Blog Archives

What is the truth?

There are days I drop words of comfort on myself like falling leaves and remember that it is enough to be taken care of by myself – Brian Andreas

Have you ever tried to be yourself ?

Lost yourself to the one form of self expression that you excel in?

Writing without my vices is my biggest quality.

Proof I don’t need anything but passion & words & emotions to crystllize my thoughts and emotions. To formulate poetry or stories to know that I’m important too.

We all want a bit of self validation at times, don’t we?

Life is rough & tough .

Love the people who have got your back.

Leave those who don’t- even the one’s who claim to love you yet have let you down by your standards and your values – time and time again.

Respect comes with age & patience knowing that wisdom is not solely about your age but also about our unique experiences .

I sometimes think – If you call yourself a writer -then you have to write & type all the time .

I have an inkwell tattooed to my arm.

We shoudln’t define our selves as masters of our creative self expressive outlets if we don’t write or create every day , especially if it is something that we do to try and keep well or find inner peace.

It’s more difficult to achieve if our creative outlets require an income and proof for a resume or career!

I’ve had the privilage ( sometimes to my detriment) of making decisions in my life where I decided what roads I have travelled down. Some roads I had no choice.

That is life.

However or whatever we use our creative outlets and passions for – hobby, recovery, to stay sane, a career.

I have the opinion that it is how open you are to self reflection and the ability to take on healthy critique or even self critique will gauge how effective your work on self development and progression is achieved.

Don’t forget to be compassionate with yourself and I will try to remember that piece of advice too.

I have all these thoughts. The words I’ve just typed are my thoughts.

Interests? I have a lot of interets.

My thoughts get scattered.

I’m not my thoughts though I sometimes believe my thoughts and feelings are the truth.

They are my truth and subject to change.

These are my words.

Truth bloom

a strewth sleuth of truths

Twice told

Only one to realize

They lied to is

yourself.

Grappled thoughts hazed out of all sincerity

Twice them gamblers cast away all integrity

A dire dice reveals fear & loathing tosser going for a price

Lost to waging another wank with nirvana.

Times now?

Perhaps thrice.

Witness these winners

Outlining unspoken words

ratified a squeaky line of cheese

Exiled

A meta-more selfish imitable of an Ovidian

Kafkas.

Sniffing bloody bursts of betrayal

A mass

Carcass cordoned off by pissing yellow tape.

Not a John Doe – Fate confirms

But your own star crossed lover.

Two tall tale tellers serve hyperbole on the gossip scene —

Two punks who ain’t true to punk for the right reasons.

Caricatures emulate the shadow of these

Proud louts.

Halve these egoistical errors-

Blunted knives

These Terrorists

clothed in night sheets — stark nude

Wanton to retire for a brief interlude

A lie

down.

Sleuth blooms an alternative truth.

Hooked on Floating points & this video is autumnal in the mood. #goatbahs

My mother called me a Narcissist​

(Reading the book-  ‘poems for a world gone to shit’
Here’s one I wrote of to add to poems for a world gone to shit. A post-suicide poem I wrote in 2018. For the record, my mother didn’t call me this. She called me worse. I’m seriously joking now.

My mother called me a narcissist
I delayed in ringing an exorcist.


Eve didn’t want to admit she was too affronted by the orange county housewife
I’ d laugh if it weren’t for the affray
the truth is I’m a direct line of my self sabotagist.

My mother called me a narcissist cos I  tried to kill myself
She didn’t find it funny when I told her to go along with it.


She didn’t get it.


I take up my place as a dyed goat dressed in sheep wool.
I wonder if I can make it.
I forget
language-

so I bleat in Beast instead of weeping my tears of rage & regret. 

Destination Contemplation

Sometimes I feel like why do I bother.

Sometimes I feel like I’ve used up all my bear care

The cities I lived in .

The people I’ve engaged with.

started to stick two fingers up.

But only to the dickheads.

I dance to these beats cos I rise to the funk masters compilation.

I run for the hills , soul in arms, cos I’m scared of bereaving one beat closer to my final end.

Wasted kindness on friendships. One person knows what goes in my head.

Anxiety takes grip, and I turn on my only friend.

I don’t wanna feel like an unwanted graze.

Take me to a place I love.

Where people don’t talk in haze .

I don’t ever wanna feel like maple honey stuck to a face.

Take me to a place where I can finally come out from the virginal lace.

It’s hard to see the evil in people.

Harder to believe especially those covered treacle.

Atleast, I have a built in shit detector-

this city knows notof me.

My mask falls when the prison doors close.

I don’t ever wanna feel ignored by tramps with tongues for shoes.

Just get me out of this space where my compassion reduces me to tears,

Ignored,

Singing the wrong type of blues.

Under suicide bridge another man lands face down on the ground.

Blood glitters all in an outline and I’ve got scared .

I’ve got to be prepared.

I won’t throw this body away for another

no show.

*song inspired by Red hot Chilli Peppers ‘ under the bridge’

Art of Protest

I’m no academic poet.

Talk  to me about about syllables, haikus – to be honest,  I can only hear the blood rushing to my head.

I started doing stream of consciousnesss posts in 2016. I’ve received positive feedback on here, and now I want to step up my game.

Just for fun, the social aspect and it’s a different way to express myself.

So, I did what I do best.

Wing it!

I went to the  poetry workshop, everyone seemed to know what they were doing except me!

 I went with my heart, my  emotions and willingness to try out new approaches, in tackling poetry for live performance.

It was a cool workshop – delivered  by a well established,British  poet – Matt Abott –

check out his bio HERE 

A  collaboration with  DREAM TIME COLLECTIVE. 

ART OF PROTEST

We went through a series of activities with the idea to have some form of a draft by the end of the  2 hour  workshop

The theme was political poetry.

Each participant chose a theme that they felt passionately about. I chose ‘Animal rights/cruelty. ‘

I got so much out of a two hour workshop that I’m going to share what I did.

Once we had chosen our theme/subject

we had to ask ourselves three questions

  • Who does it  affect?

  • How does it affect me?

  • Why is it important to me or to the world?

A Couple of notes I made:

  • It affects animals, people, ocean, planet

  • I’m a lover of animals, I don’t believe that we need to eat meat, or wear clothes or makeup made up of animal derivatives. Because of my knowledge of what animals go through to become a consumer product. I feel it  is unethical.

  • I have my own view of animals. I admire  how they are able to evolve and adapt, in a way, that doesn’t  have a negative impact on the planet .This shows me that humans could learn something from nature, instead of destroying our home.

2. What Matt stressed is:   that if we want our poetry to make an impact writing it to perform , we need a motive, a call of action, an agenda.

  • Who am I  delivering this message to?

  • What do I want to achieve?

Examples: Do I want to shock people, encourage people to look at solutions to the problem etc..

3)

Imagine a room( keeping in mind what your subject is) and put 5 points/Images using ‘show and tell’ language to come with up with  strong words.

Example:

  • tearing of flesh

  • frothing at the mouth

  • cramped

  • squealing

  • gunshots

  • insidious laughter

4)  Objective.

Place the victim/s in that room.

What are they doing ?

How do they feel?

Example:

I had two victims. I imagined a gorilla coming round from another bout of being sedated by electrocution. He was wearing garish make up – heavily made up blue eyes and bold, blood colour red lipstick.

My other victim was human – a female who happened to be dressed up in chicken outfit or as a bird. She had a morbid fascination finding herself in this  surreal room with this clearly broken ,macabre gorilla.

Next we had place ourselves in that room -observing what was going on

Example:

Horror, what do I do? , retaliate or fight or freeze. I was frozen on the spot. Upon reflection, this  is how most of society reacts to topics that make them uncomfortable. They become apathetic.

Next, we had to place the victim outside of that situation/ROOM . Different surroundings. Aware of what they have witnessed/ or know and how they react in a different setting.

Example:

I chose the female ,costume wearing bird human and put her in a cosmetic store. The emotions that came to me were  conflicting – this victim of societies idea of attaining beauty is thinking ‘ ‘I have a choice’

The next stage was to  put these  ideas into the poetic form.

Make a poem.

 Always keeping in mind what we want the audience or how we want the audience to react.

We were directed to to start to put together a poem of no more than 50 words, or certain amount syllables. The aim was to keep it short.

Keep it punchy.

On topic.

I wrote about  100 words – possibly more.

It’s okay.

Then we had to cut those words in half – 😦

I ended up with 46 words.

This is the  end product .

Carnival time!

Gaze  in the mirror.

Blue sparkled hues 

Red paint 

Blood fondue.

Do I look pretty enough for you?

Tearing of flesh.

Bleached in acid 

Gorilla Art

Reflection never part

Do I look pretty enough for you?

The true freak in this show is 

, indeed YOU.

Daisy Willows/ Natasha Bodley

Times up. Workshop over. Get back to real life  😀

Now, I have another to approach to  poetry when  I write.

Worth it.

Go me!

Have a great weekend!

Do or Dye

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.

My contraband.

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.

Confession .

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?

 * DEADLINE  for EMA  Sunday night.  *

The song -contains  some cussing and may offend feminists …..  😉 Maybe not this song 😀  Idk.

the You! fallacy

Just jotting my thoughts. I’ve been prompted to make a complaint.

little four eyes when you were half your current size -why did you doubt yourself so?

Looking back to a densely plotted past – hazy.

What would you have done knowing all people doubt themselves even if it means you becoming the foe?

‘Have no regrets’ – the tagline of the present.

no regrets, no regrets, no regrets.

When you are looking at granny in a catatonic state, unable to walk or talk. Fragments of images of people now gone, tell me you won’t wonder how life would have played out by taking assertive bets.

Complaints department – sizeable queue. What can we do to answer people’s feuds?

Create a passage for people to commit to taking responsibility for themselves, sign that in ink and wrangle with their own moods.

Blame everyone.

You!

You,

and you!

well…… the list unfolds until it reaches the flaws of flooring.

Finger pointing in every direction. Buckle up, prepare to look within and see how far you can go when you begin to see only you can change your state of deploring.

Control comes not from puppeteering others. Cut loose – let the strings fall.Let people walk,

hell! let them figure it out-  leave them to crawl.

Worry about how you are going to make it. What you need to do to advance in the dance – motions to elevate and bypass the savage instinct to maul.

How many complaints is your God of choice dealing with?

in Her brassic attempt to fulfill everyone’s wish

Did it ever occur to you to get off your indignant knees to check out the employment vacancies for extras needed to help your  God succeed in appetizing your particular dish?

Stop giving control to others to fix your problems. You have a brain, how much has been wasted?

Think of the energy and time used in a  futile attempt to get people to see your view,

the moment before the curtains go down you have become the finale unstitched,  obtusely basted.

What do you do to make this world a better place?

What do you do to help us people stay in the race with human grace?

Life is never going to get easy – you’re never going to be 100%  fulfilled. There will always be a doughnut sized whole to fill.

Do you even know what it is you need to fix yourself?   In monetary terms, you will have to pay for your own self- advocacy bill.

Money, time and energy well spent making you a person who can figure out how to make sense.

Dig deep and take a deep breath-  Don’t be afraid to be a master of your own success.

To run away from your potential achievement will be your greatest offense.

jjj-2017     THANK YOU TO  SHAN JENIAH and LINDA FOR KEEPING ME IN A WRITING HABIT.   WORD PROMPT:  COMPLAINT  CLICK HERE TO TRY IT OUT.

Necessity bares echo

It’s easy to get caught up in the negative jumble yard sale and pick up everyone’s  discarded trinkets or  junk. Gladly, I’ve handed over my money – my energy and the energy of the  remnants of the previous owner’s objects stain my fingertips.

The swirly parts on my fingertips- the ones that make me one of a kind – mutate into something I am not.

Ghost-like.

” call the Priest -exorcise this impurity.” 

How do we pick up other peoples junk that looks pretty and appealing, without losing our confidence, and faith in who we are and who we have become?

It sounds so clinical to state:

 get a pair of synthetic gloves on and retain your true essence- don’t allow the memories and beliefs of others,to  poison your very own mind.

But, isn’t that artificial ?

I pride myself in baring my soul. Telling it like I see it. Standing up for my beliefs.

I get shot down  many times-  Cry for a bit – tell the world:

“I give up! ”  

Then the boomer rang effect inevitably comes  back around – smashes me in the head with the haunting words  “I give up!” 

I hear this echo .

” Oh no, you don’t.”

 I start counseling this echo – It’s distant from  me, not me.

 I don’t  have to take my  own advice if I have released it into the universe in one exclamation of defeat.

It’s a reverse psychology technique that works its groove on me. The equivalent to some hot guy actually bumping and grinding against me and not pissing me off.

A feat that is almost impossible.

It doesn’t sound like my voice. I can  give the echo advice. I can “big it up”

I can talk to  it into standing up and fighting for its right to be heard and I tell it

“You can evolve from a mere echo – fuck narcissus literally or metaphorically and leave him to it. “

“Let him drown in his reflection – pooled – snookered. chalked – marked . boxed in.”

“Chump.”

When you challenge what others say about you , to you or what they think of you – you may come across as confrontational  and emotional -defensive even.

 Only you can allow yourself the chance to evolve from an echo that gets lost in the underwater caves – that will  die when the tide comes bubbling in.

Don’t let it die in the spindrift.

 Let it evolve into a voice.

Your voice can speak on behalf of so many who don’t even know or  even have to know what you are doing.

It’s allowing growth to occur – it’s building character.

Someone , who hasn’t found their voice yet- somewhere down the line – possibly living  the bear necessity life, will hear it.

It could come from another voice  – passed down like a traditional story  Isn’t that how stories first evolved?

Isn’t that people first learned how to take  in information that we feel is important to pass down ?

Isn’t that why we can write paint, talk, act, dance, move , protest, make peace, argue ,debate, remember,honor,  create?

It  can take one person to blow apart everything I have worked for.

 I throw out my’ I  GIVE UP’ boomerang  – it comes back  in another form

I write about it- moan , grumble, collect evidence to fight my very own standing rock.

I,  too need clean  water to live.  Pure Air to breathe.  I need passion to live.

If I allow one character to crush my passion – what then?

What was the point of  baring  my soul to the world?

Of  not being ashamed  airing all  of my experiences, who I am  and what I’ve done ?

 Hang  out my entire newly washed, passion fruit scented lingerie collection ,in the densely packed  , over populated jungle I live in . Free to be dissected, analyzed, mocked ,admired ,mimicked, ignored.

I write plagued with doubt .

 I hit publish.

I take the time to thank the people who inspire me and get me, and then all of a sudden – the world – parts of energy sense a spirit giving  out and not holding back.

These  energies group together , have a cup of herbal tea and a catch-up and then -I get an email – validating my  voice, what I do.

I get a:

” Wow thank you – I needed this – I can’t accept it in the way you want me to but I will give you this….

 compromise.

This gives me the strength to fight my wars, my battles – a new era begins tomorrow.

I’ve developed lock jaw – not letting go of this one just yet.

I want to see what doors close and what doors open

I want to see the lights illuminate the path I am on.

If only to see the shape of it;

my future.

 If I can’t see that – I have no hope.

Without hope, I have no beat-  then it is time to call in the clubs and spades.

So, give up , take a  breather , read the terms and conditions, ask for feedback from more than one source, look at those around you- those strong people who manage to carry on with a smile their on the face.

I don’t know the outcome of this particular situation or most situations I put myself in.

 I do  have a goal no matter how blurred.

I do know I have to  go  into every experience with an open mind, a solid form , confidence, boldness and the idea that:

I may be wrong,

or

I may be right.

Maybe a bit of both ?

socsbadge2016-17.png

Character Development

*Here is a cool activity to do and an  easy way to build on character development  in your own writing.  I’ve used my own example. *

*Grammar police -Apologies in advance for any Typos 😀 *

Characters Name: Steve Tusterone

Checklist of physical traits,age,gender,nationality ,state of health

  • Lots of hair, dark peppered with grays.

  • Grey slate – one eye has a fleck of green in it

  • 5. 8

  • Stocky – not thin, not fat – in shape

  • present day – early  40’s

  • Male

  • White

  • British

  • Now – has trouble seeing through one eye – flecked one ( due to rape attack with Betty

  • Skin shows some sign of alcohol abuse-

  • Mental health volunteer for a therapy walking group for people with DID and other mental health issues who are coming back into society after treatment

 internal characteristics, level of intelligence, outlook on the world.

  • Not empathetic – sympathetic- ‘well at least………’

  • Rigid thought process

  • Calculating

  • Passive aggressive

  • Charming

  • Impulsive

  • Intelligent

  • Sexist

  • Into violent porn

  • Not abused but has a dominating idea that men should own their women –mothers included

  • Closed

  • tries to hide his lust and desires by walking the straight line –struggles not to commit rape again.

  • Wants a woman to overpower him –conflicted.

Social and family life, who they know, who they are related to, how they feel about them.

Parents dead. He travels a lot to keep a distance from his past, he is trying to not act on his impulses for fear of getting caught, still, resents women in general, he has no friends, casual work colleagues through volunteering as a person with MH issues. He feels his mother was weak and he dominated her.

Finally, write down the major events of their life so far.

  • Mothers death

  • Raped  college students

  • Got stabbed in the pencil by a student – Betty-alter Lola

  • To evade being caught –been on the move a lot

  • Meets Betty – falls in love with her Alter Lola

  • She indulges his sexual fantasies

  • Lured by money and being with a woman he can dominate and who can dominate him unlike his mother he agrees to kill Betty’s husband so Lola can take over and they can elope

Put your character in a scene –using

  • Interpretation (the author, narrator and/or other characters tell us about a character).

  • Appearance (external details).

  • Action (habits as well as one-off actions).

  • Thought (going inside the head of the character).

  • Speech.

Perfection at this point is not the aim of what I am trying to do, so this will most likely change as my story develops and the cliches will get less cheesy.  I’ve literally written this once and proofread it  once.

Okay, I think I am actually learning!  ha ha!

Today I focused on an exercise to do with character development

This is a bare skeleton of one scene  I had roughly plotted  before I did  this activity.

Walking past the daisies and horses strutting in the farms passing by , Steve fell into step with Lola  who looked into the distance –  Seemingly appreciating the view – he did not see the glazed look across her face. He did feel the prickling sensation of crackling between them. This was something he could not ignore. Lola turned to look at Steve – she scanned his face, spotting the dimple in his chin and seemingly convinced she approved what she saw, gazed into his eyes- penetrating them. Steve felt his groin stir. He hadn’t come across a woman to match his sexual prowess in many a years. He knew he should leave well alone but this woman was far too playful, far too irresistible. A dangerous man required a dangerous counterpart and he was  not going to pass up this opportunity.

“ Yes, I do like the scenic route, very much. “ Lola leaned in closely whispered in his ear , the hotness of her breath was so in congruent with his first impression of this woman. She  smelled of Roses, lilacs and a fresh breeze . The person before him was indeed another type of angel- musky, hints of magnolia, passion and erotic. Lola lingered. Steve knew he should compose himself – he must. He would find out more of this character.

Here is the same scene,  slightly tweaked, using the  activity for character development ( this is again not polished,  and very rough) but even  I can see the improvement.

Walking past the daisies and horses grazing in the fields passing by, Steve fell into an awkward step with Lola’s long, leaner legs ,who looked into the distance –her seemingly to appreciate the view – he admired this creature. Not his usual type at all. He failed to notice the glazed look in Lola’s eyes.

He did feel the prickling crackling almost violent rubbing energy between them.  A warmth spread around his testicles, the desire to grab her flesh and bite her all over to hear how she would react made his heart drum. He knew he should focus on the being with the walking group- keep a low profile. He sensed in Lola not an equal but someone who would enjoy being hurt and maybe under his guide, learn how to satisfy him This was something he could not ignore. Lola turned to look at Steve – she scanned his face, he was shorter but his stocky build made up to make him appear menacing. His nails were short, bitten down, jaggered.

His face was ruddy not in a youthful boy sense but more hard and weathered from years of hiding away his secrets. He sweated out fumes of over concealed remnants of years of alcohol benders. She spotted the dimple in his chin and seeming to  convince Steve she approved of  what she saw,  settled her eyes on his – penetrating them. Her gaze settled briefly on left eye- steely grey flecked with bits of olive green.  Steve felt his groin stir. He felt as if he was the prey!

 His eye twitched – a constant reminder and warning to himself that he should walk away from this creature. He knew how out of hand this could get. He couldn’t help chisel out a cheeky smile from this thought.    He knew exactly what he wanted to do to her. She might be his undoing.

  He hadn’t come across a woman to match his sexual prowess in many a years, if ever. He knew he should leave well alone but this creature was far too seductive, she had an aura of smuttiness and a fire in her that went as deep as the pit of a vexed dragon. A dangerous man required a dangerous counterpart and he was not going to pass up this opportunity.  If he had a pair of dice on him –this was the moment he shook them –he didn’t need to blow into them for good luck and let them roll.  Just like the rolling hills they passed, nature left to her own devices. Raw and untamed.

“Yes, I do like the scenic route, very much. “ Lola broke into his thoughts like a seasoned burglar. Steve almost felt the heat rise from his cock to his cheeks. She leaned in closely, whispered in his ear; the hotness of her breath was so in congruent with his first impression of this woman. She smelled of Roses, lilacs and a fresh breeze. He could feel himself falling. The person before him was indeed another type of angel- musky, hints of magnolia, spice and myrrh. Lola lingered. Steve knew he should compose himself – he must. He would find out more of this beguiling creature.

HAVE A GO.

Look up

Signs of life cautiously peek around the jagged  wall. Gently  calling out that it is okay to be vulnerable and strong.

Look up, oh naked child of zombies heaven. Trust in the pureness of dressing yourself like the day you took your first breath – inhaled oxygen and exhaled carbon dioxide.

Life and death are intimately connected.

Fear .

So fearful of life.

Fear not to stand up and let your breasts fall beyond the pencil rule of if you need to wear a corset or bra.   😀

Remember ,death is unknown – it is a forgotten memory – another state of consciousness.

Believe in standing – blemished , untouched, unpolished , un- cropped.

Believe  that your natural skin color is right. Whatever color it is . It is yours and it covers you so well. Protects you from elements like sticks and stones and winds and snow.

Hair – leave the three hairs on your toe. Men do. It’s winter – allow yourself to be comforted by your own body and warmth .

You are a miracle. Don’t look away – you give a lot away .

Don’t regret what you give.

Don’t regret what you feel .

It is by being naked and bare that you are able to connect with everyone you meet- – every crack in the wall is a sign that you have fought to reach out and make yourself complete.

You embraced the air- you fought to feel – you fought to care.

This prison is in your mind. Don’t fear to blossom, sweet soul. Don’t cover your mouth. Smile and laugh – you captivate the world with your unique laugh and you give other people a chance to respond and feel bold.

Rings can’t bind you,   in truth , the earth is probably flat.

Your arm symbolizes a crane – you are the hope that can only be the change.

embrace every fear.

Say yes to everything you feel will move your forward- will cut the strings of setting you loose from the puppeteers, brainwashed in stagnant gestation.

Walk silly, bounce -be flat footed . We all walk in our own peculiar way.

Don’t hide – don’t hold your breath – you deserve every single breath.

Your heart is your greatest ally – your mind is brilliant – allow it to think – allow your thoughts to come out in speech bubbles .

Be a comic, a novel, a flash piece of fiction, a stream of consciousness – don’t hide that captivating mind.

Your tears have kept me alive- nourish yourself – replenish your needs too.

Drink and rehydrate.

Eat and don’t allow barbed thoughts to intrude on your time to re-energize.

Time won’t stop. You know it only moves on with or without you. So look up and look at me. See your reflection and see your soul is pure -forget about what has been.

Own every line, every dent, every scar on your body- that is your own personal narrative and don’t be ashamed – it is what makes up your flesh – you are not a character you are a fully fleshed-out person.

You wounds are your path, your trail, your journey. Create much more if you want – but be gentle.

If only you would look up so I could see the colour of your eyes. If only you would smile – would it reach up to meet your eyes?

francesca-woodman

PHOTO CREDIT SOURCED FROM HERE

* Today’s stream of consciousness was inspired by LINDA G’s word prompt ‘YES’ and a random  image that I googled of  someone’s work I admire. Thank you, CAKE for always inspiring me and pointing me to Art that I connect with.

Francesca Woodman 1958-1981

socsbadge2016-17

I believe,to create something different we have to do something different.

Have a have fab weekend.

You have a voice and a mind and a heart – use it. Don’t let others intimidate you. Be free.

DAISY 

XOXO  ❤ ❤