Category Archives: STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS COLLECTION
*photo credit Francesca Woodman, Space2, Providence, Rhode Island, 1977, © George and Betty Woodman*
‘Always wear sunscreen’ – comes from a song.
Wisest life advice I’ve ever heard?
‘Don’t read beauty magazines they will only make you feel ugly. ‘
Quoting like I’m toting.
Screens -Scenes. Teams. Streams.
Rhyme it out until I get an inspiration to scream.
I Love screens. What to watch?
I never wore sunscreen.
I went under the artificial tan beams when I hit the isle of Blighty.
Cancer, I probably have.
The world is full of it. Boasting in its insidious arrogant fashion.
We can’t slip away from this malady.
Life is a parody.
Stage screens. Projections. People hustling and bustling about in the form of shadows.
Cue: Audio – people chattering, laughing, Christmas jingles pop out like a pack of Pringles.
‘Once you pop you can’t stop’
Stream of consciousness interrupted by my very own human Bee.
How you doing ? – A total Joey from the series ‘friends’.
Beware of enemies posing as your bros and sisters. Cut out cardboard fake, one-dimensional pranksters
Politics have got me in the corner of a boxing ring, cutting teeth on my mouthguard.
Betray my thoughts and beliefs when I mention the pantomime that is crawling underneath the flesh of America’s skin.
I don’t want to share any posts on this farce. Spread more hate and give more time to something that makes me want to spew my guts out.
Angry on behalf of all that is left of humanity.
The stupidity line is growing longer than the start of the poverty sign.
One screen dividing the people and oh wait they are all in the same queue.
Branded – I can’t stand it.
Fuck Kim K and K west and all the KKK’s and the rest of the Hollywood bandit Muppet crew in folly land with extra zest.
All lives matter. Seriously?
I’m about ready to pack my bag with the bare necessities. Head out to the jungle and live life with my true fellow earthlings.
If I could grow fur, I wouldn’t need sunscreen.
What the hell are we humans even doing here when we can’t even adapt or evolve in our natural surroundings?
Destroy, conquer, divide- it’s a woeful stuttering thought.
Soon we will be paying for the air we breathe.
“Water is not a basic human right” Just a thought from Nestle.
Stop polluting what was given to us.
Stop changing the screen to the scenery you want the commoners to see.
We are dying.
Hairdresser fed up of listening to other people moan. She applies for a job to treat people in a morgue.
Now you listen to me!
We all need to talk even if it is behind a screen – a mask.
I’d rather bleed from my eyes than cover my true feelings, opinions, and thoughts.
People can laugh. I don’t care.
Scan my soul and I will pass every scripture criteria to go to anyone of your chosen heavens.
I reflect what I see in others. We are but mirrors of another.
Despise me? Something inside me resonates with you. What are you hiding?
Drawn to me? remove the smokescreen – brave soldier-admits and refuses to deny that we all share common dreams,
feel similar emotions.
Have days when it’s all commotion after commotion.
I scream – a throwback to the bairn I never intended to wean.
Heartless – that would mean I am aimless.
I’ve had my eye on a spot. That takes more heart and commitment than spouting out hateful, denounced rhetoric.
Grief- ridden, sick chick.
She should have grabbed the knife.
She should have locked the door.
She should have put more clothes on.
She should have done the cha- cha- cha.
Would it have saved her?
Polo – life mint- raspy breath in need of sprightly death.
It’s fun to dream. It’s even better to live it.
Protection – duty to our children- the ones who love us.
I say be reckless -not with others hearts- but be a part of the movement to dine with the Ming dynasty, hovering somewhere above, a local art museum, in some loco town down in Acapulco.
The song I was on about when my thoughts were rambling.
Sitting on the roof top trying to tell myself I’ve not misbehaved.
Blush rose hues creep up my cheeks and I know my hearts desire is unexplained.
I look at the stars — one always stands out brighter than the rest.
I say to myself — there goes my next conquest.
With liberal wings and green peace in my heart ,
I know for the sake of inhabiting my skin-unconfortable feelings will always play a part.
Forgive me for being free spirited and seeking out a bon ami.
If I had testicles would my new gender let me walk free ?
to be me?
It’s a plea.
I love what I desire .
I desire what I love .
I hate it when my sanity decides to imitate a neat whisky on the rocks.
Truth be told – I know I’m getting old .
Disambiguous feelings about the path I tread.
May my daughter’s laugh always bring me round to the sound of present day clocks.
Murmurs of hesitation .
Live my life, have a voice, and sail away
Where else do you think I would choose for a holiday destination?
The one I never have to come back from.
It’s me inside me.
Dare to take a part of me — feel my anticipation.
The specials-the after math.
Told off for my impulsive reaction.
The fact I’m conscious I am typing these words-
I feel inauthentic in how they roll out my mind with a hesitant tense formation
Words rise up ,around me – Jab me and a jeer me to dare say whats on my mind.
I’m not a child and I’m not venerable just yet .
So I swim against the tide of the alphabet soup.
Clarity I seek.
One tidal wave from forcing myself to write these words down;
If only to reinforce I have my own sound.
Sound as a pound
Scared of clowns .
That’s better-Socs — that’s my deal.
How I get from a-z- without reaching out for the plan involving illegally, prescribed Ativan.
Banned from my perception of the elite.
Breached my licence to complete…
Should I hit delete?
This is my beat.
I won’t let me beat me down.
Self is the worst enemy-you know how it ages your reflection
scowling in a frown.
She’s back in business now . Wah da da da da — the song clearly has relevance in my sense of decline.
Fall 8 times — get up again.
Who am I to want merely blend in?
I was born to be a Bengal feline.
Character building — life coach ,I sense my patience won’t let me vote for your reality T.V. yoke.
It makes me sick.
Watch one episode and I will mutate into just one more cockroach.
I’m on the down line with a mean upper hook.
Priorities in order.
House work infected by the pox — aren’t you glad you vaccinated your park life children?
Let my demon free to infiltrate the anti’s, confront them with the disease bitten book.
Have a say — what’s the worst that can happen?
Speak your mind — illegal aliens might just descend from that planet called Saturn.
Write to recover. Write to escape.
Shake up your mind , dare to continue —an inner ongoing live debate.
Not for hate — you make your own fate.
Feeling Anxiety. Too worried about what John Sax’s might reveal to his munchie queen.
Know thyself and be true to yourself.
I’m not going to change my character to fit in with society’s latest heart melt.
Superstitious mind – I earned it in walking my path — did you see my black belt?
Stand up for who you are and what you believe in.
Some may consider me strange but have you had a look at your inner heathen?
The entity is back — no wheel-dealing with a bad batch of sugar coated crack.
6 million ways to die — choose one
That came from a song – Who am I to sit around and hide?
If you could see the myriad memories that run across my eyes : you would be driven into a bedlam.Wishing for a forget me sods lot of wild flowers enraged with the promise of eeergh de parfume- dementia.
Though the light may fade.
Dark shades heighten the Euphoric daze
Forgotten words wasted on ill-gotten behaviors.
In that quagmire
Still driven to send out a vigil of hope.
Buried within me.
Buried under a myriad haunted ghost.
What keeps disarming me
Whose charm beckons me to this world?
When I open my eyes
Betrayed by curiosity in gazing outwards.
Look back at the words you have’ written.
Be inspired that you wrote them!
Sweep those sneaky snide comments out through the back door
How dare they Prevent this form of self-expression.
words made up of simple dimples are all we need
He cautiously peers out
perched a top
the Jonnies rotting,
Infected tears confidently descend
To the basement days
when his best foot turned all the bedheads.
Don’t over -care
Don’t Glare without an ending for sentence as to what grows out from your mind.
Hauled up in dusty webbed rags of self-doubt.
Can you catch the Shadows doth change according to light.
Mere reflection and perception of how you do intimidate me
shadows can’t exist without a living
Take the power back.
At least from behind the scenes
Don’t hide from those
disproportionate contortions of their own path.
Happy lights-faeries delight.
Blissful smiles stipple out faces.
There can be no ulterior motive.
Unless we retrace for an Agenda?
confused about life twists mysterious Genders.
Guilt sprouts up-GMO crops
Pesticidal casual all matter starts to hoe out my mind
Crucify my time?
Fraternized with Flowers more sentient than humans taken up by nocturnal spaces
Unevolved sight is having an identity crisis.
Army of words
A halo of benign bravado.
To those monsters of Carpathian.
Here is my audacity & Gumption.
Shout me down.
Mere echoes with no home.
Threaten me or one of my own,
I will stand up and defend my home.
Bats of fear — Clots of blood
Circulate above in a murmuration
So much I want to put down.
Not in the stream of consciousness
No more ashamed of how far down I free-fall into the squid ink mouth of the abyss.
I gripped onto nature’s own boulderous
A safety net of
I seek out another taste
-Candor, heart spilling starch tumble dry fresh.
Ominous eyes on stalks can feel the tearing of flesh.
Lobster bisque – feel the pain- rubbing eczema flakes in the mesh.
Motivational mantras praying for imaginative depth.
A leap of faith from a dark quarry, novels unwrap intoxicating pages saturated in meth.
White suits, red suits, black suits – jokester howls in lunatic tongue at his procurement of all laughter.
Voiceless, misunderstood, invisible swan still morbid, unhappily ever after.
Death scents not in lavender bursts, clashes with stale tobacco.
Steven Hawkins robot voice stuck in a stench of staccato.
Present lives in the moment -startlingly clear.
Blink and the eyes will miss it. Shut off all senses and lose the rest of the steer.
Grace be mine!
Ego ride away on a horse of jaded divine.
Little Mockingjay prepares Dame to release her idealized body preconceptions. Babies speak in benign.
Selfish task force. Love to bind a new union.
Born addicted – a chance encounter for a significant sibling reunion.
Selfish, marred acts of those who seek to atone for sins of Greed.
The world’s a lot smaller, fewer cards.
Time to make new memories in clear waters running with creed.
Tall orders, cats mewling, and choleric baby withdraws from life’s order.
What a sappy mess they make.
Second chances don’t come with a promise.
Each soul has its own border.
The ring of education – judicators, over boil in an over timed pressure cooker.
Hungry students ready to whore out the possibility they carry the pearl.
Send out for the Hookers booker.
Close these scriptures. War wages paid out in illness.
Mind cavernous in an unresolved mess.
Sales galore – glorified slave stitched clothing for all.
Moral urges to make do with a Makeshift dress.
Recycle on thought- careless whisper – the banana flavored condom went in the wrong bin.
Next time buy the toilet freshener with the least amount of Carcinogenic properties within.
The future promise of a surge in over priced goods.
Planning for this new hood smacks of a drugged reality.
Low suspension thoughts, feelings soar through the milky way- lost in an energy of fatality.
Maternally skinny – nourished on a liquid diet, uppers, downers and 7 0f your five a day.
recoil in horror for the day expectant ghoul comes from it’s decided gestational incubation from its hostess.
Who deserves to pay?
A hike up in rent for turning out disabled and bent or, a life staring into the consequences of hitching up an unhemed skirt?
Rumors of have not. Denial that life belongs under flowers in stalks covered with dirt.
There is always a choice, Never a right time to get to perfection.
One decision to make. God willing, the next messiah is a fruitful resurrection.
Ghosts floating through the mansion of my mind. It may sound like a great thing to own a mansion as a mind.I can tell you. It is a place that never sees sunshine, there is dust everywhere, the piano remains out of tune. Every room has something magnificent to find.
Dresses in one, jewels in the other, mothers little helpers pills scattered everywhere.There is always a ghost on standby ready to haunt me.
It’s like an old familiar melody.
I find no pleasure in any of these rooms.
There are too many rooms, not enough signs and I am always losing myself in it.Instead of running from my mind. I sit in the creaking rocking chair.
Legs splayed,opening myself up to become possessed by anything .They sit down on my favourite grey chaise longue and puff cigars that smell of lavender and twirl full bodied wine glasses filled with a deep maroon Beaujolais or a chateux neuf de pap.I seem unable to move
. I can’t move. If I could just ask them to leave .One places a daisy chain on my head and tops up my glass of southern comfort. I’m sure I have stopped drinking.
They know this as well as I do.The irony is they are trying to make me live again. Drink if you must- anything to live, they urge….This is their home. How can I cast them out?They drain me, yes it is true, but they have been a part of my life, guarding me when I was still growing in my mothers womb.I let them stay,”SIT DOWN”., I say.
Foreplay remnants stain the sheets on the various four poster beds. There is a new guy in town.Has a bit of a opium habit. He hides away from everyone ,including me.I have become desperate in my misery,I seek him out .He won’t show himself.I beg him to show me how. He can write the directions on a paper……I think he cares. He doesn’t want me to go that far down. I think if I am so far down the dragon’s pit;chasing ,what is a few more inches to the bottom?
Isn’t the bottom or top better than half way neither up or down?I think he hid the ouija board too. He doesn’t want to be summoned because my will will break his……In all honesty I think they all want the best for me.
Oh of course they have their own agenda’s too.They know how down I am but they need to go on outings too. They get bored so I get to be their cruise liner- my eyes are their oval windows ,to peer outof, their mode of transport, that shows them life still carries on even if they can’t be an active part of it.. ..They called me a party pooper today.
Sounds a bit lame.They held a special party pooper party for me.My least favourite party of all times- they all congregated in my drawing room whistling and pulling crackers and the incessant chatter nearly drove me out of the house.Usually, the louder they are the quicker I try to escape – This time they lucked out. They will not help me find Opium boy.I only want to escape with him.I will continue to follow his musky scent until another scent sends my pulse quickening.Another ghost starts to ask:”Why do you want to be dead when your heart still beats?”
“Oh fuck off and cross over – you can live in my mansion of a mind but I will not be questioned – my mind my rules.” I replyIf I had gone would I have lost the scent of Opium boy?Would I have cared?Usually when I chase a boy that needs saving , I get into trouble….
Ghosts floating through the mansion of my mind. It may sound like a great thing to own a mansion as a mind.
I can tell you. It is a place that never sees sunshine, there is dust everywhere, the piano remains out of tune. Every room has something magnificent to find
Dresses in one, jewels in the other, mothers little helpers pills scattered everywhere.
There is always a ghost on standby ready to haunt me.. It’s like an old familiar melody.
I find no pleasure in any of these rooms. There are too many rooms, not enough signs and I am always losing myself in it.
Instead of running from my mind. I sit in the creaking rocking chair. Legs splayed,opening myself up to become possessed by anything .
They sit down on my favourite grey chaise longue and puff cigars that smell of lavender and twirl full bodied wine glasses filled with a deep maroon Beaujolais or a chateux neuf de pap.
I seem unable to move. I can’t move. If I could just ask them to leave .
One places a daisy chain on my head and tops up my glass of southern comfort. I’m sure I have stopped drinking. They know this as well as I do.
The irony is they are trying to make me live again. Drink if you must- anything to live, they urge….
This is their home. How can I cast them out?
They drain me, yes it is true, but they have been a part of my life, guarding me when I was still growing in my mothers womb.
I let them stay,
“SIT DOWN”., I say
Foreplay remnants stain the sheets on the various four poster beds. There is a new guy in town.
Has a bit of a opium habit. He hides away from everyone ,including me.
I have become desperate in my misery,
I seek him out .He won’t show himself.
I beg him to show me how. He can write the directions on a paper……
I think he cares. He doesn’t want me to go that far down.
I think if I am so far down the dragon’s pit;chasing ,what is a few more inches to the bottom?
Isn’t the bottom or top better than half way neither up or down?
I think he hid the ouija board too. He doesn’t want to be summoned because my will will break his……
In all honesty I think they all want the best for me. Oh of course they have their own agenda’s too.
They know how down I am but they need to go on outings too. They get bored so I get to be their cruise liner- my eyes are their oval windows ,to peer outof, their mode of transport, that shows them life still carries on even if they can’t be an active part of it.. ..
They called me a party pooper today. Sounds a bit lame.
They held a special party pooper party for me.
My least favourite party of all times- they all congregated in my drawing room whistling and pulling crackers and the incessant chatter nearly drove me out of the house.
Usually, the louder they are the quicker I try to escape – This time they lucked out. They will not help me find Opium boy.
I only want to escape with him.
I will continue to follow his musky scent until another scent sends my pulse quickening.
Another ghost starts to ask:
“Why do you want to be dead when your heart still beats?”
“Oh fuck off and cross over – you can live in my mansion of a mind but I will not be questioned – my mind my rules.” I reply
If I had gone would I have lost the scent of Opium boy?
Would I have cared?
Usually when I chase a boy that needs saving , I get into trouble….
The darkest continent claims
Red card racism arrests flight of imaginary motion.
Air control. Trafficking sentient beings.
Venomous vendors plugging PC ( dis) respectful tests
Elevating inflation of people’s final destinations
Lost to incubation .
Ineffectual accusions of discrimation .
A part from hatred , what is the solution?
People are racist – black against a white supremist nation?
Apartheid of resources brought to a halt
Red light district with too many needles to purify our patriotic precious colts.
Threatening ethnic cleansing . A modern day global
no person can stereotype to one culture – bacteria spreads without copulation.
A matriaxy of mistakes
Dividing the world to another war philosophy.
Peace stammers to another halt.
( word prompt ‘travel apartheid) Thank you to my good writer frirnd for being my muse just by a small conversation.
What makes you anxious? – the cocoon asked .
Immediate response ?
I want to run away .
The cotton wool opportunity of turning into some thing I’ve never been fills me a desire to run.
I’ve always wanted to fly!
Darwinite if it means i can feel fire
In my belly
Leave behind the sycophants of past.
Presented with the discomfort before the freedom installs a stony face
I finally replied: I want to run from your question because the master of my own fate made me question why I didn’t say I’m the master of my destiny
I sat on the toilet waiting for an answer
A brainwave to collide with my why.