Honest and upfront is what I do best. I’ve avoided blogging too much or connecting over the last few months because I’ve been hiding a lot of guilt and shame –
so I’ve been doing some thinking.
No stream of consciousness or poetry in this post…
Are you still with me? ha ha
I write for myself first and I always will. When I write for an audience I lose my way easily.
Apologies if this is old news to the more evolved spirits reading this. 😁
Daisy has an epiphany.
I’ve been contemplating on the saying ‘dig deep’
if you decide to use this quote to get you through an experience
Do you know why you need to dig deep?
My humble findings are what follows
Because whether we become aware and conscious, in this life (or not) about my proposed notion of the meaning of the ‘dig deep’ quote
(that’s a bit wordy. ha ha)
here it is:
from our very conception into this life
-Our first breathe – we start to dig our own grave.
We begin to design the lay out of where our final resting place or end will be.
It would epic and less stressful if from the moment we are born we knew what we are meant to be doing.
Many people never figure it out or, if they do its too late to ask them if they have for obvious reasons. 😞
Many people decide to choose a saviour be it in the form of an icon – a god, a person , goals – money, love, careers, addictions , etc…
We strive to find something to focus all of our seconds, minutes ,hours and years blatantly meandering about on this planet.
Be careful who you allow to support you – some people are so busy trying to save everyone else, ( we all do it at some point) we forget our first honour and duty is to save ourselves and know our own purpose.
It’s known in psycho babble terms as the dramatic triangle.
Most of use tend to flit between these roles depending on the situation we are in ,people we are around etc.
Many of us go on to have children who rely on us – depend on us to teach them how to navigate their own path – how to create their own resting place – and to be conscious that each action,
each decision they make has a hand in determining how they will die.
Teaching others to rely on themselves is blessing not a curse.
Only when we are faced with our own reflection and with no other help but our own resources that we have collected along our journey in life ; will we know how we will get to the other side or to our end in this characteristic form.
Some off us end up addicted, or come to our end at the hands of illnesses like cancer or dementia , car accidents etc.
Many of us are not aware that from the moment we are given independent life we are consistently (for better or worse) building our own coffins .
is it fair that we are not told this from our first breathe ?
I didn’t make up the rules in life or society.
We – I – can only govern myself and my actions.
Be wary who you try to help or who you accept help from.
Don’t get mad when people let you down
they are doing what they need to do – following their own purpose.
Some people never find out what their purpose is.
How comfortable and aware of your surrounding do you want to be when you take your last breathe in this life.
We create our own Elysium or heaven or utopia even –
sometimes it’s not what we want –
but we won’t know until we are swimming against the tide or even hanging ten and riding the wave.
I do know that I want to be as conscious and aware of my choices ,limits when the wave crashes .
My personal chosen Gods have always been tangible- in the form of fully crystallised human beings -flawed just like me.
I think I chose human idols to put all my faith in to
so that I can have a go at someone when “they” 😉 let me down. I want to face my own success and disappointments A-sap . Patience /Sabili is not a strength of mine.
I need to look at a reflection of myself to determine I exist.
it’s not easy to figure out life- there is probably more evidence for the saying that instead of trying to figure out life- it needs to be lived – consciously and with purpose.
We can live with purpose and not know if that purpose is right and we can live consciously and not know what out purpose is.
hopefully, with the aid of our experiences we can decide which of the tools or resources we need to use if/when we have a “I’ve possibly hit the bottom of my pit”.
How do I bypass this mythical minotaur I’ve read about?
We wonder how or,
if we can
are able to crawl out and up out of it to place where we can find some sense of comfort.
We wonder if we have the endurance, courage and motivation to get out of coal mine
Whether it’s worth finding a running brook of water to wash the soot from the I side out.
The alternative option is that our final resting place will be exactly where we decide to rest – in this case the bottom of a pit . State the obvious 😂
Only we can make our ending a place where we feel we have done everything in our power tosit amongst the angels or the gods of Olympus or whatever it is we believe in that will take us through from the beginning to the end, where we can feel at peace with ourselves.
Some of us – most of us never get to that point. Downerz 😁😁
I don’t know about reincarnation but I am aware.
Society tells us it’s a selfish idea
‘ look after yourself’.
Human beings are wired to reach out but how we do that and to know our boundaries and the boundaries of others is tricky and a part of the dance of life- the cha cha
one step forward backwards thing. I’m full of cliches in this post.
It’s scary to know we are ultimately alone – only we can change our selves – our emotions – our ideas – our path.
It’s hard not to resent others or life for making us so capable and resilient.
Damn you life! How dare you 😂
it’s easier to choose to not see the bigger plan – the idea that yes we govern ourselves and we must govern our selves and own our actions and our lives.
and at the same time understand that every move /choice/thought we make – has that butterfly effect –
we cause the ripples .
science has come up with a terminology -a language to help us understand our position in this world, our make up , what and how much we are capable of – how much responsibility we all have
How significant just one body made up if molecules is :to the rest of planet balancing out or toppling over –
We have nature to compare ourselves to – an example of what happens when we fuck up our ecosystems – when we put element a somewhere and take out element b from somewhere else.
It’s trial and error.
We repeat – the cycle continues.
The fear of being alone is a lot scarier than actually being alone
When I am alone left to decide -I choose to swim and come up for air.
I remember that I have walked the earth with legs , I’ve flown and seen the world from a bird’s eye perspective.
I’ve also stayed a rather unglamourous amphibian thinking I’m in a vast sea surrounded by a fellow hybrid form of alluring sirens
I choose to live another day. I don’t know if my choices are right or wrong – time is what it is.
People in my life , of my life
I love you but I don’t need any of you In the way I have allowed myself to believe I do.
Do i decide to fight the battle every day or fall back into walking state of slumber
She conceives words as they follow. Military soldiers conform to order.
Dissident few stutter in a withheld, race identity, chalk circle.
Her brain won’t allow her to move on.
Lamenting for a trusted source.
Collapses onto hot tarmac. Too tired to alter.
Melt her heart.
Resuscitate the breathe that gives her corpse a reason to impart
For a creative outlet,
Her own personal work of art.
Hands raking through her hair. Grip at the sides, pulls out a chunk,
She’s dating an alopecia hunk.
This funk makes junk.
Eyeball sockets sunk.
It would be better if she didn’t care if the words weren’t her own.
It wouldn’t matter if the characters didn’t continue to harass her.
Calling for their story to be heard.
Multiple attempts. She can’t cut out cardboard citizens.
Maybe in an empty space, yes.
Verbatim theatre could work.
She submits to an elusive entity.
Virtual paper work-enough to bag a colostomy.
Not been on here much.
The guilt makes her turn her head away.
She gets it,
She needs to reciprocate.
Sincerest apologies for not being present.
She’s surfing the web.
Googling data analysis and Lady bosses fine tuning their hold on her own grip.
She prefers to lie down on green pastures than make love, on a bed,of green bills any day!
Unfortunately, life says she has to pay in paper too to make some headway.
It’s all right. It will pass.
Shivering from the inside. Lack of carbon dioxide.
Waiting for the critical to report how much recovery time she needs before Muse Goddess ups and leaves.
It’s a look of a person. Shrivelled into crass.
Thought-rhyming is a pain in her ass.
She’s laying it down in quick dry cement.
she knows we all want to be that portrait
She’s a portrait too.
Has her needs
Open your eyes-reach out to touch her.
These layers of skin hide organs, bones ,
And a heart so tense-all it can do is wheeze.
“This is me. I can’t deny it.”
We all have a life.
Hers has become a familiar rendezvous with Alien Jackson sporting a mullet.
What does it matter if characters are Black, White or Hispanic?
Social realism settling on common ground upon its release.
Not for an escapist’s palate.
What is the state of theatrical politics, on the horizon, beyond that place we call-
Not even two Bonds can be saved.
Pearl earrings engraved.
Her gums are in recession.
Blame the bank and the Tories.
Her feminist views will place blame on those next in succession.
One larger – hangs limply from her chest.
Commit a mastectomy on her femininity
Humans fight terminal illness, homelessness…
How dare she think her position is dire.
Disbelief that that her renegade words follow in a Capitalist order.
She falls onto her knees,
Thanks Ashanti for her daughters.
Time to shove a half pill down some pussies throat.
Its nasty ,
Doubts whether deep throat works
She’s trying to stay afloat.
Her illness-the chronic versus the opposite divide
It’s her personal narrative that finds her margined between this blank space on each side.
Calm and serene.
A mother is reborn.
Lost for 3 days — late – couldn’t rise,
Her mind was indeed full of scorn.
Today, she waits,
Wrings out her anxieties.
Maybe new teeth will win her virtual friends.
Give her more appraising likes
Maybe, they will finally see that she is real,
rearranging her mask-unsure of what reflects back at her multiple ‘Me’s’
Her reflection is divided into pieces.
Cant fathom out that there is a whole entire being to examine
Jig saw puzzle unresolved ,
yet again crippled to her knees.
Fervent sweeping up of shattered glass.
For a figment of a second she saw an outline
Stories march in protest – for plot out lines, dramatic structure, scenes, reveal characters in lace
Just enough exposed to show.
Three more weeks, one year down-more time for unadulterated fun.
If you don’t hear from her,
Know she weeps every night into a whisky soaked bun.
It’s a metaphor.
Let go and melt the sun.
Cool down its temper. Versailles gardens make her think of France cut into a jambon quarter.
Carry on till the end.
All the books say she ought to.
Humming a song
Doing her thing.
A mere whiff of failure invokes convulsions from within.
‘Write for myself ‘
Truth , integrity and courage is the only way she will let herself be heard.
If you can’t accept her-carry on peeking over at her life, not mentioning if cuckoo finally flew.
One day, you won’t be able to tighten Ids screw.
*Inspired by a kish kash, Mish mash of nerve endings and beginnings .
why have thou forsaken me?
The only God I ever thought could fulfil and denounce all insipidity.
Creativity- my muse. usually, I type -words flow not perfect but in some sense of verse.
Can’t swallow – I’ve been cursed.
Another person knows the truth – think I want to go back up the birth canal first
over thinking rhyming words – music, hoovers, the energy is far from an ideal haven.
Look above, hear the wings flap – a freak migration of the black wings – inaugurate the raven.
All exercise comes from my smile – I’ve packed on the pounds frowning lines overused, flex around my mouth.
flex around my mouth.
Drop dead. A blow to the head. I’ve lost it. Muse? ditched me to become a stitched up cowboy down south.
Swallow guilt in packs of threes.
Music to my ears -guilt shake me, blood seeps out -donation date in arrears.
doubtful mind -caution mindfully what you attempt to incite.
Confederate vocabulary union matched up on a strike
No more smiling faces in sight.
Each word resigns – there is nothing left to type.
No tears pouring down his face. There is no moisture to wipe.
Studpity rots the brain
no more stories when a writer runs out of grain.
Shadows – I cower away . Shadows induce carbon monoxide attack
Clamp down on every thought – seize all my gear-leave me with not one solid fact in tack.
the writer who dunnit