with illness?, hunger?, depression?, apathetic voters of this country must realise Conservatives decisions are for profit making capitalism and greed, not of a government that care about the good in people!”. 

After the so-called Brexit, wait to see Conservatives Part 2,? Irradication of workers rights with zero contracts and no protection, everyone who can afford it will be forced to take Private medical insurance to receive a third world hospital service, also the abolition of the minimum wage, following the not forgotten Tories of the late 1970’s, who did exactly this, include in this, mass unemployment to force wages down.. I cannot see the good in these people because there are no good in these people, Just hate and greed. Money is man made, it does not exist in reality, it’s just a tool to control the masses. People will continue to survive whether they have money or not. Maybe then my lifelong dream will become a reality that ‘everyone will see the good in everyone else no matter their circumstances to bring about the end for the use of money as a trade. To extinguish the world of capitalism.

The future of History

Another fish bowl angled empty, Sun is warming a purple sky, clouds dissipate acid rain, a drought is expectantly nye

Jim knows best, he’s lived through it all,  two world wars, metal plate screwed into his skull, Alas the destruction of the Berlin Wall.

Petrified by a ghost drinking tea, what a peculiar thing to see, it was a vision he saw at the end of the bed, not quite living, yet not quite dead

plastic fish, yellow snow, blackened road, batteries on the way to bring you home, squidgy squashy insects are an all time low, hear the squealing death,                                     of the great king toad.  

Shutting her eyes in a forest,                               listening to an eerie sound, wind rustling, hooting owls, rumbling in stomach, moving of bowels, no place here for shit covered snails                              

Hearing her sighs, she taps a stick, a Labrador stands close by it gives her a lick.  Having a rest in the large red chair, on her lap, a golden head peeps,                   she closes her eyes for an everlasting sleep.

Hon....oops

A bear went a wandering in the forest one day, craving some honey to eat.                  
While searching the trees for some sweet grub, a Honey Bee he did meet.                        
“Hello I’m Busy” the honey Bee did say, “hello I’m Grizzly” I have come a long way,
“what are you looking for on this sunny day” said the little busy bee in his little buzzy way,
“I’m looking for Honey, way up in a tree, I must find some now as I’m hungry you see,
my tummy is rumbling it’s been empty for weeks, there’s some delicious berries though it’s honey I seek”, the little honey bee could feel the bears need, but destruction of the hive would be sad indeed,
so he said rather meekly, “I am Just a  Buzzing bee, I am collecting pollen to make some sweet Hon....oops, I’m ever so busy”, “if you want some honey to fill your belly, it’s no good searching in trees, look for it in jars, to get the tastiest sweet flavour, thick golden honey, what a treat.
The buzzing bee said “goodbye Grizzly”, as he flew away,  “hope to see you again some day”.
The small bears face dropped, in a sad way, his eyes averted from his destiny,
“all I wanted was a little honey, Buzz off little Bumble bee” ,
 “go back to your sweet hon... oops”. The little bear said, then made his way home and went straight into bed.

The Cruise

A porthole to look out of, crest upon crest, wave to the ocean, spot the whale, it’d be a shock if he waved back now. little grey seal barking like mad, wearing his bow tie, what a cad.

Crescent of the moon will be gone too soon, replaced by the shade of a cow, riding on a spoon, the stars are dancing until dawn, He’ll be sleeping until noon. 

Punishment with self loathing, bloated torment, the Head Chef is smoking on the port, for him it is the end of the last resort, thousands overfed, fattened on roast pork, Mutton and Jam, ridiculing the savoury beef and calling it a sham. 

A view is beyond where the sky meets the sea, ignorant with wealth, sitting in the sun, drowning on whisky, he ‘bows down’, “yes sir’ says the courteous Philippino sage, pouring more scotch on a meagre wage.

Diamonds sparkle on the withered old hand, beautiful sounds of classical genre from the onboard band, away into the night her lovely gown glistens, dancing a waltz with the braided   Captain Sissons.

What a scene when the ship comes in, friends and family standing nigh, cheering and waving flags raised high, in all its splendour this marvellous boat, wearing a grand whitened coat. Passengers pleased to be ashore, not sure why, how or what they went there for.

A question of safety

One fine evening while strolling through the park, I lost track of time and it began getting dark, my thoughts went astray to another summer day, ‘ we were having a picnic under a tree’, some awesome memories came rushing back to me, while enjoying the flavour of a delicious pork pie, I looked way up into the sky, the tree began shaking vigorously, the wind blowing high, a damn conker fell from its sty and landed straight, into my left eye.

Blinded through the month of July, I felt like a one eyed spy with a monocular kind of view, like a pirate without a Parrot, a stew without a carrot, with my one good eye, I was only able to amble, while passing a bramble, I did narf cause a racket when I caught my blooming jacket, tearing from the razor sharp thorns, so not funny at all, tugging hard to get away, a thorn broke off in the knuckle of my finger and there it will linger, throbbing away but there it will stay until another day.

By order of the doctor in the inaugural part of August, the sun at its peak, a rest I would seek, feeling tired and meek, I fell asleep, I woke up at two, cream well overdue, burnt to a crisp like I’d been on a hob, my chest so sore was beginning to throb, a cold shower at night but I could not sleep with my eye, the thorn and a blister on my chest, I could not get any rest.

The next day did not come fast as I lay awake all night, I wasn’t fit to last, Getting up with careful thoughts put on my T-shirt then my shorts , I decided to have a nice gentle walk, arranging with a friend to see a show, though first I went for a pint in Bow, after one, two or three, I stood up to go, a delivery of barrels rolling down slow, I did not realise and did not know the next step I took I fell down the hole, Landing in the cellar hard, with no time for a calling card, I ripped my arm on a peg , so bloody and red, with my other cuts, burns and bruises, bump on my head, I’ve yet to mention, my broken left leg.

The moral of the story is easy when said, if you don’t want to have all these injuries, burnt, blind, with a broken leg, damaged clothes, nearly dead, the best thing that you could do is not to get up, stay asleep and stay in bed.