Tag Archives: society

Sabali wabi sabi

Does it need to be said ?

Because the Media makes you think your make up is inappropriate

If you are horrified to ask Google for mental health support.

You know I’m hear to tell it — (once )’for a cause not for an applause’

To avoid the pariah of your mind.

Who you are is important for your wellbeing

Beautiful you are because of your malaise.

Its about what you think

A unique template for peace of mind.

Alone-thoughts are you,

And yours together.

Others’ opinions must dance alone with their shadows.

Fathoming the world is relative to your state

Your kind.

Diagrams and graphic diagnostics aren’t “normal”

Natural ?!


Merely for inferences and academic utterances.

Your Beauty is personified by playful events racing around your head.

Love it like you love…

…another human


Those who have numbers and words yet can’t calculate when there’s enough unsaid.

Needs are experiences.

Feelings are needs…

Interpret the world through the vessel of your spirited Self .

When skies hang drably

Do you dazzle because you can see a scattered horizon of hope — as a possibility ?

When the Others tether connections

Tumble into an abyss —

Can you see their limits ?

Step back.

Allow them to be.

Is your world subject to scrutiny because of how you interpret human nature?

Do you deviate from society’s accusations of what is the trending status quo?

What if the box you live in is… outside?

What if you build a bridge?

Bearing a cross

Over to acceptable taboos ?

Breath prescribed by an arched smile.

Diagnose yourself Beautiful- because of your laments .

Before time becomes an absolute Obsession

Forecasting the outcome to the finale to the play of ‘This is your Life’.

Take moments to repose.

Free yourself from the expectation

To be your career,

To win over the Marvel comic genderless hero.

Deprecate your expectations to finance your inner Happiness resources.

This entity is inside your realm of Consciousness — restless

Trodden and stamped into a standing pose.

Moments of reflection pace

Forwards then backwards


Are you what you want to be?

Can you begin a journey if you don’t understand where you are at?

Certainly living up to some other lifer’s calculation should…

Pause your being into a statuesque introspection.

To dismiss your guttural instincts will unravel you at the seams— out-thread you out of your very own mind.

Success comes from mapping out your own directions.

Hopeful-to wake up to another day of understanding ‘This is your Life’.

Your ability to comprehend, foreshadows your failed attempts to claw out of the darkest pit.

Sounds of the ocean lap to your melody.

Nothing that you feel about Today

Can conceive the trembling murmurs cut off from the guillotine of your Sanity.

In all of your figurements…are you determined to act out your suicide because you fear your inability to state your arousel ?

Who you are

Is that wrong?

Thoughts pre empt if everything is filled in with Leftism

Resist apologising

Dismiss you have the good view!

Change your world


Refuse every thing

That threatens your Passions —

That provokes beta beatings whistling out of tune.

Precious notions find a sense of disambiguation before the matter resolves itself.

Do you tell others to respond to what you fail to question?

Where is the perversity in watching the death of your inner Flinch — to conclude this delusion ?

What if you won’t be the canvas that contains an abstract spectrum fading you out of very own Self ?

Look on at those who shrink into their frames bled of every shade of hues

Is this what you want?

(Image sourced from SHADOWPLAY DESIGN )



Living to hear the lie.

Random fandom

Venerable vulnerable

Society disappoints my inner light.

It screams out in backdraft,

Fire quell the passion of at the lack  of incompetence.

Respect our traditions and values

Society came and went.

Flew over a universal credit faux pas.

Capital gains for an elite aura

Chakra displays a



hunchbacked tramp with an earnest title.

Sir Display


Sonic fox

Sly to out weevil the equestrian retriever.

Animus  archetypes-

Character sparks a debate seeking clarity .

More insight.

Live for the day

seize the Monet.

Be true to our nature?

We are but characters


a fatal flaw.

The world is our stage.

only in  hindsight

do we engage to our higher self .

It comes with the cycle of age.

Respect to  our elders living in a world blinded  by ignorance.

Dictating  Hyacinth Bouquets ‘ keeping up an appearances’ .

Failing to honour our  stories

Altering texts to  appease  the Ego .

Inner Iago

Felt tips

It’s a downhill plunge to  Fargo.

Typing in waffle

 doughy texture

 Sweetens the anger I keep at bay.

Escapism found in pictures of the anonymous

a picture framed with fantasies

it breaks my heart

It screams autonomous


… writing to  self prompt

it’s all a bit of trotting ,cantering  on beaches in a dark continent/


Memories are all we have to keep us the right side of sanity.

The acquisition of wealth is useless

Where did the mummies end up ?

Eyes dazzled by coins.

The mystery of life lies in a pyramid.

Inverted by the shape of   our expectations

We let ourselves down.

We became Sell outs

In the name of

confirming  to Huxley’s  dystopia

conforming to live out Pret a porter lies;

  Coveting  our true  label



in contempt

for  subscribing






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.

”  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. “

at liberty to choose

Charlie met Esther on abortionist roe.

Hedges neatly trimmed – enough to disheval a bearded vagabond to weep after his latest woe.

No coat hangers to gut the newborn sac.

Charlie stood for hours until her number came up.


rouge screen screams with a tremulous beep.




to strike the star lead role in a Bolly wood film deal.

unsullied arrived in a cumulous cloud,

stricken by a thunderous compulsion to wail.

Esther didn’t hear the bond lust, lilted scream.

memory hazed -by two fat ladies at gate number 8.

Efforts disarmed – inability to count down to the primal odd.

nebulous chlorophyll masked her mouth.

Envy immoblised to an unrecalled dream.

Innocents smile;

swinging on tyres.

Freddie Kruger caught in a static slumber loses night mare credibility to a sterile clinic;

Action paralysing every unconscious scene.

Strathem , London-night defends to keep watch.

Both stumble upon a tidy little room – 1970’s style. No disco defiblerater harmonizing jolts to the beat of

‘ Staying alive ‘

Old granny hoovered up flowers chocked in ivy a patterned carpet ,

Mist of lavender lingers. This bitch knows how to spray.

Dont mess with the O.G.

Peppered,seasoned hair, non linear lines carve out a facial narrative.

Don’t be fooled by this kungfu hoe.

inebriated illiterates

desensitized to her strategy in a game of cruel cluedo.

It’s all so normal. It’s life, you know..

Scissors ready to stab a beating heart,

Positioned in foetal

Sucked out the uterus.

Pro choice.

Pro voice .

Pro life.

Pro midwife.

Tall walled wars.

Bricks bolster the Illusion of affairs in order.

Nobody is scrutinized so fiercely as the woman who maps out her own destiny – navigates the boundaries that her ideals can afford her.

Qality control.

The NHS paid for a private eye.

Two signatures deemed sufficiant to see her through the hours of her sobering silence.

Shame less in her flowered disguise.

Ginger nuts ,un savoury tufts.

No, this wasn’t her nine month due – no ice cubes for killing in the name of freedom to govern her own vessel.

No need for pro life stepford wives lies.

Sins annoint.

Sins accumulate.

Where would our saints stand without a dissident at hand?

Society sit down, protest proudly.

Part the veil of clouds

Peer piously downwards,

ready to strike thunder bolts of judgement.

Rain down booming terror tactics .

Esther cares not for their gospel band

Society sips, exhalingg wafts of fair trade, Ivory coast coffee beans.

Privilege smells of a modern holocaust of starving babies in bony mothers arms.

Who said any of these women consented to consummate?

Penatrative obedience to the phallic statues erected in morning glory psalms.

Civilized society!

What if God was one of us?

a scripture in the making.-

Touch and kiss the sky .

Would he become the true reflection we see ,when we catch ourselves about to exhale the final breathe ,before we die?

Fantasies always signed off with a silver lining and promises of a rainbow.

Reality is cold,

winter serves a plateau of ice .

Frigid flowers frozen in angst,


like glass.

Rebel against their reproductive nature.



One full gasp.

If only a mere raspy rant leaves on its depart.

It’s either them or an urban jungle of homo sapians collecting another free day ride .

Ready to infect ignorance on every global ocean that has shores that go out at low tide.

Punch and Judy -sober edition

Intolerant society.

We live in a belly fighting off bacteria

Begging other intelligence to disembowel us.


a tsumanima of hate floods our irrigation system of morals.

No lives matter.

Nazi’s aren’t the only few crazier than Mercuries Mad Hatter.

Everyone has an opinion.

Every Judy thinks they are entitled to a Punch – no need to be drunk.

No justice,

infuriating that we can’t learn violence is a domino effect.

Cause and effect

ripples from thrown stones.

Balance in humanity

artifially insemitated tinnitus

is the reality.

We look to archaic verse in the Testament that

‘ an eye for an eye’

is as natural as two beasts being violated while they are in active fornication.

Instinct and emotions show us we are alive.

We feel, we must feel — we have to feel to carry a vigil of hope

Some divine sign,

god, goddess installed a program of free will.

Divine sign?

Why not take back this privilege?

Why make a world perfect and full of sublime, lure us out with the promise of sunshine?

Caters to the needs of every breather, every ecosystem.

No need for uadulterated theft.

God is a Narcissist.

why would someone with such power sit back and watch us destroy one another?

Fuck the lies, the parables,

Jesus dying for our sins!

His resurrection has risen along with centuries a blasphemeous leaders chanting idolific hymn.

In the name of ignoratious barkus dogma

Religion – organised to control the masses

Opium now smells of it’s true odour-terrorisim .

Bombs, nuclear weapons, fists connecting with human bodies, unlicenced rifles blasting into chunks of animals flesh .


Who is right?

This game has found us lost in a maze and the goblins haven’t the eduction to translate to us

cuts to every department,



Revison .

This is prison.

Suicide seems an answer to a man’s motive to rise to heaven and receive a reprisal.

That is a given.

God is a narcissist .

Jesus-is a shoddy carpenter.

Mary Magdelane -the whore,is the only tangible part of this story I find plausible.

Create a world – destroyed by nations.

Give me a sign!

suffering to this extent is for an entity pantomime.

Enlightened gods, sit on Mount Olympus ,never miss an episode of planet earth.

The screen darkens to reveal

another dismal form of the masses , pupils— dilated, babbling words of freedom to.

freedom to insult ,

freedom to obliterate ,


to disfigure,

freedom to impregnate,

Freedom to do anything.

A society bloated, heaving up piles of excess.

Anarchy doesn’t mean terrorisation

Revolution is for the mighty of heart.

Ones who wish to see change from inequality for the many in parts.




We all deserve to be on the earth offender register

Why do we have laws ?

when we take our grievances into our own hands.

How can there be justice?

-when justice fails us with a well practiced pose of inverted corruption?

Trust in humanity.

Live by your true North, moral compass .

Born in navigation mode,

even if life serves you a sentence of physical deformity;

Don’t look to the sky for an answer.

Don’t look to a man with free words dribbling down his jumper.

Don’t tear down statues that can’t fight back.

There is no sense in joining hands with this vicious pack.

We all have it wrong.

Every. Single. One. Of. Us.

Think the death penalty teaches people to stop being immoral?

Tears cause waves, I’m hiding between the reeds and the coral.

Every face has that stoic sense of entitlement

Knitted together,from years of oppressive governments taking our God-given birth sight to see what a plight this truly is.

We all need to hang.

Hang our heads in shame.

Enough .

Cut out my heart

See it bleed

Let it bleed –

examine the appearance of your own and understand there is no difference –

we come into the world

We all rely on another hand for our first feed.

I’ve always been taught to have a plan B

I find myself alone; ready to denounce my mammalian side and take my chances, swim against the tide of oil sickened oceans, in one last effort to truly be free


Not for.


Free from hate,

, free from words spoken with a lingering scent of horse manure,

I denounce my own and seek a new home on the basis-I don’t recognize my own kind.

I don’t see a common interest,

goal –

all I see is another foe.

I choke on these words.

Why can’t we learn!?

I could go on, but we have unread history books, in abundance.

Nothing is censored.

The age of enlightmenent has turned into the birth of disallusionment.