Tag Archives: writing



I started blogging in 2015 & I couldn’t believe when people would read my opinion about something & comment!

I write to recover. From what?

Panic attacks, self-harm, feelings, starving myself, eating, being a mom who feels guilty about making so many boo-boos ( big ones).

This blog became a storage place for all my passions.

 I found by giving my time to learning new skills and committing myself to build a community within my blog and outside it, I learned new skills, became confident to try out new techniques and write about different content.

 I started coming up with ideas for writing by choosing a motivational quote and expanding on why I chose the quote & what it meant to me.  This led me to ask other bloggers to submit a quote & I was able to find more bloggers to connect with.


I’m here to connect with people.

Tune in turn on and stay plugged in (& sometimes I drop out for a bit).

In the early blogging days, I dedicated many hours to this blog & I did daily shout outs & accepted blog awards.



I’m a person who needed to find alternative coping mechanisms to live. Like most people, I’ve had traumatic experiences. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. Some of my posts relating to my journey can be found here:



This blog started me on a journey when I was fighting the justice system to get my daughter back in my care.

I went on to do my B.A. and a postgraduate degree in the Humanities -majoring in myth in the Greek & Roman worlds & Creative writing ( stage plays and fiction genres) came naturally to me.


After another 7 month stint in an eating disorder clinic (2007). I was reintegrated into my community & I needed to occupy my mind and fill my time. I enrolled in a college foundation degree in Acting performance. It was a challenge for me.

I was ill, afraid to talk to people but I stuck it out. When I was going through fighting social services for my 12-week old daughter. I found the strength to fight back.


I involve myself with many writing challenges, -A-Z Challenge, NaNoWriMo

 ANIMALS MATTER and learned so much about animal welfare & rights. I’ve met a lot of bloggers this way.

I found it easier to write free flow and stream of consciousness. It was the best way to get anything down

When I decided to experiment with STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS POSTS I expanded on my writing, started to revise some of my works & I started writing  what I call BORDERLINE POETRY

My definition of borderline poetry

‘ poetry that is blatant, honest, provocative ,emotional and not pretty or fancy or written to hide reality. ‘

 I started going to  Spoken word open mic nights  & started expressing myself in different mediums.


 My love of music & writing has led me to teach myself how to write music song /genre reviews. I’ve interviewed a few musicians too.

I’m the Black sheep in my Dad’s family. I decided to claim a new archetype to empower me. Goats are smart and there is the acronym









My blog helps me prepare workshops to deliver & co-produce sessions with mental health charities.

I use this blog for creating positive mental health awareness/wellbeing and anti-stigma projects.


I am a trained co-facilitator for WRAP -Wellness Recovery Action Plan. by Elen Copeland.


I love finding out about new people, ideas and cultures.



This is a place where I found acceptance by speaking from my heart. I found folk who had never met, commenting &encouraging me to keep writing.

I became unwell again. That happens in life.

I’ve used this blog as a self-help technique to deal with major life traumas like my gran dying from dementia and my aunt a year later from cancer.

I’ve used this blog to try and communicate unreciprocated feelings to my father & rant about why he won’t love me.

Self-expression is necessary for mental wellbeing.

I enjoy connecting with folks, creating content by myself or with others. I enjoy sharing information. I like to see myself as someone who is creative

I call myself a creativist because I know how important it is to have positive self-image and self-talk. I have a wealth of experiences and I am a person who tries to see all sides to a person’s situation.


I figured if I start writing about my thoughts and experiences – regularly, I may stop over analyzing and over criticizing myself.

I have made a few friends and gained some new perspective and interests.

I write for myself first and foremost & then if I find it helps others that is a bonus.

My venture with her Dementia

*REPOST pour ma Gandmere and for feeling helpless*

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!

Now  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 collared.  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 get?

I wake up every morning to life- I stare at the 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?


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 a 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*

Silly bean.

Now for something completely different…………  (Obligatory song to get you through it 🙂 )

Magic beans, not even Jack’s can compete.

These beans open up  a portal to a new portal in another space in my  brain.

I stretch up and yawn- pause …


I shouldn’t have done those exercises yesterday.

Sit ups but for my neck.

Ever done those?

You are meant to crunch your abs but instead, crunch your neck. Like that is exactly what I want a ripped neck.

Monster  scream – aaargh………

I’m writing. This is the point.

The point where everyone applauds and claps because I force myself to write.

I could go back to sleep……..

Or my angel gliding on air could bring me another magical bean.

Stained teeth are something I am willing to take on -if it gets me on my feet.

I was thinking about what to get my daughter for her next birthday.

What about a goat?


 You know the ones you get asked bombarded  to  sponser in the dark continent.

Hell, I will take the goat and bring it to balmy U.K. and give it a bell.

DING DONG!  A mobile door bell!


call it,


or Denow….  named after the deity of goats, perhaps ?

Two more words to make this a masterpiece 😉

Hakuna Matata.

It’s Friday!

Out on a whim

Do or die –

live fast , party hard –

be an honorific rebel.

Spank me, 

Shake me up, 

Colour me bold! 

Don’t wind me down – use a font that sounds like Bevel. 

If I could jump in that diamond encrusted  box with you ,would you promise that when the children come by 

we could uncoil, spring up, put on the frighteners  – bob up and down  on a wire?

I don’t mind you playing the  feral monkey but those cymbals screech: over trained!

we need a  new theatrical,

a mind-body infused ,hell raising  gospel choir.

It’s  a happening ,baby – right over here. Club Fifty Four.

Andy Warhol is in New york –  a shimmering  and a  shammering with his latest  regurgitated muse,  lapping up the froth off his candy coloured eye-popping  corps.

It’s all the craze .

It deserves a mention.

Yo, budding journalists get your jots and pens out,  pay attention to the latest and greatest.

News knew how to  mark us – with the blackest of  plagues.

Fish and chips to go, in  ink -lined, soggy wrapping?

Spill out your guts with this slick new verse , Congenial wordsmith.

Toxic misty  breath continues to reign -centuries later, none of us  is the wiser to what we are all truly cursed with.

Need a blood test or has Fate told you to put up your feet and take a light rest?

 Rest is of the idle boned –  the ones whose gums recede in a world of a decade ago of old, gravelly  deflated pillows, grimy duvets sprayed with remnants of last night’s perhaps last months  dalliance.

Life is to be played.

Hard and fast.

No one wants to party with some skittle who loses the colour  of his  new shades – when the beat kicks in and he is meant to advance without a second glance.

Rookies, pawns, knights and queens. 

Who should we really be saving?  

Strategy demands a benefits  calculated tested means.

Decrease or increase the stakes of getting a hit .


Snipers above you – numb shoulder – stay still, Mr unfit.

If I could be the monkey, I want to play the trumpet. 

Souls are more likely to come my way if  they can see few notes breezing over the Mississippi – 

Maple syrup to go with that sultry strumpet?

Hard cold cash – transmute people  into formidable  magpies.

Shiny, wind-up trinkets send these entities up a spiral of canonised lies.

Dance with me – take  flight to this notion. All you have to do is follow the lead – go with the flow just  don’t step on my toes. 

Look me in the eye – don’t worry what the other Ravers are shaking their glowsticks at.

They are revelling in a moment caught up in  ecstasy- let go of your own methodical  woes.

One night to play – shirt off  -loosen that fusty tie – let’s make a play for the dairy queen – Rocky road ahead but it leads to  confectionary .



read all about it.

We have a new sweetheart in town – all scarlet glittering lips- she hums the notes of a person who invented this spin.

I will call her  whig mal eerie-

non-believers look it up in the dictionary.

Mind Blown

No candy flip  or other substances required.

I am slowly realising that things cant always go at the pace I want it to. When it suddenly gets fast and awesome- it literally blows my mind.


This post is dedicated to YOU- if you are on here – this is for you.

I cant think of a better way to start the week – so here is me just doing my thang and telling you all how amazing you are. Checked out your Blogs. Forever grateful.

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Just when I think its time to pack up and get going in my pantechnicon. I’m kind of drawn  back in and encouraged to stay a while longer .


So let me get my detective cape and my smoking pipe filled and explore all your lovely Blogs.  All very Pink panther style.

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Sheen   – This is a protected Blog and so I have requested access. I will respect the authors wishes if they do not want me to divulge anything about the content of this Blog but I am keen to get to know you!

Useful Soul – James Wadman–  Jimmy is quite an enigma to me . A qualified neurologist all the way from Texas. He  happens to take striking images- check them out on , is very authentic to what he has to say and he also has a A TALK SERIES -CONSCIOUS TALKS – some amazing posts to be found here. Check out his images here Jimmy Wadman on Instagram

All of these are remarkable. One  that has resonated with my mood today is this one is the waterfall one- I’m feeling the pressure in my life and the need to jump and go with the flow and submerge in the water and just get high off that buzz  I get, when I have jumped off cliffs into water before and lived! HA HA!

The Green Onion Blog  -I think this is a unfollower /friend who has given me a scone chance, maybe ? 🙂  25 years of experience  in Media. Very cool!  Love the name the name of your children. Zyler is a really cool name. Love this!

“Your blogging superhero that has absolutely no powers.  Nerd of literature and other such expressive art.  Sensational partner, amazing father, spectacular ninja-like chef.”


Here are his category links:

Attempting Life! I am attempting life! Join me on this journey!  -Which is all we can do but I get the impression from the content of this Blog  -that Naksha  is doing more than an attempt and is fully engaged in it. I have come back and feel rather uplifted and positive. I like to feel this way.  So THANK YOU!

“I am a young female that believes we all can make a difference if we stand together and encourage each other that nothing is impossible. I hope to inspire many, with the few life lessons and experiences I have encountered in my little time in the real world – that has really impacted my choices.”

Author: Naksha Nandlal



SPIRITUALLY PROMISCUOUS -Consultant | Yogi | Author | Pilgrim – A provocative title Peter, if I must say so myself. Something that caught my eye was this statement.

“Past lives include underwear model (age 5, Underoos), dishwasher, cowboy, plumber’s apprentice, dotcom founder/loser, Carnaval float champion in Veracruz, US Senate campaign manager, tequila blender, small-business and nonprofit consultant, and contributor to the Myanmar Times.”


Want to find out a bit more? check out this post: THE STORY OF GOD- SEARCHING FOR ANSWERS

LITTLEBYLAURA   – Such a engaging Blog. Loads of insight into Life , books and Beauty from Laura’s perspective.  Here she is.



cocktailmolly Lightin Ish Up – Love  your introduction . I can never turn down a good mojhito. Cocktails and Poetry. A beautiful heady combination. This is a dream mixologist .

Hearing the voices of the unheard

Reading the words of the unknown

Watching those unseen creative bursts

Come to fruition

A detailed report to … the uninformed


But most importantly …

Let’s have some F-ing fun



run.rabbit.run.THE BLOG BEHIND THE PTSD BOOK< WRITTEN BY A BRAVE SURVIVOR 🙂  I I ALREADY FOLLOW LOTTIE. Get behind this lady. She is lush! one of her fave words. We have a rather intriguing connection. Watch this space!  Thanks for the ‘ Rabbit recognition award  (formerly known as the Bloggers Recognition award. – a fellow rule breaker.)

HER DOGS BLOG -Mad about furry friends? Who isn’t ? look at this pics!  It is a dogs life everyday!

Manusia… Apa dan Siapa?  – Yes, you can translate this Blog. Beautiful poetry and insights to be found here. One that stood out for me is this one- SOCIAL HUMAN

“Statement related social man often linked that man can not live alone .. and surveys prove that this is true,

Can we imagine that in this world there are no sellers simply are no buyers? then what we buy?”

in this world, no mother only father? Can a child be born? there may be but there is only one time only its creation.


HELLO  TO YOU IN SAPPHIC SUNSHINE A LIFE RICHLY LIVED… Love the honesty and love in your blog content. Truly empowering.


I think this uber elegant lady does her own justice by speaking for herself. I’m really intrigued about you adding play writing to your repertoire of talents.

” I am a lesbian blogger, fiction/short-story writer, and poet. I intend to add playwright to this list in the near future.

I am femme, generally soft-spoken, unless I am ebullient with laughter, loving, nocturnal, generous, and a sensual dancer and passionate speaker/artist.

I love women in their innumerable ways of being, in their countless colors and textures, sounds and sensibilities, and idiosyncracies. I am here to share my thoughts with the Universe and open to loving and being loved, unconditionally and artistically. And if there should come romantic vibes from this cyber space that titilates my inner essence, who knows what blessings the next moment may bring….”

insapphicsunshine bio

Indeed, we always need to keep that  door of hope and optimism open…


Lifestyle Daily Site BOOKS// OPINION// CULTURE – I most certainly love people with a sense of culture –not just their own and an opinion.  One post that stands out. I being a huge activist in reducing- eradicating Stigma against Mental health . Read it, HERE

Just to point out. There is more to a person and a Blog than Mental health- This is a Blog that proves that.

ReviewLabs Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world  – I couldn’t agree with with this statement TAGLINE  -Want to know about Hacking and cracking ?  Tips and Tricks?

“Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.

Education is not preparation for life; education is life itself.

The function of education is to teach one to think intensively and to think critically.
Intelligence plus character – that is the goal of true education.”

Understanding the benefits and functions of the computer.

The Page Turner Reading, Writing, Reviewing and Promoting from my eclectic bookshelf

HI VICKI!  WOW!  You are a Grand mother of 13. I would love to visit the Deep South of the U.S. of A. – It seems like a different world. It is always an honour to have anyone join the willows. May your success with your  published books continue . Check out Vicki aka Sojourner McConnell ‘s (Pen name)  book synopsis,  The Path of the Child   


I need to go on GOODREADS.COM more often. I see a bunch of people I follow on it.

SUBURBAN HOBO Navigating the New Normal in NJ   -Initially your title made me laugh but I have actually learnt something from checking out your blog . I have to share this. A silver linings type of lady. Close to my own heart and mirrors my own beliefs.

“The urban dictionary definition of hobo is: “an itinerant worker, a career which sprang up during the depression. A hobo, unlike a bum or a tramp, is more than willing to work, but mostly for a short duration, as their main impetus is travel, the love of the journey above the actual destination . . . a hobo merely travels from town to town, finding work when he can, but only for the sake of financing his next adventure.”

“I started “Hobo” as a place to share our stories without fear. We are hobos of the mind, renegades of the soul, yearning for something un-corporate and unconfined. We live paycheck to paycheck, debts linger, but we don’t let that get us down. We still have dreams.”


FLAMES AND GLORY WORSHIP FLAGS AND INFINITY SCARFS  -Hi Laura. There is such a fantastic energy to your blog and the journey you are on. When I clicked on the your post

20 THINGS ABOUT ME I punched my fist in the air.  We all have a story and just because we may have been on one path in the past doesn’t mean we are always on the same path. I’m going to put a few  things on here that stood out to me and  contrasts (maybe with others) – I love contrasts such as this.

  • I’m married to God.

  • I value God, Jesus, and Holy Spirit above all.

  • I used to be a stripper.

  • I’ve had three abortions

  • I have four kids.

“In June, I started my own business, working from home. I live a life through God’s heart and love to reach out to people in stores, on the streets, in the parks, in churches, etc., and always blog about my experiences.

And my Blog Page has been copyrighted, which includes blogs, poems, and songs.”


One more thing. CONGRATS  on your business – here is the link to Laura’s shop -So many beautiful colours!!

READERSSPOT-the perfect place for readers   –We all need one, right?  Read  posts about everything



UNKOWNPERSON79- WRITER,AUTHOR,MOTHER,SOUTHERN CHARM  – HI TINA!  My dream was to get married in New Orleans. But money prevailed over wants. 😦 –  I would love to live there. Whereabouts do you live? When I think of the South, I think all the folk talk like the characters out of Harper Lee’s ‘To kill a mockingbird  – just started reading her second -not so well known book ‘Go set a watchmen’

You have  great writing talent. One poem that resonates with me is this one. I think I focus too much on the dark side of me -mwahahahaha! but there is a mammoth part of me that is very much bright and light and ablaze and ready to fight for what I believe in .

        “The Darkness In A Soul”

My soul has darkened 



Am I beyond repairs?

I think not…


prowling like a coward…

come out of hiding and fight me…

beware of my power….

©Tina Glover All Rights Reserved 

cakeordeathsite What would you choose?   erm……… we are talking to a person with an Eating disorder . I don’t wanna die. I want cake!  I will have a slice , ta.  Love your stories btw. YOU CAN WRITE! WELL.


















Your ABOUT is fascinating. I actually love a lot of you love. Which is pretty cool. Except sports. I may watch the odd Rugby or basketball game ,ice skating, dance -that is it really. Ha ha!

“Interests and obsessions include, but not limited too are: Books and literature, JG Ballard, Lewis Carroll, Philip K Dick, Henry Green, Anna Kavan and many, many others. Art especially symbolism and surrealism. Film noir. every kind of movie. Music old school house, trip hop, Joy Division and Burial. Cats and dogs and horses. Gambling roulette and card games. Tarot, alchemy and magic. Watching sport on TV. Bread and circuses. Above all though cake, all kinds of cake.”


One post of yours that really captured me was this one : The Spell of Artaud – So glad to have you  here . FUCK THANKS!

SENSE IN NONSENSE-SATANIC BLOGGER OF INDIA  -I like to keep an open mind so – ha ha!  Hi Kishan. Welcome!  wow! named after a Hindu God. -That is epic. Do you get the God rites and power too? 😉 sorry just messing.  YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY LOVELY. NEVER JUDGE A BLOG BY ITS TITLE. – have a read for yourself

Sleeping on muddy ground is what I like. By that I can just forget my attachment with physical world. Just look over the sky and watch stars, never try to remember names because names are given by filthy humans not by nature. Clouds always fascinate me, different shapes and same color. I try to match them whit persons I know. Like once  I matched bald headed cloud with our father of the nation, Gandhiji and so on.

Whenever I saw shooting star in sky, I always wish to get a time machine. I am not at all interested in future but I would like to go in my past. The reason behind that is my grand pa. I never met in my person only heard stories about him. I just want to hug him and learn all the values and lessons from him. Like- not being lazy have a clear goal and all. Maybe that’s why, I mess things up so that when I will meet him on sky, I can get his sweet scolding. I wish, I will be the person as he was.


I see you have many diverse interests and talents- Politics , Poetry, Fiction, Reviews – and your you own personal diary.Lovely. Awesome – Great blog.

Londongrad -Erotica city  -Cass , you don’t mince your words. Tell it like it is. Chapeau!  I’m going to leave a bit of mystery here -read Cassandras about HERE   .Cass writes plenty of fiction too sometimes based on Personal experiences or general observations.

This is Cass’s  home page

Dear Extremists,

Take time to congratulate yourselves for spreading your hate.  The one thing you have ever achieved in your life. Well done for not changing the world with your mindless acts. Well done for making the people you allegedly represent, targets for other extremists. I hope you are proud of yourselves.

Yours disdainfully,


 PLAY LEGIT– one for all the Gamers out there  . My husband is thanking you and praising you right now!

What does the team have to say ?

KJ here,  We want to connect with all of you.  What is your favorite social media application? 

Like the Facebook Fam Page, and join our group.  T-42 is always posting some sweet findings.

Tweeting goodness on Twitter.

Photo Sharing fun at Instagram.

Reddit users, we got you.

Gremlik is known to roam on Tumblr.

Follow Ms. Throwback on Vine.  She’s hilarious.

Video mayhem can be found at YouTube.


Expressions of my life – An evolution of art. MY JOURNEY THROUGH LIFE AS AN ARTIST, FATHER, AND PERSON WITH YOUNG ONSET PARKINSONS   Love this pic of you as a cheeky child  ,is it?



You are a sublime writer. Artist. What you have accomplished so far is fucking outstanding. Yeah, there is no word such as can’t . Your writing is so full of depth and the way you connect words and the imagery it conjures is mesmerising. Love your art. My Uncle, over in Miami -the sunshine state – does Abstract art but he will never explain what is going through his mind, if I ask to explain his paintings. Do you want to tell me what goes on in your mind, Please? I wanna know……

My Cat Can Blog  YAY!

I love all  Cats and I cannot lie. Love your Blog. I am massive crazy cat lady.

HA HA! love this pic. So many cats! Cute ones Biiiiiiig ones, ones with mustachios, funny ones…  EPIC LOVE IT!


mapofmymindblog   -Hey great to have you here. Some really intersting perspectives on your mental health – on e post I read that I thought was cool is this one :BACKGROUND –Yeah, I think it is so inspiring to see more and more people opening up about their Mental Health issues.

I fully support peoples right to tell their life story without being ashamed. Please keep Blogging. I think you will get a lot out of it. I know I have. Welcome. Happy to have you here . I WOULD LOVE TO LISTEN TO YOUR MUSIC! I love music. So in your time, yeah please -share! No pressure, promise.

Uplifting Daze   YAY!     Cheers to uplifting daze. We all want some more of them! Look at you two! Already I’m feeling cheerful . Beautiful ladies with a great message to spread.


Menat and Rania

New Jersey


Your daily dose of serendipity


Lets get through this crazy thing called life together. 


Butterflies & Machineguns   -LOVE your about section. You seriously made me laugh!

Great intro…

You know the saying “All dogs go to heaven?” Well so do all martians, but, just like dogs, we have a different heaven. One detached from that of Earth. Separate. Alone. Just rows and rows and rows of hollow doors. I stare at them and sometimes I feel that they stare back at me…….


~TALES OF FANTASY AND ADVENTURE Maremma Gee   – I love your stories…. I am most interested in the wrting projects you have going on. Cant wait to read the excerpts


rixlibris Just another WordPress.com site –  this is what grabbed me when I checked out your site

“I am a writer.  I waited for many years to say those words out loud without fear of being contradicted.  This blog will be mostly about writing although I welcome discourse on any subject that might come to mind.”



MANDY STIFLER- Lifestyle Reality.  I see you are a formidable writer. Interesting name- doesn’t go with your Gravatar. lols . I would love to know how you came up with it.If it is your real name-Apologies.  The post you wrote – I will share it – its called ‘Glimpse about life’ -really affirms what Rick -the writer above you is doing and I think it needs to be shared so I am sharing it.

Everyone wonders what’s the main purpose of living a life? Why do we live? What are we living for? Why someone is so rich and some are so poor?

The answer to all this lie within ourselves. We can make a huge difference if we work hard enough and not indulge in unrelated activities that are non productive. The most productive and easy task to know what to do in life is to list the dreams and aspirations on a piece of paper. After listing it out just work upon it. Failures may arise but if you keep working upon them, you can achieve what you strive for and one of the item on your list may get a tick mark after achieving it.

All this requires immense hard work and dedication. The main asset to be taken care of is patience because this process requires time. Do not be afraid of what others will think about you. It is the natural tendency in human beings to embed a thought about others in their mind be it negative or positive. Just stay cool and think the most about yourself because it will eventually lead to your success.

I think this is enough for you all to know the glimpse about life. All the other aspects of life will be coming soon. I hope you perceive it as realistic . Till then take care of yourself. Life is good….”


HI JULIA or YELLOW WOLF!  You are so right it is good to know that we are not alone. I would love to know how you chose your spirit name…..   love your FACEBOOK PAGE – inspiring indeed



“One of my big purposes is to help people live from a higher vibrational way of being and to connect back in with their inner light – their inner calling that is connected to the divine and everyone else.”


ON A BEAUTY BENDER- easily distracted by all things pretty.  -well this is one guaranteed way to look good compared to some other benders I can think of 🙂 LOVELY to meet you . Welcome!  I see this bender thing is obviously working for you! You are stunning! Everyone is so beautiful from Australia. It must be a sunshine thing or something in the air or really good beauty products 😀

“I am a counsellor with a bad habit of buying everything and anything beauty related.”


‘THE OWL OF MINERVA’   I already follow this Blog. It is awesome. Seems you can’t make up your mind about staying here but that is okay, you are back… Have a great day. EXTRA SHOUT OUT!

ANALYSIS-ECONOMICS-PHILOSOPHY by karla rivera   Salut!  I am part French.  I have French nationality so this your blog really fascinates me. J’aime les politique  Merci – Mon Francais c’est si mauviase . Je habite ,pour la momente  en Angleterre. Et… voila – Desolee. ha ha. Vous ete tres mignon et j ‘dore  et comment tu dit? tu? vous? J’adore  une persone avec une tete penser . I am rubbish with French these days. Quelle Dommage!  Je suis une con – ha ha!



LE AMUSANT  -Hi again! Another shout out for you. I guess you cant decide whether to be a part of theWwillows or not.    Its all good. I’m following you. No bad feelings.HAVE AN EPIC WEEK!

Emoulet Abstract poems for open minds  -LOVE  all things Abstract.


“Energetic young man who recently decided to dabble in a bit of blogging. Potential physiotherapist among other things. Loves to view the world through unconventional and sometimes blizzare Lens.” – EMOULET  




please join me on my journey to release the woman within

“But now I have learned that I can be honest and be accepted and loved. And so I am in the process of transitioning and I have never been happier.

My parents chose the names of Anthony and Michael, had they realised I was not a boy maybe they would have chosen the feminine Antonia Michele.

I am English, I live in Oxfordshire and am married with no children.

I have benefited from and been inspired by the wisdom of others further along this path; I hope I may inspire others to explore what gender means for themselves and to help them transition to a gender that fits who they truly are, after all there are many to chose from.”




Not Your Mom’s Tumblr You’re beautiful.  Hi Evie?    Have you just started  Blogging ? or an new blog? Love your post YOUR’RE BEAUTIFUL  -this is one of the things I love about this  post.

“My life is perfect from the outside looking in now. The “all American dream”. But it all reality,  it’s just me and my husband and our awesome pups taking it one day at a time. And that’s beautiful.” 



‘Too Mysterious to be Judged’    GREAT QUOTE SHAILI! You do EVERYTHING- Prose, one liners,photography. Welcome to the Willows

I’m SHAILI MITRA, the author and editor of this blog.

My Passion in Writing emanated from My Passionate Thoughts!

Suigeneris_Shailias the name suggests, is
A UNIQUE 5TYLE of writing blog.

Thoughts comes to us naturally, so does Writing, for Me!

My Inner Feelings,
My Perception about Daily Happenings,
& My bent for astute Analysing
are wrapped in beautiful 5haili i.e. Shaili (=Style) ❕

This blog welcomes Your cerebration about My Writings. So please do leave Your invaluable comments and likes on My posts & help Me improve!

Welcome to Suigeneris5haili 🙏

dinasoaurish Think Big  – INDEED!  HI DINA! WOW! You say so much in so few words. I tend to ramble on and on and on ….  um -so I will hand it over to you. Thanks for finding me. You have so much to talk about. Great blog!


I’m Dina A. and I am a writer, reader, vegan, amateur photographer, novice yogi, and thinker. On this blog, I talk about literature, media, and social norms. In a way, this blog chronicles my mental health journey. In 2012, I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, schizophrenia, and a seizure disorder. Since then, I have shared my progress as I come to terms with my identity and perspective on life. Hope you enjoy the blog! Welcome.

Akashdeep Singh mY liFe, mY ruleS😜    Aaaaw , your Blog makes me smile. I see you have accepted ‘

The Black Cat Blue Sea Award     (snap- me too!)

I really enjoyed your post titled DON’T GIVE UP   -love the positive vibes emanating from you. Tried checking out your about page. I must know more about you!


Finally,  meet

AMY CHHABRA Fashion and Beauty Blog



My name is Amy(To be honest my first name is Amrita ever-since i was studying in Scotland(U.K) it became Amy), i am 24 years old from Delhi, India. Interior Designer and Architectural Technologist by Profession but Fashion & Beauty Blogger by passion.

The initial idea behind this blog is to put everything i love under one roof through different images to help others gain through my experience & knowledge in the area of my interests. So Join me in my world of Fashion and Beauty.

P.S All my Beauty reviews are first hand and genuine.

I hope you enjoy this blog as much as i loved creating it💞


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Megillah of Love


What has love got to do with it?


 if it stirs in that smouldering combination of emotions to make a delicious  sauce to go with a prime size cut fillet.

What is so complicated about love and feelings? 

Simply, you love or don’t and that is end to these endless questions and irrational dealings.

If love is so simple then why does one emotion interlink with another juxtaposing emotion?

Simplicity is not  how I would describe love ,with how our hearts can split and antagonise our entire being, with one moment, played out in slow motion.

So how would you describe love? 

Like I said,

It is complicated.

I can’t accept this when I know exactly how I want my love life to play out-


True, love is about reciprocation too,

that can be complicated, as much as looking for that one missing ,glass shoe.

A prince will always find his soul mate and take her to the gates of his charming, heavenly palace.

And I suppose you will all live happily ever after, with a massive brood, including  a highly imaginative child by the name of Alice.

Love conquers all!

If,that is true ,why is it every time I switch on the T.V.  news has spread like an incurable infection  of more lost lives in war?

It gets addressed as significant as a child losing his precious ball over the neighbours wall.

Love is complicated  whether for a significant other , a lover or your country.

Love is action – it is doing what you feel .

No time to get caught up in thoughts of  morose ill.

It is sitting on a linen blanket  in the  country side, eating baguettes and fromages and sipping from  a glass of champagne

-simple – no need to get out the lifeless,numbing scrumpy.

Love takes on many roles.

 Responsibilities even and sometimes it can find itself in a place where it can’t justify itself by reason.

Reason with the heart is not meant to be pondered over for a dreary, frost bitten season.

It should come as soon as the first flowers peak out from their slumber to sing  out their unique eau de perfume.

It should be about Egyptian 200  thread cotton,  white sheets and limbs intertwined as one -far away in some distant room.

You live in this Grasse- like place with lavender filled dreams.

It is making me rather sleepy  and I can’t quite take in all the simplicity you place on love’s seams.

Dress it up how you like, but it takes complexity and skill to make an outfit that fits, makes you want to scream at your refection in fits of delight.




You have become  like an annoying echo with all  this talk of love’s miraculous charm to infuse our souls ,wholly bright.




There is no hope for her now she is intoxicated -completely brainwashed -sucking  on  prime air of Elysium.

Love can burrow inside like a poison. You lose sense of time ,direction even.

How do you even know this is not the devils ways way to lure you to a place, in your mind, where it topples over into a tidal  insanity pool of frenetic waves –

completely caught up  in a schism ?

Look, I am not trying to be a complete Asshole or be the  mood killer,

but  I have to end this somehow -it has somehow turned into a farcical  troupe of megillah.

* Increasing my vocabulary*


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Megillah came to English from the Hebrew məgillāh meaning “scroll” by way ofthe Yiddish megile.

Definitions for megillah

  1. Slang. a) a lengthy and tediously complicated situation or matter. b) a lengthy, detailed explanation or account: Just give me the facts,not the whole megillah.



Happy healthy minds

I’ve been a bit of a mess – mood wise – this last month. I know I am the only person who can change this.

So time to move forward and look to the future.

THANK YOU Morgan @ UNIQUELOVEHARMONEY  for this awesome tag. I love your heart and spirit. You write straight from the heart and you are just a wonderful spirit I have connected with in the Word Press community.  I have been saving it for a day like today. When I need to give myself a kick up the back side.



1. Name 5 things that make you happy
2. Name 5 songs that make you happy
3. Nominate 5 bloggers to continue the tag


  1. I’m co  producing and co facilitating my first Depression and Anxiety workshop for Parents, in Boothtown, U.K. , with Healthy Minds tomorrow 27/06. I did most of the ground work before the wedding and I can’t wait to hook up and finalise details and then roll on Wednesday and BOOM! We get to do something creative and hopefully helpful.

  2. I have officially been given the go ahead to do the 5 day 9-5 pm WRAP  Facilitator training in Mirfield , in September with Hope charity. I have done this 12 week WRAP course myself and I now get a chance to turn other people onto the power of WRAP- CHECK OUT WHAT WE DID .I am beyond excited! 


  1. I still have motivation to keep fit and do exercise. I had a really good one hour session this morning and my mood has lifted a little bit more. 

  2. I’m moving to France in the next two years. A new start. I a proud to be a part of the EU. I spent two days crying after the result. I am a humanist. I hate manipulation of the working class people and then them being told that they exercised their democratic right to vote. I love the French public because they give their government hell. The public demand to have their voices heard and I want to live in a place where my voice is truly heard and actioned

  3. Finally I am married. I have a few more pictures from the day that just makes me smile every time I look at them. The people who were there made it even more epic!

Here’s what is getting me to smile:

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 I could go on all day with music….

Oh okay – One more


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  1. QUEEN BEE – I SING THE BODY ELECTRIC–  a great friend 
  2. SIMPLY ETTA D.– someone who motivates me
  3. LINDA G. HILL   -Always inspires me to write
  4. CHARLIE ZERO  – The sickest poet I know. The biggest heart too x
  5. Send Sunshine -Again she never fails to lift my spirits


Strange Blood


how do I  wish you a great day without addressing the past?

Memories are  usually a good place to start.

Let’s forget about the bad ones.

No room for improvement in a negative mind state.

You taught me how to fish.

That was cool because I actually caught a fish but I was not impressed when you threw him back into the ocean – he was too small to eat.

You taught me a valuable lesson:

Compassion and what is necessity.

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The night I was sat on the step, crying. Mom was going through a tough time. Nobody understood how ill she was and you sat next to me and begged me not to follow in my Mom footsteps. I would never live a life with joy.

I learnt that  enemies can want the same thing and can come from two completely different view points . Ma never wanted me to follow in her footsteps either.

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I remember the day I baked you a cake. You came over to Nan’s and you were sobbing. Great granddad was not well.

You taught me that there is a lot that goes inside a persons mind and just because they don’t express emotion all the time, it doesn’t mean they care any less.

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I remember trying to get to know each other in 1994. My holiday and first time back to South Africa in 6 years.

I sensed you were trying to talk . To break the ice. It is a pity my sister in her teens and  a little shit at the time and you had to act as the buffer.

I learnt that vulnerability doesn’t make you weak. I learned that jealousy is a wasted emotion. It makes us say ugly things.  I am only sad you didn’t try again to speak to me -one on one. 

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I remember on that same holiday we went on a safari. It was a treat and one the of the best days in of my life.

You taught me that you did indeed care about my happiness and you wanted to create happy memories.

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The truth is we are not close for so many reasons. I am so over blaming. It’s un productive and the truth is we do things that we think are the best for each moment we live. 

I understand this because I am a parent.

I know it is hard to instigate a conversation with some one you barely know.

I know you may have feelings about what you could or should have done differently. 

Let’s not get too hung up on what we could of done. 

Focus more on today and what we can do today.

Want to hear something funny?

I may not know you very well but I have kind of ended up getting married to a man whose birthday is two days apart from your own. I am actually marrying my Dad, in a crazy round a bout way.

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Before I end this -I want to thank all those silly quizzes you do on Facebook. 

Who would think that I can learn so much about you based on a trivial quiz? 

We may not be close but if anything happened to you and I held you in my heart with resentment and bitterness, I would never forgive myself.

I do love you, Dad. 

There is some ethereal sense of commitment I have to you. I can’t give you up. I have tried but I won’t give up on you -ever.

I know my illness scares/ scared you. 

I am much more self aware these days. I don’t blame you , Dad. 

All I wish for is, to get to know you better. To sit down and have a chat, laugh and I want to look into your eyes and I want you to hug me and tell me you love me. 

I know you do but I want to feel you  see you and hear your voice. 

Have a great day , Dad -from the U.K. to S.A.

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Even the Odds -Fiction

Record. Ready to engage. This is ED500, the time 6 a.m., 12/02/2025, location: bathroom. Two feedamile tablets (equating to the dosage of 1500 calories) taken. Weight: stable’

 I close my eyes and open them, and when I look into my black bordered mirror, I see me but a younger, naïve me staring back. I inhale and exhale creating a crescent shaped smile. My hair shines vibrantly, my face: doll like. My mouth flushed, it appears to have taken on a bitten nuance of natural rouge. I smile to display ivory white teeth only a poacher could appreciate. In my world, white teeth are a rarity on someone from my generation.  It has taken too many of us. I caress my prepubescent size breasts and so does she. Nipples aroused by the naked air. Small boned, fragile, envied. If Eve indeed took Adam’s rib, raw-boned: it should be on display. There is nothing more invigorating than this reflection. There is nothing more exquisite to be hold. That is all it is: a former reflection. I close my eyes and then open them again. I am back in my bathroom.  The first course of treatment started five months ago. I have responded well and I have been able to observe the many seductive versions it shows of me, without resorting to previous extreme coping mechanisms.  It was not always like this.

            ‘The starch whites’ snatched me away from my entire world because of it.   Desperate to claw back some control of my life, I signed up to this new radical method of treatment for it. They inserted a hippocampus-morphic capture camera (H-MCC) into my brain. It creates recollections of all of a human’s senses. I only need to say ‘record’ to activate it. This is a part of the rules of engagement. There is nothing more innovative in terms of therapy treatments for it.


‘Record and ready to engage. This is ED500, the time is 6 a.m., the date 12/03/2025, location: bathroom. Two feedamile tablets consumed.’

 Numbers flitter up and down. I look straight ahead, my feet push firmly onto the scales. Like a corset it dares me to breathe .The difference in numbers is a knife-edge in reality, but it will try to emphasise how little control I have if the numbers goes up. Today it is stable.  This is attempt 7. I close my eyes and for a split second the scent of oranges linger.

 I open my eyes and I am blitzed by an array of green, red, and yellow coloured fruit. I pose and I am poised, in front of that golden gilded hall mirror. The reflection is of me, in the original inpatient stay clinic, before this modern therapy treatment was possible. Before the pandemic rise of it. Like the eye of a hurricane, it mischievously lulled a large portion of members of our community into a state of security, then sucked us up with one sinister intake of breathe.  My reflection captures me in all my nakedness. My hair swathes over my scrawny shoulders and breasts. A pair of hands comes up from behind me, pushes away my tresses and cups my breasts. A deep throb pulsates in-between my inner thighs. I cannot fight it. I submit.  My head tilts back; my mouth opens to reveal my tongue. It is like a red carpet, awaiting for a celebrity to enter. It is him. His dreadlocks tinkle with multi coloured beads. His tongue commands to explore mine as if it is a well-versed master of sorcery. I tremble from the hot expulsion trickling down my inner thighs .My eyes remould into wide crop circles.  I realise that it has tricked me again. I spit out the clustered black mob of grapes into the bowl of fruit. I only have a moist stain as a reminder of his existence.

‘The time is 06:35 a.m. The location: bathroom. It feels more aggressive – not dormant as the manual states is what should be happening.’


‘Record and ready to engage. This is ED500, the time 6 a.m., the date is 12/04/2025, location: bathroom. Two feedamile tablets taken. Weight: stable. This is attempt 8.’

 I close my eyes and open them. I see an ashen me spiralling further and further away as the powder compact mirror is whacked out from my hands. I can’t see my reflection, so I start furiously tapping on my collarbone, urging it to jut out that bit more. Gristle grinds against gristle. My knees knock together repeatedly: agonisingly tender from the friction. It takes more pain to make me feel. I can hold my head up that little bit higher.  A surge of power brushes a justified half -smile up my cheek, as they wheel me out of the ambulance and into ‘the starch whites’ base. I peer into my old inpatient room with its rosy shaded walls. The ‘starch whites’ are preparing for that time again. The battle with them every mealtime.  Their lips are moving but I can’t hear them. My eyes veer to the sight of my legs- splayed wide on the bed. In between my legs, reveals the man’s body, which seemingly hustles in time to some primal, instinctive beat. His tongue flicks in and out of my moist swelling vulva. My inner thighs quiver. Combined sweat drips collecting evidence of our lust. The flicking escalates in speed. My chest rises and falls in breathily rhythm. I open my eyes and he is gone! Another trick!   On demand it projectile vomits grotesque abstractions out of drink supplements and gourmet food; flung and hung pretentiously along the walls of that room. Cups, plates, knives are thrown about. It takes three of them to get that tube down me. Three!


‘Record. This is ED500; it is 2 a.m., the 13/04/2025 Location: my bedroom. There is an almighty sound of bells clanking. I am trying to do the breathing exercises from the prescription manual app but my eyes won’t register the letters.’

 The contained puddle of letters on the screen splatter as my tablet falls to the floor. The memory is too potent. My back arches involuntarily, my eyes will not open fully. Seizing up, they flicker upwards into the half-moon gloom of my eyelids. DING- A LING! A bell rings. Saliva sloshes down the sides of my chin. My back is set against a cool wall; I look up and around and find myself in an unidentified location. The walls, the flooring- everything is a shade of white. ‘The starch whites’ hover around the location in an aura of purity. I fiddle with my zip jean and pull down my T-shirt as I try to cover a mound of excess flesh. I join the procession of the group gathered around the bell ringer. The wait commences. A stomach grunts hoggishly. Mine. My eyes sweep across the group hoping no one has heard it. In total, there are fifty of my kind. We all have the same scraggy arms and legs and distended stomach. We do not queue politely, but circle around the bell ringer like a pack, collectively growling, from the pit of our stomach, slavering: ready to attack. It does not do political correctness. It does not like conformity. Nobody wants to look too eager. It is part of the game. Parlour tricks. One involuntary twitch in the ringer’s direction and the game is lost. The bell rings again. I look up, it is him. He winks at me. It rages from him seeing me ready to engage in combat in the ‘labyrinth of edibles’. It gains so much power in numbers.  Deafening whispers ripple around the group. Those that cover their mouths with their hands only heighten the grand faux pas of my behaviour. The smirking turns to vaporous laughter. I watch that retro version of myself, head bowed, arms folded, shoulders hunched, walk alone and into hostile territory- a vulnerable outsider for betraying it.

‘The time is 3 am, location: my bedroom. Urgent memo! I should be having more control over my flashbacks not less. ED500 needs to make contact’


‘Record and ready to engage. This is ED500, the time 6 a.m., the date is 13/05/2025, location: bathroom. Two feedamile tablets consumed. Weight 0.2 grams more than 13/04/2025.’

 I close my eyes and when I open them, I am naked and in what appears to be a floor to ceiling mirrored dressing room. Reflecting back in every mirror is us! The man stands behind me- pulling me in every direction. Every angle stabs at my eyes, repeatedly. One stab- that’s me! Another stab –no, that’s me! What am I looking at? An arm. The shards of deceptive flesh wound my eyeballs. An almighty shriek surrenders from my lungs; I see a pair of hands reach up to cover my eyes. Is this real? I grab an arm and pinch it, hard. The skin feels dimpled, not in that artistic stippled kind of way but in that bumpier cellulite fashion.

‘The time is 06:15 am location: bathroom. I feel out of control, I repeat I feel out of control. Urgent contact needs to be made.’


Dr Owle presses the pause button.

‘You have stuck rigorously to the manual?’ – I see that flashback projected onto a wall- paused and very much in control.

‘Well, of course.’ I blather, ‘That’s why I signed myself up for this whole spectacle. You told me that I would be able to control the memory and the sensory triggers. I can’t just flick the pause button on like you’ve just done’

‘The results when adhered to correctly have shown a 100 % success rate. Today is the final attempt. Are you still willing to engage voluntarily? ‘He looks in my direction. I nod sagely.

‘Record and ready to engage. This is ED500, the time is 09:00 a.m., the date is the 13/06/2025, location: Professor Owle’s office, two feedamile tablets consumed at 6:00 am this morning. My weight is 0.3 grams heavier than 13/05/2025.’

 Final attempt. I close my eyes and open them.  Astonished, I see a pair of muscular legs, a toned stomach adorned by a hint of hipbone. My wrists have a nodule of bone on each side, giving it a certain elegance. There is a fleeting recognition of this body. A fragmented puzzle of reflections pull together as natural as gravity. The magnetic pull, reassures, in the way that waking up before landing in a fall-dream- reassures. In the mirror reflection, I see him. A bolt of nerves implode in my brain, splintered nerves carve furiously.

A voice.

‘What do you see?’ It’s the Owls-no, the professor’s voice: the professor is an owl?  My mind steeps in ambiguity.

Then an almighty pressure forces my head to drop backwards from the weight of it. My hands instinctively go to touch the intruding protrusion. I catch sight of my reflection in the orange oblong mirror. My head is mal formed. I look like some freak, like some helpless victim with radiation side effects from some way out, imaginary town in Chernobyl. Grievous puss amalgamated to create a massive abscess.

‘I’m disfigured’, I scream. I feel his presence in the room as he moves closer to my puss-filled growth. Stretched, overcooked, fibrous skin. Heated puss bubbles away inside. He holds my head up.

 ‘It’s the man. I don’t know what he is going to do. He has something in his hand.  He is going to kill me.’

Tortured screams echo around the space.  Another voice penetrates through the pain.

‘Have you seen him before? Look properly. ’ it is Professor Owle.

‘No, I can’t bear to look .I’m repulsive!’

‘Don’t give up. Open your eyes and look in the mirror, tell me what you see.’

‘Something has gone wrong. I’ve consumed too much. The experiment has failed.’ I weep.

‘This is professor Owle. Tell me what you see!’ he orders.

‘Tell him my name’ the man urges, his dreadlocks shake off a familiar laugh.

He wants me to name him.’ I howl in pain, ‘He’s jabbed a needle into me!  He has jabbed a needle in my head. He is extracting the puss. It wants more power. I will not name it. Never!  The truth is what I‘ve believed from the start. You give it a name and it automatically assumes power’, I scream.

‘Look at me. Please!’ the dread locked man implores.

SLAM!  A car skids unlawfully across the black ice.

‘Who are you, what do you want?’ a tone of hysteria.

BANG! Car tyres leave vicious tracks marks on a deer.

‘Are there any letters forming in your mind? The professor inquires.

CRASH! A body smashes through the windscreen.

‘Yes, but I’m too afraid to let them form. Abort the experiment please, Professor.’

 The body lands with a nondescript THUMP. Blood marinades the icy snow.

‘You need to fight it.’, Professer Owle cajoles me.

My eyes burst open like a ruptured pea pod. I look into the mirror and this is what I see. It is me –a, hysterical woman with savage hair, screaming in despair I take both my hands and scrape my fingernails down both sides of my face. My grey slate- coloured eyes, dilated, search with hope. The man’s hand goes to brush away the tears trickling done my face. My hand goes up frantically trying to scratch away at the face etched with wretched wrinkles.

‘It is an older me. The growth has gone.’ Fearfully I take in the rest of my body. Again, I see reflected the same pair of muscular legs, a toned stomach adorned by a hint of hipbone. My wrists have a nodule of bone on each side- Holy shit, how can this be? This reflection is the missing piece to a surprising feeling of unity. I look over to him– he smiles. I look into his eyes- all I can see is admiration.

‘It’s me! Not perfect-far from it. But it is me!’ The man leans in to kiss my neck then his reflection turns around and leaves the room.

‘Very good, now carry on –what is the man saying? Interjects the Professor.

‘Professor, he has gone. ’, I turn away and around from the mirror to make sure that the mirror has not deceived me.


 Gone. It’s me. Professor Owle. It’s me! It is Vesna. My name is Vesna Numeral’ I babble out.

‘Vesna? If this is Vesna tell me who the man is? Professor Owle enquires dubiously.

A wave knocks my emotions. I buckle. The reeds of guilt tangle around my legs pulling me down to my knees

‘Oh my God! No, it’s Raymond.’ I cry.

‘Bravo Vesna. Well done. You did it- you engaged until the very end. We can finally start the de-briefing process.’ The professor hugs me.

‘I’m recovered? ’ my tone incredulous. ‘All he tried to do was help me recover from it.

Yes, Vesna. It was an accident…’

‘I couldn’t control.’ I conclude.

‘We now work together to start the process to rehabilitate you back into society.’

‘My family. My friends.’ A medley of images calibrate in my mind. ‘I will never go backwards, never! I have to keep ticking forwards’

‘Life will have a purpose again,’ the professor smiles


 One year later and numbers still hold this world together. I can never completely get away from numbers. It might not possess me but it still haunts me every so often by catching me off- guard. These days a brief encounter with my reflection consistently reveals my broken half capped teeth and withered bones. These are the scars of my struggle. I remember the lesson Raymond tried to teach me. These days I tend to look into people’s eyes when I speak and I tend to listen more. It is so easy to get caught up in that negative internal chatter everyone has in them. These days in spite of my scars, I smile and look for that small break in the sky. My name is Vesna; and like a cloud that merges and transforms all too rapidly, I too refuse to be defined by it.

T Y – You too are Epic and Awesome!


Thank you to the Epic Deborah from NEVER BACKWARD  for this.


If my memory serves me correctly I think it is Paul from www.palfitness -to train or not to train  that came up with this award.  I think I was nominated by Paul when I first started out Blogging and I was getting to know my way on the WordPress arena.

A double


Okay so I have a few -well- five Questions to answer

Q&A starts now.

What made you choose WP as your blogging platform?  

It is free. It didn’t seem complicated as the others and it was recommend to me from Google searches.  Ha ha! I sound like such a cheap skate. 

2. Introduce yourself and tell us about your blog.

Hi I’m Daisy. I live in the willows. It’s a breezy place to be. I don’t know what to say. Think of a theme or topic and I probably cover most of it.

I’m not a fashion /style and make up Blog

. I’m not cooking and recipe Blog.

I am not a one trick pony Blog.

 One trick pony Blogs can be very talented in what they do so that is no insult.

Please don’t take it as such. I’m not a Blog about  life is all about roses and purple unicorn farts. There are thorns in life  and unicorn farts may smell obnoxious and not what you expect it to smell like.

I am random.

I don’t have set days where I Blog one thing.

I am random

. I enjoy challenges and connecting.

I just type and hit publish and hope for the best. I am not here to sell anything. My advice for what it is worth is free. I have opinions.  I am a Blogger  who wears my heart on my sleeve. ❤

Are you a once in a while blogger or a daily one?

I try to Blog when I am inspired. Luckily it is usually daily but I need to take some R&R time out once in a while.

Do you wish to publish and if so, what type of book?

Who wouldn’t mind publishing a book? I have had a Topsy Turvy life and some doolally experiences. An A/B might be a good idea. I love writing stage plays for  Theatre. I would probably want to write soemthing with a bit of darkness and humour in it.

 What is your favourite thing to do besides write?


giphy (4)


My nominees ( I had to delete the explicit porno Blog ) are  also the new Flower/Followers in the Willows.  I think you are all Epic and Awesome for taking a chance on my Blog:

  1. Write it in the Sky

  2. Shitijsharma-A writer is only as good as the story telller

  3. Stephellaneous- This is your brain on Stephanie


  5. SwittersB’s and Exploring

  6. lifeexperiementblog-

  7. The Beauty of Word- Mastering social media, writing, and editing

  8. Deidra Alexander’s Blog I have people to kill, lives to ruin, plagues to bring, and worlds to destroy. I am not the Angel of Death. I’m a fiction writer.

  9. Justmemusings -Words are as lovely as you make them!

  10. MysticalWriter- be the change you Wish! this world to be -GHANDI


  12. XWAXZY


  14. Frank Samuels- In the Light of Stars

  15. stellize

  16. Above 11 Hours Time to Run and Dreaming!

  17. The Shimmer within Her

  18. My Perception Towards Life-” Travelling- the woord says it all”


  20. Gameplan Happily Ever After Coz if you do not believe in Happily Ever Afters you are ruining your chances to have it !

    MiracleWings- Brave the Darkness


  22. URB @ NAHAUS Decoration, DIY and inspirations for our life …

  23. YOU UNFOLDED- Cover my Eyes so my Heart can See

  24. Stories of a Dreamer

  25. Dayo Dental



As far as I am aware the usual rules apply

  • Thank your nominator (if you want to) and link their Blog on your post.

  • Answer the questions you feel cool answering.

  • Come up with new questions or use the existing ones for your nominees

  • Let your nominees know. You can pick the number of nominees.

  • carry on being EPIC and AWESOME!


If you want to answer my Questions here they are:

  1. If You Had To Choose To Live Without One Of Your Five Senses, Which One Would You Give Up?

  2. What is Your Blog about? 

  3. If You Could Live Forever, How Would You Spend Eternity?

  4. Why do you Blog -how did you get started? 

  5. How would you define being Epic/ Awesome? 


The vessel- a short story by Daisy Willows

“What is this ban on abortion—it is a survival of the veiled face, of the barred window and the locked door, burning, branding, mutilation, stoning, of all the grip of ownership and superstition come down on woman, thousands of years ago.” 
—Stella Brown

“Against abortion? Don’t have one.”

“Every day innocent lives are been taken by war and still there are so many countries where it is illegal to have an Abortion. This does not stop Abortions. It just increases poor health risks to women who then have to have Illegal Abortions. Where is the social justice?” DAISY

‘Miss Sainte!’ the travel consultant’s hands twitch like a bees feelers, ‘let me get your tickets for London.’ and she is off. I’ve always found it amusing how people assume that your life is more exciting than theirs. My life had taken on the acrid taste of bourbon. Hard decisions require liquor. There I was bobbing up and down like a buoy in a sea of bitter. Disconnected from all sources of life. Waves of nausea threatened to bury me, deep, in an unrefined grave. This was my existence until I sobered up.

The hairs on my arms prick up like ears on stalks, straining to confirm what they’ve heard. Shivers rush down my spine. Impulsively my hand goes to feel the smooth outline of the documents in my handbag, confirming that the surgery will go ahead. I look up from the tropical brochure and nearly fall head first into a pair of dung coloured eyes. She’s that close. I quickly murmur my thanks and bolt out the door, the wind slamming the door for me

My life tends to go from one oblivious moment to the next. One ginger bastard is all it takes for the state of my jagged ignorance to be shattered. Now all I can see is my former ignorance smirking everywhere. All of a sudden its: Ginger beer, Ginger bread, Ginger cats, Ginger biscuits, Ginger nuts, Ginger pubes, Ginger! Ginger! Everywhere! I’ve reasoned that it’s not too avaricious to want more than ‘current-girlfriend’ status. Why would a heathen (his -word) such as myself, all tits hanging loose, wild hair and barefoot, want certainty and commitment? Why indeed?! Every time it’s the same watery twaddle:

 ‘I’m a married man… A Catholic!’ –with a bellyful of 24 hour bargain booze. It’s all driftwood. I’m Odyssey’s ‘Scylla ‘or ‘Charybdis’. If he wants to treat me as a necessary evil then instinctively I will lure him to my grotto and devour him.  Men have this habit of changing anything they see as mystifying into the female form

Yesterday his spinal support kicked in and he decides to call me. It went something like this:

‘Babe, things are … complicated. I’m here for you.’ he said.

Then, that familiar feeling, the tightening jerk on my voice chords, taut like a gymnast’s rope. Panic. The struggle to gulp in air. My throat is blitzed with grainy, arid sand. The beat. The beat in my heart starts clanging cacophonously and belches up into my throat. My instincts are shrill. Screeching: Caution! Do Not Proceed. This is what his voice does to me.

‘Babe, we’ve been through so much?’ Smelly feet. All I can smell is pongy feet; His feet! I’d rather go collecting cacti with my teeth than screw you. Yerr screw you: That’s what I should have said.

‘I’m on my way.’ C’mon you don’t wanna be loved? So instead he gets his way and I’m running like an Olympic sprinter to get to my car.

There I am sitting in the car about to gear it up. Panic. With my palms I start slamming the steering wheel. You stupid bitch. SLAM! Greedy stupid bitch.  SLAM!  Blasted tears form. I look into the rear-view mirror  and with a finger nail, I press down hard, scraping my cheek- only satisfied when I see the offensive, black line of soggy mascara tarnishing  it .Ugly Bitch! I pound the rear view mirror-over and over.


I can feel the gamut of my emotions and thoughts losing form. So fragile. One knock. One tiny crack is all it takes. When he opens the door all the innards of my mind start to scramble.

‘Neck this’, he says. He plays his part well. He picks me up like I’m a delicate fawn and gently lowers me onto his sofa. He waves a bag of coke in front of my face. My fucking dopamine receptors are giving you a standing ovation, mate! Trust an ex-army cadet to bring out the Bolivian marching powder. Several hours later, we’re both wading deep in over consumption. Billie Holliday is playing, her voice becomes the beat in my heart.

‘Love. Love her voice… so raw….so pure…but damaged like… Know what I mean?’

He just sits there, shakes his head mindlessly, not even one cobweb is disturbed. Great bulging eyes leer out at me. I might as well have a pair of fucking rabbit ears and a hat on with electrodes attached to my head.  One eye hanging precariously out of its socket. It is torture what he does to me. I want to scream: Why do you look at my pain? Consider it. Consider me! And then decide this bitch needs sterilizing?

He’s suddenly up and real close. His odour arrests my breath, it’s like taking in a whiff of a Parisian fish market at the end of a hot rough day. The hairs stand up on my body betraying my true feelings. Then he demands me to laugh.

‘Laugh. ‘He roars. Followed by frenzied laughter – Shit what’s he gonna do? He’s just laughing. Standing over me and laughing at me. Kick him in the gonads, quick!  He stops. Breathe. He moves up close again, our faces touching.

‘Boo! He whispers, slapping his hands together with glee, he grabs my arse –roughly. I’m smiling. My mind severs itself form my body. It too plays its part well. He then begins to undo his jeans.


A bloated smiling face. The receptionist takes my documents. The ballooned smiling face points us in the direction of the waiting area.

‘Whoa!  They must have known we were arriving, all the chairs are set up, ready for a blessed sermon. Wanna do the honours?’ What am I saying? I watch his fat turnip- shaped face go red. Blood red. He is simmering away like a stew but someone forgot to put the meat in. Jesus why the hell did I agree to this? The walls expand and shrink like I’m sucking on a plastic bag.  Panic. I’m in Plato’s allegorical cave. His shadow torments me, I’m convinced that Mother Nature has given him rights over oxygen.

            ‘Hope Sainte?’ a nurse’s voice booms. Jumped up like a leap frog. Crap joke but I got spooked. The nurse looks up at me, she raises her eyebrows which make her glasses slant downwards. He heaves his body upwards. I feel his skulking bristling my nerves. The Nurse ushers me into a cubicle.

‘Change into this then hop on a bed’ she gestures to a bed. I touch the blue gown and put my fingers to my nose. Tainted, I gag. How can I put it? It’s like, I’m inhaling water. Panic has dropped her anchor.

 Lying horizontally I turn my head to the left and I look up into a pair of nostrils. It’s the Surgeon. His lips are moving like that singing bass fish that was all the rage in the nineties. I can’t hear jack shit- the porter wheels me into theatre.


 I open my eyes.  I exhale, the cubicle expands. He enters, drops his head. Doesn’t even bother to look at me. He stands in a corner and folds his arms He just stands in that corner reminding me of a scare crow. All stiff and glacial. Hours slither by, the silence hissing mercilessly. A hug. I want a hug. The silence is pierced. It’s me. I’m screaming. Little critters are scratching away at my insides. The attack is stabbing and sharp. The pain throbs with intent. Panic.

‘What the hell is happening?’ I look over and he’s fiddling with his fucking phone like he’s re-arranging his balls. Strap on cock-face! He turns around to face me. Did I say that out loud? He looks demonical enough.

‘Erm… well derr!’ He slaps my forehead, ‘you’re giving birth to our baby! Look at the state of ya!’ I follow his eyes. They settle on my well-formed bump.

‘You stupid murdering bitch!’ He then spits in my face and turns to leave.

‘Hey, where’re you going- we agreed on this?’ Panic. There’s more screaming.

‘Why? Why? Why?’ Each “why” growing in expectation and volume. Sobbing, through my tears I can just about make out a figure of the porter. Everything starts to slow down. No. Retardation is setting in, slowing me down. Panic. The surgeon appears again. It’s like I’m in a macabre pantomime

‘Now, please, count backward from ten, please.’ he smiles down at me.

‘I can hear you!’ I dribble out. The surgeon smiles and nods his head like one of those Chinese paw-waving cats.

‘Hey! Listen can you hear that?’ they’re playing music!  What kind of sick set up is this? Beethoven’s, ‘Moonlight sonata’ is playing in the background. I touch it. The bump. I’m pretty sure this has got to breech my human rights.

A voice punctuates the air. It’s mine.

‘Number one. Gotta look after number one!’ That’s what my Mum always used to say… “If ya can’t put yourself first, you’ll never be able to put ya child first .From now on I swear it. I’ll make each moment in my life count! Maybe one day I will be worthy being called a mum….sorry.’

My eyes close, a tear rolls down my cheek as I’m wheeled into theatre.