A coin has two sides.
Heads or Tails – it’s crazy how we let fate decide how our life will transpire.
Fate. Mate. It’s all overrated – celebrity ,drug addicted ,dead skateboarder – cremated ashes arise from the livings tears-earths most selfish empire.
Hawks’ is a brand name. I find his business methods something left to be desired.
Underhanded- an opportunist.
It doesn’t have to be that way.
If we don’t speak we will never have our say.
Seems obvious right? Don’t hold it all inside – don’t delay – make a good go at it and relay.
Play the violin, a piano. Instrumental sounds.
Rap beats- car sounds reverberating – runners paving the tarmac with their well-trained feet.
Musical – emotional .
I ‘m touched by what I hear.
It moves my soul quicker than all the gold or silver in the world.
My words serve to validate all that I seek when I am feeling somewhat unworthy.
Why do we undervalue ourselves ?
The ones who should sign a cheque to get a re-evaluation – go up in our own self-estimation.
Uncurl your fingers – point in whatever direction the wind blows, just walk wherever your finger lands, you can always change your mind if you hear the squawking of black crows.
It’s all there – in
We are a work of seraphic art.
Goals achieved ?Celebrate them. Flaunt them -don’t sit there with your head in your hands full- tearfully grieving. You must not be deceived.
Chimney poison ivy creeper.
Santa has decided to go for the crimson look for yet another year – What a heathen!
Life is a miracle . Look at your child – turning five , thirteen ,sixteen , eighteen.
I don’t care if she decides to run with the LGBT team or swap cuticle tips with the latest Hollywood cream queen..
Her individuality. Her style.
Stars above – sit, wide-mouthed, in awe . Blessed to have sight.
I’m not Stevie wonder.
True, some say he was talented but he was not me.
I too am Original .
I too am visional.
Open your mind to the possibility that money is nothing but worthless of your valuable time, scavenging around under the bed mattress, in hope of clocking an epic find.
It’s all relative.
That’s what the judge said.
In proportion to Age.
The solicitor offended his honour in his own chambers, pulling the ageist card to a venerable man .
His honourable threatened the organisation to pay out – headless chickens running around, not enough eggs or battery farms.
Overfed already underfunded.
Hegemony -sums in deficit- terminally defunct.
send them back to the Flinstones era .
Exile – a yabba dabba doo ban.
Embrace every compliment, every kindness , every soft touch.
For you don’t have a clue just how much you have to offer,
just how much you give to so and so and such and such.
Make a treasure map – Find a weather app.
What do you value? Does it make you happy?
Elevator music- always smells of corporate candy -a chihuahua at your ankles, constantly snapping.
Don’t blend in. Stand out. Be fierce, Be proud. You’ve come far.
The underdog title has got a new replacement.
Now don’t hesitate.
Now don’t fear.
Take that hair-raising step . Success is attracted to you like static – you don’t need a lint roller to wipe away all of you. You’ve worked – you have put in the time.
Look at your face!
I know we all battle
Not every day is full of sunshine.
Some stay the same.
You are here to honour your rightful place next to your fellow man , women – indeed even that sodding goblin.
Two sides of the coin
. No, you don’t have to flip it like a burger. You have a choice. You always have a choice.
To give power – to give your free will away to chance – heads or tails .
It’s unbalanced , unnatural . Shed away the archaic scales.
You are in control even when you are on automatic.
let’s wrap this soCs up and affirm how hard you’ve worked -you have every right to celebrate your achievements. Stare people in the eyes – make sure that they are on your level.
Tell them -Let them all know.
Yes. I am.
Yes. I did.
Yes. I will.
When you do decide where it is that you are headed for next on the chessboard . Sing, dance ,shout -do a jig – do it your way.
Make sure you are emphatic, Charlie Chaplin style or simply be over dramatic.
In the shadowed shades of my blues.
I tenderly look for another who I can summon as one who lives life in honour,
Of all that is true.
Those who speak the spoken word in all its iridescent hues.
Colours drape my inner wardrobe.
Yet, I clamber for my grey, nuances of noir.
Catastrophizing all the whites for showing up my yellow gnashers.
Against a blustery pale backdrop of mountains blanketed by capped ice.
Brazen, I stand on the highest peak.
Cheeks misted by tears.
Contemplative in being joyful for the moments of inner peace.
Cast out this unwanted wardrobe.
No more colours in clandestine!
The drab shabby (not so chic) curtains concealing my true identity.
My makeup is not for every entity.
I’m asked to write the truest sentence I know.
Hemingway knew a way to interweave words worth more than bread made from the finest patisserie dough.
Scraping pennies to get by the hard knocks.
We do what we gotta do to get by.
Poverty causes ‘bros before hoes’ and ‘chicks before pricks’.
Keeping my pins steady as balls curve to nebulant sides — it incites fear into my inner stream of consciousness, dialogue conflicts –
Savaged by doubt and insecurity.
I’m on a trip with a Make believe demeanour.
One to conjure up more stamina and longevity-
To warn my inner Hecate to hesitate before she dare pro-curate.
Write to recover through seeping, bandaged wounds.
Riddling the mind with infectious curiosity,
To want knowledge is the power I crave.
It’s my security.
Droplets of lonely anguish torment my darkest spell.
I am the white temptress tempted to awaken the beast inside.
Though, I know it will be the catalyst to an eternity of mocking turmoil.
My final destination is not the country I occupy.
I’m an immigrant
I’m a traitor.
Colonised and imprisoned by outdated Imperialists.
The world is full of egotistical folk in full throws of the delirium tremens.
Murmurs of fragile Life keep me close to the fire.
It scintillates what I know is inside — lying dormant.
Ready to drive out the cancers multiplying with faces frozen,
In that blissful look of the ignorant .
I raise my sword.
It bleeds ink.
It is my heart : my deliverance.
I can’t fathom another way to jolt my instincts to kick out, and rise to take another breath.
I’m the one who needs these murky waters to survive . Forget I too need oxygen and gills to stabilise my Eco system.
If my world was captured by a drone;
I would want it to show me evolved into a hybridised pro-humanity amphibian.
Swimming side by side
dolphins & whales ad infinitum.
Our life is entirely summarised by a dash.
1981- insert date of death.
Everything that we do within those dates define what we accomplish and who we become or don’t.
One small dash.
Engraved on our tombstone is what makes our life signicant in this life to others…
That dash between the years is what we did or didn’t get to do with our life.
Or maybe I’m talking crap…..
Probably the latter ..
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.
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 ? !
. 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 )
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.
Oh, I forgot ( I wanted to see if I could try and define rambunctious before I cooled it).
A bit over the top, firstly, too much , horny even ?
And proper definition 👌
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 .
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.
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.
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
“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.
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 .
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.
Nina was diagnosed with Bipolar in the 80’s and I guess she felt 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.
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.
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.
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 ?