Sometimes we a good rant- It’s an old one. I’ve got something say and I’m struggling.
I love all genders -for the record.
… shake it baby
Keys to unsilence the drama
a happen ing in my Soviet Russian impersona
caricature is classic!
Say what is on yo mind…
too many interests’
Too little time.
I can’t rap
But I do
70% water — can’t Make this shit up…
Scientists don’t discriminate-
unless this stream is already filled up
outCHOON Ed by the original televised chooners
First and foremost a clickity clackety mandated muse.
Take note — one way to scale down the itchy scratchy post
it gets a bit cameras in your face-
Porno time ?
These nuts ogle for a trace.
Mind seemingly souring to this distaste.
cos she has no form
other than to
intro- apple -genuisly feed
One day worthy for the First Lady to perform ?
It’s not all in my head
Shucks… Big up,Daisy noted
‘mo brain mo crane’
Fly to the East
Sigh to the West
side with the South
Hustle with the true north.
Whatever get’s her typing
It’s all a bit willowy
Throw in a hillbilly (?)
if it gets these words making some…
ain’t apologising for being an invader of my own space.
ha ha when you cha cha.
Giblets strutting down this street
Shaking their tail feathers to those with the Harmonised feet.
chiming Dutch bells
Her the time is for her inner She-era.
The mice may be chasing that scatty cat.
She speaks fluent meow-skies — knows a few tings concerning species ruled by the One Count-Ah! Ah!
Give this a ball a bat.
If you’ve caught up …
Tell her where she lost the plot.
hint Where is she at?
doing the wiggle worm , 8 years young?
‘ maybe I’m a kid ‘— kidders rights to think
‘maybe I am shit hot.’
Child hood is bliss.
Impervious to the nonsense .
Tolerate her apparent nonchalance.
she winds down
Screetches for more.
grasps the idea of throw your hands in the air
Hit, publish — these words
have no shame, in saying
I don’t care.
Be content to have your own flair.
Sometimes you gotta groove the ghetto to let up some get up and get some get go.
I had fun writing this.
*Inspired by the quote*
‘be nice to those on your way to the top, don’t believe your own hype, you never know who you are going to meet on your way back down’
Today, I rant about those who sit on cloud tufted pedestals
Judging others they deem have morals lacking by half and a few.
A pack of dogs who bitch more than females could ever stir up in a stew.
Pre made, customised idol awards-ready to export from china-engraved names for the lot of the little who mew mew .
Talk like a woo fang man — skillz and talents
Big upped up by their mates.
Could you stand without your prop ups.
Really ? Even you?
mixed bred, British bull terriers ending the night in multiple lock jaw — fatalities .
Take you imported ciders, your low suspension alpha Romeo idea mentalities
Get back to banter.
Not discussing events or ideas but foreign people unlike your garbled, stiff upper lips , sipping pints of Bloody Sunday.
There’s a lucky clover . A rainbow that ends with a holiday in Dover.
Go back to milking your 5 minutes of arrogance
waking the neighbours in a condescending dialect.
Sounds like every other branded cattle breed that goes Moo.
Go on, size each other up and go who the fuck are you?
Uttering words about actions you could never lower yourself to do.
Dare take a peek behind you
I see an out line of X-rayed, wannabe Bruce lees
Heads fucked up with inside battles
Wasted winnings gambled on a fight with their own inner D,J. shadows-
Naive thoughts plant a flag thinking they’ve conquered the art of rhetoric kung fu
Here’s a curve ball
Bounce to lyrics of Mc masters — obey to tasting your words with Salt n Peppa.
Female goddess emcees rule .
Shag your generic Sia sheep who keep their mouths shut.
Listen to your eloquent bullshit — the stench left over makes dissidents mouths open
these open minded soldiers
Barely keeping down their own spew.
These boys never compromise their morals-
Make a mistake
wake up next to a Lancashire blow up Doll from last nights sexist shenanigans-
Supping the remnants of their 2 for 1 cocktails of diluted pitchers of woo woo .
Imagined a girl shouting Woo hoo.
Keep up this rhyming — dilly day and strive to look out for Hissen
Congregate in a penniless free style masonry , boy scout coven.
Listen to the cult and obey to the commandant of looking out for you Sen.
Knives ready to back stab stray wildlings of independent thought
And the balls to disagree with your collective A-(lpha) mens.
I’m standing here-
A free bird-wild and crazy.
these dawgs gave up their wings to live in a prison
Submissive Howling at the cycles of the moon-
YMCA village people — cutting verses to ward off open mouthed females — pouring out lyrics in a new shade of crimson.
They get to fly-
Kiss the sky-travel to new notions on a whim.
Watch the pack follow who they think is their leader for getting one, witty joke in.
Do the hokey pokey
Point a nicotine stained, skeletal finger ,
At the lass who refuses to stay lowkey.
Light up a roll up , Climax on giving your brethren’s token blow job.
Exhale the bullshit — macho man hype , leave the women to battle the heat in the kitchen — we know how to turn down a knob.
Don’t forget yo mama’s rule
blow to cool
let the butter melt before you take a bite of that corn on your cob.
Yellow pissheads aint never done no wrong.
Eat snow —
times up — stamina let you down with your pelvic thrusts .
Premature ejaculation interrupted your flow.
Are you still hard ?
Can you carry on ?
ladling out soft serves of ice cream .
Even the ladies trailing round the dog pound
Fake their orgasms when they scream.
It’s out of pity — you mad Heads –
Christmas is coming
wrap up warm in your knitted wu hoo woolly jumper
Don’t forget your gloves after your hump her .
Cordoned off crime scene
she’s dead behind eyes.
Just cos you got blue ball syndrome
Don’t make it right
to dig up a corpse-to pleasure your Sen with taunts.
Yeah, making out
you’re perfect gentleman is easy
when you’re signed up to the inner dating necrophilia brand groupie fan website
The big issue is:
you’re a sell out.
Cry on with lies , look to the misfits
the Others to despise-
Lose the disguise.
We see through the fist bumps,
Dry stained tear streaks .—
Read between the lines — cut your teeth on kiwi limes
Hey diddle diddles!
A round of applause for the next free faller who can muster out a few riddles.
Watch out for when the clouds disperse
and you land up
back at the bottom-
ass hitting cobblestones –
Here’s a pound for a pack of Kleenex tissues to wipe away those little dribbles .
We’ve all got urban dictionary ,Grinch behaviour issues.
*for all the ladies who get a bad rap and have listen to their local men attempt to big up their own Woo (pie) Clan
Just a bit of fun 😀
And a bit of the true Wu tang
*Complete nonsense trigger warning* ( inspired by my out of tune singing of Smash mouths-‘all Star’)
Hey now you’re afuckstar!
I’m so bloody frustrated,
Orgasms in the office stopped mid flow,
because my printer got jammed,
And made life slow.
Wants a piece of fame.
These still waters run deep.
I’m swimming off to get away from ‘the look at me’ protestors with their self-drawn,scrawled picket’.
Paper over load.
Jam makes me sticky .
I need more than cursing semen.
I’ve got energy I need to burn up.
Let me feast like a queen-on sushi and haute cuisine.
It’s not like I have nothing to do.
I have a to do list ,
Daisy in the Willows believe it or not.
I’m not getting my usual kicks from turning blue.
I’m talking nonsense cos I’m frustrated.
People are fickle.
So, here I am
typing — wisely refusing to do any ass wiping-
I’m worth more than a nickel.
Money is a means to an end
Credit – I’m borrowing on limited time only .
Interest served for these corporations
Who turn my life into a hang mans noose.
cul de sac
loopy dead end.
Everybody wants a fake bake .
I failed the pencil test rule
I need to buy new lingerie for own my blushing breasts sake.
sexual and passionate-
not a fan of
Being Laid In.
look at me
Casper the ghost has nothing on this glowing skin .
I don’t fit in.—
there’s no scene
Unless I acknowledge it .
Let me be ignorant.
Insight is turning me into some evil mutant
I’m a music whore — to my very core.
Hell has nothing on me-
Sending tickets to remind them I am the serpent from mythic folklore.
Shut your taboos up .
I have nothing to hide….
-except a few stretch marks and an imagined belly that resembles raw pork in a butchers shop
Shave my head
Take my dignity
I’m feeling rather ranty.
So much to do.
Typing shit – I’m probably due my meds cos now I’m on Electric Avenue.
Write to recover from mental imbalances.
I’m feeling better-
my memory’s erased from CBT shock therapy.
Thanks doc , I brought extra large diapers,
and now I’m better walking round like baby Huey-
toddler mentality of a pig.
Before I get diced into a stew with other mashed up veggies.
*Apologies for this post*
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.
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.
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.
Deadline for TMA 2 : 02 February 2017 – 7 days from now.
TMA (tutor marked assignment )
EMA ( end of module assignment)
WRAP ( Wellness Recovery Action Plan)
I’m kind of organized. I’ve finally got my tutor speaking to me by email. I think the sun just came out.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
I’ve written my commentary explaining why I took the decisions I have done to do write this piece.
Things I’ve focused on
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.
‘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.
Paper, rock or scissors?
Choose one and you may win treasures.
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!
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.
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.
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
I will be getting that T- shirt made.
I never trusted clowns- even as a lightie.
Hocus pocus -back massage -focus.
Pinpoint – sins anoint.
Deliberate – invigorate.
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.
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.
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.
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
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
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.
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 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,
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?
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.
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! 😀
A silly poem –
Ho! Ho! Ho! I’m going to put my two cents worth in.
Board the Jolly Roger with Hook and his crew of Rum kins.
Ah no, I’m not slumming it. 😉 I’m going to be an honorable Captain.
See that ship flying out of the clouds? Welcome aboard the Jolly Willows- sorry,Hook I can’t do with the bellowing acting.
I lost two excellent Bloggers at sea these past two days.
Left the Willows. I never told them to walk the plank. Maybe it was the Sirens who lured to them to an unfortunate land of curds and whey- more an isle than a bay.
Please, as a Captain of this gallant vessel – understand I can’t always be around in one place,or indeed in several dimensions.
I am merely human – I have a lot of responsibility -. I sincerely care for all those in my community. You are my stars, my right navigation – you are my suspensions.
I have many journeys’s I need to make -some are on here and others in another place.
Neverland -is not just me expressing my presentiment . I have been there. I don’t want you to think I am a coward bowing out of my duties trying to save my wilting face.
Today, I take a trip to the land of the forgotten. The old and frail and the ones who need my time for just a couple of hours.
My family needs me. So does Miss Tatiana- not a parrot but a cat who gets irate when she misses her daily dose of affectionate showeres
When I return, I trust you will still be here – we can give a great cheer- shout outs to the newest Friends of the Willows who enjoy many adventures.
Magic is everywhere. All you have to do is believe, ignore the skeptic skeletal ones who still have their chattering dentures.
An award shall be accepted from Brooke; she lives in a Utopian heaven.
I do not wish for no heart; that I could collect you like a pirate collects simoleans- that is not what makes this ship vibrate, gets it revving.
The most valuble treasures are the souls and bodies who inhabit this space.
Bon voyage , my true stars . I shall never be lost if I look to the skies ,I most certainly won’t need a thimble of rum close by me- for – just in case.
Definitions for presentiment
a feeling or impression that something is about to happen, especially something evil; foreboding.
HAVE A GRAND DAY. CATCH UP WITH YOU ALL LATER.
* Some say write what you know others say make it all up. Sometimes the best way to deal with our shit is to get it all out. Some need a good fuck -others need a mind fuck . I need a word play around fuck and have fun- not get too serious.*
You’re a great shagger!
Is it better when I stagger?
You will suck my cock?
Are we in Surgery , do I have a needle in my hand? Am I dressed like a certified , Doc?
Let me lick your pussy.
Nah! let’s skip the foreplay – you pretending to make love to me is so sweet but I know how you hate being portrayed as a wussy.
Let’s talk for bit. I can show you my personality.
Um. Yeah like ,sure like let me put my music on and you can blow me away with talk of your Mental Insanity.
You are a great fuck!
But… I don’t think it’s gonna work. Three nights cuddling on the sofa and watching T.V.?
Well, shucks – thanks for the post- fuck, diplomatic back handed compliment.
.That makes me think:
shit,dude! you so need to thaw and chow down on a super sized Smiley Maccie E .
Why does it seem guys can move on so fast after they cum?
Us girls – well me – I get to dual with my emotional, shit- loaded scum.
No amount of of limescale cleaning,
will make this emotional scum any more prepared to ditch my mind , take a sail ,
Exit the next
nearest body of water- preferably not mine.
HINT: the one that is gleaming .
You need to stay away from me – we need to sort out our own issues.
Couldn’t you have fucking told me that pre -shag then I could have stayed home and read the real ‘ Big issue’ ? and saved a quid on fucking Kleenex tissues.
with my intellectual scholastic Holistics.
Want a sure fire way to make sure you never get a reply from a guy ever again?
Go on a two day bender,start drunk texting inanely, tell him how you think you love him and then how you hate him –
I’m sure he will totally want to see your pretty mug and have round two of a…..
Oh no wait, he will probably be lighting up the Good Bud having a good purging- whose counting ? Maybe Ten . I’m pretty sure he is not picking up his precious fountain pen.
Please get back to me! Have a heart -Stop being so mean ……
Yeah, I think , I’m going to be waiting for a while, like an orgasm that makes me want to scream.
How did this start?
Pre -fuck – You are fucking stunning!
Post fuck – maybe I will need to start gearing up with a shunning.
Want to feed into Lip service -pay with your heart?
Shake a tail feather at it and you will probably get more respect -maybe even be admired for that show – it is kind of an Art.
So ,this has got to end somewhere
Maybe , I need to just leave and pick up my salty underwear.
( maybe one day a “complicated” friendship will get as easy as a pre -fuckable me)
Until then life continues…
Welcome to married life!
With a complicated wife!
“There is only one great tragedy in a woman’s life. The fact that her past is always her lover,and her future invariably her husband” -AN IDEAL HUSBAND– By Oscar Wilde
My G had his detached retina surgery yesterday and has just come back from his post surgery consultation.
He is a Jammy buggger- so lucky. He gets away with being on bed rest. It couldn’t happen to the most deserving man.
It is no secret I have my own mental health issues. I didn’t know how I was going to cope. Here is how I coped.
I remembered my Mantra:
“I am successful in everything I do” (including being an epic nurse)
I remembered a quote on a trinket that my Gran gave me -along time a go. It says on it.
“Happiness is like a butterfly it settles on you when you least expect it “
Well that worked to our advantage as well as turning out TRUE.
I watched this a lot. I needed to keep my sense of humour going.
I read Oscar Wilde Quotes from a book G bought me and went straight to the quotes about women. These had me in ninja attack mode and in ‘ You damn right mode’ in no time.
“Women: Sphinxes of secrets” -A WOMAN OF NO IMPORTANCE
“Every women is a Rebel, and usually in Wild revolt against her self” -A WOMAN OF NO IMPORTANCE
“She looks like a woman with a past. Most pretty women do” AN IDEAL HUSBAND
“Every women does talk too much” -VERA
“I prefer women with a past. They are always more damn interesting to talk to” Lady Windermeres Fan
“It takes a thoroughly good women to do a thoroughly stupid thing” PICTURE OF DORIAN GREY
“I have met hundreds and hundreds off good women. I never seem to meet any but good women.The world is packed with thoroughly good women. To know them is a middle class education” -LADY WINDERMENRES FAN
The most therapeutic thing I did when I was waiting in the hospital was to take out my pen and paper and attempt to write out my anxiety and fear…
Here is what form it took…
NOT MASTER PIECES but tools to cope.
THE EARLY MORNING POEM -WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I WAIT AT A HOSPITAL
Dawn to Dusk
I wait in patience – the air lingers with a scent coated in musk.
Ashes to Ashes
Dust to Dust.
An eye for an eye,
What will the results be from this riske buy?
It is a case of an option- from one to another -of the same type of prison.
Will he see me with my full Maquillage .
I’m petrified he won’t recognise me to the point that I won’t even ever need to adjust my many vis(ee) age ( a bad poet pronouncing French very badly)
Does it matter if he is blind?
I swear to look after him because he is simply-
Waiting with the flock.
Patience wearing -thin.
Detached as retina.
Wearing from within.
TAP TAP TAP
My converse trainers make a huge commotion of one that refuses to take a nap.
I have it all.
Here,I complain almost insinuating I am all alone
How can I not pull this off like only the finest cologne.
If you are ever in doubt about your social life – I incur that you take a trip to you local hospital. The amount of people I knew in some form or another, whom I bumped into, confirmed:
I DO HAVE A SOCIAL LIFE.
I started reading about about Religions around the world from primitive to Modern times. Interesting choice of book to take to the hospital.
My number one support met me at the hospital. SUPER MOM!
I decided to get some lady things sorted so I wouldn’t need to leave the house today.
Dashed back to the hospital. Insisted on the nurse ringing the ward my G was in at least three times.
The only information I got was – wait…..
Second attempt at writing out my anxiety in poem form.
Please feel free to mock it .I do with great gaiety.
THE I HAVE BEEN IN WAITING IN THE HOSPITAL FOR OVER 8 HOURS POEM.
Love seems to come with a package of the finest rum.
Sometimes we must only keep it for times to celebrate when we have jousted out the scum.
Sometimes we have to hide it away.
Fear takes hold if we touch it
It will drown us and flick us like a flee into another day.
Lost and found.
Please, collect on the ground.
Lost wings .
Can’t another find another way to jolt my heart so it sings.
A painful division.
Comfort on the rocks.
Bur enough to secure a foot with temporary padlocks.
Emotions run high .
It’s a betrayal of the inconvenience of a lovers try.
For better or for worse.
In sickness and in health.
May I seduce like a Godless Goddess.
Unafraid to drop my mask and undress.
Is the outcome going to be fine?
Time is a great healer.
But, alas, it also encourages growth of demonic horns to gouge out the part who plays the feeler.
The outcome is in the future.
To what means can nurture’s success be seen?
Hope is what keeps me from debasing into an emotionless suitor.
I then remembered the movie we watched the night before the op. Dark comedy at its best.
The final 10 minutes of waiting took on the form of this.
THANKS FOR ALL THE SUPPORT, MY FRIENDS.
G IS ON THE MEND.
LIFE CARRIES ON.
Hopefully I will be able to catch up with some or all of you if not tonight then tomorrow.