Why did I eat That? 😀🤔

Why did I eat that ? 

Any cat will know I’m gonna scream bloody hell I’m so fat.

If only I meant it like I’m cool dealing with  a belly

extended like a starved, fledgling Biafran

Doesn’t mean I’m happy when the scales groan  

-too much mass. 

 

Why did I eat that? 

inhaled beans, and camembert cheese , tuna and pees

Hard core, non divergent, box ticking  Anorexic.

 I can’t throw up. I can’t use laxatives.

I sit with my new found rolls.

Puppy dog

not cute .

Eating disorder   you smutty little tease.

Why did I eat that?

Mushrooms to grow?

 Or shrink my stomach to  give off a sexy new  glow ?

Only so much fungi  I  can  mitigate when I’ve had an oral mastication blow.

This is not a pleasurable job.

Hands cover my eyes. No mirrors must  ever let me know.

 

Why did  I eat that ?

A memoir to torment my self – 30 tablets a day – neck it down

Sit on the psychiatrist  couch.

How about we  lose the meds, you give me the cure

I can show off a palatable pageant, non dentistry crown.

Why did I eat that?

I need energy, Cant go places without any juice

This ole devil gives me every sodamastic excuse.

The answer?

I’m feeling not quite right in the head.

I’m determined to  live out the next 30 years living free of   Bio-Pyscho-Social, self punishment  misuse.

 

 

 

 

I still have my head

Deadline for TMA 2 :  02 February 2017 –  7 days from now.

Code:

  • TMA (tutor marked assignment )

  • EMA ( end of module assignment) 

  • WRAP ( Wellness Recovery Action Plan) 

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I’m kind of organized. I’ve finally got my tutor speaking to me by email. I think the sun just came out.

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I put on my big girl trousers and waved the white flag. I need some of her input on my final EMA project proposal.

She has kindly passed it on to a script writing colleague to look at. I am waiting for a reply.

It would be great to get a reply ……………….. NOW!  😀

Just so I can plan my life and round up the first year of this MA. Nothing Major.

 

I’m thinking of doing a parody/satire piece (18-minute stage script) based on a society who are afraid of people who don’t believe in superstitions and who don’t take the necessary precautions to make sure that superstitions don’t manifest in their life.

My current draft (being written in my head) focuses on the Main Character as being a bit of a rebel.

Maybe she mocks someone for walking around a ladder and gets cursed?

Then she starts to get extreme symptoms of superstitions she has ignored most of her life.

This has a massive impact on her life, mind state and how people react to her and treat her because of course, society hates dealing with things that we can’t understand ( mental health issues alert).

So, maybe she gets locked away for her own protection and for the protection of others in an asylum for the superstitious dissidents.

Where is this script going?    Ah, we need a climax and resoltion?

In the asylum, they drug them so that can’t enact their superstitions  and cause bedlam (even if they want to or don’t want to)

There is Drug therapy/ECT/CBT  therapy –  sound familiar?

Maybe an awesome volunteer arrives at Main Characters asylum and introduces the Main character to a way to help herself help herself-

I can use the the core values of WRAP  for inspiration.

  • Hope

  • Self responsibility

  • Self-advocacy

  • Education

  • Support

I can make it surreal and the dialogue will be purposeful and amazing and drive the plot and be the action.

It’s going to be fun to do. I have to try and be funny. Something I don’t really do in my writing.

Any thoughts?

My EMA will (hopefully) still be Act two to my TMA 1 piece – about the homeless couple.

The ending is bittersweet. It needs to be told. I’ve had orders from my characters and they will not shut up.

Okay, so I started TMA 2 with a crime genre then I delved into a drama/love affair betray genre

I’ve strayed into a supernatural genre – without the cliche ghost things I’ve read. I’ve focused on a simple setting and the Main Characters’ character and dialogue of how others describe her as exposition.

The time scale within the piece is set within a 3 week period. My narration/or is in the First point of view.

Plot?  I have an unexppected  anti climax reversal . This came about by committing to telling  (and show)  this characters back story towards the climax resolution of the piece.

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At this point, with  my MA and with all the other things I’ve got going on in my life, I am going with what feels right for me.

If my tutor hates it- oh well!

 

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COMPLETE

MELTDOWN

FOR SHIZZLE

 

Don’t you think it’s just a  bit bizarre that for this first year our marks don’t count towards the overall degree?

All we need is a PASS!   what?

That doesn’t mean I don’t work like a  scared elf on his last strike at work, who got doped up the night before christmas. I do worry and I do care but I also have a life to live.

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I’ve written my commentary explaining why I took the decisions I have done to do write this piece.

Things I’ve focused on

  • Eplaining backstory

  • not starting in media res etc…

I’m participating and doing well in the forums. I’m backing up my decisions with a an awesome free Harvard ref app. I’m in love with it.

Finally,  here is the first part to my TMA 2  (  still needs more proof reading and polishing up)

 

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 icy breathe exhales mist over us. It separates me from them, cloaks me in a fog. I try to swallow. Air 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- an ostentatious display of emotion.

The firework that packs the most dynamite. The one that wills itself to make the crowd notice it. A cry out for: I need attention I’m suffering the most. My skin bristles. Nan pulls her scarf tighter around her neck, 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 the days leading up to the funeral. Emotions walk precariously on stilts. Everything‘s heightened.  I can’t walk through walls or levitate. Nothing like any of the horror- movies Eddie and me used to watch together on the sofa. 

Unheard, I bellow continuously,-Just let me go, already.   

 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 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 begins to shiver and tremble. Her 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.

HAPPY MONDAY or a bluesy one just make it your own.

I’m off!

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The fable of Alison.

Paper, rock or scissors?

Choose one and you may win treasures.

Paper!

Congrats you have received a one-year wedding anniversary.

I’m not even married – how is this a gift I can accept ever so gratefully, oh harry?

Will you marry me?   I can make it true.

Alison threw a rock -aimed for the right side of Harries’ forehead- blood leaked out leaving his lips blue.

A twisty smile caught the ends of Alison’s mouth.

She needed a pair of scissors to cut out his heart.

Grim, I agree but her character is slighly  Magee.

Squiggled by all the paper cut out men she’s collected over the years.

Paper mache collage project- in an attempt to fix her heart.

Glue worked better when she inhaled it’s fumes .

She would depersonalise from her very self and awake discombulated- and rather confused.

This is the sad tale of how alison decided she needed to repair her heart.

She flipped a coin that flipped her mind – all in one turnabout,

she came around -started singing the the Hokie Cokie.

Her twisted jive improved when the moon drew in a little closer.

She could almost hear a beating heart – she put her hand to her chest and,

well, she fell apart.

Envious stares at Man Mickey Finn – his heart beat loudly annd glowered within.

He was her first.

First attempt to re enter the game of tick tockers.

Little did she know that this manic method would send her over to the bog marsh rockers.

Frozen on ice add a straw and a blueberry, she sipped her amorous bloody cocktail – Mary already had men gouging her blood everyday.

Shaken not stirren.

Stern she was shaking.

What did Mary’s conception have that made men fall head over heel and lap for her attention?

Frowned, knitted eyebrows – she added her own  rouge splash  to the mix.

Men looked straight throught her – perhaps she needed a bar of a twix?

She had a cunning plan- not evolved or well thought out . She tuned up her senses whenever men were about.

The throbbing , pulstating came not from the heart.

An alarming discovery – It came from below the waist.

Mary – scartlet virgin?  miracle,  my arse!.

Poor Alison only wanted to feel desired.

When she went for her next ingredient,

she balked at its form and tried to  appeal to its art .

Phallic and paternal it made  her blush from the internal .

How would she get it to stay erect so she could snip it off when it was ready to launch and eject?

She tickled the floating accompanied planets and amusement came out in oohs and aahs .

Just a little longer, Alison thought blustered through scrunched up eyes.

 make sure you aim for the right glass and not the glass eye. 

The navy would be proud of her solid sea legs.

She mixed this new concoction.  so sure she was,

 she convinced me she was  devout.

Up the straw the gloopy mixture reached her swollen taste buds.

Horrified she spat it out –  perhaps she needed to make it a little more tart.

She came acrosss a nursing mother – whipped out her hunting tools.

Crying Babe clattered to the tarmac.  Scattered  Mother one breast left on the right side.

Shake it up and  down the hatch . She waited for the rush of ardours to pour in.

Misery entered without a courterous knock. Sit down you gapless, toothy banshee of distrust.

Tears rung around her neck -weighing in at a hefty sized albatross.

The grief of being ignored compelled her into complete disorder.

How could she end this frenzied quest without settling into a forlorn heap of a mess?

Then a thought rainbowed across her mind. It lifted the burdened clouds and she put her hand to mouth to suppress a giggle.

If no one would have her then she knew what was best.

Alison abandoned her empathy in the puddle of complicated attempts to gain acceptance.

She proudly took her first step into her role as the the Queen of hearts.

If men wouldn’t love her, she would make sure they could love no other.

What a dreadful tale, is there are moral to end this fable  – make it an epic!

Jesus wept!

I get bonus points if I end this and say  she transformed – yes she did and serve this as warning on how to never ignore the self- proclaimed pious.

 

 

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LINDA SOCS WORD PROMPT HERE START WITH THE LETTER ‘P’ AND BONUS POINTS FOR ENDING PIECE IN A ‘P’

 

Clown on Refresh

Check my inbox – still not got no mail.

Maybe I should give up , hit the bathroom, slap some  moisturized bomb  on my dial –   infused with extra kale .

Deadlines looming. Anxiety arrest my mint breath – Tutors marking red rings – imagination has let go that last hope of zest.

All I wanna do is huff and puff out smoke circles  made out of vape- limited edition premium  flavors  is the best.

It’s Sunday morning – no time for me to matter,

I might just believe in God for one day – 7th  day of rest appeals to my shape – Sundays is cool to be flatter.

As long as I’m  still breathing ,make no mistake when working out the coordinates, I’m  not one Dimensional .

Four sides to this mind –   you are dealing with a time bomb expert in trying out new shit – I’m moving in , check me get all  professional!

It’s all a bit of fun    – it’s not like I’m knocking back generously measured out   continental  mojitos in the sun .

Hungover,just  waiting for an answer to hear about my education.

No God- I decide when it’s time to snooze – this missus here has to work  , to make sure the bills come in and get Santa.coms attention.

Living my life grateful for my humble maison,

 Can’t help being a high achiever with ambition – I got a daughter who is already  in the game of life – she needs me to pass my learned lessons  on .

The ball is our orbit -we move in harmonic beats, Is okay .

Gravity got ya – he never let you down,

not like a slick rick who made a play for you  on your own turf ,after ya necked a drink -and you felt the earth sway.

Trust in issues that deal with the heart,

jump -lead my thoughts to make sure it plays some part.

Controversy – Black lives matter ,

Hell, all lives   should be treated like they could at any moment shatter.

Fragile,

Controversy?  black lives exist?

Can we agree on the  starting benchmark at being civil ?

Right, let’s  try it and persist.

Equality is for everyone – except for the one with the guns protesting – that ain’t what they been minding.

Learned this from Micheal Che – he has epic comic timing.

All I want for Xmas is a t-shirt -slogan  9/11 – all buildings matter – it’s a matter of principled data.

Hit the refresh button – still  no mail – time to make some bills  and scatter.

 Make sure the curves on a graph go up  to make sure happiness hits the spot when it all goes down ,

we see the true  hearts stay and fight for change without the need for another disenfranchised  collective we now call the clown.

* Credit to  this dude – MICHEAL CHE  for  inspiring material

Two facts 

  • I will be getting that T- shirt made.

  • I never trusted clowns- even as a lightie.

When Imagination flew

Hocus pocus -back massage -focus.

Pinpoint – sins anoint.

Deliberate – invigorate.

Disintegrate .

Vinegar – malt – bread and crying lambs.

Bones and hams and dreaded brushed up dams.

Inland – sea water –  -Captain  Considerate bellows out a whispered order.

Shrouded in ghostly ,plaid sheets,

Halloween  music – down tempo.

folk are stranger than fiction.

Potion – paddle me back. I cry for the touch of a heat pack anointed by the king of my  lotus.

Socks – odd- colored. Even spotty dotty.

Handmade witches hat.

Black and pointy – little girl new apprentice forgets the cliche black cat.

Mog – Dog.

Who let these thoughts loose  ?

What a tease.

collar them quickly before they infect a nation of  flightless geese.

Boozy – oozy.

Green mushy peas hit the back of Charlie’s head with ease.

Take this to the 20 pence  psychotic nurse – a comic strip has taken off on a temporary lease.

Clouds ,tufts – whoops and cheers.

 Cowboy yeeha aa’s  with somersault dips in a  carefree child’s stomach- a turbulent ride – nervous passengers close off their ears.

Fish breathe – fish fry – bread crumbs – bits of eyeballs, bats of  fish roe,all make up a composite of an all day, Sunday breakfast, fashioned in  the latest dregs.

Drags racing round  in fine cars – cruising for their latest blonde sign,

eye winks abound .

nudge- nudge –

Fudge dove,over there!  He looks mighty fine.

Caped crusader at your service.

Ring a bell and make intercourse with  a strewth’s strumpet – mind – she is a bit nervous.

October – hallows  eve is back around full circle -creeping up behind you.

Adults know that children shouldn’t  be anywhere near the main parade, down South  street, around  all things  pertaining to blue.

Saxophonic porn – jazz wax pouring out in a meek tone, quite forlorn.

Torn.

Afraid  of all that is to come.

Nightmares stain sheets with betrayed body sweat – heavily undone.

Palpitations jump in groups of flees.

Lice take a buzz cut to the party stopping by the willow trees.

Busybodies- bee’s knees – one always has to wheeze.

Inhale the scent of lavender – Drunk on words of free flow .

On the rocks – slippy and trippy .

Land in a heap, laughing, making angels in the snow.

Poke us – hoax us.

Social media dopes cuss.

Make the weekend count towards at least one credit on the bedroom headboard.

Cardboard cut outs.

props.

elegant geezers and high school drop outs .

Mass orgy – dreadlocks, colors , basslines.

‘put your back into it’ – don’t make them  use the cutting cord.

Make the most of your imagination.

Life is not nearly as warped  as it sounds for this raging genderless Caucasian.

 

Always inspired to write by Linda G’s stream of consciousness.

PROMPT WORD HERE 

Check it out have a go.

 

I’m Buzzing! it’s the weekend. Rock and roll – child free night – movies and cuddles with my better half.

HAVE A GRANDE WEEKEND!

❤ DAISY XOXO

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Damsel called Distress

High on life- no light of  artificial sight.

I know what I will do if I ever get mugged.

I will look  my mugger right in the  forehead and say I can see the emergence  of his  third eye.

His monobrow will wriggle in confusion.

Then, I will 1970’s kung fu him in the balls – He will be blubbering. This is my first chance to demonstrate my self-choreographed, self-defence,dance class,get fit for life infusion.

I’ll grab my bag and wallop him once or twice.

I’m not condoning violence,but I get the feel for it , I’m grooving, putting my own spin on it . So he rolls with the punches and I  carry on rolling my dice.

Then when I feel we are on an even keel . I’ll stretch out my arm, give him a hand up. Hell, I will even get down on one bended knee.

The  score will be  settled and even.

That is what you get, mate, for attempted thieving.

Panic alert flashes across  my eyes. I didn’t know  Mr potential mugger had another job. He’s a  rather talented actor – he is making me believe he is actually bleeding.

Wait a few seconds – look left -look right -look left again . Got to keep my wits about me. Road safety training might seem elementary  but it can be a life saver.

Seconds turn into the longest minute ever documented. I don’t think he is an amateur . In fact, I’m checking for signs of  a well-known face; not some chip off the old block. I can hear the other  stars calling out for their missing, celebrity neighbour.

Things are starting to turn grave. I’m the one who was in true danger.

Superheroes, do they exist?

I need one pronto – bring a carpet -we have a John Doe to roll up and we need a  couple of spades and all of  the aces .    I need a super  professional with a zany twist .

Moments  pass. My superhero   hasn’t pitched up , he must have run out of gas.

I’m on the run  with an imaginary gun – this is not fun. He started it. What an ass!

“Oh why hello,officer, I know what this looks  like. Yes, I am running” mentally exercising my train of thought.

“Hit and run?”

“I don’t drive officer .  So can we skip the walk in a straight line, touch my nose and rub my belly and get  to the part where we both laugh about this situation.” We may end up in a quaint bar .

The one  that sells all the good rum.

My mind is working overtime. Think! Think!  What would any civil, well to do , ordinary , civilian lady do in my circumstance?

“Now, officer . I think we can have a bit more fun with those cuffs.  Got any fur? oh, how I love to purr.”  I’ll  lean over just so he can clock  my cleavage.     Hey, this could work! Have you got any better ideas?

This may be my only chance.

“Ma am ,Are you trying to  to poodle face with me?”

“Me? I don’t even  own a dog. Are you trying to call  me a bitch? Now that is offensive.” I was merely using my right to freedom of expression.

My wits tell me to back the fuck down. He is jangling what sounds like more than one key.

He reads me  my rights. I tell I’m catholic.  I  ring  God daily, no messing with Angel administration. I   have him on speed dial to atone for my sins.

Now this – this is unjust. All this fuss. What happened to good cop , bad cop scenario ?

All I’m seeing is the end of his boot and my own reflection in his riot  helmet gear. Have I been transported into some retro game and swallowed a mushroom and turned into super -uber Mario?

Granted, he is a shitty plumber. But, he  does get to  collect plenty of coins. Maybe I can bail me out .I don’t need no man to rescue me . I am the victim and the surviving princess.

I get the feeling the only  jangling I am going to do is when I walk the line. Stub my toe. I think my entitled title just got ripped off me.

Scoundrel. It was that mugger that’s got me in this  stitch . I’ve been demoted to a rather fatigued and distressed seamstress.

Moral of the story?

Don’t go acting like those sensational  media  heroes.

Just let your entire shit go- JUST.LET. IT.ALL.GO.

And tomorrow  you willl wake up  not in  a cell but smiling into your favourite stripy  bowl  of cheerios.

*inspired by absolute nonsense. I’m feeling silly, happy, I thought I would write something happy! Is this even happy? Ive  just hit publish  and hope for the best.* 

❤ DAISY XOXO

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! 😀

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thrummy[thruhm-ee]

adjective, thrummier, thrummiest.

1.

of or abounding in thrums; shaggy or tufted.

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