Janus of global slang

Inspired by lyrics – it’s not exactly physics.

Big boy –

little boy – atomic bomb decoy don’t come across as coy.

Paranoia looming over -like a shadow with no owner.

Scented thoughts hanging outside on the line of laundry –  drying out, pegged up,

  sketchy – out of the ordinary.

The demise of senseless beatings – the savage frolic in secret meetings.

Can’t keep my eyes open – Mind is wired to sense alert token.

Add a word to the vocabulary list. Reading made up stories can’t get the gist.

Thinking of all the times I’ve reinvented my speech

just so folk wouldn’t turn away

mistake me for a blast of mist.

Solar plexus, libra – balances my ails,

 if vaccines worked would I even need this skeleton tail?

I’m proficient in scripted fulminate – A non- believer has to have a reason to detonate.

Terrorized by bones on hinges, pelvic oddities, a face grappling on the fringes.

Uncertainly – you can do it! Mascot duty – you blew it.

Evey day the output becomes more – input audios in a  fervescent roar.

Fading into a numb place slowed down by brain freeze swimming in a shoal  – no empty dregs to fill my soul.

Restricted by my own limitation – Hear me when  I say I’m not doing this for inspiration.

What to do in a world knocked into  askew?

Nondescript, blinkered – all-seeing eyes – know when to usher in the seasonal yule.

nonsense, no sense, prop me up – inhale oxygen and don’t give up.

Against my better judgment – I’m imploding from the inside.

I had it all figured out until I became a seeker in need of washed out make -overs from dead flotsam at low tide.

*Inspired by internal conflict and the world.* 😀 



Flushed out



Are you in or are you out?

Flushed souls poke human, paper mache skin ,fanned  out.

An elegant pack of cards – Spades aimed at its target , packs a clout.

Doubt grim reaper,

he is great at connecting you with your inner weeper.

Toxic three hours – temperature – fever finally  breaks.

Her family can finally let out sighs numbed with dull aches.

Anger ,rage, death hopping two feet forward and shuffling back -creeping – hiding.

Taking it’s time to declare an order.

The heart is wrung out. Pruned -nothing left to saturate it.

Heaving up chunks of oxygen – empty –   salted   escargot ready to be served for an entre – the media will never admit, it is a mass homicide .

Senile ghosts mumble out hammered toasts.

Champagne flutes . Morphine patches – how much more hammering and wheezing  is left,  until the invitation arrives ,requesting her attendance  to relieve the pain and burden of being a believer in idol hosts?

I write to right this rite.

Prepare for an urn, a coffin or a heaped body tossed in a dumpster.

Respect the ones that loved you and who nurtured you. Those she loves she protects like a mafia gangster.

Not on here much,checked out more times than she cares for.

She’s always ready to come back in but, it does make it harder to live in her  skin -deep within.

Little girl ghost howling – cajoling – beseech the black Jesus – bypass Mount Olympia to get a message out to the true king.

Shaking and a moving, trembling, who are we fooling?  Head to Las Vegas –

check out the true king with a white cape flapping around him -winking at groupies – rents them out  like  he has a permanent   50% discount with  the  budget car rental company, Avis.

Take a trip to Barcelona. Live life on las Ramblas with cava and tapas and plenty of one euro shots at Espit Chupitos.

Never imagined that naive  senorita being whistled at would  fall so far from la Sagrada Familia’s homemade fajitas.

Waving goodbye to a ghost last seen roaming the hospital’s resuscitation ward , two years in  February.

Son kicked her out – took a flame to her hair and in a mad white blitz  hoovered her own cemetery.

Rest not – rest want.

Out  In.

In. out.

Pout, little coquette – this is her last chance to impress Henry  the eighth with a carefully measured out squeal – one last squeeze- ears reciprocate to an ecstatic shout.

Desolate, impure. Turn back the clocks but only – one hour.

Protest – demonstrate.

Who made these rules up ?

Time will rewind back to a time she desires. She will make the keeper of his hour- cower.

Murmurs, whispers, emotions. Mixed states.

Take her now and make love to her – make her moan  and forget about the woe that lives in her veins -gliding on ice skates.

She needs just him  inside her. Only he can take away the regret, the guilt that feeds on her black hole sun.

He knows how to distract her.  Make- believe that time can still be merry , doused in her own orgasmic fun.

In and out.

once you have found an in are you going to torment this Empath for eternity?

Narcissus, listen to the  nymph-like echo that pleads for you to look away from your mistaken idea of your  lover’s identity .

Stay on top.

For she’s a jolly good fella… For she’s…. a she is 

not even a fella

She’s 83 today.

Big deal, right? 

 what is so special about her lying in a state care home in a periwinkle neglige?

She is someone I dread going to see -every single week.

I won’t stop going – even when every at every visit, I have  to  protect every orifice from catching the decay lingering in the air.  The food smells like an institution – a broth of flavoured purgatory.

This is not the final destination- I will take the unknown every time. 

Staring  death  in the face – eye to eye.

She fights with every breath.

‘Tu veux du jus?’ says, I  – mentally fumbling about for something to fill the time. I pour her a glass of watered down juice.

she grunts and moans in feral tones – I assume she means oui.

Usually, I am really comfortable  at free flowing . This doesn’t  flow  so well.  I’m in the thick of it. It’s a plot,alright. I’m standing too close to it to fill it with flowery words. but I have to get this out of my head.

My head shouts:



Turn around.

Salute me.

Do something.



 Over and over arrows laced with commands to make me revolt or dissolve. 

I’m  not so sure anymore.

I’ve got no other vices.

Thought about having a drink, taking more valium than I should but the outcome is always the same.

So, I sit here trying to process my thoughts. Align my feelings – they are like every kind of liquorice all sorts, except for the actual plain ones. The ones I look for when I want a taste of Life.

You don’t always get what you want. Well, you may have a winning  streak for a while but you don’t know where you are truly going to end up,do you?

Sure. we have goals – Do you know with  absolute certainty that no obstacle will come in the way and prevent that from happening?

Hey, Don’t stop the fight. We need more of you.

I’m not here to put you on a downer. 

Tripwire, I fall  into the firing line. A spray of bullets rains through me.  Visualise it on a time lapse sequence.  Don’t call me a hero . I am a coward. 

I see her fight.

83 years old.

She can’t  remember,

can’t  talk, 

she can’t  even walk. 

The rings she has been put through. It’s not evil it’s truly wicked. 

She is so divine if only I could make her all fine.

Skin flawless. A  wooden doll. so tiny.  She has so much fire.

 Burn in hell, Weak? they said.

 She had  it easy. (Life.) She didn’t for the fucking record.

 Stop the record, then  I can take the needle and jab any mother fucker in the eye, who dares to judge her with their hypocritical ,  artificial,over consumed  minds. 

It’s like like the song – easy like a Sunday morning.

We all get at least one of those days – some have a more fortunate hand.

When will this be over?

When is she going to die?

Another person, I love and could have done more for.

No , no

No regrets!   the   little sparrow  bursts out a melody enough to make me weep.

Here I am bawling – feverishly  knitting  a   blanket infused with Tsunami waves, suffocating myself, wallowing- staring at her – All I want to do is start hollering. 

If I do I know I will get collered.  One apprehension   is enough for one day.

I get to be alone with her.

She sucks up at least half a beaker of juice .

 I love   you ,gran’

Her eyes glisten – a meadow  dew-effect . We connected.

She knew I knew  she knew I knew. 

It’s that befuddling. 

I couldn’t hear the radio, I couldn’t see the lampshade glow.   All that energy directed me to focus on her mouth.  


 she came out with the most grateful and graceful ,

THANK YOU – I have ever heard.  English is not  even her native language,

to me – her  own  granddaughter.

Thanking me for giving her some juice. Seeing her an hour a week . It’s  all sluice.

Drink up your purified juice. Punishment does not lie.

I ran out of that place- discombobulated.

Sometimes, I feel nothing. Other times, I am a gibbering wreck but I always have to collect and that is why I am a respected member of   the poker face club.

I have my own Ma who needs me. My daughter.

I’ve made some crazy bets.

A lifetime of betting and I see only now, how important it is  that  I need to take care of myself.

There is a struggle – warfare -conflict within me .

Not thin enough to be hospitalised but thin enough to warrant concern. I still   get  appraising looks for this form I inhabit in now.

It awakens the Furies inside me. No, you need to accept me for who I am. Whatever  shape I transform into. 

I need you to . I need me to.

She is about 5 stone. She eats a lot – can’t put on weight. What a fucking paradox .

I restrict. I know I am putting on weight. I deliberately don’t do cardio exercise  anymore.

I do  walk a lot  -like them L.A. girls. Power walk  my way up   ‘panic attack  ‘hill and finally dwindle down into a corner. Shallow breathing.  It’s better than hyperventilating and heaving. 


Something  to do with birth.

I have everything I need to get obliterated- fuck I could OD – I’ve always been the ultimate elusive escapist of life.

I had to talk to myself.

Me? Talking sense to myself.

So it was my Gran’s birthday today.

She is still clinging on to life. She is not hanging out with her fellow homies  in the lounge downstairs making cupcakes or doing puzzles – listening to Polly-the ultimate nutcracker, sitting in her favourite chair and swearing.  Put her hands down her pants to feel something. Nobody else cares.

I can’t swallow. These are not the most sprightly of places to visit.

How much longer has she got?

How much longer do we all got?

I wake up every morning to life- I stare  at innocence in the eyes – it’s reflected back to me in my daughter’s eyes.

Still,I  have moments when I contemplate dicing with my own life. gambling it , frittering it away.

To have this kind of raw ,exposed  insight. To know better – is self-flagellation.

To sit with a belly full of food and a head and heart full of thoughts and emotions

and wonder …

not wander.

I’ve done  that far too much.  

Escapology  trick 101 .

I wonder why I won’t accept my lot.

Am I the only one?

Really ?

I’m not convinced. I’m sceptical like that. 

I mean sure I’m special but c’mon……..

I have issues- being a narcissist is not one of them – unless I am having I look like shit – no one liked my selfie post today.

Then it’s all about me  mimicking others emotions to get what I want.



I’m  not overly whimsical  with this post.

On a lighter note me and my husband ( bless him) we fucked so hard yesterday.


We had  round two  because I wanted my pleasure.

So I fucked him good and proper. I role played, Gepetto, in retrospect.

I wasn’t bothered about his needs. For once.

It’s actually a kind of breakthrough for someone like me. 

My Nose is not growing.

I could say so much but I may embarrass him. Oh, hang on. I  do that all the time. That’s why he married me. I am truly one of a kind and so is he.

A perfect match. 

Ladies, you know how when you have been fucked ( I’m not talking about making love and  a bit of slap and tickle) I mean when you wake up  the morning after ?

Cliche phrase alert!

‘John Wayne’ has come out  as a woman. It’s all good but its  the after effects of pedalling on a bike, cards  t t ticking in  the wind, bells tinkering  the first time – all that bruising. 

 Serious bicycle abuse.

My  Man- is hurting today. I’m laughing. I’m evil.

Don’t worry he enjoyed it . He keeps making sure I don’t forget it. 😀 

Of course, I was on top.

My ride – my rules.

So I’m gonna leave it there – I think I’ve covered some pretty big themes.

Sex, Life, Death, Abuse.

 I’m done.

Feeling vulnerable now. Do you  mind if I put my  armour of skin  back on? 

If you made it this far – fucking well done.  Not patronising you. I promise. 

Not my usual style of writing. 

Life is short – make it sweet. Stay on top of the game  for as long as you can.

These are my words.

* Inspired by my Life, Dementia, thoughts*

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.



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

Building bridges

“I’m not a wilting flower. I’m honest, so I pick a lot of fights. I’ve burned a lot of bridges.” Scott Thompson



I don’t go around the streets picking fights with everyone.

I don’t go hollering ‘Yo mama is so big……..

I have always been wilful and stubborn and not afraid to speak my mind. I then became a teenager and I got bullied emotionally and I became ill and I lost my voice.

Then I found it again!  WOOP!

I have burnt a lot of bridges speaking my mind with certain exes I didn’t have the courage or confidence to speak up when I  split with them . The power of social media came and gave me a chance to speak my mind.There are a few men who won’t let go and just be cool and be friends.  I see that as an issue with them. I am at peace  with my past and I have forgiven myself and others.

It is no one person’s fault but I am at that point in my life where I go

” – shit,  man… I’m not holding any grudges.. I don’t want to take that bitterness with me.”

I have learned to tone down my bluntness. I remember a time before my Gran had Dementia. She lived a good life until my grandpa passed on with cancer and then we lost our home, diaries, pictures, everything.

We moved from South Africa to France and then the   U.K. to make a new life.

Anyway that’s a whole other book.

My Gran bought a fake oyster pearl Rolex on-line. She asked me to buy it for her on-line.I was muttering on about politics and slavery and how we are not helping people working in sweat shops,to improve their working conditions and life.

A few weeks later. We were out in town and in her charming French accent. She asked me what I thought of her new Rolex watch .

The first thing I thought,

I said.

“It looks fake!” 

Well, to say my Gran was offended was an understatement. I was met with such vehemence. Any one would have thought I had told her, she  smells like  the sewerage system in Barcelona.

We had a  bit of a to do. Gran:

” How dare you talk to me that way. You have no respect.” 

My Ma was trying to get me to apologise and I was standing my ground.

Why must I lie? I have every right to tell the truth. What has respect got to with my opinions?

No I didn’t burn my bridges for good. I love my Gran and she loves me -even now that she has Dementia and only  sort of knows I  am someone she was close to.

I’ve burnt bridges with family members like my Dad and my uncles.  So many people have turned away. Sometimes it is because I refused to hide my quirks – or  my illness and how I coped with life ,I was misunderstood and people thought I was being  a douche bag.  I have been a bit of a  dick at times.

It happens.

What is the single most important aim for me now?  Today.

Is knowing I can re build bridges if I want to.

We all can.

I’ve got the love back and respect back from some of the  people who matter to me. I can say I have tried.

If people don’t want to help you re connect or just acknowledge  your differences for peace of mind. That is there problem not mine or yours.

It’s not worth hold in on to a grudge. It’s  not worth thinking that because you fucked up a lot that you can’t ever go through life not fucking up again

I only recently “fucked up” again,  ( I say this in very loose terms) with some work I am involved  in. It was dealt with fairly,

I got to speak my mind.

I came  to the conclusion that letting shit go and working with some one or something is far better in my interests than turning my back  and walking away. Especially since I have put a lot of effort and passion and hours into this project.

 I  have become that person that puts aside my harsh feelings and I am usually the first person to be happy for peace.

I don’t want drama! I really don’t.

I wish I could let go  of   my weight and scales issues.  I  should practice what I preach .

I do but when it comes to my Eating disorder…

well, it’s a never ending  bloody soap opera.  There is only so many times you can bring a character back from the dead, right?

Have hope! Bridges can be rebuilt and if not -it says more about you and the  type of person you are, to make the effort and the courage it takes  to be the person to try and make amends.

Remember, if some one won’t entertain you after you  try to  make amends.

Move the fuck on.

There is so much more of life to see and wasting it waiting around for some one to like you again or forgive you is a waste of time.

So hold no grudges and move on today!

Want to  be a part #FollowGreatFootsteps?  You can do it! I will review your blog  and link it to your blog website :) -check out the link above. It”s easy peasy.

Mind tricks? Frustration

“I feel as if I were a piece in a game of chess, when my opponent says of it: That piece cannot be moved.”  Soren Kierkegaard   #FollowGreatFootsteps



Not an especially inspiring quote  but it does reflect  my mood and the frustration I am feeling at the moment.

There are plenty of us  living with all sort of illnesses and I just like many of you , try to cope with living with them in the best way I can. These days I have good coping strategies but they don’t seem to be working.

I’m using my new skills and upping my game harder than ever and still I suffer.

No purgatory.

Well, there is an element of being lost and not knowing in what direction I am going in.

My opponent not only mastered this game of chess ,he carved the very pieces of each piece,  made the board and wrote the the rules. To say I’m frustrated and stuck is an understatement.

I’m struggling . That is the truth.

I need to start to think differently. I don’t know where the rule book is. I know all the cheat ways to get to my goal but I want to do it in a courageous and new way.

Our fight is frustrating. We feel at the mercy of our illness but we can stick together and support one another. Just by expressing ourselves in our blogging we are reaching out for support.

I need another way. I’m reaching out today becasue I don’t know who else to turn too.


I’m always looking for great quotes so if you have one that is unusual or unique -let me know in the most recent post comment sections.

I will make sure I post your quote/ folk tale/proverb/ in #FollowGreatFootsteps category and I will send a a direct link to your page:)

*OPTIONAL* -add a short or long comment about why you love a particular quote a simple word or to on what it means to you.


Why do it?
Who doesn’t love a good quote?

Bringing inspiring quotes into our conscious minds gives us the chance to try and adopt that quality we love in an inspirational person

Well being

If I’d known I was going to live so long, I’d have taken better care of myself.  ~Leon Eldred  #FollowGreatFootsteps


I’m one of those blessed people who   hardly is ill or  in physical pain. Mental yes, but not physical. I was so ill on Friday. I thought to myself –shit, body  you can’t let me down now. 

It sounds like a quote stenched in regret and maybe it is but it is never to late to start looking after your health and well being.

Look to the past. Learn the lesson and use it to move forward. 🙂