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SOS!

Sometimes it’s not the people who actually know you -who want to see you succeed but I know when I started blogging on WordPress, I found a supportive community of people on here.

Sometimes it takes the people who don’t know us to see something in us that others can’t or won’t.

We are live!

La bella bijoux Ltd is online!   LOOK HERE

This is the start of a long and hard and remarkable journey.

I have so much to learn. SEO blah blah

I’m getting there

PLEASE  can you like my business facebook page

LA BELLA BIJOUX FACEBOOK

FOLLOW me on instagram

Share my Blog post on WIX -PLEASE.    HERE

Today, I have drafted scene two of my TMA 3 – Omniscience – about a girl with second sight.

I’m about to get ready to get a train to do  Week two of the Drama workshop I am on.

My Bella made her own jewelry last night. In 20-30 years times, it will be vintage and Retro. ha ha!

I will catch up on all the study material etc on the train to Leeds university, I need to catch up on.

I found out over the weekend that in May 2017 ( if I pass)  I get a post graduate certificate in the Humanities.

AMAZING.

Thanks for being so patient.

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Twirl cray cray Daisy

*Please feel free to throttle me/ unfollow me. This is worse than Trollope tripe -it would be more pleasurable watching a live abortion. Maybe that is inappropriate. I don’t think there is anything pleasant about what I have just let myself type.  Apologies*

I think I feel a little sick.

Success is opening up her arms and people waving flags with my initials on it.

Sounds narcissistic but I guess I am afraid of the things I want most.

Success, Praise love, and Happiness.

Seamless drama is never far from a molecule in a foreign body on an abstract shoreline.

Possibly an inch closer to the imperial mix.

Take me up to shallow waters to bubble blowers and fellow talkers.

Don’t say it was me who created this venture.

I should have known ‘off the bat’ how it all works,

I’m feeling the inferiority rapture.

No, I don’t think I’m grand.

I don’t have time to glance in my Id crescent- shaped reflector.

I’m too busy overtaking the speed of light

working on the next bender, I mean.. adventure.

Praise me. I say thank you. I might even put a smile on for the finale.

Inside I’m thinking:

If you knew me I would be the one laughing when I hear some dude pronounce the G – in the word gnarly.

This is how I push people away. I make them think I have the flair to take every offer going spare.

Ditch me.

Hitch me.

Guaranteed, I will hike up the rent on the boardwalk by the glitchy sea.

I don’t know who to talk to.

These four walls and a cerebrum of characters have overspilled,

bulging out of their zippers.

appealing for me to gaze down to the center of all taboo.

Replace this mind below the gentry hippers.

Inside I need a pressure valve replacement.

Are they right?

the ones who make me feel I’m wrong like I’m a pyscho.

I tipple over the mountain edge in fright.

Who to believe?

The ones who make me feel I’m ugly inside?

an object on the outside – something to be used – an animated tool.

Or,

do I believe the ones who make me feel like the sun shines?

every time I reach out

generously,

pouring my words over anyone who feels the need for a breeze of air:

Brand name:

Legit fresh cool 

Inside I’m tumbling.

A Scotsman in true fashion – rolling down hills with wee scant from a below eye level.

The mailer in this ale is taking its time to zoom around this corpus Christi.

 The one in whose image we are declared.

 Hear them all rebel when I tell them to leave my goat- she has her own bell.

I don’t believe in religious carnality.

I  believe I’m here.

Think I can only post something reeking in banality.

I wonder.

All the time.

I look for a reason for why people are wrong to love me.

I get bored and frustrated.

I look back when Evolution dictates to reason that I must move forward to reach the charlotte caramelized sea.

Don’t look back in anger.

Ska- lites.

Beats drop.

Avalanches of prejudice awaits me.

Raging in a carnival of colored palettes.

Two-tone is a note to hear something based on sweet civility.

Chivalry crept up on me and I made a splash.

Juxtaposed in the style of the clash.

More whale than mermaid -not quite the sight I was hoping you would remember me.

Vacuous timing.

bobbing on a skyline.

Can  I stand up or will I end up putting myself out?

Surprised at how I manage to keep the white cloaks from rapping at my window.

 I’m sure  I made a terminal agreement to sign myself in if

my face didn’t resume back to timeless position after a session of ‘the heavy pout’.

To make up or not to make up.

To share and be open or hide and whisper Goethem.

Reeled back to a cause – a club with red tape around the chill out room.

Stumped, I could be in a forest, for all you know, I could be higher than that blue kite.

Erect like her witches wooden broom.

My minds a place of genuine fear at times.

I can feel people waiting to hear what will come out every orifice.

Laugh with me or at me.

Make sure you got a clue what you on about – in every topic up for discussion.

don’t look around for a bar room tit,

just so you can feel a head higher than the king of Epileptic fits.

Rudimental,

judgemental.

The most viscous harness whip I encounter is my own corpus callosum.

It comes out at me, at you,

at the crowd.

Prey eyes – fear the bird with the talisman.

Some days I think about being ordinary, then I think,

of course, I’m beyond that station of being so free.

I let fools rush in – I make a meal with plenty of meat and two servings of potato

I doubt myself too much.

I talk way too much shit to get any credit for how this piece ends

Did you know I have long toes?

My favorite ice cream is the one with the little Eskimo.

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Always look up

Hola!

‘Always look up wherever you go – those who walk with there eyes to the floor miss out on so much of life’ 

DAISY XOXO

DAISY GOES INTO BUSINESS:

What a palaver!

I spent weeks working on trying to figure out a way to sell my products on a free WordPress template.

A lovely friend of mine suggested – Wix and e -commerce.

I was in entrepreneur, creative business utopia until I had to learn the system …

It’s been challenging. It is still a challenge but I am seeing progress and, I am getting so excited for when we finally go live.

 

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SMALL MOTIVATIONAL REMINDERS 

 

DAISY DOES HER MASTERS:

If you have followed my previous posts on from the start of doing my MA,  you will know it has been an ocean of tidal waves and tsunamis and, high tides and low tides.

These still waters of mine run deep.

My First TMA (tutor marked assignment)   Act one of a stage script about a homeless couple received a CLEAR PASS  of 62%

There were tears, miscommunication, fall outs, despair and I lost confidence in my writing abilities.

TMA 2 ( my second genre -Fiction writing)  I wrote a supernatural piece about a girl who (accidently) commits suicide.

Lat night, my tutor emailed me to say she was having an issue submitting my marks via the online system and she didn’t want me to start worrying, so, she copy and pasted all the feedback and my mark into an email.

She gave me useful and extensive advice on what I propose to write for my EMA ( end of module assignment due in May 2017)

The second act to the homeless couple script.

Eeeeek! 

I do feel more supported, understood, challenged and more confident in achieving what I want to do with my writing for this piece.

Oh, the results for my TMA 2

82%   a HIGH MERIT.

I’m back to the marks I was getting when I was doing my final year of my BA in the Art and humanities.

I need to keep this momentum going. I don’t want to find myself under merit territory again.

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I invest a lot of time in people and the things and causes I dedicate my time to.

 

DAISY DOES VOLUNTEERING:

One thing I have had to put on the back burner is helping to  co-facilitate 12 weeks of WRAP (wellness recovery action plan self-management program) with the EIP   ( early intervention prevention ) team for people diagnosed with at least one episode a psychotic episode

I’m gutted. There were many issues that led me to distance myself from this.

Two being:

Issues of funding and logistics.

I enjoyed meeting up the people I was going to work with. I loved their energy and enthusiasm.

A lot was promised and then not delivered.

 I felt the need to email my colleagues and tell them what I thought about how the course was put together- I was my usual blunt self and not very diplomatic.  Ooops…

I feel that if the NHS ( national health system) in the U.K. expects results from a new therapy or a new way of self-help/lifestyle and illness management program, then scrimping on pounds is not helping promote or inspire that WRAP works.

In the long term WRAP  (run properly) will most likely save the NHS money.

As far as I’m aware- nobody knows what is going on with this current  WRAP workshop. I haven’t fallen out with anyone. I can’t give all my energy into something if everyone doesn’t  have the same vision.

For me, it needs more planning and preparation and I’m not going to be that person who just turns up to volunteer at a workshop to go –

‘Oh look at me, I’m making a difference’ – when I know, in my heart, the results this particular workshop can have on people’s lives if  it is implemented properly.

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I’m currently putting my energy into other charities I work with to see how I can help them.

DAISY GOES TO HER FIRST SESSION AT THE  ACTING PROGRAMME WORKSHOP :

I wasn’t nervous until I got to the place. I arrived early. It was bitterly cold and I hate the cold.

It turned out to be incredible.

We did a few  Actor warm up activities such as being aware of filling the space and being aware of other Actors around us.

We did some improvisation and using our body exercises to convey emotion.  Loads of fun!

What a lovely bunch of people. I am definitely going to the next session next week. We all seem to have common goals and everyone is so unique and interesting.

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UNEXPECTED SURPRISE ALERT:

There is a possibility we may (or may not) put together a little something to perform to students at the university after the 8 weeks.  How awesome is that?

I do try and keep up with you all on here. It has been difficult but the more knowledge and confidence I gain in the above  areas of my life – the more time I will  get to have fun- one being reading blogs and blogging random stuff

DAISY LIFE UPDATE:

 It was my husbands birthday on Valentine’s day. We have a sleigh bed!

hi ho!  hi ho! it’s off to bed I go – ha ha! It’s massive – king size!

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After the mid-term school holidays in February, my Bella – my daughter will be joining Year one ( she is in reception at the moment)  for her reading and writing class.

She has two mates with her who are excelling just like her and she is a bit of a whizz kid at Maths.

DAISY’S MENTAL HEALTH UPDATE:

Long story short. Pushing other people’s buttons to get an honest answer has been difficult -emotionally- to sit with – without trying to avoid the emotions by self-medicating.

I’ve been angry at myself for nearly destroying the best thing  I have in my life- my family – because, I believed ( with help) that someone cared more about me than they actually did.I put a lot of my energy into helping a person when they had a meltdown last year. It all got thrown back in my face.

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I finally know the truth. That is all I ever wanted. Now, it’s time to let sleeping dogs lie.

That’s it – all very boring but it’s all happening

Physically. I’m eating better and I have more energy. I haven’t lost weight which is something that terrifies me equally as putting on weight does.

 

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Made in china- app by- product

 

  Brain waves traveling faster than a dinosaur fleeing from  the ice age,

Technology blunders -slow down the creative process stage.

Running up energy expenditure – Tabs kept, monitor my blood temperature.

Life in the fast lane – when chugging on a mere 4 Gigabytes.

Tridecyl loses faith in Darwin when he has to fly for his survival – true it was one of the darkest nights.

Faith in the modern world -lost to a time warp. Panacea, cure me of this analytic google oddity.

Install second sight into the eyes of my alter ego- Eve.  She summons heapings of mutated gravities.

Staring at a screen for t-t-t- tick-tocking explosive minutes. Circle an hour. Loops of the underground.

I’m about to reload my patience when the page wants me to bin it.

Aw snap, I’m unresponsive.

Let me react and pummel my fist into your unintelligible emotionless sieve,

What a Git!

Scene two: Vladimir overrides scarface in tissues. Vision is seen by the one with the innocent of faces

Judgment found in a  conjoined pair of twins named  Iris – gossiping needleworkers feeding on human abscesses.

The world is a little colder when the transition is slow to advance.

Emoji disappoint in a world centered around wired up individuals dancing to senseless  trance

The fury, the muster.

I fluster.

I  gusto in guster.

I make these words up for I feel the growth of Ire expounding in my dog – yeah, he’s called Buster. 😀

This weed puts in an effort when dealing with humans and technology.

Flee from this dystopic, utopic disadvantage in perceptive oncology.

The virtues of patience feed into my supply of Prozac and duloxetine.

This shit should keep me buzzing.

I shouldn’t have to  pay to name a star

A telescope is not in need to see whose receptors disassociate delafossite from the normal homo sapien.

Clusters of worry – mind map in colors I can’t pronounce.

I look to the future – fish eyes – sideways – breathing gills trumpet out the word: denounce.

Grasshopper legs glued to three lucky stripe trainers – The past needs to catch up.

 I’m in a zazen mind – self-improvement Tetris game – this retro girl ain’t going to get much tamer. 😉

Throw shapes at me –  Elsa blows tubular notes  of  ‘just let it go’

Keep your omega fish fingers away from me. I must move on, warm up.

I need my organic  glow.

Widgets, apps, cloud configuration tampers with my whacked out imagination

I can’t hear what you are saying cos I’m fired up on neurological cylinders shouting:  God speed – don’t talk to the meth head.

Frustration is conjured not by magic or by art – The modern twisted sentiment of living in a world of Mozart concerto’s lost to simpatico’s heart.

Strive for Success  – driven to please all my slave drivers in leather bind-ups.

The worst of them reside not in other homes but in my brain – senile resident wind ups.

Cover my tracks – Twiggy never reached the thigh touch gap.

Her phone got flushed down the toilet bowl talking to launch a brand new app.

Lost for words. I curse in contemporary verse.

I am contemporary – juxtaposed with an old fashioned queer like pose.

Take me as I am –  not facile – trust j’ai  complique.

The effort and work are worth it – I’m not some donkey punch with Barbie doll hair.

Local shag. com, you missed that site at the bypass.

My heart stopped beating when I saw the cadaver’s mask slip – gassed me up.

Tosser tossed me like a deflated sex doll on the tarmac-

a mere Carcass.

Look up!

One offer. This is what I can give you.

One chance to redeem your coupon – I may be a dreamer – you can carry on  with your infantile teasing

I’m schismatic  when it comes to how I reach the finish line

Who’s checked in first class to a welcome troupe of genuine, empowering people who know how to demonstrate what they are truly feeling?

*Inspired by deadlines, laptops crashing, building websites, fickle people and the urge to write some waffle

 

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Be careful what you wish for.

Another deadline has passed. I should get my marks back after the 12 th February. I haven’t had a chance to pause and I’m already drafting my 3rd TMA (due 30th March).

I haven’t been on here much as I’m fighting with Wix online website creator to get my business up and running. I guess when you work with your Mother -you never get to be boss 😦

She’s a slave driver!    slightly kidding.

For those interested in the conclusion to my dalliance in the supernatural genre, it starts where it is underlined.

BEHOLD!  This hopefully makes up for any let downs anyone reading this may have after reading the story. Thank you, Scott @ The Order of the Dog/ Horace, and Winston Churchill, for inspiring the title of this story.

 THE ORDER OF THE BLACK DOG

My family. Here we all are, sitting around the circular dining room table- flecked with bits of gold. Ma sits under a hanging portrait of this Christmas just gone. Three weeks ago. We are all smiling in it including Poppy. Poppy sits playing with her Annabelle doll, on my husband’s lap. Sat opposite from Ma, closest to the electric fire hearth is Gran. I find myself sitting across from Gran. An iciness breathes mist over us. It separates me from them, cloaks me in a fog. I try to swallow. The air is so thick it chokes me, I’m forced to put my hands to my throat. Nobody notices me.  Nobody notices me the way they used to. I tune in to the conversation-taking place.

‘Of course I’m not suggesting this is your fault.  I should have known. Done more…’ Nan bursts into tears. A cry out for:

 I need attention I’m suffering the most.

My skin bristles. Nan pulls her scarf tighter around her neck, and then throws out a familiar comment about it being draughty.

‘You know I could catch pneumonia with my Asthma.’ She coughs. Ma gets up to put on the electric fire.

‘I didn’t take her seriously. You know what Angie was like?’  Ma’s eyes are red as the rosary beads she is thumbing; she looks over to an unusually quiet Poppy.

‘Did she just do it to spite me?’ How could she just leave her own…?’

 My husband throws a warning look at Ma,

‘Marie, for Poppies sake.  Our Angie suffered more than she let on.’ Ma sits back down. ‘Let’s put on a cartoon, luv?’  Poppy shakes her head.

 She doesn’t look at us.  I look straight at her, willing her to leave this table. Leave this conversation. She lifts her head and looks me dead on in the eyes. I instinctively smile. Eddie and me always stood together when it came to Poppy. Her face is pale, her eyes sunken, her skin is drawn in so tight I can see cheek bones protrude. Beneath her eyes-, veiled shadows betray her youthful face. She clings onto Annabelle, still looking me dead on in the eyes.

‘When’s Mummy coming home?’

 Silence. Her words enmesh with the silence. Her question disarms me. Marks me. The arrow leaves its bow splintering my heart. I open my mouth to scream out as many words as I can. Condensation steams the air distilling me into silence. I reach my hand across the table to grab hers. She doesn’t see me. I glare at my family sitting at the round table. They say nothing. Smothering themselves in sorrow, they witheringly curl inwards. I urge to shake them, uproot them from winters glaze.

-Answer her! Answer my daughter.

Instead, Gran succumbs to a puddle of wrinkled tears, mechanically Ma gets off her chair, attempts to console Gran and naturally it’s  up to Eddie to mediate.  My calm, rational Eddie. His eyes read as vacant –his beard is wild and unkempt.  It’s impossible to read his face. He clears his throat,

‘We’re gonna see Mummy when we give her… say a proper goodbye.’

Gran flounders in her anglers net of remorse.  Great splotchy splashes of grief escape. She wails,

‘She’s with the angels –looking down at you, darling!’

 I roll my eyes. Of course I love her!  Lately, she grates my skin more frequently with her, melodramatics.

– Confess how you truly feel. Relieved!

I’m so fixated on evoking a response from Gran; unnoticed, a light flickers with an intensity to match my own.  Eddie carries Poppy over to the sofa, sits her down to watch a cartoon. He covers her with a blanket then kisses her forehead.

‘We’ll see mummy soon? To say goodbye?’

 Eddie nods his head, his voice cracks.

‘Aye, love.’

‘When will mummy come back from saying goodbye? In spring? My teacher says it’s winter – everything goes to sleep like her?’ Poppy points to ‘Sleeping Beauty’ on the television.

 Eddie focuses on the image. The Prince is just about to kiss Aurora on the lips. He turns his head away from the television before he can see Aurora wake up to her true loves kiss. He grinds down on his teeth. Poppy’s eyes remain transfixed on the television. Eddie gets up, crosses the dining room table; I’m compelled to follow him, I have to stop him. Tell him I’m still here. I haven’t gone anywhere. I’ve so much to tell him.

 -There is no God! We were right all along. Religion is for people who can’t think for themselves.  We were right to take the piss.  

Eddie flinches, puts his hands in his jean pockets. I follow him down Ma’s hallway and into the bathroom. He closes the door on me. It doesn’t ever close fully. I slip through the crack of the door that is always ajar.

 Head down. Still. He sits on the toilet seat.  I kneel down before him; go to lay my head on his knee. He flinches again. Hits himself in the head. Bangs his fist on the wall screams out:

‘Why? We could’ve figured it out, you fucking stubborn mare’ I bring out the best and worst in Eddie. Till death do us part. What are the chances?

He still refuses to let me go. Stubborn.

My symptoms intensify in the days leading up to the funeral. Everything‘s heightened especially emotions that seemingly walk precariously on stilts.  I can’t walk through walls or levitate. Nothing like any of the horrors Eddie and me used to watch together, on the sofa. 

Unheard, I bellow continuously,

-Just let me go!

 Every time I hear my name called reflections of nostalgia flash and beam over and around me. Prompted, I gravitate towards the source. Someone needs me.  These past three weeks, I’ve been teleported from one conversation to another. I find myself in a room; familiar or not familiar, with people I know and people I don’t know.

Today I’m summoned to the usual bickering between Ma and Gran. The familiar sound of Gran’s kettle boils in the background.

‘I want that picture of her on her graduation day and flowers- blown up .With azaleas. And roses – she loved roses- pink.’  

‘She hates that picture! And she loves- loved yellow roses…’ Ma’s wobbly voice mirrors her jelly struck legs propping her up in her work shoes. She staggers backwards. Like the black dog with a bone, Gran won’t give in,

‘No, she’s my eldest grand daughter and I know her – it is… was pink!’

 Ma sits down, doesn’t speak. I go over to her to put my arms around her then she dissolves into tears. Gran bulldozes her way over to us. Intimidated, I move out of her way. Gran holds Ma and Ma lets Gran hug her. Ma calms down, mentions something about pink and yellow roses

Vexed, I shriek

 – don’t back down Ma, I love yellow. Yellow roses. The kettle whistles for attention. My voice is lost to an object.

‘I’ll go make that cup of tea’ Nan retreats to her kitchen.

Another opportunity to get close to Ma again.   I need to hug her, give her some of my energy. As if on cue, Mum’s tear-stained face crumples just like my heart. A poking hot iron burns a hole right through it. Gran re-enters the room I scarper.

‘Here you go, love. Lost three of my own …, as you know, mind, they never got to Angie’s age. Yellow’s more of a quirky colour like our Angie… was.’     They smile at each other. I move back, the distance seems to illuminate their smiles.

Tonight, I beg for there to be a heaven. This has to be hell. The familiar, incongruous, gravitational pull lures me out of my cavernous abyss. I blink my eyes several times to focus: orientate myself. Hung up around the wall are vintage Disney posters. My eyes settle on Poppies bed. Eddie bends over Poppy and kisses her goodnight,

‘Mummy loves you just as much as I do.’ He tucks her in.

He switches off the light before walking out. I stand and watch my worn out daughter in her bed. She sings herself to sleep just as she does every night. She sings our song:  twinkle twinkle little star. With each inflection of her sweet singing voice, the words serve as a needle. Each word stipulates smelting hot ink into my flesh. My neck is ablaze.  Before closing her eyes, she whispers,

 ‘I love you mummy.’

When I reply, scorching chains wrap and lasso me around my neck. My skin swells up in blisters. The familiar sound of her breathing evaporates the pain.  I need to be close to her, I need to smell her, kiss her. Carelessly, I run over to her bed to touch her sleeping head. Startled I lunge backward as Poppy instantly wakes up screaming.

– I’m powerless

. Eddie barges into the room, throws on the light and takes Poppy into his arms. I watch her body stiffen; then relax. I watch him settle my daughter back to sleep. My hands ball into tight fists.

-She must know I’m here.

Before I can touch her face, she wakes up screaming like – like she has seen a- ghost.

-I’m that Ghost! I put my hands to my mouth in horror.

 Envy bubbles inside me as I witness Eddie consoling Poppy again. I’m half hoping he won’t succeed.

What kind of a mother am I?

I’ve been telling everyone to let me go.

Where will I go?

I can’t drive, no one can see me. There are no other lost souls wondering about telling me to join the dead community!

I won’t give up on my daughter. She needs me. I have to be here.

 The stroke of our clock announces its time; a primitive realisation slithers down my very core. Nausea spirals up into my throat. I run into our bathroom, heave over the toilet, nothing comes out. I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror; I see vicious V-shaped welts where the noose of the rope has cut into my neck. This is what Eddie came home to.

The cloying black dog of depression haunted me. Its delivered dose of pain was exquisite- nothing took it away. Not drinking, overdosing, drugging myself, talking-nothing. Eventually, I told it to sit down.  I told Eddie repeatedly,

– I just want to disappear.

– How can I help you?  His eyes pleaded for an answer.  I would always lash out,

-Unless you help me disappear, you can’t!

 I remained imprisoned in our bed and he would go back to work and look after Poppy and the house. He could walk away from me. I couldn’t. I resent him for that. I can see myself now, googling the various ways people commit suicide. One article struck my eye ‘Men are more successful at committing suicide’.

  -They don’t mess about with poisoning themselves –they resort to more violent means.

That is the moment I reached out to the wrong Alpha.

The black dog and I began sleeping together. It became my obsession. Up-close, I could analyse it, experiment with it. As a couple, it didn’t take much to find that Alpha rage. One phone call from Ma,

-Just snap out of it. If you’re going to do it, get on with it.

-Fine, I will!  I hung up on her before she could hang up on me.

My impulsiveness finds me trapped within this mirror. It’s cold. Everything I read is back to front. Everything I do is back to front.  It doesn’t reflect my true intentions. When I reach out, in fact, the more I reach out the more pain I inflict. I back away from the mirror until I’m pressed up, with my back against the bathroom wall.

 What have I done? 

 What right do I have trying to tell my family how to deal with their loss?

Eddie will never know that I was messing about; I didn’t know if I could actually go through with it. From a great height in a corner of the bathroom my body feels cut loose from itself. I can see it happen in front of my eyes. Like a rerun episode, I can’t pause. The noose around my neck, in the shower. Steam shrouds the mirror, with slippery feet, I accidently knock myself off that chair and in that moment I realise,

– I don’t want to die.

I can’t scream and tell anyone. I made the decision when I decided to sleep with my enemy. I’ve interrupted the natural course of life. A lost soul in life: a lost soul in death. There are no bright lights to come with this epiphany. I exit the bathroom, stumble down the staircase, out the front door, and walk aimlessly down the street. I sense a familiar pair of eyes examining me; I look up and see the black dog in its true form. It waits for me to catch up.  We walk side by side. I don’t look back.  I am the one preventing people from moving on. I have to let go.

I won’t go into the commentary in this post. I think my reference and citations pages came up to about 15 pages!  Which is nuts!

My next TMA  is about a highly gifted and beautiful girl who plays the classical piano. She is also being groomed by her manager/lover to be a super model. She is adored by her fans around the world. Her biggest wish is to beable to have sight.

The scene begins with Eve playing a melancholic piece of music and a seemingly lovely old lady offers to exchange her sight for Eve’s essence.  The whole script ends in tragedy. Eve soon finds out why people are attracted to her. She can now see the world with eyes and she loses touch with her other senses. People hate that she can see them. They feel exposed, judged.

What makes Eve so special and endearing to people is her lack of sight. She is unable to see the world the way people with sight do.  It is a horrible world we live in, isn’t it?  Oddly enough, I’m inspired by Shakespeare – the play has a somewhat midsummer nights /fantastical dream-like feel to it – the main theme focuses on human conditions and relationships. Something Shakespeare flaunted well.

Guess who becomes the new darling of the music world?  The rest is still being written in my head. It only has to be 18 minutes and then it’s back to the homeless piece.

 It is a horrible world we live in, isn’t it?

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Oddly enough, I’m inspired by Shakespeare – the play has a somewhat midsummer’s night /fantastical dream-like feel to it – the main theme focuses on the human condition and relationships. Something Shakespeare flaunted well.

I’m catching up on blogs. I am missing you all so much.

DAISY XOXO

I will leave you with the words of the inimitable Charles Bukowski. He wasn’t a misogynist! 

 

 

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Sadie

Swollen lips pricked

send a  trickle of blood sauntering down her pale leg

Treat her with fragility and she may open up to you -with vagile virility – trust in her own common sense.

Let her tease you into bed, out layered by peels of laughter.

you could find yourself lying up looking at her naked body, legs astride,   in your bed.

Don’t try to stop her from controlling the ride. When Sadies on top you best stay on her appealing side.

All reason shuts down – arousal highjacks all senses.

Amygdala orgasms – her hands guide you to let down all defenses.

Light strokes vary speed and pace. Controlled movements-surrender does he when he glimpses bits of skin seen through playful lace.

Cleansed and tainted all in one dance of sensual explosion.

Sweat, red cheeks,   clothes abandoned, sheets ruffled into a mood of confusion.

Discard thoughts of pain numbed by oxytocin released from incarceration.

Eye to eye contact -Sadie’s initial taunts inspire events such as this cheeky body adoration.

Whispered petit amours, hairs raised to embrace all sensation.

Blood whips into a frenzy – the body climaxes into a bewildered orgy of elation.

Beating hearts enthrall Sadie to linger. All mighty mother nature – gave us each blessed finger.

Sadie gives when she feels she can un-ribbon her mask of distrust.

Not many have broken her hymen soul – merging adoration and lust.

Needs fulfilled don’t ask her how it was. Look into her eyes, see her smile, her face will not betray her mind.

She doesn’t have to answer with praises of technique.

 Trust in yourself that Sadie has tasted the best delicacies she can find.

Tongue provokes once soft nipples – get it right and she will let you know if this entices her.

Spontaneous love.

All time suspended from her world,

you may lose yourself,

 entangled in limbs.

She doesn’t need your confession – though she smiles at the gesture.

She knows your lip service is filled with the original grace of binding hymns.

Sexual creatures come out of hiding when treated with respect.

Learn to appreciate art and learn to appreciate a woman.

Learn what is and isn’t a subject.

Study her and she will catch you out when you least suspect it.

She can conjure up a fine table in a laboratory with you as her primary object.

She was endowed with gifts of pleasure and seduction from her first breath.

That look, you wonder – what could she be thinking?

Maybe you unwrapping her with delight saved her from an eternity of slumber floating face down in a river of Styx death.

*Inspired by Gustav Klimt’s  ‘ The kiss’*

The Sweet Seduction of Art

It’s not every day someone is able to take my breath away with words. Such finesse, so subtle, a seducer of minds. I would be doing a great injustice if I didn’t share -his or hers work. There are some incredible poems on here. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

The Sweet Seduction of Art1Daisy in the willowslays head effortlessly on pillowsand stares into the camera lensthenpretendssendsart out to humanityin love with/and yet mad at meEnd of Januarythe world seems colderShe takes a glance over hershoulderwe’re two souls writing poemsdeft and boldermaybeadmittinglythen we should bebut this is lifeintwo thousand and seventeenShe may laugh at the notionbut she lives in the dreamDaisy in the Willowsyou know that we will goanywhere art decides to take usan abundance of knowledgebut such a lack of trustin Humanityin the tenderness of ManDaisy can save me if she’lljust take my handand walk a mile along the English shoreline at duskan abundance of beautyyet such a lack of trustin My wordsin My Artbecause we’re all totally disconnected fromanother’s heartwe just walk dead day to day doing what we dothat is why I wrote this poemjust to prove to youthat Art and Humanity can in factintertwineand for the rest of the day at leastI will ownyour mindShare this:

Source: The Sweet Seduction of Art