Talking head challenged a stroke

*Things/thoughts society urge people not to talk about or write about*

If you believe everything you read then I should have gone into the media business.

 Meg!

 thanks for this.  Meg is highly artistic and creative lady who only sees a hint of her talents.

She is a friend and the reason I’m writing this post.

song inserted to listen/lyrics at end of post  (optional) – It all ties up at the end……

 

DISSIDENT DAISY THOUGHTS

How to know if you are not a weakling sap?

You do everything wrong.

starve yourself, stay in bed, pretend everything is okay, hoover crap up your nose, watch and wait for your grandma struggle with death for 3 days.

Forget about what makes you well and happy.

Fallout with everyone you would die for

Think you have ignored your daughter’s needs  and are dismal parent

then, still say

N0.

I’m sorting out my priorities.

H20 AND O2  🙂

moment by moment

I tumbled a fair way -off the waggon wheel.

This is not just about drugs – in fact, drugs are probably the only dysfunctional part of me that looks so horrific and doomed because it is so visceral.

People can’t see my other issues.

Okay, maybe a bit of weight loss- not so shocking that people turn around and gawp. I cover it up well.

I slipped off the waggon – mentally and physically many months before I decided to reach out for coke.

Point is, I did a three-week drug binge – hated every moment of it.

It took the announcement of my Gran being given the short straw of life to stop fucking about.

She may or may not be in heaven. I hope she is.

This may or may not be a piece of fiction.  I hope it is.

Research for my EMA?   ( one of my characters is addicted to drugs and is homeless)

well, he was when I last looked at the script back in November…..

I told the supplier not to supply me. He respectively hasn’t and I respectively haven’t had the desire to ask.

I  don’t like the way drugs or alcohol make me feel or act. I don’t like how denying myself food I like and love makes me feel.

I don’t like what the symptoms of my issues does to my personality, how I behave when caught up in it.

People slip everyday.

How many accident claim adverts have you seen lately?

Slip up, is what meant. 😉

Most people don’t talk about it.

What have I got to lose?

I have everything to gain.

My integrity.

War is peace

Truth is Freedom……….

Ignorance is strength ? 

ha! got you 

George Orwell is a pseudonym  😀 

My family…….

bloggers who know the real me – bloggers like Meg.

People in my real life may read this and go………………

I’m not telepathic and I never ever want to be.

I DON’T GIVE A FUCK, WHAT YOU THINK. EXCEPT TO THE ONES, I SPEAK TO BUT I ONLY SPEAK TO PEOPLE WHO GET ME.  ( maybe that would sound better in a ghetto lingo)

I’m on the mend. I still have issues – just cos I’m not hoovering shit up my nose doesn’t mean I’m  100% healed.

What about your business Daisy?

Business is growing.

How did you support your habit?

I rented out my body …

(FACT OR FICTION )

does it matter?

I have a personal account and a company business that is separate and I have another issue where what I would spend on food gives me overflow money to spend on prostitutes, porn, dunking doughnuts, Cider, cars, gambling, clothes, shoes,  drugs – illegal and legal self-medicating.

Yes, love a bit of Erotica   – Anais Nin 😉

 

The point is the waggon is not electric and it is in sight. I’m running alongside it.

What about your Master’s degree, Daisy?

Doing it. On track.  One more scipt to write and year one down.

I can tell you -100% truth that having mental health issues and reverting to my default coping mechanism has done NADA for my creativity.

Me being me and writing from my heart and keeping my head just about screwed on is why I have managed to come out of this with flowers blooming out my ass.

I digress.

Bit of a rant…

Thank you,

Meg

for the tag.

I TAG (optional)

BROOKE @ THE UTOPIA UNIVERSE

CHARLIE@ CHARLIE ZERO THE POET

I LOVE A CHALLENGE.

I LOVE MUSIC.

Combine the two together and I have put myself up for a HEALTHY CHALLENGE.

It’s going to be a busy couple of weeks sorting out the funeral with my Ma.

I need to help others to dig myself out of my own shit storm.

I’m committing myself to this challenge because I can.

A song I currently love is this

It gives me hope that the youth of today are thinking like this young lady.

Enjoy…..

 

[Verse 1]
My quiet observations on the bus city people lost trust
Maudley’s out patients are shouting with the pavements
They looking rough can’t get to grips so they end up looking worse than shit
Maybe if I can see who there talking too I might talk to them to so they can prove
The spirit never lies but before I get to try the clouds open up and let god cry
Why is this white lady nervous cause 3 black youths come on so she checking were her purse is
Make me feel nervous like they ain’t my country like they don’t really want me
But mummy always love me I never had a daddy it was me and my mummy
Mummy was my daddy I can either cry or see it as funny
How you can have a child and then just leave
Now I’m walking around with my heart on my sleeve cause I’m effected anytime anybody leave
You can see my scars and hear my silent screams
I been reading books to analyse my dreams and to me it seems
The only chance we get to make sense of it is when we put our heads down a little bit
That’s why I’m spitting it cause each one teach one and you can take it how you want don

[Hook]
Right now I got a lot of work to do
I gotta smooth out my edges
Eat more veges
Listen to my elders
Vibe with my peers
Confront my fears and
Finish this album
Right now I got a lot of work to do
I gotta represent the youth
Speak more truth
Eat more fruit
Get wise with my years
Confront my fears and
Finish this album

[Verse 2]
But it seems I get side tracked it’s like a mind trap I get a call real late bout were the foods at
Cause certain man a certain place got certain food to taste so my Nikes are laced
And I was never really one to stay awake through a working day for them little bit pay yo
This nine to five is just killing me slowly but quitting is for quitters so I wait until they fire me
But now no one will hire me cause I got more lies in my CV than a pro’s had STD’s
When will they see I was born to reign entrapment is my pain I need to feel alive again
I need a man that compliments my style overstand I’m this way until I die
Has ambitions of his own so ovastand i don’t wanna be alone I just need a little time in my zone
This one goes out to my shotters in the alleys were all brothers and sisters were all family
All my sisters trying to raise there babies all the youth man with court cases crazy
It’s like the smarter you are the bigger your worries stupid people are lucky trust me
This one goes out to my people with ambition I’m still learning I’m still trying but for now

[Hook]

[Verse 3]
Honesty is courage and since I got the heart of a lion then there’s no sense in lying
I portray my life over violins no matter what it brings least I’m being real
When I look at my future I fear failure I fear the fact that you might not like me
I know I’m skilled but just maybe slightly what if my light don’t shine so brightly
I’m scared of that I’m telling you the truth I’m scared of that
What if the doctor said you couldn’t have children
What if the system they tried to topple what I’m billing better living for all my ghetto children
And I don’t mean were you live I mean your state of mind
Cause ghettos not just a place ghetto is a vibe
And I don’t need no boastie words or complicated flows
If I know what I gotta do then I flow
But sometimes I get tired sometimes I lose faith I guess that’s the reason that we got to church
Cause when you at the bottom of the barrel it hurts need something to believe in and God works You think spiritual is just hocus pocus what you really saying is you have not noticed
Inside us all is a silent protest you can acknowledge or ignore but me

SPEECH DEBELLE – FINISH THIS ALBUM

ANAIS NIN IMAGE CREDIT

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Societies Ills

 

Sitting with a cup in me hand,rattling my pennies. The wind cuts through my salvation army coat – I feel bare.

Half an hour until the big brother brigade does their rounds, to come  clear off the debris of me, offending society, with my appearance of failure. Glasses fixed on nose bridges to hide poverty’s despicable,  shining glare.

It wasn’t meant to get to this point. I had a home, a family. Believe me, I was a carer. That was many years ago.

I let my parents down. They was ill. They fought a lot. Dyspraxia and Alzheimers is a blinding, rallied up bull  shit way  to steer 30 years of love straight out the front door with a forceful blow.

Pa was getting violent he couldn’t help it – it was the  frustration. The illness works that way . Too much protein in the brain ,the doctor says.

I don’t care much for protein. I just wanted him to get the right meds,  to make him the  man who he used to be

I came home from school one day and the living room had been touched by pa’s hard  handed caress.

‘Put ya fecking glasses on – you thick cow. Turn them around. ‘ere give them to me I’ll show you how.’

Ma was crying. Her perception was off the wire – crazy. Dad went to put on me ma’s glasses and stopped dead in his tracks.

 He had forgotten why he was standing next to Ma- and lashed out – his moves were not shady but he  was hazy.

I couldn’t watch them do this any longer. I had to get out. I wished to start a new life. 16 – find a home I could call me own, addle, get a job and be Miss independent. carefree,sipping on splendour.

I found me a job – I was smart not like them other lasses, herded in like cattle, branded with the letter P. Marked,dotted, scarred, scared, drugged – too skinny to be called slender.

I started washing up pots,owt I could do. I needed a step to reach them. They were that big. I was that short.  The gaffer  he was a bit of twocker- A Tyke.

 He should have been wooing his guests instead of fondling me tits ,grabbing me ass and jerking off with the hand he vowed to his wife to stay faithful with.

I couldn’t take that shit no more. I was no whore. I suppose I could have called me Ma and Pa

I said No. Loud and clear.

Decibels reverberating – Tin Tin like.  I was barking mad.

 Hotel  guests, eating their warm croissants, couldn’t ignore  the tone – it was him that had set that bar.

Didn’t even get me wages. Couldn’t pay me rent. I only had a room but it was my home. A place none could bother me. I could come home kickoff me shoes and read and chill.

 Be at peace.

That were  a few years now. Things change. Time never stops. Drugs, alcohol, overdoses, hospital beds.

None of it worked. I just got older, street smart, I was now living amongst  wild, underfed , hope-starved geese.

No place to shower, they say it takes 3 seconds to make an impression on someone. No jobs – the only job I could get was the hardest graft I ever did.

 Squatting on the cobbles and begging for scraps of bread.

Bread,

dough,

blast me to oblivion ,

 fresh like a baguette- warm ,baked.

 I was safer in  the streets than I was in a seedy local pub.

The pervading scent emanating from these places was  the end of hope and that was my biggest dread. I’d rather  be underground dead.

I got in with some  Christian volunteers – at first, I was in tears. I had Hope, but I had lost faith.

 Pa, he had gone into a state care home and Ma?  well, she had a stroke and I don’t know. It just got harder to think of going back. Mind,  it was me guilt.

At first, it felt like they were recruiting me for their cult. I knew there is no God.  I had seen what mercy truly looked like. Bleak. a dying art.

 I got attacked one night,got meself in a right snicket. I know I wasn’t to blame. Wrong place, wrong time, could have happened to anyone.

 It was me.

Weeks went by , started feeling nauseous, went to A&E – they confirmed what I knew.I was up the duff.

 I knew I had to reach out – me and my child  depart ?   never crossed my mind -not even  from the start.

9 months  passed . The SS got involved – my baby was honey coloured hair and blue eyed. A prize catch ,a  tick off the adoption incentive  target list.

I didn’t stand a chance. They convinced me she’d be better off in another one’s arms.

That toppled me, I came down like a house of cards. Not original but tell it like it is, Bards.

I started living in shared accommodation.Nice people, life been shit. We all make choices – doesn’t make us bad people,right?

I lost the plot, forgot my goals- to become a suited and booted member of society. I had my mobile phone I got  given to me by the charity.

I whip it out. I got a text.

what’s app – it’s free.

Overweening  Lady, with the fine, make up on and pretty, salon styled hair and the sparkly engagement ring. Don’t look at me like that and stare.

Is it so wrong to have a phone and live on the street off and on ? I ain’t got no one to marry me.

”  I’m starting to get ideas for what I want to write about in my first script for my MA. What prompted this stream of consciousness is obviously the content.  One of the themes of the play is centred around  Homeless people. I saw a man – I presume was homeless the  other day begging for my some money and he was texting with his phone. My first reaction was rather judgemental -so I started asking myself questions and this is the result. The register/style  of speaking and writing  I use is inspired by how some  people in Yorkshire speak. “

Daisy Willows

All I need.

The need in me is to create.  What?

Anything – it is all up for debate.

I’ve been away far too long from my usual stream of conscious ramblings.

Doing important, official  work in the real world. I don’t mind but my urge to write  ding dongs in my head like Big Ben , pinching  at my nerves like little crablings.

Walk sideways, it’s fun .I don’t mind.  To not feel able to put thought to paper is  a pain that  lunges at me with pincers.

Threatens to cut, alter my composite  chemistry that aids my synapses to   hop from one tufty  cloud to the next .

I’ve fallen off this heady tuft of higher ground.  Landed in a dank, damp, dark marshy bog – I look around  me and I see my only flight back home is sinking in the mud.

Oh, see how much I have wept.

 Humpty dumpty  had a far  easier break. I’m  burning up – I’m spilling out my innards from every orifice. I’m burning  up  a fever, tactile sensations- uncomfortably  scrambled.

If I could just sit up and inhale a breath. I’m tired.

 Tired.

I am sick of heading for the routine spine bash.  

Dreary Dystopic  drones in uniform hedge all around me.

I know I am ambushed. 

Spare this loaf. Save some for later . Don’t be Greedy.

We all need some form of energy to buzz us into a land of fantasy. 

 This existence is not all it’s cracked up to be.

Necessary to be a part of, I agree .

I need to chill-out.  Don’t you see?

I have to have an outlet – that allows me to just, Let me be me!

I promise I won’t hide from my civic duty. You don’t need to contain me  in a fryer with other slices of chips off the old block.

I am patriotic.

I understand my need to be part of the solution.

Eyes rise up  to the skies- Pink tufts, hues colour me in , a chance for wizardry to occur. I promise I  won’t become unwell again .

 I won’t lose myself entirely that I become an invalid to humanities true cause. Resolve for my Absolution!

Before you take that roller pin to my head. I’m already malleable  – ready to rise . See how  blanched I am –  covered in fine ,white, earthly grounded  flour.

See, look!  Pat me down.

Check my left pocket. 

A quill.

Check my right pocket. 

ink .

Together I can re write this story – or create a captivating ending for everyone – I can whisk you away from a life  so dour and sour. 

Temporarily of course. Just for a fleeting moment – I can change your wooden hearts and make them beat again.

Feel, breathe.

You can be Lucida.

Fetch me that parchment – just by that oak tree. Three combined ingredients are all that we need.

No dark spells. My  intentions are pure.

My need is  to make you see an alternative  style of Living – a  tiny bit clearer.

Imagination does get rusty when we don’t use it.

We can use some of  that oil from the this-worldly  fryer to lubricate , intoxicate. 

Envision any place you want to go that feeds into your happiness

How do you want me to start?  

Once upon a  time, we abandoned our  traditional milieu  to head to a place, where we all could  flex our buns in a manner of  straight out wackiness. 

I have my cure!

sizedimage.png

spinebash

[spahyn-bash]

verb (used without object), Australian Slang.

1.

to rest; loaf.

DICTIONARY.COM

My True penny

I’m taking back my power.

I’ve got my ammo and my gun powder.

I’m not going to use it cos I’m more of a peace than a ‘fuck you -let’s bomb you to oblivion’ type of  person.

I have realised that  to allow someone who thinks nothing about me to have so much power to lure me into a paralysed state of persuasive perversion is:

 True insanity. I have my true penny and that is what counts.

I pushed him  away like a woman under attack –  I pushed  my lot away – until it formed blood clots on the insides – comparably sized to mounting a  herd of elephants.

unwilling to be ridden- trunks raised up, irate – exploding in  shouts.

I started to talk about what goes on in my head and my true penny told me that we all makeup scenarios in our minds, to make sense of the lives and situations we come across, in this world of an  uncertain,  never-ending skyline.

I thought I was losing it.

I thought I  was obsessed.

Turns out my brain works out  my issues based on characters and story lines and other  shenanigans.

Crazy?  maybe but creativity strokes  the  beat with a brush  –  I feel there is  almost a genius to be found walking on this fine line.

Swastikas and Reds are not my idea of interior decorating.

Tearing down my  walls.

One little Nazi’s thought is not going to make me come down to that kind of level.

I have my life.

 I am the queen of my disco.

I have retro  roller skates on .

 The sun is my Disco ball.  I’m on the rooftop, in the light-beaming under the  rays.

Not hiding in the dark, under the influence,an imposter.

A star that can’t twinkle, dishevelled – so shady – a back turns away –  It’s the one known as the  blue devil.

We are on two separate  paths –  I notice  the screams of a   shaken baby.

A rattle spins across the floor – Dummy dribbled with garbled spit.

I guess mommy is right when she says: ‘You always want what you can’t have’

It’s not infatuation, love or anything like that – This baby is  having a tantrum – she  didn’t get what she  wanted .

She  didn’t even get a maybe.

I’m done slithering  on my belly across damp floors.  Waiting for the next Gestapo, soot-stained  boot to squelch  me.

Turn out my guts until, all you can see is the insides of me- a sore sight of  limacine.

Phantom limb syndrome – I am back from the  war of past, oppressive obsession.

  I’m awake.

 Clarity.

Nightmares were all I had to grieve over.

 I didn’t lose any limbs. Only my inner self- belief .

 I’m a china teapot lady – I’m done  trying to find happiness in a person who happily  lives  life drinking out of cups made of polystyrene .

 The present is my greatest gift.   I’m not wasting another second wishing on  dreams that we can be friends.

My heart is my greatest ally and foe. It makes me work.

Dwarves getting their hoes to do all the work – chasing fairy dust ,  axe- picking fights with one another, to grow in a place under a roof of  artificial light.

Genuine and melodic – true light – mountain breeze is the only place I will find a place to atone.

To make amends.

Let it go and go with the flow

I stand before the world smiling – unashamed – this is my show.

 

SHOUT OUTS AND AWARD NOMINATATONS TO FOLLOW

 

Do I get a star?

Discipline is what is required to receive the Masters of Creative writing.

To be perfectly honest when I am told to do something- I just want to be a bit of a rebel.

Shout out  a mega –No!

 My spirit kicking and fighting.

Word of the day.

Absurd to think I don’t even know if I have started to go gray.

Vanity.

Simply vanity.

A neutral  medlem of society.

forget the bloods and  the crips -it is we who are the true calamity.

Word of the day.

Can I just willy Neigh  Neigh?

September,

September is coming .

 Or as they say in Games of thrones –

Winter is coming!

It is on this isle.

I must write every day – stretch my brain – like- candyfloss.

Chewing on thoughts ,words to use,to make this an epic  – poetic -nonacademic,   empty  sweet wrapper to toss,

In the bin.

Environmental awareness is   ever so hip and positively in.

For how long, though -we are a fickle lot ?

Where to place this word in my head?

Scooby doo comes to mind,

Daphne,

Blonde dude and who was that other  one?

He had  a hell of a time conquering his phobia – which turned out to be his career – catching the rising dead?

I’ve heard of challenging yourself but what’s his name -seriously needs a new career counsellor – open up a burger joint or smoke one.

Daisy doesn’t condone drugs , in fact, I am the only person I know that can’t smoke the herb due to the whiff of  paranoia that is unleashed from my sensors –

I become  that buxom lass who lost a few buttons on her blouse and finds herself – ahem  unsexily undone.

I can assure you – it is no fun.

Books, so many books to read………

If only I could inhale books as much as I can inhale food like mead?

Well , drink, eat, whatever- you get my drift……

Oooh, that was spooky.

Did you feel that ice plummeting temperature drop ?

It left with the drift.

on its way out,

 I think it whispered boozy I mean breezy .

Did it just call me a floosie?

Goose pimples,

do not want to make me show you my dimples.

I’m being frivolously  silly, I do sincerely  know it.

I’m having a ball!

In an earthy , grounded way of course. Go  get into my extra ,bespoke,  vintage flow kit.

Dapper!

Flapper.

Starlight scatter!

I want to live in a world where everything is just, Darling!

Okay – this is getting ridiculous.

I’m sure by now -you are pulling out possible gray hairs,

rolling your eyes,

spitting out  ‘time waster’, snarling.

Okay, folks, I will put you out of your misery –

I recalled the name of that last  bumbling, ghost hunter gang banger – my mind is no longer scuzzy.

Are you ready?

His name was Thrummy.

Why are you laughing ?

 I know my characters!

Shaggy was the one  who did all that banging on the  bathroom room floor – butt naked I might add.

I say let it be.

It sure as hell wasn’t me.

I wrote something.  I come bearing gifts…..

 YAY!  THANKS ALL! 😀

giphy (10).gif

thrummy[thruhm-ee]

adjective, thrummier, thrummiest.

1.

of or abounding in thrums; shaggy or tufted.

DICTIONARY.COM

 

 

Her Legacy.

Coming from a place of Fury. Never go to sleep with an angry mind so I saved it for waking up on my side of the bed.

Move two steps and three paces backwards, doubts plague me. Dementia ‘s grey cloak  veils all I want to retain in my head.

The sheep get weary before I do.

I watch them sleep.

Wolf- like I want to smash through them. Fangs connect -impact on bone and tissue -a red massacre.

I need colour in my life.

This visceral creativity is swallowing me whole. I’m in the bottle – blurred images are all I see on the horizon.

Spin the bottle ,maybe I will land in a place  with less strife.

Cramming  in mouthfuls of

anxiety,

 self-loathing,

head battering, assault weapons of thoughts .

I’m bloated to the state that my discontentment leaves me, like a sleepy wide-eyed owl – manic in my state – shoving in fistfuls – I need to lucubrate .

Nothing sticks except the whiff of the end of a successful selling day at a  Parisian fish market .

I am the babe the market seller gave birth to.Times up for this  broody bird to   incubate.

Cord snapped with a fish gutting knife. Abandoned  the moment money exchanged hands.

Only enough for a Meal for one. Survival is my greatest chance . Nurture myself and  hone in on any innate talents now, so I can control the succession of Fates brass bands.

It is my birthday. I get one day to shine. Tomorrow I could  be slapped away with one salty breathe,  inflicted wounds forgotten with yesterday’s newspapers headlines.

I came into this world with the cards I was dealt . I can cry a Seines- full of tears for the life that could have got caught up in the  catch of the day  fisherman’s net lines.

I refuse to be that inmate -on a bed of foliage, with one glassy eye, staring up at you . Doesn’t matter how well you dress  me up – my fate is not to be found in a 5-star Michelin restaurant.

Grill me ,  poach me,  puree me- see what happens when you try and throw me in the oil fryer .

This amphibian has wings of hope.  Higher consciousness has blessed me with a generous grant.

I soar above all the conventional career options for my kind.

I will never be normal and for that, I will not apologise .

Evolved -a hybrid.

I have to decline your maverick binds.

Today I walk with two legs  and two eyes looking forward. Destiny is a start and thanks you, dear mother,for letting me find my own way.

 I took my life into my own hands – my heart beats with passion,drive, ambition and the fear.

I have made it this far – so either stick by me and support me in what I do or feel free to stand out of my way and go astray .

sizedimage (3)

Summer Daze

When I  first saw you , in Sitges , across from the bay- To say I was struck by your display of non-attire   is hardly an understatement.

My eyes darted in every direction . Phallic erections were all I could see in my embarrassed array- it was all so blatant.

There was simply nothing else I could do  but hold eye contact with you – those emerald-flecked  eyes is when I felt true mesmerism.

It was only then I realised how naked I felt fully dressed on this hidden beach -it projected the true souls that contain all thing auriferous.

My hands easily untied my tie-dyed blue sarong. I didn’t stop there . I may only have a hand full but I whipped off my white bikini top and wriggled out of my bottoms. All I could sense was an aura emanating off of  you

(sigh)  simply so… chivalrous.

The sun shone starkly – but being the  mightiest of knights you picked up my clothes, placed them next to yours. You took my hand and guided me -running , gold spun,free – to the turquoise , fish enchanted ocean.

Legs entwined around your torso – skin on skin  contact – salty, wet, tongue licks of devouring  devotion.

Lavishing one  other, two became one. The ripples, the bubbles- our heady  infusion, blasted open my eyes to the skies- – tufted clouds – summoned up  an old tune-

Puff the magic dragon.

Magic is always possible when you believe in you.  I  swear it had nothing to do with  that extravagant  elixir  of a  cocktail – I  imbibed a  couple of hours before, at that quaint restaurant – the one that I drank out of a craggan.

Composure – time to depart, float on my back -contemplate this dilemma of how quick I was to abandon my clothes.

 I may have come into the world as naked as I am right now but I know what is waiting on the coastline is a far cry  from my fantasised hardened  cocks.

 In fact quite the opposite. I know no shadow can camouflage    the   pruned skin of a   60-year-old Grandad  with a   wrinkled ,flaccid   penis.

Christ,  I am 21 years old- apologies for the sudden heaving up of  old man smell that a young me loathes.

It was meant to be a bit of fun – find the secret nudist beach – have a laugh – take a few sneaky pics ,make them go viral- anything for a cheap high.

It’s gone viral alright – my mates couldn’t resist -filmed it all!

pardon me – if I gather  my clothes and seek legal advice to prove to you all – this act is one steeped in a state of  stultify?