Longer post than usual

A song to get you through it. 😀

Where do I begin?

Right here, I suppose….

I never want to share my darkness with the blogging community. Well, what I mean is – I try to objectify my emotions when I write.

Turn it into  ART!

 Sometimes being creative just means no great ART display or flow of words but creativity means getting whatever is in my head and out of it.

I want to be heard.  I am not invincible.

There is part of me that wishes I had one of those wind-up devices in me that didn’t just make me move, but makes me feel- the opposite to what I feel now .

That is not how this Blog began.

It began as a way to write what I wanted to put down and I have done that.

 Lately, I’ve lost a  certain joy in Blogging because I have been feeling  ashamed.

Ashamed ?

I am  trying my hardest to be everyone and everything.

‘I’m the success. I am making my life a success.’

That kind of mentality.

I get in such a blue funk when I read certain posts- that it brings me down in my mood to the point, I  can’t bear to read some posts.

It is because I am in this nebulous place – no soft carpet on the bottom of the pit, my ass is numb, I can’t get comfortable.

I can’t seem to get out.

I put on my many masks.

I am looking at them now- I count 10 . Some look more exotic than the others.

Think, Charleston  Carnival Madness!

I’m not feeling festive or even wanting to consume anything that could make me feel spirited.

The ones that truly know me –  are four people to be exact.

See ,  the true darkness  won’t let me smile ( look what I did!).

It spits phlegm  globules of doubts -splashes flecks of browns and greens  across my  eyes, my nose , my  mouth.

My outfit.

That obnoxious bus was never going to slow down. It saw me and changed gear and pushed harder on the accelerate peddle just because it could.

If I undress and leave all my clothes in a heap will anyone notice?

They might.

Will I actually be jolted into caring?

It won’t let me – Let go.

My name is not Elsa or princess ‘whatever’- I can’t magic  giant  moving snowmen to show you the reason I am like this is because I may belong in a……..

morgue.

I just don’t want anybody touching my body and doing an  autopsy.

In case I am still alive . That would be horrific, to say the least.

I hate writing stuff like this.

I want to be a ray of sunshine.

I want people to feel uplifted and energised around me.

I never ever want to knuckle drag anyone down to this point where your  ass feels numb and well…

Dark ages Alert.

So I hide the extent of just how Stormy my mind has become. Why  hide how  wan I feel inside?

Dead,Afraid, guilty even.

I can’t even let go  of a past person -why?

I want to open a present from my past.

I don’t want to receive my present – from this-this moment.

Because that person doesn’t want me for whatever reason.

Married, friendship . I don’t know.

I hate not knowing.

I loathe feeling like I have given up control to someone.

I look around me – I have  an enchanting, little family around me.

Remarkable  really.

People love me and people want me to flex my muscles and win the trophy.

I am doing it.

Fear or no Fear.

My heart has   clumsily absorbed much  blood.

 This blood has formed congealed clots. They nestle around my beating heart.

Become complacent – they don’t want to move.

How can a heart harden yet weep at the same time?

 Contradictions.

I don’t give up. I damn well feel like it.

Call it the stubborn part of me.

It serves me well in some cases.

I’ve decided what I am going to write about for my MA  — well, the first part of it.

A script about a wife and husband dealing with the wife’s infidelity. There is a twist. It’s all in her mind. She is obsessed. A stalker of sorts. The husband knows. Why does he play along?  She is ill. her mental health is not great.

I want whoever grades it to go:

‘Blimey/ fuck/ by Jove!/ Oh my hat!/’  or whatever the fuck expression they use when they are impressed and go ‘  I didn’t see that coming.’

The  next 18 months is me putting in a lot of graft.

This  anxiety  corset  grabs at me -gathers me – pulls me into a panic attack. I want to breathe – but I have to keep hold of my form.

I am in armour – uniform.

To be formless is to be Ovid’s chaos- on the first page of  his  ‘Metamorphoses’.

The thing is if I don’t share some of my weight bearers, then, I wonder what is the point of writing my blog at all.

It is just like in the real world – if someone can’t accept me for me at my worst -why should they only be allowed to see me at my best?

There is a person who ticked the box:

I am not a robot.

 Me: typing these words.

I have body parts. So many emotions…..

 I want to always write something that will blow peoples minds away .

We are all different and what may blow one mind may not even touch  another.

So this is me waffling in type. Always stream of consciousness.

Don’t feel like rhyming or using fancy words.

I just want to feel authentic.

I want my spark back. I’m going to be a bad Prometheus and get me some fire!

I have an idea  – find a joke!

How bout this one?

• The last thing I want to do is hurt you. But it’s still on the list.

• Some people say “If you can’t beat them, join them”. I say “If you can’t beat them, beat them”, because they will be expecting you to join them, so you will have the element of surprise.

• Always borrow money from a pessimist. He won’t expect it back.

• Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.

• Whenever I fill out an application, in the part that says “If an emergency, notify:” I put “DOCTOR”. What’s my mother going to do?

• . “To the man on crutches, dressed in camouflage, who stole my wallet … you can hide but you can’t run.”

Fuck!

Google – is  shit for jokes or am I really that down -I can’t see the humour in these jokes to really make me LAFF OUT LOUD!

Anyone know any good jokes?

On a lighter note, I am alive and I have not been looking at grave sites.

I know how to swim!