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.
” 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. “
This has been the best week yet on zee Acting program.
We did a fantastic improvisation inspired by Laban’s 8 efforts and movement.
This technique was originally used in dance performance.
From my ahem “intellectual” reading on post-modern performance. Most contemporary artists prefer to think of the theory part of writing and performance as not prescriptive but fluid and as something to provoke the imagination.
The theories exist to be used to merge into something that is relevant to today.
This program is far away from what I’m learning on my MA and this is my struggle with what I’m doing in my MA because, we as an ensemble – group of amateur actors are working towards devising a performance not based on text.
Back to Laban – the whole purpose of the exercise was to move forward and start thinking more about character development. How many ways can an actor develop their character?
For me, it helped me focus more on my physical body and what I could do with it, to create a character with emotional depth.
This is the exercise we did:
Laban categorized human movement into four component parts:
Each of those parts has two elements:
Direction is either direct or indirect.
Weight is either heavy or light.
Speed is either quick or sustained.
Flow is either bound or free.
Laban then combined these parts together to create The Eight Efforts:
I loved how I explored character development using my voice, my body and employing Laban’s technique to create a character.
I chose the movement to ‘wring’ and what stemmed from that incongruent action was a character called -Prushka who ended up in an improvisation scene with another character (his chosen action Punch) who became my workaholic husband with a temper.
We did a short improv scene in pairs of threes.
Us the couple were arguing about our relationship and where it was headed when the third character (developed from the movement of ‘flick ) interrupted us.
Her drugged up character was stumbling across the streets asking where she was. We ended the scene by my character telling my character’s husband we had grown apart and it was over.
I went to help the drugged up girl get on a bus and get home. Instead of dealing with the confrontation – a stake was thrust into the scene and as a Wring character, I made the decision guided by my body movements to leave the relationship and avoid the angry, punchy husband.
I’m sure there is a much more simplified way to describe all this but I have never been one to simplify anything!
This acting program has got me thinking about finishing my MA somewhere else. Sad but true.
As a group, we seem to be gelling more and getting to know each other.
It looks like we will be devising a piece to perform to a public at the end of March.
Sat on the train, typing this post and I can’t wait to get home.
Weird guy with bouffant hair sitting opposite me and staring at me like I’ve got an abscess growing on my nose. 😂😂.
I’m currently redrafting TMA 3. I’ve strayed into morality play /Faustian territory purely by accident.
The piece is set after the 1918 Russian revolution ,in Paris.
RANDOM FACT- my great grandparents fled the 1918 Russian revolution changed their surname and went to live in the slums of Paris. That is where my Grandad was born.
I have three characters who have some of my character traits and a mish mash of other lovely people’s traits I have come across in my life.
Panacea wants to be accepted by family and society: Vladimir by society. The other character, Eve -has the love and adoration of the society she lives in because of her talent to play captivating pieces of music on the piano.
She has it all except she lacks conventional sight.
With a wee bit of determination and vengeance, Panacea takes Eves essence (talent) and Vladimir’s only access to power and being accepted by his peers is now in the hands of Panacea.
Eve is left with a second sight not normal sight.
I don’t know how magic works!
She can only see the past.
Things start getting tense when she starts seeing things:
She starts seeing people’s past actions. Not the good but all the skeletons that people hide away or try to forget by drugging themselves- insert vice of choice here.
Vladimir- her guardian is clearly hiding something.
How are Eve’s past visions connected to him?
Why won’t he tell Eve?
The climax and resolution of the final scene, see the loose ends of the plot coming together and finally, we see how all three characters fit together.
I’m not saying any more than that.
Both Eve and Vladimir ( who seem like the victims of a salacious act by Panacea) lose everything they wanted and indeed had.
The music threaded throughout the piece (which initially draws the crowd to adore Eve and propels her to ‘stardom’ )seems to serve as a metaphor for the vices which society still use today to forget and self-medicate.
The somewhat pantomime-like, sarcastic Panacea, in scene one, is a character, I hope my tutor can sympathize with at the end of the piece- with her revelation.
Her motives are utterly selfish and human.
But finally, she is accepted and her nephew is forced to love and adore her because she has the essence and power to help not only society. but also Vladimir forget who he actually is.
Ha ha! What a raucous.
Well, it’s all a been a bit of fun trying out new writing styles. Writing should be fun and not some Herculean labor (which it does seem to be at times)
As long as I pass I will be happy.
Daisy- ‘the entrepreneur in progress’ is moving forwards in my business.
That’s a bit of an update from me. My stop has arrived. I’m tired cold and I want to see my family.
I have blogging awards to accept and nominations to do and look forward to catching up on blogs over the week.
I may barricade myself in my bedroom over the weekend and devour every post/blog I come across.
Higher consciousness.org broadcasts live video of a man flying in outer space.
Caption : What are you THANKFUL for today?
I go against all those who fold in with
it’s a day to count our blessings.
Slavering ,table drummers –we will rock you with our forks and our knives.
Salacious portions of the second road runner-up to the national bird, cooks amongst natures already abundant offerings of food.
The feeders may all come at you in unhinged straight jackets, disturbed little bees in honeycombed hives.
We don’t get the message – our mother earth shakes her head in dismay.
Excuse me for the cynical distaste.
Maybe -it’s the Black Friday orders of the soon to be penniless mourners that leave me to wonder,
if I’m the only one who believes in the promotion that counting one’s blessings should cover more than one day.
Awareness of what we have and have not.
Awareness of what we know and should know,
should not be chalked up -spelled out in the toddler soup of the day.
Tomorrow -one damp rag across the blackboard , one teardrop of rain – one scribble away,
can change all we are a boon for.
One day is not enough to keep up the movement -that unifies us – when we come together to complete mandalas sun – each our own beatific ray.
Orphans of humanity we plead for more.
Callous rant – as rough as the skin on my feet – routinely massage cream into them every evening ;
be consistent with our moral compass .
That is how we can land on our feet- no cat with nine lives or suspicious minded dreaming.
every day of the year.
Call out your own judgments when it flashes past -cognition held up -brain powder – slow control release,
regulate the filtering in and out of brainwash sluice glugged down in unrecognized fear.
Fear of what?
Nothing will change if we don’t make it so.
Sow what we reap -reap what we sow.
I sense a preacher inserted that quote in serendipitously ,only so I could attempt to allow this rant to flow.
So be it.
Of course, I am grateful for all that life has given me – dazzling in wealth of the simple things,
all there- for me to quietly contemplate upon bestow.
The furies, the mad rush, the gluttony, the ego of humanity – homeless men and children invited in for one meal – one day .
Please don’t touch the brand new fluffed up hand towel.
Would a homeless person even have the culture to know to wash one’s hands before praying for this feast -making sure to appear humble in the glare of your Lords softened scowl?
Bacteria – one culture – it’s enough to let him wash his hands in the kitchen scullery sink.
What is he to know ? water is water – surely this should cleanse our conscience attempt to pummel fists at our conflicting thought process arena- enough well placed blows and we will return to our white sheep – one dip – one vision – contemplative blessed day, lucky are those who can think.
envision a person who swoons effortlessly – a home is no show museum in an attempt to wow family and friends to incite:
Don’t you wish you could pull all of this off on this most thankful besmirching day?
Newly formed speech bubble of Radical congregation thought -branches of hate and envy.
Group Faction fractions,
was never my strongest subject at the school of life in preparation.
Soul hack – stumped and blinded .
I left young – fled.
I knew it was a ploy to mollify me.
I’m no Einstein at arithmetic but may I be so bold to ask surely there is more in the power of one?
We have the ability to stand down in peace, for one day, in our millions – united in blessific glee.
Or, do we all have continue consuming archaically stoned ?
Prompted into Martyrdom ,
to accept the first prize of a well acted boon?
In the promise of 50% discounted TV.s and-and Suv cars with 0.1 miles on the clock, ready as an incentive to live as we already should ,
with a marked line, curving upwards indicating we have enough and are already happy?
I feel like all I do these days is write, read books about writing- and as much as I love to write and learn how to write better, I need another hobby.
I used to blog daily -sometimes twice a day.
Nope – not anymore.
I don’t get to read as many of your blogs as I want. 😦
Since I’ve started my Masters- all I do is write and read. oh, and then there is the rest of my life to deal with.
I don’t mind, but I am one of these generally over anxious type of people who will freak out about everything until I’ve submitted my work, and then I will find something else to worry about.
Am I the only person who feels this way?
Where am I up to in my Masters?
25 days away from submitting my first TMA (tutor marked assignment) to the Open university.
It’s part of an ongoing piece of work I intend to do when I do my EMA (end-of-module assessment)
What am I doing?
I’m passionate about people, life, my community.
I’ve been doing loads of research on homelessness- particularly teenagers who are homeless in the U.K.
Mind blowing, the local authorities make life a nightmare for these children to get into ‘normal society living’.
The premise of my script is ultimately a good old fashioned love story with plenty of obstacles – the end hasn’t been written yet but there is where I am up to:
Desire is a 14/16 -year-old runaway, she was a full-time, undeclared carer for her parents – her Mum who has Dyspraxia and her Dad who has Dementia. She struggles with the guilt of leaving her ill parents to look after themselves yet she wants to find her own path in life and be successful – have a career, relationships, family- all normal milestones.
She falls in love with the charismatic, highly talented and artistic, drug addicted – Leo. They are polar opposites. She is not into the whole drug scene and engages with hostels and programs to try and get off the streets. Leo loves Desire because she is everything he is not. He wants the best for her but he is not really a planner. Lives day to day. His mother had Cancer,and she took an overdose, Leo found her and he has been on the streets for many years. To get by he sometimes is able to get commissioned work for his artwork . The drugs get in the way of him being able to maintain a job.
He enjoys the Freedom of living on the streets and he sees it as his home. He knows the system well, he knows how to play it so he doesn’t fall into it.
Vee, a hostel coordinator at Steps hostel and day care center for homeless teens, sees the potential in Desire and tries to pull as many strings to help Desire get off the streets. Her biggest obstacle seems to be her need to care for Leo and her love for him.
Desire has a chance to get into a new program, funded by an organisation, to help 25 young teenage women get their life sorted but she ends up falling pregnant with Leo’s baby at the same time she finds out her Mom dies of a stroke and her Dad- unable to keep up with the rent payments on the house, is taking into a state care home.
Her mental health starts to unravel quickly. She disappears for a couple of months and then goes back to find Leo to confront Leo with the news of her parents and to tell him she is pregnant. Leo already suspects Desire is pregnant. Desire finds Leo’s in his favorite place to get high and chill – he loves reading- the library.
Desire’s dreams of being with Leo start to fall apart when he has to convince her to go into a hostel -full time and to focus on her and the baby.
Desire is reluctant- as there are so many ways her being pregnant could play out. She could get transferred to a single teenagers hostel.
In my research, I have found out that unlike teenage hostels- where the rules are rather flexible a lot of young single Moms are cut off from their partners (who often happen to be homeless or on drugs ) and living a chaotic lifestyle.
There is also the worry of social services getting involved.
What will happen?
I’m yet to write that bit. ha ha! I have an idea – a rough idea. I know the ending already although this may change when it comes to drafting the next part of this script.
The main obstacles Desire will come up against is being able to adapt to living in a more structured environment, in a place where she knows no one,lives with many different girls in various different mind states and in different places contrasting to Desire.
Can Desire forget Leo?
How does Leo deal with not being able to support Desire, in a way, a father -to -wants to?
How does the system support young ,homeless parent- or parents to be ?
How does this story end for Desire and Leo?
Many people think homeless people choose to live on the streets without knowing the red tape nightmare , internal conflict,external life issues and stress that these people have to deal with on a day to day basis.
I didn’t want this to be an agitprop / political piece. I have always written stories and scripts about themes that do come up in politics.
My main obstacle was to create awareness of the complications and obstacles homeless people face but I needed to do this in a way that an audience would engage with , relate to and come from a place of empathy.
Who hasn’t been in love?
Who hasn’t had to make tough choices?
Life is not black and white. There are many gray shades and people are complicated. We are not a piece of paper with a checklist of criteria who fit into a neat box.
Approaching the current homelessness crisis from this angle is not working!
I’m currently tweaking the visual narrative, dialogue everything!
I’m still undecided whether it should be environmental theater, site-specific location or low-level audience participation interaction in the style of promenade theater. I do know that I envision the play to be staged to the bare minimum. I agree with Moliere and many other playwrights ‘less is more’ when it comes to scene setting. Audiences left with their own imagination can come up with a far better setting or set than I can.
deadline submission date: 25 November.
I still need to write a commentary to discuss the creation-evolution process and any obstacles I came across and how I worked it all out. 😀
“if she is willing to screw you, like you or date you -He can’t handle the truth and question’s why- so is She crazy or is He just being a dickhead for calling her crazy ( for seeing something in him -he is obviously having a hard time coming to terms with ?”
SOMETHING TO LISTEN TO WHILE YOU READ
When like me, you are a second generation-er of hooking up with men that tend to leave me -wanting more love.
I have always thought that more love is more unkindness , more abuse, more words on how crazy I am am.
I am working on a new script- themes that crop up are Betrayal -Love – just to name two.
Solid foundations – a tent is not a good one. A stone house is probably a better choice of material.
I then find the first man who treats me as his queen.
Dominates me ( when I let him 😉 )
I can’t get my head around it.
Slowly,I am starting to.
I mean ,I married the man who treats me so different from all the others.
I wonder if he is normal!
When is he going to start treating me in a way that I have been conditioned to respond to?
Why is it that even now, a part of me is sad that I don’t get the respect from those who have never shown me any respect?
All Genders are included in this question.
Take. Take .Take.
I Give Give give.
I don’t know if this a guy thing but it seems like ‘crazy’ is the buzzword to try and put a woman in her place -if she expresses feelings and does things that any “normal” person would do if that person was in her shoes.
Here are the ones that actually helped me see myself as a person. So, here is a BIG
to those( not all ) men who think throwing out the crazy word to try and cop out or put me or any one of my sisters in my/ her place.
She’s so emotional! F-ing psycho!
If I cry often or during difficult conversations, it doesn’t mean that I’m a crazy emotional mess, it means that I am a human being with emotions that I have invested into that particular conversation. Crying isn’t a sign of weakness, craziness, or hormonal imbalances… so please in God’s name do not ask me if I’m getting my period!
I can so relate to this. If I have invested more of my emotional energy into a friendship , relationship, acquaintance ship, career even, and I get upset when I have fulfilled my purpose to an individual and not got what I was expecting. What does a person expect? If I don’t cry when we are having a difficult conversation. I may be trying to take in what has been said and let my heart catch up with my mind.
We all internalise and externalise our shit in different ways. One guy I gave my body and mind too, in the hope of gaining his friendship,made out like I was off my fucking head because I asked for certain drugs to block the pain and guilt of what I had done ,after his ‘I have just fucked you. Here is why it can’t work’speech.
“If you can’t chill out with Valium then you are seriously fucked up.” said He.
This was said as a follow up to his
” I only smoke weed day in and day out and have Ketamine/MDMA every couple of weeks or so.”
Heads up this guy has serious Addiction and relationship issues himself.
“I don’t really drink anymore” – I look around the house- it is a tip , empty alcohol cans ,bottles and remnants of ‘a party I had two days ago’, said He.
DOUBLE STANDARDS ALERT .
She flipped out when I left my dishes in the sink…she’s nuts!
If I get angry at you for feeling taken advantage of, it doesn’t mean I’m uptight and crazy, it means that sometimes I don’t want to be treated like an indentured servant or a sex slave. You’ve had a long day? So have I, and looking cute or being sexy while cleaning up your mess isn’t exactly on the top of my priority list. Anger is fine for men, yet when women express it, we are donned crazy.
This one doesn’t just have to be about dishes. It does seem true that Anger in men is fine, encouraged even. I have been an instigator of this myself.
“MAN UP” says I.
A woman gets Angry and lashes out !
Why is that crazy or anything less validating than a man expressing his emotions?
Some Men just don’t understand women at all.
It is easy to run away and point a finger and say ‘it is her- me I have my shit together. PLEASE LOOK AT YOUR FUCKING LIFE
She’s left me like 10 messages demanding that I call her back!! She’s not understanding the brush off!!
If I continue to call or text after no response from you, It doesn’t make me crazy for not getting the “hint”, it makes you a child who refuses to take accountability or responsibility for your feelings/lack of feelings. I know you don’t want to talk to me. I deserve to have that conversation even if it’s difficult for you. And at this point I’m desperately hoping you pick up the phone just so I can hear the terror in your voice. What exactly are you afraid of? Honesty? Grow up!
This is one, when I read it – A light switched on for me . Yes, I may have sent ineligible texts, nursing my heart with benzos and alcohol at the time, decided it was a great idea to text a person who I needed answers from. When I was picking up the pieces.It was a hard for me to be objective about the texting. It wasn’t a side I like to see in me. I looked pathetic.
Until I read the above. I think me wanting answers is not unfair and this is when I finally realised just who I had invested so much time into –
Some Boys think life is a game.
Men know when it’s time to get honest and talk without their dicks.
You’re a crazy bitch but ya F—- so good I’m on top of it!
If I enjoy sex and I know what I like it doesn’t make me a crazy slut, or just plain crazy. An important part of being a woman is knowing your body, knowing your limits, and not being afraid to ask for what you want. People have kinks and preferences. Adages like “crazy in bed means crazy in the head” is just another way to make women feel badly for being exactly who they are. We are constantly told not to be ordinary, normal, or boring, so when we embrace our not so boring side we shouldn’t be feared and shamed. Grow up and embrace the sexual revolution boys! A real woman should be confident in bed, no matter what her preferences.
Yeah, what I have to add to this as a woman is,a I grow as a woman , sexually gaining confidence in myself, not needing alcohol or drugs to fuck.
Men rarely make any apologies for wanting to fuck me. When I show I can take control and say this is what I want and no I don’t like to be treated mean.
Some guy’s seem to love that, until………………..
Then, it feels like if he didn’t make his bed the first time – he sure as hell is not going to start now.
So he starts back pedalling. His spine goes as limp as his most erect penis .
That is a bit cruel. Maybe I indulge a man’s ego because I don’t want to say.
“I can’t feel a thing. Are you actually in yet?”
Maybe, I have had a child and slept with many or a few dudes or maybe I am just used to bigger cocks.
STOP THE SLUT SHAMING!
She says she’s in love with me…she must be crazy!
Lastly, If I tell you that I love you chances are I do…or at least I think I do. Falling in love with someone is difficult. Admitting to it, is even more difficult. Don’t belittle my feelings. Don’t give me reasons not to love you. And don’t, by any means, stick around if the feelings aren’t mutual. I love you..there I said it…so either be a man and dive into this thing with me, or be a man and walk away. And remember, if after you’ve made your choice, (to stay and love me or to walk away) I am a crying mess, I’m not crazy. I’m just human.
Even if this is said by a drunk women texting. She may not love you – she may just have ” complicated” feelings for you. She may say she hates you in the next text.
Rejection sucks. Ever been there?
The biggest cop out is ‘it is not going to work but of course we can be friends’ two days later -unfriended with no answers.
Finally, be fucking specific. CRAZY is such an umbrella term.
She’s constantly drunk. ( daisy adds when she is around him)
“She got hammered last night and was completely crazy.”
Do you mean to say, “She has an issue with alcohol abuse?”
That’s very different from being crazy.
If she’s constantly drinking that much and losing her sh*t, you might have some more serious problems to deal with other than her “craziness.”
I tend to write what I know. I already have the dramatised scenes but I like to get more creative and make it original, when I put pen to paper and get my draft down, then the editing process starts. Characters grow the more I write,what they say to each other, the more the plot develops,.
I started reading these articles because I am looking for motives for who at this present is -the Antagonist – this could change.
I was so fixed on the Antagonists good qualities and the Protagonists bad qualities. I needed to find balance.
Characters and real people all have light and dark in them. No person is wholly good or wholly bad.
Really , it that even legal? how do we get away with with alcohol being consumed with out getting arrested
The truth is: society is infested with Greedy politicians.
Had a look at what ingredients/drugs are approved by the FDA to eat. Can’t pronounce some of those words? If I can’t pronounce what I want to eat it is only because I am on holiday learning about good food and dishes from other cultures.
Oh,only if it’s tobacco -sprayed with pesticides and cut with rat poison and the like.
The truth is society is being carbon monoxided by those who profit from illegal drugs and it isn’t just drug lords but our own civilised governments.
I’m only a weed and yet the world is going crazy over me. I offer more medicinal benefits than most drugs. Legalize the good shit – erase the solar powered bad shit.
The truth is governments and pharmaceutical companies profit more by making un natural ,. manufactured, prescribed drugs. Without illness there is no money to be made.
Only if it’s come fresh from Bolivia and hasn’t been cut 50 times before it reaches our shores
The truth is our governments make more money out of keeping three quarters of the the global population in poverty. More than one kind of pig snorts on a regular basis.
Give these people legal jobs .
Only if it’s safe and you use clean needles and it is licensed and controlled.
The truth is governments need to deflect on their own scum secret society actions. worthless junkies are a perfect Scape goat.
Here is the big news – legalise drugs and governments will fold and other governments will rise . Western and not so Western ones.
Many Wars will stop.
Crime will reduce.
Less people will die from bad mixes.
What is the big deal?
Black market dealers are never going to lose it’s swagger.
Think rationally about this folks.
Drugs can be taxed,
made fair trade.
Deal with the problem by facing it head on.
Straighten the economy
Communities and the government can work together. Side by side .
Improve economies globally.
We all know what happens when we swim against the tide.
Less money will be used treating people with addictions than what A&E has to deal with at the moment.
Move forward .
Progress with the movement
I swear to you when I have picked the DRINK ME option. I have got into to way more trouble than when I have ever done any other kind of drug.
Alcohol is poison. One of the more poison-est of them all.
The truth is you are deluding yourself that it is okay to drink just because the law lets you. How can you sit there and take the moral high ground?
A law does not mean that it makes drinking moral.
Regulate the quality of current illegal drugs.
Watch the prison population fall to at least half of what it is now.
If I ever want to poison myself I want my Democratic right to choose my poison.
Let the justice and criminal system deal with true crime.
Say goodbye to Gangsters and pimps –
The mafia and the government -who is the true Bud –
Feeling the effects of it yet?
The most productive way to bend and alter the mind is educating yourself -become less ignorant , look at the long game- the long term benefits and who in our society is likely to benefit the most from it.
No need to fraternise with L.S.D. to open your mind – just a change in attitude.
Just because it is legal doesn’t mean you have to do it.
My Gran drummed that into all of us as much as she could.
She was born with money but lived the life of Cinderella because she was pretty and Grand Mamam re married and acquired two not so pretty daughters.
She fell pregnant at 16 and was made homeless and went to work as a femme de menage and then trained to be a beautician.
She fell in love again and had my Aunt. Her Love left her like a stolen kiss and she then had two children to look after.
She had to put my aunt and uncle in a children’s home so she could work and survive and send money to them.
It’s not a train smash.
Ever heard of that one before?
My grandpa drummed that in to all of us as much as he could.
His parents left Russia in 1918, took on a Polish sounding name and ended up leaving a good life for the slums of Paris.
Grandpa was born in the slums of Paris.
Grandpa took to cruising Paris with the other street kids ,always hungry on the look out for food.
One day Grandpa got a chance to change everything. He got a contract with L’oreal to bring the brand and introduce it to the dark continent that is Africa.
Always an opportunist he took the contract, found my Gran along the way , got married to her (much to the disapproval of my Grans family) and left for Madagascar, then Zimbabwe and finally South Africa.
My Gran couldn’t leave her children. She had to tell grandpa that she couldn’t leave France.He asked why and she only managed to tell him about her daughter – my aunt.
My grandpa took my aunt out of the children’s home and gave her his name that very day. My gran couldn’t bring herself to tell Grandpa about her other son. He would remain a secret until he wrote a salacious book about our family many years later.
Grandpa would have taken on my estranged uncle too if he had known.
They went on to have four more children.
Grandpa made a lot of money and finally got live the life of O Riley in South Africa.
The fridge was never empty again.
I got to live a pretty good life too.
Did having money and class make me a better person?
It got me into a lot of trouble.
I had far too much money from my Dad and my Mom’s side of the family.
I got into plenty trouble.
I ended up living in squats and places of poverty. I was always more accepted there for wanting to get high than with other wealthy friends.
The reason: I didn’t hide who I was.
I don’t regret becoming a drug addict.
It taught me that just because I was white and privileged that didn’t mean I was exempt from getting hooked on the same drugs that only the poor and coloured ( is a race in South Africa and not a slur) , Indian and black community did.
Class doesn’t buy you happiness.
Drug dealers hated me.
They didn’t get why a white girl with seemingly everything would wanted to live a ghetto life – have black boyfriends and live in squalor.
One thing having class did help me with is get me out of a lot of trouble
Before you say money doesn’t buy class.
I already agree it doesn’t.
But have you ever noticed that some people carry themselves a certain way and others have an in bred look.
This is subjective and
Don’t tell me you haven’t ever had that thought!
That person looks like …. (insert your thoughts here)
What I love about the Word Press community is I don’t have a clue who has money and who doesn’t unless of course a person tells me.
It still doesn’t make a difference. All Good Writing is classy in my book.
What irritates me is even though I am living on the poverty line not because of choice but because of choices I have made – people who don’t know my financial situation assume that the reason I got my daughter back and managed to manage my mental health issues is because of how I present myself and because I look like I have money.
I communicate well.
Being privileged does not make me make better choices.
It doesn’t make me better in anyway.
There are many people who live in poverty who just like me want to learn. crave to learn.
I truly believe ‘knowledge is power’.
I communicate well because I have educated myself.
Everyone should have this chance
I’m in debt because I wanted to study in higher education. I am willing to get into more debt to get my Masters.
The problem with class is the privileged have a better chance at learning to communicate and getting their point across in a “rational” manner from an early age.
We are all born with emotions. It is as natural as breathing
For many reasons when we display our emotions in society, we are seen as bad and showing ourselves and our family and friends up.
People with mental health issues -Rich or Poor get outcast as soon as they start leading their life in emotion without knowing the rules of how to be “civilised” to try get what you want.
I didn’t get lucky because of my back ground.
I got clever and I studied and I learnt. I watched people and how they interact. I went on self discovery courses to find out what my priorities and beliefs and values were and what makes me tick.
I have had at least one chance to marry for money. A pity the person was double my age, got a great pension and couldn’t communicate unless in anger or affection and drunk.
I have never had a rich boyfriend.
I think the closest I had to a boyfriend with “Money” was a brief love affair with some one in the army who had so many issues that he accused me of only wanting him for his money.
Funny story. I actually crushed on him because he had travelled like me. He had opinions and ideas. He was creative and he made me feel special.
I am marrying for love.
My mom is not rich any more but she has a lot of class and really great taste in fashion.
She has been my wedding planner and if our day looks privileged: it is because she got clever
We got clever. We got our priorities right.
I am rich in love.
My husband to be was born in a place where everyone who hears the name thinks ghetto ,drugs, inbred families and rough around the edges .
Granted Gaz looks like he may smoke a bit of the green stuff.
He has never smoked or taken drugs .
He doesn’t drink. Hasn’t done for nearly 5 years.
He does knows how to communicate and get his point across better than a lot of the Rich people I have had the opportunity of conversing with.
His mind is open. He is not ignorant. I love him for that.
We get on so well because we try to put the world to rights,we are inquisitive, always ready to learn and find out about our world and even beyond it.
I have something small I want to say about a BIG theme.
Are you on social media networks like Facebook? etc ?
Continue to to read.
When you see posts like these -do you like them and have have an opinion?
We are inundated with ‘revolting against society’ posts .
Take no more shit from religion , politics- war..
Yet, I am just as guilty.
We like all these posts but we do fuck all about them .
I’m Daisy the anorexic.
I am 100% against racism.
Did you voice your opinion when your Nan, mate or whatever went and called a group of people one of which you may be married to, work with ,friends with- a bunch Paki’s ,Kaffirs or a nigger ?
Why didn’t you speak up for him/her/them?
Why are still we buying all this make up and these clothes if we are supposedly not buying into the media and being brain washed?
What are we actually doing that is making a change in society?
Don’t like seeing animals abused?
Why do we not take what we use on our skin and put in our bodies seriously?
Why you wearing leather?
Does your name end in Flinstone?
Eating meat? you don’t like animal cruelty?
What are you doing going to Primark ,Topshop – whatever shop to buy your clothes if you don’t believe in slavery?
If you see me at these places let’s hook up and start to communicate properly.
We obviously don’t give a shit.
Why do I still drink bottled water?
I know I’m killing the planet.
Hypocrite comes to mind.
Why don’t we care enough?
We all know war is not the solution .
Our men and women are dying for the elite few and still we glorify them.
“Look what a hero he or she is fighting for our country.”
I don’t see any improvements from war. I see governments profiting.
WE DON’T CARE ENOUGH. -Aldous Huxley comes to mind.
We are fighting about legalising some drugs and not others – all drugs including alcohol and cigs, E vapes ( I’m hooked on the shit) brainwashes us into a nebulous slumber.
Didn’t George Orwell say something like that in his ‘1984’?
A drug is a drug. Legal or not.
State the fucking obvious Daisy!
I think we are messed up.
What business have we -wanting children, when we treat the world the way we do?
By all means like these ‘take a stand against ‘ insert ‘what gets you ire’ posts.
But let us think about what we can do about this situation we call -a humane society ?
Why can’t we revolt?
Better the devil we know?
I don’t have an answer.
I have tons of questions but then I always have questions.
Why are the majority of us not doing something?
What can we do?
We need to communicate seriously …
You can think you are your own island and continue with the whole ignorance buzz but don’t go trying to bring more life into this world in your mission to believe,that by liking an “I am not going to be brainwashed by media or whatever” post -that you are actually doing something.
I think it is a new kind of brain wash . Like it and you think you have done something.
No, you have read something and clicked on a button. You haven’t done fuck all.
Think about why you are liking it, what is supposedly happening in the world and in the News.
Mainstream news/media as all these posts we like, tell us that we are being fed propaganda – every continent even yours!
Is this war in whatever country a cover up for something that need covering up closer to home?
We have to get smarter..
Fuck reality T.V. bullshit.
It’s not an easy answer.
I think, if we are going to like these posts we should be in the front line protesting.
We need to start doing more.
What movement do yo want to see in your society?
…and how is revolution going to change the fucked up society we live in .
If we can get all fucking “artistic” and organise a ‘flash mob’ , we can organise a revolution surely?
I want to wake up and stay awake.
Done with this politic rant.
Thanks Charlie for the inspiration
Gonna go back to reading posts – ha ha! Rant over.
Monthly Festival : Turn your book into a movie and get it seen by 1000s of people. Or garner FULL FEEDBACK from publishers on your novel and help your next draft. Or get a transcript video of your novel performed by professional actors.