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Born

Some of us are born heartbroken from the initial

To final push .

We are the ones that don’t cry until we get a pat on the back

We are the ones that know the doctors’ have a hypocratic oath to enforce .

Life is forced upon those who don’t ask…

The ties must be cut with or without a puppet curtsey or kneel in prayer.

The law states we have a duty to care for ourselves

for others ..

The laws – they diminish a heart beaten with a wooden spoon .

Zero tolerance.. humanity is a price we have come to despair.

Punitive the fare we must pay. The care sector,our families who wish no t pretence
to smile on arrival  at a wake.

We live for our reasons . We betray our feelings .

Perhaps it’s when the sun denies we are in treason
we  dare shed a tear for our shadow

Some of us born heartbroken ’til we die.. we become the life savers or the enablers of the lie.

#writetoexpress

Making sense of English

Beautiful & befuzzling- Especially for foreigners.
My answers are long because the list of pre fixes – to shit – are long …

Horse manure! 🐎 – any tory response especially during ascot season ( the gentrification version ?

Please see pic below

✋️… I’ll try out my wit again..

This looks vaguely like a timeline of the gentrification of the word / class system: * shit*

Have you seen the price of rentals these days ? !
Batshit !
. EPIC FAIL – again.

I’m just not funny 😐 😒.
Waving the red flag..
Gone gorillas in the mist with the word rambunctious ( Stop. Is Google time .)
Am I F***! Waving the red flag !
It’s a doggy 🐕 dog world if you don’t live in China..

Dare I say how it goes if you do live in China 🇨🇳- oops is that a red herring.
( that’s me all over – a false leader )
Shiiiiit.
I’ll stick with my morbid side

Fact : Paris has the highest percentage of irresponsible dog shit picker uppers..
Must be on uppers if they haven’t got the time to pick up dog shit from their little beathoven mutt.
so, basically Paris has the largest amount of doggy doo in the major cities of the world 🌎 to step in.
Lucky ?
Unlucky ?
Merde alors
Oh, I forgot ( I wanted to see if I could try and define rambunctious before I cooled it).
Ha ha!
A bit over the top, firstly, too much , horny even ?
And proper definition 👌

Mmh …
Over boisterous.


Mmh that’s what they say in most
Rape depositions/ statements .
I don’t think rape is something to be laughed at .
Trust me I’ve been there .

Unless they have a small willy.
I can’t use hashtag metoo in this case.
Truth is I don’t have a willy.
Not Bullshit . Potentially batshit

I poured a rather long gin.
Snoop dog influenced me .
#laidback ####’d the crack out of that ..

. Well , on a final note atleast the English language has moved on from human excrement although excrement feels more like an achievement 👏 or an accomplishment than a shit.

I’M MAD SHIZZLE CRAZY .

Lynx Fur coat


My French Grandmother, who (at the time)  had the last stages of vascular Dementia lived in a different time to me.

Before my existence ,  a couple of generations  before mine, my Grandpa, bought a gift for my Grandma. I was told she had the coat made for her  in Vienna.

  I have a confession to make ,  I am so (so) ashamed.

It’s no ordinary coat,it has her initials engraved on the inside (lynx fur.I’ve seen Kate Moss wear  something similar).

For my 27th Birthday my Grandma gave me her coat. It didn’t fit her any more (& she loved me –of course).

I ignored my guilt,played the  ignorant person  when I wore it  ( in hypothermic temperatures in the U.K.) with  hesitant pride. It kept out the cold off my bones,it was soft and beautiful.

I own a lynx fur coat. (cue: Gasp, shock & horror).

Now before  you all judge me with sentiments such as:

“Burn it ,Daisy , burn it. Sell it or whatever.. Just get rid, girlfriend cos if you don’t,see this?  You and me? We are done. And I mean done .”

Try to  understand that this is something sentimental  (an heirloom) that my grandma gave me before she got ill and passed away from Vascular Dementia & Alzeihemers.

I live with this secret. Erm, not any longer….

I don’t wear it these days.

It makes me  feel like a hypocrite.

My Mom has  kept it.

She didn’t  want me to get rid of it while my grandma was still alive.

So, this is my shameful secret.

Last time  I looked at it, I put it on, and I felt like Hannibal.

Images of torture came to the forefront of my mind  of what happened to this animal.

How to end this post?

It’s not easy (or even affordable) to just switch over your whole lifestyle /ethics/family traditions etc.. to not eating or wearing anything that hasn’t had an animal involved in the process in some way.

The truth is

I frittered my wedding money away (a couple of years ago) working for a non animal tested and environmental friendly business that sold products from A-Z

I ended up buying most of the products (and it led to nada profit for me)

It was expensive.It cost me an income. It alleviated my consciousness.

I stopped eating sweets  (Haribos)because I knew that they had gelatin in them, and that derives from animal fat.

Who needs motivation for going on a diet?

(You now have one )

We can’t get it right all the time. .

 We can  become  more aware about where our consumables  come from, who suffers & power ourselves up with knowledge (as shocking and awful as it is).

I’m not saying be   ‘overzealous ‘,  however,the first step to fighting this massive topic of animal abuse in all its forms -is to become conscious & then to act.

Being conscious leads to decision making  and any action you do that comes from a good place in your heart or mind is a good start.

One final thought before I wrap this up.

I recall a time  I woke up to the salacious smell of   grilling bacon – thanks husband for the temptation.

I nearly threw up. The smell was rank.  He thought I was going all ‘Johnny Drama’ (Entourage) on him but, honestly it made me feel sick to the point I ran out of that kitchen.

I DON’T WANT TO EAT SOMETHING OR SOMEBODY JUST LIKE ME.

Today

Walked out my front door

First time in 5 days, I turned right for a change of scenery chucking out the rubbish – the highlight of this today

Beneath my feet the concrete was still grey

My demeanour resembled the bland council houses’ unimaginative choice of decorating on the cheap -resembling a prison … whatever . No , I’m done rhyming today.

What prompts these feathered words typed and on display – a bird not in flight

Wings tinged with blue a sorrowful sight to see no fight

Eyes bright with dewy deadpan  light.

Eyes screeching victoriously: I found the worm special of the day!

How do I say , justify , describe the way my heart swooned the wrong way. I looked up at the sky thankful for the first time in many years for its consistent rays.

A distraction , a ruse – I knew it was dead . I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t move him onto a more dignified path. I was afraid he’d come back to life.

Circled around him in a hesitantly callous way

How dare he interrupt a quiet walk-the first in almost a week from sunday?

Did I imagine it semi fluttering whilst I walked past him with my bin liner full of litter ?

I profess to love watching those with wings -airborne soaring . I’m envious. A speculative  visual adorned with glittered hues , proof that life moves in every way.

I confess I have a phobia of dead birds. Past memories of one I wasn’t able to save in my childhood

Direction moved me to walk the other way from a lifeless soul left to rot on a staircase.

I’m ashamed.

New dawn

New day?

SHAON THGHILP

Is mortal love the true sin of the man opposed to the laudable man blinded by a paradise of perfection?

With  blood on our hands

 With  bare footed callousness

 We walk  over the corpses of our ancestors.

The biblical story of Noah is the parable of the modern day humanitarian plight.

We will return to the second day of creation fighting with sticks and stones

As prophesied by another mere mortal

As prophesied by another mere mortal sapian in well versed archaic rhetoric…

Musings of today



Hey,Nina

“The worst thing about that kind of prejudice… is that while you feel hurt and angry and all the rest of it, it feeds you self-doubt. You start thinking, perhaps I am not good enough” -NINA SIMONE –

I never knew why I connected so much with this woman’s voice and songs so much, until now.

We seemingly have nothing in common- she was a trained classical pianist, jazz and soul singer, and a proud African  American lady, actively a  part of the  American civil rights movement.

She hung out with Martin Luther King! She was born in the 1930’s.

I , on the other hand, was born and grew up in South Africa. I am white. I was born in the early 1980s when the apartheid regime was crumbling.

 

Recently, I watched a documentary about her life on Netflix and I identified with this  wild spirit within her.  A spirit demanding justice. She was a  person who had a name but couldn’t truly own it.

There is a song she sings  – AINT GOT NO -I GOT LIFE (she is simply mesmerising to watch)

 

The song ends with her singing

“I am my freedom. I got my freedom.”

That is my connection to her.  For a long time I wasn’t accepted,I may well have been another skin colour.

In fact-  in post-apartheid. -early 90’s -I spent most of my teens taking drugs with the colored or black  and Indian community ( they identify themselves with these terms in South Africa btw ) and spending less  time with white people.

At various points in Nina’s life she felt like she had lost her mind.

 

I nearly became mad.

In fact I am sure I did.

Many times.

I   nearly died -countless times  too.

I was forced out of South Africa because my mother couldn’t stand by and watch me die.

It took 17 years to get  to the person I am today.

 

I should be dead.  I guess life has bigger plans for me.  It is not for lack of me trying every possible way to kill myself by my hand or another’s..

I have always wanted my freedom to be me in my body  and mind and be comfortable in it.

In my search for Freedom I even became like some feral creature to get it.  I  could say I only imitated what I saw other people do.

It’s strange how other people are quick to judge. They don’t seem to see that they do the same things to cope.

 Oh,how they just took .

Boys

Girls

Men

Women

People just took  from me what was useful to them  and discarded me like a used condom. Making sure there was no evidence to be found that linked them with the theft of my own creativity and soul.

People took a lot from Nina – she left the U.S.A. for many years to find her mind and peace.

One of my favourite sayings I always tend to tell people is

“I’m a person with good intentions”

“My actions and heart come from a good place .”

I think I must have picked it up from the lyrics in the song  ‘DON’T LET ME BE MISUNDERSTOOD

“I’m just a soul whose intentions are good – Oh lord please don’t let me be misunderstood”

I’ve often  felt misunderstood.

 I have made one hell of a journey.

So these days if someone misunderstands what I say, I have to pretty much cut them off and be direct and tell them  that they have misunderstood or not heard or misinterpreted what I am saying .

 

To have a soul, you have to be free.

Completely free of your mind and body -you mustn’t covert away any part of you , you must reveal your soul to the entire world.

People will either get you or they won’t but that becomes their problem not mine or yours.

There must be no shame in revealing your soul to the world.

Your story.

Your journey.

Nina  was diagnosed with Bipolar in the 80’s  and I guess she felt displaced.

Bipolar,huh ?

Displaced ?

Now I know that world well.

 

I felt displaced in so many situations in my life. I did actually do something  Nina did  (at a point in her life)-

I  turned inwards on myself.

I couldn’t win the political game of  “normal” social life.   I never fit in one social group or culture.

I stood out for all to see.

I didn’t fit. Yet, I felt comfortable in more than one place or with one type of people simultaneously.

I didn’t want to have to choose just one set of people to be around. I tried to conform but my soul rebelled

I struggled when I was growing up.

Not being able to fit into one box  came with high levels  of recklessness on my part. I  was probably the first person in my social group who displayed crazy- off her head signs.

It was awful because I was only 13-17 years old.

You could be a certain type of crazy but not my kind of crazy.

People backed up the fuck away…

Never mind that later many of my peers would have had more life experience and with that , they had gained a few extra pounds of  experiencing the not so great hand life deals us at times.

There would come a time when many I knew would have  to deal with  whatever  it decides to throw at you. Whenever it chooses to do so.

 Maybe a few of them went

“Oh,now I get it.”

I took on adult responsibilities from a young age.

I didn’t  fucking want them.

So it then  became a political inquest into my soul…

My soul fled from me – leaped out of my heart, got lost in my head , ran- in search of the nearest exit.

It found that exit in a secret tunnel at the furthest part of my unconscious.   It did a backflip out and  over the balcony of my  mind, landed on its feet and made for the ocean.

It went into hiding , to the deepest part of the ocean. A place it knew it could surrender to without protest. It could go with the current and not be examined for doing something as natural as just being its nature and of nature.

 

I searched to reclaim mine back  for years.

Soul can’t be questioned, it must be  felt.

Nina felt stigma,

I felt stigma,

Many feel stigma.

She connected to so many because  she wasn’t afraid to share her humanness and be her and speak up for ‘her kind’.

She inspires me to carry on  speaking out for people who still suffer inequality with their mental health issues. I will never stop using my voice and writing to break down stigma and prejudice and ignorance.

There are four songs I want to  share that she sang.

 The only way she knew how to help change and shape the world she lived in -was to get political with her music. It killed her singing  career and nearly killed her.

I can’t help but see Nina as such a positive role model for all genders, race, sexuality, age and faiths.



Justify

Why do I justify myself to others if I’m not working in a full paid life capacity?


Why do I justify myself to others if I’m not working in a full paid life capacity?

It’s not like we’re still living in a Victorian era where I need to prove I’ve achieved my full belt in chastity.

I’m not kept nor groomed.

I’m a woman of the age of independence. When I hold my breath I think of the oceans of ambition, filling me to a combustion ends- infallibility.

Self justification.

Words to sell the people who haven’t walked a second in my shoes.

Self justification who’s never seen a man who sold ice creams on a beach with his bare arms.

No feet.

No feat.

He wouldn’t allow the cha cha dance of life to let him be the one who gave in to defeat.

Even when the sun, it melted into his ebony skin-a parched man not bitter .

Even when children mocked him with no adult to inform them they were creating a culture where we judge people by being born in breach.

These words are going nowhere unless I tell people I’m a winner regardless of the mind state – an alternative view they may one day wish to seek.

Their unbeknownst ignorance of those mountains I’ve so far climbed to be deemed fit in a society increasingly lacking in human empathy just to stay in view

To remain an arm within terre ferme reach

These are my words. This is what I wish to impart. I refuse to give up until my soul recoils from my body,

Honours it’s vow –till death do us part.

If you taunt me I’ve learned

Not to teach nor preach.

Life’s a beach.

I’m a woman of the world with nothing but reach.

Does this sound preachy ?

😉😅🤣🙄.

Ex communication of self hatred

Shun not what you fear to understand

Don’t stigmatize the most inherent part in you; what makes you human!

Embrace each emotion &feelings.

My belief is if we hide our so called darker sides makes that part of our character stronger and unbalanced

Lessen that burden, become whole:

Be the full rainbow spectrum despite what your favourite colour is…

There is more to us than nuances of shady blacks & untouched white.

We have a choice to give in to or resist emotions that merely reflect we we are in our journey in life.

No journey is stagnant

No feeling is permanent.

Why are some emotions or feelings seen as bad or good? Aren’t they all important and deserve to be felt.

Nothing is stagnant.

It’s our fundamental nature to feel.

To question.

What do we do with our emotions ?

Our feelings and thoughts , what do we do with them?

Extract what you need in moderation?

This is not a comforting answer is it?

What is your answer ?

Opium Boy

 


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 à châteauneuf 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 an 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 out of, 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 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….

Vacant

I’m scared  because I don’t know how to comfort her anymore.

I’m scared because when I go and visit her ,

She  does this trick of making out like her eyes have glazed over into a  dark,shut, emerald door.

I can’t see inside. I try to peek through  the keyhole,  carefully.

There is  seemingly no one there.

Vacant. a word chastened in hyperbole.

The remnants of a body is  clearly  still  in front of me.

I only sit and stare.

I hear a sound – high pitched screams.

It sounds like there is a disturbing altercation   going on in there.

A neighbour  breathes and passes by , leaving  only a scented whisper of

” Feed her chocolate. It keeps her subdued”.

Fair trade Chocolate does not seem like the  ethical solution  to end  a deplorable mental feud.

The air is thick with  my punctuated  words.

WHY?

the neighbour screams,

Red, furious and right up in my face-

“BECAUSE THEN YOU WON’T HAVE TO KEEP UP YOUR NOBLE ATTEMPTS TO MAKE OUT SHE IS STILL A PART OF US HUMANS SPACE“

She is!

look,

Look at her .

I kiss her head and she flirts with that smile.

The neighbour shakes his head.

“All she does is mumble like a car spluttering ,trying to clock one last mile”.

“It would be kinder if they actually just stopped and kept her  underfed.”

Oh really, if she  doesn’t understand then why the hell did she lash  out to hit me ? 

She saw her ring on my finger .

If she is only a  shell then why do  such  emotions come out like she is  a venomous, angered Bee?

“I wish she would go. It has no existence”.

Yes, it is hard to see her exist like this but the only alternative you suggest is that me ,you and her have even more distance.

Maybe I am selfish,

but nobody really knows how much she  knows.

Just because she can’t speak or walk or do much anymore .

it doesn’t meant everyone can just talk  around her like a she is a retard.

 It doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel our ignorance  like fists pummelling  her heart in  fierce blows.

I see the image of her in bed , sleeping with her Teddy bear.

 I can’t take my eyes away from it and just pretend that this is what it is and carry on like I don’t care.

I don’t cry. I will try .

I don’t try . I cry.

Suffer.

Suffer.

Suffer.

If it was me in her place,

 I would make sure I had a will that specified I decided when I wanted to  dissipate into another state or  place.

(For my Gran. Dementia is ……. I am at a loss for words)