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All Magic comes with a price.

ALL MAGIC COMES WITH A PRICE

Not all men can handle a strong woman.

A lot of them tend to make us feel like we are weak,wrong , crazy even with our impulse to rule and to be dominated.

They would happily send us to a place to be Abominated.

Not all men can dominate a strong woman

It takes a real man – with a front and backbone – one that he uses .

One that he knows how to use and simply won’t take her refusals.

A firm hand – pressed against her delicate neck bone – windpipe-disarmed . A Struggle to breathe.

Shock – Fight or flee.

Stay and put up with it – two stubborn souls connect – who is going to win?

She could fight you, she will put up a good bluff .

Poker face. Stoke his fury – Flush her out – until she is red in the face .

Hair fanned out in a perfect pose,astrologically aligned with her sin.

She knows when to stop him. She pushes back his arm.

Will he get the message or will he continue with the power trip and go one and on ?

The moment of truth is in his bare hands.

Her life, her breath is his – she is at his wildest demands.

He won’t take no for an answer – she won’t refuse his frustration.

She would rather end up black and blue

Thumbed, printed ,read all over- front to back.

than pass on her pain,

despair .

Her 6 red eyed ,three-headed Cerberus demon.

Dizzy disparate desperation.

She won’t see that reflection – not one drop will trickle from her eye; the mirror that she sees is, in fact, her depiction.

She is his keeper – She owes him his salvation.

Till death do us part.

Charon take your ferry – set back sail on the river Styx . She casts the ferryman back to eternal damnation.

Lust , love , it’s all a part of the combined heady scent and the sweat .

gender – Sexual Agenda – together, forever in each others debt.

A pounding heart. She suddenly gasps.

Does she fight for one last caress?

Love is complicated. So is she.

He is her man.

Her king and she will let him be.

Euphoria – her hands tremble – she is shaking.

Pins and needles – no voodoo.

True Magic is two people madly in love.

two hearts – hers stopped beating so he took out his own – ripped it from his chest – tore it in half and gave her one part.

Fluttering. Fleeting

She doesn’t need a rib.

She needs a beat – a rhythm.

A Civil rights movement protest.

Chaos.

Drive.

bloody driven from her comfort- safety zone.

This time, when she makes a noise it won’t be a solemn, repressed moan.

Consumed.

Jolted into believing.

No sadness.

Unresolved.

Ruffled,

Stained sheets. She is done with teasing.

She is the Queen of his heart.

Same time tomorrow – so they can resume their riske business meeting.

LUCIDA

The need in me is to create. What?
Anything – it is all up for debate.
I’ve been away far too long from my usual stream of conscious ramblings.
Doing important, official work in the real world. I don’t mind but my urge to write ding dongs in my head like Big Ben , pinching at my nerves like little crablings.
Walk sideways, it’s fun .I don’t mind. To not feel able to put thought to paper is a pain that lunges at me with pincers.
Threatens to cut, alter my composite chemistry that aids my synapses to hop from one tufty cloud to the next .
I’ve fallen off this heady tuft of higher ground. Landed in a dank, damp, dark marshy bog – I look around me and I see my only flight back home is sinking in the mud.
Oh, see how much I have wept.
Humpty dumpty had a far easier break. I’m burning up – I’m spilling out my innards from every orifice. I’m burning up a fever, tactile sensations- uncomfortably scrambled.
If I could just sit up and inhale a breath. I’m tired.
Tired.
I am sick of heading for the routine spine bash.
Dreary Dystopic drones in uniform hedge all around me.
I know I am ambushed.
Spare this loaf. Save some for later . Don’t be Greedy.
We all need some form of energy to buzz us into a land of fantasy.
This existence is not all it’s cracked up to be.
Necessary to be a part of, I agree .
I need to chill-out. Don’t you see?
I have to have an outlet – that allows me to just, Let me be me!
I promise I won’t hide from my civic duty. You don’t need to contain me in a fryer with other slices of chips off the old block.
I am patriotic.
I understand my need to be part of the solution.
Eyes rise up to the skies- Pink tufts, hues colour me in , a chance for wizardry to occur. I promise I won’t become unwell again .
I won’t lose myself entirely that I become an invalid to humanities true cause. Resolve for my Absolution!
Before you take that roller pin to my head. I’m already malleable – ready to rise . See how blanched I am – covered in fine ,white, earthly grounded flour.
See, look! Pat me down.
Check my left pocket.
A quill.
Check my right pocket.
ink .
Together I can re write this story – or create a captivating ending for everyone – I can whisk you away from a life so dour and sour.
Temporarily of course. Just for a fleeting moment – I can change your wooden hearts and make them beat again.
Feel, breathe.
You can be Lucida.
Fetch me that parchment – just by that oak tree. Three combined ingredients are all that we need.
No dark spells. My intentions are pure.
My need is to make you see an alternative style of Living – a tiny bit clearer.
Imagination does get rusty when we don’t use it.
We can use some of that oil from the this-worldly fryer to lubricate , intoxicate.
Envision any place you want to go that feeds into your happiness
How do you want me to start?
Once upon a time, we abandoned our traditional milieu to head to a place, where we all could flex our buns in a manner of straight out wackiness.
I have my cure!

Damsel called Distress

High on life- no artificial sight.
I know what I will do if I ever get mugged.
I will look my mugger right in the forehead and say I can see the emergence of his third eye.
His monobrow will wriggle in confusion.

Then, I will 1970’s kung fu him in the balls – He will be blubbering. This is my first chance to demonstrate myself-choreography, self-defence,dance class, get fit for life.

I’ll grab my bag and wallop him once or twice.
I’m not condoning violence,but I get the feel for it , I’m grooving, putting my own spin on it . So he rolls with the punches and I carry on rolling my dice.
Then when I feel we are on an even keel . I’ll stretch out my arm, give him a hand up. Hell, I will even get down on one bended knee.

The score will be settled and even.
That is what you get, mate, for attempted thieving.
Panic alert flashes across my eyes. I didn’t know Mr potential mugger had another job. He’s a rather talented actor – he is making me believe he is actually bleeding.

Wait a few seconds – look left -look right -look left again . Got to keep my wits about me. Road safety training might seem elementary but it can be a life saver.

Seconds turn into the longest minute ever documented. I don’t think he is an amateur . In fact, I’m checking for signs of a well-known face; not some chip off the old block. I can hear the other stars calling out for their missing, celebrity neighbour.

Things are starting to turn grave. I’m the one who was in true danger.
Superheroes, do they exist?

I need one pronto – bring a carpet -we have a John Doe to roll up and we need a couple of spades and all of the aces . I need a super professional with a zany twist .

Moments pass. My superhero hasn’t pitched up , he must have run out of gas.
I’m on the run with an imaginary gun – this is not fun. He started it. What an ass!
“Oh why hello,officer, I know what this looks like. Yes, I am running” mentally exercising my train of thought.
“Hit and run?”
“I don’t drive, officer . So can we skip the walk in a straight line, touch my nose and rub my belly and get to the part where we both laugh about this situation.” We may end up in a quaint bar .
The one that sells all the good rum.

My mind is working overtime. Think! Think! What would any civil, well to do , ordinary , civilian lady do in my circumstance?
“Now, officer . I think we can have a bit more fun with those cuffs. Got any fur? oh, how I love to purr.” I’ll lean over just so he can clock my cleavage. Hey, this could work! Have you got any better ideas?
This may be my only chance.
“Ma am ,Are you trying to poodle face with me?”
“Me? I don’t even own a dog. Are you trying to call me a bitch? Now that is offensive.” I was merely using my right to freedom of expression.
My wits tell me to back the fuck down. He is jangling what sounds like more than one key.
He reads me my rights. I say I’m catholic. I ring God daily, no messing with Angel administration. I have him on speed dial to atone for my sins.
Now this – this is unjust. All this fuss. What happened to the good cop , bad cop scenario ?
All I’m seeing is the end of his boot and my own reflection in his riot helmet gear. Have I been transported into some retro game and swallowed a mushroom and turned into super -uber Mario?
Granted, he is a shitty plumber. But, he does get to collect plenty of coins. Maybe I can bail myself out .I don’t need no man to rescue me . I am the victim and the surviving princess.
I get the feeling the only jangling I am going to do is when I walk the line. Stub my toe. I think my entitled title just got ripped off me.
Scoundrel. It was that mugger that’s got me in this stitch . I’ve been demoted to a rather fatigued and distressed seamstress.
Moral of the story?
Don’t go acting like those sensational media heroes.
Just let your entire shit go- JUST.LET. IT.ALL.GO.
And tomorrow you will wake up not in a cell but smiling into your favourite stripy bowl of cheerios.

Heads up

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.
Monotone. All alone.
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.
Destination.
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 our head.
our heart.
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.
Keeper.
Sweeper.
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.
Happiness. Her individuality. Her style. Her choice.
Role model. Demonstrate .Affection. Reciprocate.
Infectious . Laughter – 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.
Create.
Debate.
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.
Regret nothing.
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.
Disorganise?
Reorganise .
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. 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! amazement.
I know we all battle. Not every day is full of sunshine.
Colours change. People fade away. Some people stay the same. Dismal,but that’s not your problem.
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.

Sunny disposition’s shadow.

 

Harried. Hurried. Life pulls me into its vortex.
Tears drip, sealing up presents protected in pink wrapping paper.
She is growing too old, too quickly . Nauseating -left sickly.
Guilt erodes my cavernous mind -echoes dart all around.
So triste. If only I could plug in a pair of earphones so you can hear my heart’s melody- a melancholic cacophony of unequal distributed sound.
Courage,
bravery.
A new day and it’s time to celebrate.
Cake and food and balloons to check off the list.
Snacks, goats cheese quiche. They don’t do a version called hashish.
Khaleef.
Relief.
Slide my cell phone out, to check how many miles I’ve clocked on my fitness app. Gravity does an honourable job of conforming to what I’ve been told it should do when my phone disconnects from my hand.
Shattered glass. I scream:
No, not the screen!
Smoke ablaze, allow me to atone for my karmic debt. Soul let me be clean.
God theory – Spiritual . Analytical – my faith is still reciprocal.
Hope to make a punch in the fruit aisle. Grapes ,peaches, grab a sack of bananas.
The educated children won’t remember the birthday girl if we don’t get 22 packets of individually wrapped Haribo sweets for them to take home.
Sugar rush -sweeten the crush . No huge party – with a whole class invited to practice nurse and doctors with up to date human body scanners.
Time.
Pressure.
Stress.
Masters of writing .Deadlines.
Party time or Mommy will get stuck with the craziest fine.

Sunshine?
Rain – divine. Only when wrapped up in a duvet in my precious bed – liken it to someone’s favourite merlot wine.
Bus. Wind. Howling and scowling. A face – a perfect reflection of the weather.
Dentistry. High priority. Teeth fixed.
Smile and show off your invisible vulnerability.
Pictures dating back to the 1920’s – Man with 1000’s of vintage cameras has a hobby, he can unfreeze time and develop older pictures into negatives. It’s all about integrity.
Pass them down to your future generations – remember those who came before us. The ones we inherited our addictions, maledictions.
Nose catches a whiff- a sense of a DNA code .
Imagination.
Frozen Snapshot!
Talking to myself -creating characters in a place of puffed up, cloudy mindfulness. Not so sure that inherited genes fall under the category of serious afflictions.
Not crazy perhaps a mere case of unharnessed creativity.
What is so wrong with riding on an elated bull of mimicry?
Smokescreen – less hazy. £100 bill to fix my technological , grave -sadistic error in clumsiness.
PC world.
Would you rather pay £1000 for a new mac laptop or £49 ?
Ex-navy man, stop skirting around the gravy line, drop it on me like an anchor. In my world money is your pay packet. All I have is a sense of running out of time.
Rabbits are late. Missed the date , bounced cheque couldn’t secure my delivery bundle, all inclusive with the hottest corporate communication and logistics stork delivery enterprise.
Maybe next year I will miss the pill.
Phones for you.
For me?
For you!
Warranty does not cover intoxicated phones.
Why did you have to get giddy and go bonkers at the mention of a few smartie infused cocktails, for a party happening at 4pm ?
This is festive stuffing prepped for nightmares. 1000’s of drones willing to commit mass suicide – I don’t think bee heaven has parties streamed with foam slides and glow in the dark stick tones.
Deaf – no jam.
Talking in my ear. Three wise men chasing a star .
All I need is one competent man.
Pass me a fan. English turns into piggish.
Yes, the laptop is exactly what I need.
Writer? -one of the things I do.
Student debt. This mute starts to laugh .
Their bombastic moves to persuade me leaves me with the taste of lead. I’m tempted to walk out of here as a woman converted to the Amish.
My specs are more concerned with software.
Microsoft,
SoundCloud.
Insurance?
Don’t make me use my collateral.
Figures ruminating around my mind – 400 – 500.
Add-ons.
More fad songs.
Inside, Hurricane Matthew remnants rattle Mount cranium. Hurtling through the air – a cow passes by me in flight, with a courteous: moo.
This is my despair.
The carefree and serene look is the only bargain I am looking for.
Time is zig zagging up behind me in crocodile form. He has that tick-tocking swag -his tail -swish swashes-ear drums deafened.
Momentary paralysis.
Mentally confused.
Mindstate? Ready to light the cannon ball.
Scream: terrorist.
I am that bemused.
I will give you £60 worth of Morrisons grocery shopping if you stop selling to a seller – trying to service a servicer
Yadda yadda yadda. Green is grasser.
Too much fodder . Where’s the verbal shredder?
Noise pollution.
Recycle your position.
You can choose to not tick: employment occupation – Ass wiper.
Sit down. Take it all in. Funds ready to transfer. Card amped to stick it in and spread that green cum from within.
No protection.
Dirty laundering.
Hand wash only.
I’m thinking my accepted friend V has an addiction .
I satisfied him last night. Friends do that caring thing.

All week I have had him in and out. He doesn’t even remember most of his hits.
I spent most of Wednesday washing out bloody sheets, stained with a not so virginal hole.
Sinful statement – let’s sing a hymn for her cheery soul.
Disease seems not far from our midst.
I need to contain it and stop passing it on and encouraging sharing.
Vee – I don’t want to lose you to a pair of sharp tools.
Poodle-haired lady bitch behind me – tit tittering.
Leave empty-handed. Priorities in order.
Not High street fashionable but then again I have always been drawn to disorder.
Time to leave consumer society.
I’ve already taken a shot to the shoulder with over a hundred pound bill.
Narcotic.
Alcohol arises from its slumber. Coughing,cunning and conniving.
Remember next Thursday. All day Workshops on how to handle stress, delivered to four back to back classes of teens in year 10.
Safety zone. A place I have to call my own.
Rant. communicate.
SURPRISE!
Look at her face – full of delight. Illuminati – unbelievers.

Cape Vulnerable

Danger lurks in wild-eyed faces.

Thoughts restrained to assuage feelings inverted debases.

Danger thrusts a third eye world view,

of hatred and vomit a careless overlook of blind men seeking to anew.

Danger conquests damsel in distress.

Jeans make it pleasurable for when she denies its requests.

Danger,

danger,

danger, –  it haunts her.

She sees what she wants to see; how it taunts her.

Hush little darling, remember naive, white rose petals,

Dreams hijacked by villains in full uniform metals.

Skettled and nettled – itching to find a place to seek comfort.

A goose down feather pillow makes a dream fit for the unfit.

Danger.

Danger.

Danger, it hawks in on her.

Hush, little darling – feed thine hunger, mother goose is baking in the oven.

Commit to a mind of normal functions. Emotional battery, maternal coven.

Reach not for this soul. It is claimed and is bold.

Wretched and lectured- ears buzzing with sensory ejaculation.

Sleeping partners do just what the contract state. Don’t let this assume an identity of edification.

Soothe, muse, love every bone,

ever tenderized bruise.

Damsel will never see you fall from your pedestal – you can never lose.

Choose, use -in moderation – her body will allow you to take so know thine limits

Infants on feet -rapping at the  doors -ready to impose a new order in the house of the fidgets.

I don’t want to be in your soul tribe

Here she comes

Me -the late bloomer

I have a revelation words matter circa 2015.

ALL WORDS MATTER.

Let me try and type something with substance

Words have power.

We

collectively should choose our words carefully.

Don’t stop talking.

hashtag it’s still okay to talk.

start a difficult conversation.

Mental health is here for as long as we humans are.

For real…

Stop with the sincerely Stan – suicidal fan stereotyping –

Passive aggressive greeting -Hello hunties

Yes I have a cunt and I won’t let any man hunt me -unless he is prepared to be chased too.

How can we all be so woke when

we stilll choose to believe in fake news?

People love to give blow jobs on other peoples words.

Most people swallow and don’t spit.

Retweet it to keep it 100.

can we put a value on integrity?

Words matter -when we stand up for our belief to break away from the mould.

Open mic night’s expressions should be honoured by doing our words -over and over.

Especially when people aren’t watching.

Show and tell how to walk the talk.

Match a wage bet — that another brother’s claims of little Miss trouble are too high key.

It’s okay to talk.

Tupac once said

real eyes

realize

real lies

People should see before they make a judgement.

express yourself – in the social accepted way –

Aspire to appear lowkey?

All these quotes about

Keep your personal business to yourself. –

then do a 180 and take the ” power back”.

A calculated performance

reveal you know how to manipulate words – with barely legal finesse.

Hashtag wars still matter.

Use language for positive change.

Talk.

Start a difficult conversation.

Think about your fellow patient in the opposite bed.

Why does she haveresting bitch face syndrome ?

Why does she stare at back after you state

‘That feeling when you feel like Briney spears circa 2007?

oh you have problems – you slit your wrists – oh how savage – roll of the eyes.

Let’s get creative with our words.

affected by a mental illness.

infected…..

Lives with a mental illness ?

or suffers from a mental illness?

How savage (roll of eyes)

These labels – – schizophrenics. Bipolar , psychotic

2018 is the year where Everyone wants to be insane 😉

the reason to be a certain way is the new aesthetic

or an excuse

to be lowkey about our true shame and high key about superficial hurt not to lure in the Stans.

Whose that?

It’s not relevent as long as I get approval from my fam or

my Sis from another Miss.

We are more than a tick boxed list of criteria.

We are complex humans , with diverse traits and interests.

Who is that? Over there- making a statement.

Crazy

psycho

nuts

lunatic

Not relevant – That there is just some extra.

insignificant

to you;

Not part of the true fam –

Is this how we wish people to feel?

Insignificant!

For all the RT’ers out there who love to share,

Share your own personal story.

The world will become a place where you are lit by your integrity.

Not everyone can relate to the G.O.A.T.’s

with swagger.

We probably are pretty for real when we embrace our bromances and our militant feminists.

True power is being woke enough to see the ethic in bringing out the G.O.A.T. in EVERYONE of us.

We can all be be lowkey.

we are all fam.

I’m not going to say its cool to call my new ‘ship interest- Dad.

Words matter

and the lack of them.

What we don’t say .. is a statement of power.

Spoken word – maybe we all have inner dictator waiting to stand up and be heard.

I don’t know how we can claim to be so woke when everything we do is to death.

What am I going on about?

Apologies for this is the mix in slang –

I’m not pedantic … I am keeping my integrity – my code of of ethics.

If we are going to talk and be true about our feelings – Remember that the words we use to connect on a level can out you as a hypocrite –

Words matter because they help us communicate and relate with a diverse bunch of people who may end up feeling like family more than your own Dad or sis.

Communication can cause dis -ease – challenge our own self awareness;

Not because you the go to p[person to get the latest scoop on someone else in life detention.

Its cool to be high key about not fitting the mould –

Embrace the idea that to be holistic is not going to conform to your method of living –

for real.

WE don’t have to be conventionally spiritual to have faith.

Well-being of the mind and body is the G.O.A.T.

– the power –

the perfect ratio.

Sometimes we fall – human after all ..

I guess

When we outcast others for assuming their make up

judging every part of them based on an undemocratic vote of what a person’s true disposition is.

How fair and unbiased are our Hugh key views when we don’t have the whole picture?

That moonscape – that attitude is a predisposition to sus and ghost others because of their diversity.

We spit words , stand up for diversity and equality –

Express ourselves through didactic verse.

Congratulate our selves on our ethics- to embrace the variety of our culture.

The irony is what we say and do,

What we day we are going to do.

And what we do when confronted with someone who is different and not facile two understand.

How quick we are to turn into heartless bastards and turn away from our own race.

Everyone is quick to look at the other person.

I Don’t see colour .. I’m not racist

I don’t discriminate, I’m well up for equality.

“Look at those tits!”

“She looks well up for it.”

“crazy, cheating man hating bitch.”

“disrespecting my bro..”

Consult the bro code.

This divine, esoteric oracle states that she was asking for it.

She’s trouble.

Aaah aaah aaah baah

True story – a woman lived under apartheid then came to live in the patriarchal society of English gentry. Shes spoke up for herself – acted like a dude -how dare she!

Embraced the spoken word and unashamedly campaigned for the right that it is truly ok to talk.

Segreted cos she is diverse and predispositioned to speak her mind, she made as many fuck ups as the people she met and spent time with.

She decided to end her life with

these words

I don’t don’t give a fuck, I know the world is bigger than a few small minded ,feeble gossips who use their words to bond

I died to reborn .

I answer to nature not people.

The mirror

The mirror reflects the beast is inside it.

Inside the mirror the beast reflects,

On ideas inside reflective retrospection.

Reflect reflexive reflux.

Unburden the beast

From  the mirror on its side.

Beasted prisms

-open mouthed,

Cavernous cat calling, flea bags .

Black shades of night undeterred by the mirror at that angle.

Pages of bondage erotica famish the interior of the beast within.

This mirror shatters,

splinters shriek for a second too long to be assumed  as straight.

Queer in the way they lay askance humming for a low light to see inside the shade.

Hecklers shadier  than souls  of migrated slaves left behind in the mines.

Mine’s   more saintly that Mary Magdelean and her merry consorts.

Inside the mirror comes an ideology in pursuit,

In vain it pursues the ideal mirror come -ingly

Humming birds make cuckoos cower and tall trees suppress air ,sneering inwards.

Deforestation is a  reflection of the soul of the beast

This is our true form.

Humans are the beasts of nature.

A crystallized form of sin

A loss of the last glimmer of humanity.

*Inspired by reading  ‘Reading experiment’ by Hazel Smith. Chapter one- Introductory strategies

The classic Mrs Thought bubble

This is a surreal piece I wrote about the cruelty of life and how the elderly are treated in Britain. It was inspired by the time I spent with my grandmother in her care home when she had Dementia and Alzeihmers. It’s a stream of consciousness borderline script.
MRS BRUISED : “I’m tired”
“I’m tired”
CARD SHUFFLER: (throws his voice from a table on the left)
tired too.”“I’m
MRS BRUISED: (Sitting upright like a majestic, beaten up old queen)
“I’m tired”
CARD SHUFFLER: “Aye? Go to sleep then”
The room fans out into a full house of insidious laughter.
MISS CARDIGAN: excuse me Dear, can you tell me where the toilets I’ve only just popped by
THE WEED: ( Looks around for sign of a staffed house)
Of course just follow me….
(The weed walks back from the toilets and goes to crouch down to hold Mrs Thought Bubble’s hand).
THE WEED: She has pissed herself. Can someone change her?
THE ROSE: No- she hasn’t.
GINGER: Here you go. Open your mouth?
(Shovels a hefty spoonful of what looks like boiled bagged food)
Lost in thought……
(The smell of piss can’t be worse than death’s kiss…)
GINGER: Here- wah la! open your mouth.
Listen to thoughts of an animated Mrs Thought Bubble.

THE WEED: Tu es Pleine?
Like an old coffin opening for the first time in a century;
MRS THOUGHT BUBBLE: ( creeks out slowly)
Pleine
THE ROSE: ( Comes back from the kitchen with another full beaker of red diluted kids juice)
You are thirsty today.
So so thirsty.
Three empty beakers all lined up in a row – My eyes rest and are ready to aim – trigger happy and ready to blow.

THE WEED: She has pissed herself, look!
THE ROSE: Oh you have made a pee pee Mamie- a pee pee!
BABIES ARE SO CUTE. LISTEN TO HOW REGRESSION SOUNDS

Nodding.
A skeleton- face grinning .
Bright light beams from Mrs Thought Bubbles eyes.
An Image.
A carved pumpkin with a toothy grin.
Burning away in a dark room: within.
More strained laughter churning out lactic acid.
MRS BRUISED : (on a loop)
Oh ,I am tired.
BRUNETTE: Fiddler! Stop putting your hands down your pants.
Maybe that is the only way she gets to feel something.
Legs splayed- FIDDLER’S fingers exploring her vagina hungrily.
MRS BRUISED: I’m tired
CARD SHUFFLER: Yeah me too! Shut up.
Eyes veer to the table on the left.

Dying flowers in a glass vase.
If I had to throw it would reality become what I once knew it to be?
Jeer me on, why don’t you?
Throw the fucking vase.
Throw it!
How long have those silver wrapped chocolates been standing there? This is not some fancy New York hotel.
If they are going to start leaving chocolates make sure you get Hershey’s kisses.
Brown as the shit underneath Mrs Thought bubble’s nails.
THE WEED: She has pissed herself!
GINGER: I will go get dessert.
Does it come in different sex positions?
Sweet Silence.
One of the toughest spells to break.
No one dares look at the other.
Carers go a drift.
Congregate to conflate into gossip office politics.
THE ROSE: Go and tell them to change her.
The weed creeps along the floor until it has found the right door.
THE WEED: Can someone change Mrs Thought bubble! She is in her own piss.”
MRS HEGEMONY: Where’s nondescript and the other one too?
Great big sighs. A room full of eyes wondering if the pay they get is worth the time.
Time finally has a stroke and then another and another.
The hoist in all its bluesy hues comes for Mrs Thought-bubble .

GINGER: I’m sorry I got called into the office.
THE WEED: Look it’s not you. It’s just.. I am sitting watching Mrs Thought bubble over here, shout out…. and “she is wading in her own piss!
THE ROSE: Let’s go outside
THE ROSE: ( turns to BRUNETTE)
Can we take her outside?
BRUNETTE: ( a voice rolls out like a plush red carpet)
Of course.
( BRUNETTE rolls out the wheelchair – )
She hasn’t been outside in over a year.
She shouts and protests.
Vintage sunglasses are placed on her to help process her eyes.
Flowers.
Bees.
Sunshine.
Colours.
More shouts and protests.
MAINTENANCE: Do you want me to take a picture?
(THE WEED and THE ROSE in unison) Oh yes please.
CLICK !
CLICK!
Mature cheddar smiles captured against the vines.
THE WEED: I love you Mrs Thought-bubble.
Muffled sounds.
Feral.

I’ll settle for that as an good enough au revoir.
Four doors.
Four Windows.
Four wheels.
Taxi take us very fucking far away from here ,please.
THE WEED: Did you notice that nobody came to clean the chair?
THE ROSE: DON’T TELL ME THAT?
EVERY NIGHT I CRY MYSELF TO SLEEP!
IF WE MOVE HER AGAIN(pause) SHE WILL DIE.
PLEASE LET HER DIE
WHY?
WHY?
IT IS BEYOND MY UNDERSTANDING.
Petals start to turn inwards – it’s a crying shame to see a rose start to wilt.
RED CAP: There was a sticker attached saying ‘TO CLEAN’
THE WEED: Oh.
I’m sorry.
I love you , Rose.
I can’t imagine what you are going through.
THE ROSE: (Wilts that tiny bit more)
She doesn’t even know who I am anymore.
THE WEED: I know who you are.
You know who I am.
It doesn’t matter if the sun is shining- water will always ignore the air around it. If it wants to pour, it shall.
Tears pour.
Tears break.
The weed reaches and creeps until it has a secure grip around The Roses stem.
Hands entwined.
The Weed .
The Rose.
Both look out their own private window.
Bee would have loved to see that cow…..
THE ROSE: ( watered and ready to pose)
So tomorrow is a busy day. We have to sort out the cake
THE WEED: The cake?
THE ROSE: Daisy, the wedding cake? And We need to find Mr. Thought bubble an outfit for the wedding.
THE WEED: (grapples for breath)
Is she actually allowed to come?
THE ROSE: Madam Hegemony, says it is fine.
THE WEED: (flat)
Oh,Cool. I wonder did we tell the cake makers that we have changed the theme from sun flowers to yellow roses?
THE ROSE: (exasperated)
YES! We are just having yellow icing on normal flowers..
THE WEED: Oh… like the colour on our invitations?
Stationary.
THE ROSE: See you tomorrow.
THE WEED: (as an afterthought)
Mint,yes, tomorrow.
THE ROSE: 10:30, Don’t be late. We are getting threaded first.
Have you got The Bees shoes?
THE WEED: Yes Mam.
THE ROSE: I swear if you had loads of money in this town you still wouldn’t be able to spend it.
It’s all bullshit
From the horse’s mouth – let him narrate for this bit.
And so the earth continues to travel around the sun.
The sun goes down.
The moon is full faced and all fluttering eyelashes.
And I still have a long face.
Nothing but everything changes.
Nay,
Neigh!
Horses don’t talk.
Neither do flowers
Horse manure.
Bullshit.
Jut another day in ‘I wonder what the fuck next land?
Just an average day in an average Care home.

Exist for others peace of mind

RIP KEITH from the Prodigy.

I planned another attempt on my knees

Spoke to a God

Pathetic

Uninspired

Extraterristial

Daisy is no more.

A body emptied walking on egg shells.

Shocked mind

No purpose

too unkind.

Secret whispers

Willful whiskers

Silent sisters

Cause me to break out in blisters.

Words fail to recover my obsolete pose

Hesitant

Defunct

Maleficent

stream of wrong chosen floaters in crimson blood rivers.

white foam is my diffident

Illiterate

A hypocrite.

Angry cross dressers

hung by confusion

bungee jump without rope into a quagmire.

Prayed to a cloud God in an attempt to die

magnificent.

Lost, scared, dreading my loss of locks

inside I’m already dead.

Queen bee keeps me in fear

droplets of pollen

my rival is life

sincerely solemn.

A fraud

illiterate.

Alone decorated in red confetti

Enraged at my syphilistic minded inability to write even borderline literate.

Fits and spirits

rummy body popping misfit.

Failure to perish

shelf life insignificant.

Non academic.

A failure at talking transparent.

A liar

A thief of integrity.

A coward rumpled into a once upon a time melody

No solace — out grown to suffer from eternal colic.

Insignificant.

Stubborn push me over

‘cos it’s a waste of oxygen.

Recovery is overrated.

Trust when I say

I’m insignificant.

Footloose –

I lied and I planned

My prison is this world.

Let me go!

I’m not strong enough to serve the bee revolution cos I’m different.

Lonely.

Scared to never feel my bones.

Lonely.

Scared to lose my only love

My minds my terminal to Cancer.

Purpose – 37 years wasted in ignorance.

I’m not writer

I’m a fighter.

An enemy of my Self.

Uncomfortable with peoples apparent confidence in my ability to not give up.

Strength is not telling

Can’t keep a secret — I’m a fraud — I lost my soul to the devil 3 decades ago.

A ritual given freely to a demon I couldn’t please.

I’m insignificant

Why did I tell of my plans?

Damn do gooders orchestrating my life.

Suicide is the answer.

I’m dead inside

I’m a joke-I’m aimless — shameless

Engaged – remember to pretend to be engaged.

Life is a sham — there is no plan.

Fear makes me who I am.

A writer died on that table.

I shrink my words-

I am not who I say I am.

Leave me

Don’t tease me;

Hated

underrated.

People — I don’t get you — assist me — talking in skipped beats

a sham.

Daisy in the willows

I’m not a fan.

Help me disappear

not in another room with four walls

Damm you,Bee

you hold me rooted

Why do I love you ?

You’re my child

I am A mother on mute.

Lost to a cause

Petrol bombed mind.

A lost cause to

These four walls.

Life is a shore ditch with no applause.

Inherently stubborn

alive — so very sudden.

Cheated out of death

I don’t want to live

Stop saving me

Screaming to a society blinded

deaf.

Samaritan I’m your even,

my

selfish? , yeah

welling up in self pity.

Take my Queen — kill me — a paperless tree.

these words are not free

I cannot be

Fuck the world

Listen to my plea.

Let me die

damn you all

I have Cancer in my mind.

You live behind fake smiles and superficial styles.

The only time i ever felt free was when I wrote without thinking

I’ve lost my creativity

I’m done thinking

My rights taken from me.

Death embrace me

Comfort me.

Why can’t you fall in love with me?

Damn you all.

I am my biggest flaw.

Live for yourselves.

let me disappear into a shallow grave carved out of skin

Scarred by the welts of time.

A master of self distortion

Fuck the life-it serves no function.

All I had were my words.

Now I have nothing but a habit of crawling on hands and knees hiding from life’s sores.

I don’t want to be famous.

i want another chance to die — Fuck you

I’m possessed

I’m shameless.

Hospital and doctors orders

I’m not an animal!

I’m a ghost of the cult of the morbid.

These are my words

Damn you, Bee!

Manipulate me into loving you

If only I didn’t care.

Maybe I don’t…

These words are simple.

Not good enough.

I’m the fucker with the guardian angel who won’t let me go.

Fuck you, you test me, then arrest me.

I’m perpetually unhappy.

Let me go.

Let me finally be free.

I was born into the wrong world,

The wrong time.

fuck you all – I don’t want to be

Yet still

I’m too damningly kind.

Survival of the fittest — I’m a rumpled coward-a retard — a misfit.

Damn you,host — you saved me — when you should have save your breath for another.

I exist for others peace of mind.

*something self loathing in Rage -is (?) I wrote post -suicide attempt*

Write to recover. I don’t always feel so much self loathing. There is always a silver lining…….