The Feeeel Innit!

By Frankie Lassut

Your quality of life depends on how you feel about things. Oh yes it does.
I get fed up of people asking: “how do you know?” But anyway, the answer to that one is because I do.
That means, if you feel good about most things, you’re laughing. Most people misunderstand and feel lousy most of the time due to the circumstances they ‘suffer’, not knowing that they create them themselves. There is of course a way around this and it’s written in thousands of books available to you. Books?! You say. Well yes, but if somebody from the other side of the world wants to talk to you, what better way than a book? Published by some kind soul. They make some money, which is a good reason to hate them!
This book is about feeling good about the thing nearest to you, your house. Where you live. Isn’t it great to keep it clean and tidy? But, millions of people hate household chores! In my mind that’s insanity, how can you hate keeping the place where you live clean? There again, if you call them ‘chores’, what do you expect?
There’s a story about a fairy who is bounding around a garden full of the joys of spring, flowers in their hair. Another fairy says “come in, it’s chores time!”
The fairy suddenly goes into a slump, shoulders down, body language, ugh.
So, are chores joy killers?
Yes, if you follow your conditioning. If you don’t, no, of course they aren’t.
This is little, itsy-bitsy book about keeping that space clean and feeling good about it.
There! Done it! Now I can have a bottle of brandy and watch TV.
I must clean the curry off the TV screen; but I hate cleaning.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frankie Lassut
• Release date: Jul 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463753446

Frankie Lassut

I am the one being shaved; the other one Nim, is is a looney bin now!I went to see a psychic years ago who ended up as my girlfriend; she didn’t see that one coming! But she was extremely honoured. However it ended badly i.e. it rained heavily as I buried her body and I got soaked. No! You don’t really want to hear about it, it’s depressing; I was joking about the burial. She told me that I was to uncover a talent I had ... Well, another psychic told me that as the first one was dead; I was lying when I said I was lying. Nothing happened for quite a while. Suddenly I realised I needed a ‘job’ quite badly as I was beginning to drink halves. No, not a boob ‘job’! I went for the cheap option i.e. the surgeon gave some socks to shove up my jumper when I go out. I got a ‘job’ (have you got boobs on your mind?) because someone told me that bus-driving was easy because you just sit on your butt and turn the wheel. She was about six, a wise woman ... that’s called an oxymoron. Fantastic! I thought get the job and in a couple of days I’d be driving all the nice passengers around and about seeing all the sights for a fraction of the cost of a tour bus; and we’d have a roof in case it rained. Easy! First of all though there was the training; and I entered hell.I was born in Cumbria in a little ex-iron ore mining town called Millom. It was only small, a one- horse town; the horse was called Peg. It had a pedigree name too, but I can’t remember it at the moment: Peggy Suss? However, I got fed up and left as I was the only man in a town full of women and they were all lesbys; I’ve always been lucky. I went to Blackpool and attended the photographic college. I then moved to Coventry and met the psychic who would tell me what was going to happen. I could say now that the rest is history. Well it is, but obviously not history as that’s all made up anyway. Then I got the job bus-driving, which as I said is easy ‘you just sit on your butt and turn the wheel’. The bus station management weren’t pleased that she had said that though, so she was tried and sent to Guantanamo Bay; they have a section for young kids who are bad to the bone.The job was so mad that I thought it would be a good idea to write out some posters and stick them all on the wall of the bus station. The other drivers enjoyed them, but the management tore them down, the badstars (that’s an anagram of astards +B). I carried on and ended up with a manuscript for a book, which, by the way is ‘brilliant’. The management didn’t like it, but bollocks to them.I couldn’t stop writing after that episode and I’ve been writing ever since, mostly cheques to people, such as the mortgage people and the gas board etc. I am so brilliant that I’ve lost all my friends because I wrote about them in my style which I believe is called Bizzaro. My inner being is a bit of a crazy horse, because whatever I write it has to be in that style, even the horror. It just goes that way. ‘Ordinary’ writing to me is like lemonade minus the bubbles ... I can’t bring myself to do it; but thank God I can still bring myself off. I need a selfie stick as I do that because the close focus on the phone won’t do it; how else am I going to post them on the Dark Web?Writing is like a drug. When I was writing my Millom book, the pictures that flashed into my head were so funny to me that I laughed myself into hernia-ville; my stomach tore. I got injured writing.You see, hernia-ville, a retirement home for people with stomach hernias; no comedians are booked to appear at that place.So, my writing is brilliant, so read the bloody stuff!I have actually suffered for my art. I won’t go to hospital to get it fixed because, well, I’ve written about that friggin place too.All that and now I’m an international bestselling author. I’m the only author in this world who has sold books on Mars (eat your heart out Tony Robbins), so I can say with certainty that Martians have fabulous senses of humour.What a profile!

Book preview

The Feeeel

Innit!

Copyright © Frankie Lassut 2019

Published at Smashwords

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Introduction

I used to work at the place that was in the news more than the Middle East i.e. the Sellafield nuclear plant; BNFL (BNF-Hell-actually). Here are a few words about the place if you haven’t heard about it:

It is situated in Cumbria on the North West coast and has a handy sea waste pipe pointed towards the Isle of Man; so they had better watch it. If they get naughty all the Sellafield worker has to do is sit on the right button (and then deny it). It’s very Simpsons.

When it got hot people used to swim in the sea just by the plant, at their peril. I don’t know if you’ve seen that film where the killer whale comes out of the water trying to catch a seal for lunch? Well, the (nearly) same thing would happen on the Sellafield beach in the Summer when people were bathing. Suddenly there would be screaming, and the people would run out of the sea onto the shore. They would be followed by a twelve-foot mackerel (really). Fortunately, no one was ever caught, but that’s radioactive contamination for you. The mackerel would chase them out of the water where a land mackerel would pounce. That’s a mackerel with four legs; that’s normal on that beach. I was joking! (not). There is that much contamination at BNFL you can buy it in the local shops and use it a garden fertiliser; bloody nice carrots if you can find a pressure cooker big enough.

I would be walking up the road to the workshop when a huge pair of webbed feet would grab me by the shoulders; in the nesting season usually. The feet belonged to a Sellafield gull, affectionately known as a site-shite-hawk. That’s a gull’s defence mechanism. Luckily, I was a bit too (big boned) heavy to carry off and drop into an open beak of one of its young. And site rats! Big? Like horses. There were a few which the management had trained and put saddles on them, which is how they got around the site. Crabs? Again on the shore. If you were to eat the nipper off one of those things you’d be full up afterwards. In fact, one nipper made for a very decent seafood banquet. Well, if you will pump crap into the sea (you might get caught and there would be a public enquiry)

I was an instrument mechanic there. I had a friend, Mick. Mick was a brilliant mechanic and could almost talk to the instruments. And then the throwaway days come when digitisation arrived, and Mick left. Not before though he said to me after I was struggling with a level controller What’s wrong mate? Ahh, you haven’t got the feeeel, innit! You need the feeeel!

The feel. That good feeling, that ‘knowing’ when you’re resonating with it.

The feeeeel!

Shortly after that, I left …

Never seen hide nor hair of him since, more’s the pity.

***

Preface

Household chores. Quite possibly the most hated activities known to twentieth century woman. I’ve known women who absolutely hate them, right through to women who do them but don’t like them. I can never understand either, after all, it’s their house they’re keeping clean. It just shows how human beings can be hoodwinked into a certain line of behaviour and don’t even think about it.

Most people have forgotten who they are and where they came from and more especially, just why they’re here (on this earth). I’ll tell you, nobody is native to this planet. It’s a planet of choice.

Oh, oh … he’s gone nuts!

Well, no I haven’t, I’ve simply, like many others, remembered.

I’ll tell you why I’m here; to remember who I really am and to create a great life for myself and wait for it … out of the illusion. Cuckoo!

But, while I’m here on this cool mudball I want to enjoy it and have somewhere nice to live. Somewhere that is clean and tidy which looks nice. That means I’m going to have to look after the place, which means for a start keep it clean and tidy; and I’m going to enjoy that bit. I’m not depressed or angry you see which means that the house isn’t going to look like my mind. No way; I’ve seen the houses of depressed people; ugh! (Mine included some years ago). Add to that list people who don’t care, angry people, people who say they’ve had enough etc. And then think, if you believe that nice things happen to those who know how to have nice thoughts. And then think, which activity takes up the better part of your life and you feel bad about doing it. And then think "well, if I can feel good about that, maybe I could transfer that feeling to other things! Well, then you have life cracked. So then, good fortune and bon voyage!

THE FEEL

A little book about Quontum Fizzics

Quietness

U

Of

N

The

U

Mind

F

I

Z

Z

*

I

C-an

S-ee!

There will be some repeats in the text, but that’s the best way to remember … REPETITION

He might get away with a wee-wee, but I think a poop is going to be a problem. The big bloke doesn’t look too impressed is going to have a problem. Is he thinking I hope he doesn’t want the loo until after my shift’s ended

THE FEEL

You don’t realise how fortunate you are to have a body, you take it for granted.

Evo Nelliott

The point of this little writing is (whether you want to believe it or not) is that you ‘can’ control your life. You ‘order’ the events even if you don’t think that you do. The un-subtle force outside of you (it would appear to be that way) is called the ‘Law of Attraction’ and everyone is affected by it whether they know it or not (so there).