Blog Archives

What a Keeper

Once you’ve been knocked about and taken a couple of punches to the face DO NOT run after your partner and console him and say ‘We will work it out’

Do not have sympathy for his anger/ low self-confidence issues and his ‘justified’ reasons. Just because he got bullied in the army, it does not  give anyone the excuse to abuse someone.

Don’t kind of) move in weeks into knowing the guy/gal

Drinking may seem like fun at the time but if you wake up and you take a good look around you and see the house is a tip/ filth everywhere, and you are a neat freak. 

Don’t offer to stay and help sort out the house

don’t allow yourself to be manipulated into ‘liking’ his sexual fetishes. If you feel dead inside while you are screwing, then it may be a sign that you are not in a relationship with healthy sexual boundaries.

Don’t use all your money to keep him going

Don’t stop looking after yourself – if you love to wear makeup. Don’t stop. If he loves your hair up, don’t stop wearing it down sometimes

Don’t fall pregnant 5 weeks into the relationship.

Do not allow yourself to be coerced into taking your on/off partner with you to get an Abortion. He will make you feel like a murderer for the remainder of your days with him.

Don’t start drinking heavily after the Abortion and sleep with on/off ex days after the abortion -you may just fall pregnant again.

Do not feel you have to take the blame for the reason he can’t keep hold of a job/ house/ or pay the bills- this might lead you to taking him and his two son’s( who he sees on weekends) to set up bunk beds in the living room  and use your your one bedroom cottage as a ‘family home’.

If you take a serious overdose and your partner does not seek help in the 4/5 days you are unconscious -it is not a good enough excuse to say he knows ‘First aid’ and didn’t feel the need to ring A & E.

If he knows you have an eating disorder and he starts to call you ‘affectionate’ names such as ‘elephant feet’ – you will probably feel shit about yourself and rate yourself a zero.

If your cat won’t leave your side and growls and runs under the bed every time she senses your partner’s presence – Your cat/dog/pet might be onto something.

If you want to get married and your partner is already married but separated and has no money to afford a divorce– maybe you need to assess your priorities

Don’t drink and take drugs or benzos – you will probably black out and stories about you being violent may crop up.

If you want to move and get out of a room and your partner blocks the way, don’t cower away

Don’t let your partner threaten to make you homeless if you don’t buy him a new car, because you apparently lost the keys to the car. You then find the ‘lost’ car keys in his son’s drawers, after you have bought the car,with your student finance money.

If you need to have micro surgery on your arm after your partner smashes your arm into a double glazed window. Don’t allow him to stay with you at the hospital, especially when the doctor wants a private word with you and you only

If you suddenly start losing all your friends and ignore their advice then you are probably firmly  tangled into your partner’s web.The predator’s  rules rule. You are more likely to believe your friends are false and affirm you are not likeable.

If you have an argument on Christmas eve, when you are both drunk and you black out, and then find yourself in a cell on Christmas day. Don’t just believe your partner’s version of events and what he tells the police.

If your partner keeps on making you homeless. DO NOT  write emails back and forth begging him to let you come home and begging him/her to love you. It is a mind game. One of many that your partner chooses to control you. rendering you weak and inferior

If you are in a crowd with people socialising don’t look at your partner. He may give you looks like what you are saying is stupid,  it may make you stop talking because you think that his manner and expression is what every one else is thinking.

If your partner threatens that if you ever try to leave him he will make sure your child will be taken away from you – you need to do some serious thinking

If you are arguing and he punches you in the stomach when you are 3 months pregnant – think about the life inside you and what his motives are for punching you when your baby is growing.

If you go out and come back home and you get the silent treatment. Don’t fall into the trap of asking him what is up with him. He may use this as an excuse to throw you around and accuse you of flirting/ kissing another guy/s. It may also give him the excuse to ‘punish’ you sexually.

If your mother sees red every time his name is mentioned or when they meet up -maybe your Mom has a good reason. Ask her.

The first time you meet his mom and have a girlie natter over coffee and his own mother warns you not to give up your home and questions you about his drinking habits. She may be telling you something – In fact this is a BIG RED WARNING SIGN THAT THIS MAY NOT TURN OUT WELL.

If he sits in a corner rolling his eyes while you are in labour screaming and grunting and pushing your baby out of you -he is possibly the biggest dick ever.

Don’t tell him he has a small dick when you are drunk. You will probably pay for it somewhere down the line. Mental abuse is pretty potent.

If you have to stay in hospital for longer than necessary due to mental/ physical health issues and he won’t leave your side -not even to brush his teeth or take a shower- he may just be worried someone will want to talk with you.

If he has to leave your side to feed your cat and the midwife asks you questions about your relationship. Talk to her!

If you are afraid to leave him with your child,or even for him to hold your baby -trust your instincts. Something is probably seriously wrong with this relationship

If you are advised to put your surname on your child’s birth certificate -maybe ask why. Someone may be trying to tell you something

If you keep on overdosing regularly in the relationship. Perhaps you are not happy and need to think about your options.

If you find your partner talking to  other girls on-line and leaving the laptop wide open for anyone to see – you are been played and there is some serious mind fucking going one.

If you have given up your home and have had to find a new home, seven months pregnant, because you have been thrown out AGAIN – perhaps this partner doesn’t give a shit.

If your partner lets you do most of the painting in your new home  and carry most of the shopping bags in the latter stage of your pregnancy – this says a lot about his character and his views on how he sees females.

If you are watching the ‘X factor’ with him and Nicole Sherzinger comes on in dancing and singing a provocative dress and he slams his beer down and starts shouting, that she deserves to be raped, No child of his will be allowed to dress like that- RUN!

If he puts his other two sons before your child -this too says a lot about his character and possibly what he thinks about the female gender.

If you splurge out on loads of gifts for his birthday,. say you get him a watch with the names of his children and the date of  each of their birth dates engraved on the back. When you present him with his gifts, and if all he has to say is ‘you got S’s birth-date wrong’ -He is a cunt.

If you are in the worst place mentally and physically and are finding it hard to cope when he is around. You carry on drinking too much when you are around him and have another blackout. You may wake up in a cell again and be told you need a lawyer.

Why? Because your partner may have said you assaulted your child and shook her. Then he goes  to seek legal advice the next day to try and get full parental responsibility over your child-  due to your poor mental health:it is time to get your armour on and prepare for battle.

If social services become involved and it looks like he is losing the battle and he agrees with social services to have your child adopted at 12 weeks old. Try hard not to pay a sniper to take him out.

If you get your child back after 16 months of fighting social services and your ex-partner -and he then wants nothing to do with your child ever! THANK THE BASTARD  for finally doing something positive in the entire relationship.



Protection for the compassionate

” You’re not like me, Scott. You are not like any other agent,I’ve ever known, your weight is your heart”– the whisperer -‘I am pilgrim’ by Terry Hayes

What this quote means is, that a person whose weight is  in his/her heart, means they are compassionate.

Compassion in a world of hatred, greed and war is often looked at as a  weakness.

I relate to this quote not because I am some hard core mercenary, as “fun” a career path as it seems.

I wear my heart on my sleeve. I’ve been hurt -countless times because of my heart.

  • Some people are aces
  • Some people are clubs
  • some people  are diamonds

I can de program my mind and harden myself.  I won’t do that. Compassion is a gift. It is an art.

I’m sure all you compassionate people will agree.

Unfortunately, in order to safeguard ourselves so that people won’t exploit our compassion, we need to show it in less obvious ways.

Who would try and back stab you ?

Any one who sees something in you that they haven’t realised or found in themselves.

  • Friends
  • family
  • colleagues
  • partners

You are even more of a threat if your inner qualities are  expressed  and reflected on what people see on the outside. It’s a competitive world out there.

I have learnt to not take bullshit from people.

I have struggled for years questioning why certain people are hostile or go out of their way to lap up any compliments I dish out but when it comes to bigging me up or supporting me – all I can hear are the tumbleweeds.

I know that I am not alone in this feeling.

So how can we be compassionate and protect ourselves?

Be compassionate to yourself first. A lot of people will be

have  around you according to what they need and what they feel.

Be aware.

Your greatest threat can be dressed as your greatest allies.

Save your compassion for those who will truly appreciate it. I’ve only just started learning about how I can use my compassion without feeling left abused, drained and not acknowledged.

You will never be an equal with someone who sees you as a threat and who won’t treat you as their equal.

Their actions will reveal their agenda.

The vessel- a short story by Daisy Willows

“Every day innocent lives are been taken by war and still there are so many countries where it is illegal to have an Abortion. This does not stop Abortions. It just increases poor health risks to women who then have to have Illegal Abortions. Where is social justice?” DAISY

‘Miss Sainte!’ the travel consultant’s hands twitch like bee feelers, ‘let me get your tickets for London.’ and she is off. I’ve always found it amusing how people assume that your life is more exciting than theirs. My life had taken on the acrid taste of bourbon. Hard decisions require liquor. There I was bobbing up and down like a buoy in a sea of bitterness. Disconnected from all sources of life. Waves of nausea threatened to bury me, deep, in an unrefined grave. This was my existence until I sobered up.

The hairs on my arms prick up like ears on stalks, straining to confirm what they’ve heard. Shivers rush down my spine. Impulsively my hand goes to feel the smooth outline of the documents in my handbag, confirming that the surgery will go ahead. I look up from the tropical brochure and nearly fall head first into a pair of dung coloured eyes. She’s that close. I quickly murmur my thanks and bolt out the door, the wind slamming the door for me

My life tends to go from one oblivious moment to the next. One ginger bastard is all it takes for the state of my jagged ignorance to be shattered. Now all I can see is my former ignorance smirking everywhere. All of a sudden its: Ginger beer, Ginger bread, Ginger cats, Ginger biscuits, Ginger nuts, Ginger pubes, Ginger! Ginger! Everywhere! I’ve reasoned that it’s not too avaricious to want more than ‘current-girlfriend’ status. Why would a heathen (his -word) such as myself, all tits hanging loose, wild hair and barefoot, want certainty and commitment? Why indeed?! Every time it’s the same watery twaddle:

 ‘I’m a married man… A Catholic!’ –with a bellyful of 24 hour bargain booze. It’s all driftwood. I’m Odyssey’s ‘Scylla ‘or ‘Charybdis’. If he wants to treat me as a necessary evil then instinctively I will lure him to my grotto and devour him.  Men have this habit of changing anything they see as mystifying into the female form

Yesterday his spinal support kicked in and he decides to call me. It went something like this:

‘Babe, things are … complicated. I’m here for you.’ he said.

Then, that familiar feeling, the tightening jerk on my voice chords, taut like a gymnast’s rope. Panic. The struggle to gulp in air. My throat is blitzed with grainy, arid sand. The beat. The beat in my heart starts clanging cacophonously and belches up into my throat. My instincts are shrill. Screeching: Caution! Do Not Proceed. This is what his voice does to me.

‘Babe, we’ve been through so much?’ Smelly feet. All I can smell is pongy feet; His feet! I’d rather go collecting cacti with my teeth than screw you. Yerr screw you: That’s what I should have said.

‘I’m on my way.’ C’mon you don’t wanna be loved? So instead he gets his way and I’m running like an Olympic sprinter to get to my car.

There I am sitting in the car about to gear it up. Panic. With my palms I start slamming the steering wheel. You stupid bitch. SLAM! Greedy stupid bitch.  SLAM!  Blasted tears form. I look into the rear-view mirror  and with a fingernail, I press down hard, scraping my cheek- only satisfied when I see the offensive, black line of soggy mascara tarnishing  it .Ugly Bitch! I pound the rear view mirror-over and over.

*

I can feel the gamut of my emotions and thoughts losing form. So fragile. One knock. One tiny crack is all it takes. When he opens the door all the innards of my mind start to scramble.

‘Neck this’, he says. He plays his part well. He picks me up like I’m a delicate fawn and gently lowers me onto his sofa. He waves a bag of coke in front of my face. My fucking dopamine receptors are giving you a standing ovation, mate! Trust an ex-army cadet to bring out the Bolivian marching powder. Several hours later, we’re both wading deep in over consumption. Billie Holliday is playing, her voice becomes the beat in my heart.

‘Love. Love her voice… so raw … .so pure…but damaged like… Know what I mean?’

He just sits there, shakes his head mindlessly, not even one cobweb is disturbed. Great bulging eyes leer out at me. I might as well have a pair of fucking rabbit ears and a hat on with electrodes attached to my head.  One eye hanging precariously out of its socket. It is torture what he does to me. I want to scream: Why do you look at my pain? Consider it. Consider me! And then decide this bitch needs sterilising?

He’s suddenly up and real close. His odour arrests my breath, it’s like taking in a whiff of a Parisian fish market at the end of a hot rough day. The hairs stand up on my body betraying my true feelings. Then he demands that I laugh.

‘Laugh. ‘He roars. Followed by frenzied laughter – Shit what’s he gonna do? He’s just laughing. Standing over me and laughing at me. Kick him in the gonads, quick!  He stops. Breathe. He moves up close again, our faces touching.

‘Boo! He whispers, slapping his hands together with glee, he grabs my arse –roughly. I’m smiling. My mind serves itself from my body. It too plays its part well. He then begins to undo his jeans.

                                                              *

A bloated smiling face. The receptionist takes my documents. The ballooned smiling face points us in the direction of the waiting area.

‘Whoa!  They must have known we were arriving, all the chairs were set up, ready for a blessed sermon. Wanna do the honours?’ What am I saying? I watch his fat turnip- shaped face go red. Blood red. He is simmering away like a stew but someone forgot to put the meat in. Jesus why the hell did I agree to this? The walls expand and shrink like I’m sucking on a plastic bag.  Panic. I’m in Plato’s allegorical cave. His shadow torments me, I’m convinced that Mother Nature has given him rights over oxygen.

            ‘Hope Sainte?’ a nurse’s voice booms. Jumped up like a leap frog. Crap joke but I got spooked. The nurse looks up at me, she raises her eyebrows which make her glasses slant downwards. He heaves his body upwards. I feel his skulking bristling my nerves. The Nurse ushers me into a cubicle.

‘Change into this then hop on a bed’ she gestures to a bed. I touch the blue gown and put my fingers to my nose. Tainted, I gag. How can I put it? It’s like I’m inhaling water. Panic has dropped her anchor.

 Lying horizontally I turn my head to the left and I look up into a pair of nostrils. It’s the Surgeon. His lips are moving like that singing bass fish that was all the rage in the nineties. I can’t hear jack shit- the porter wheels me into the theatre.

                                                            *

 I open my eyes.  I exhale, the cubicle expands. He enters, drops his head. Doesn’t even bother to look at me. He stands in a corner and folds his arms. He just stands in that corner reminding me of a scarecrow. All stiff and glacial. Hours slither by, the silence hissing mercilessly. A hug. I want a hug. The silence is pierced. It’s me. I’m screaming. Little critters are scratching away at my insides. The attack is stabbing and sharp. The pain throbs with intent. Panic.

‘What the hell is happening?’ I look over and he’s fiddling with his fucking phone like he’s re-arranging his balls. Strap on cock-face! He turns around to face me. Did I say that out loud? He looks demonic enough.

‘Erm… well derr!’ He slaps my forehead, ‘you’re giving birth to our baby! Look at the state of ya!’ I follow his eyes. They settle on my well-formed bump.

‘You stupid murdering bitch!’ He then spits in my face and turns to leave.

‘Hey, where’re you going- we agreed on this?’ Panic. There’s more screaming.

‘Why? Why? Why?’ Each “why” grows in expectation and volume. Sobbing, through my tears I can just about make out a figure of the porter. Everything starts to slow down. No. Retardation is setting in, slowing me down. Panic. The surgeon appears again. It’s like I’m in a macabre pantomime

‘Now, please, count backward from ten, please.’ he smiles down at me.

‘I can hear you!’ I dribble out. The surgeon smiles and nods his head like one of those Chinese paw-waving cats.



What is this ban on abortion—it is a survival of the veiled face, of the barred window and the locked door, burning, branding, mutilation, stoning, of all the grip of ownership and superstition come down on woman, thousands of years ago.” 
—Stella Brown

“Against abortion? Don’t have one.”
“Every day innocent lives are been taken by war and still there are so many countries where it is illegal to have an Abortion. This does not stop Abortions. It just increases poor health risks to women who then have to have Illegal Abortions. Where is the social justice?” DAISY

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.

Esther Roe

Charlie met Esther on abortionist row.

Hedges neatly trimmed – enough to dishevel a bearded vagabond to weep after his latest woe.

No coat hangers to gut the newborn sac.
Charlie stood for hours until her number came up.

Raging
rouge screams with a tremulous beep.

Surreal
Conceal
Unable
to strike the star lead role in a Bollywood film deal.

Unsullied arrived in a cumulus cloud stricken by a thunderous compulsion to wail.

Esther didn’t hear the bond lust, lilted scream.
Memory hazed -by two fat ladies at gate number 8.
Efforts disarmed – the inability to count down to the primal odd.

Nebulous chlorophyll masked her mouth. Envy immobilised to an unrecalled dream.

 

Innocents smile swinging on tyres.

Freddie Kruger caught in a static slumberless nightmare  loses credibility to a sterile clinic

Action paralysing every unconscious scene.

Stratham, London. the  Knight defends to keep watch.

Both stumble upon a tidy little room – 1970’s style. No disco defibrillator harmonizing jolts to the melody of

‘ Staying alive ‘

Old granny hoovers up flowers choking on an ivy patterned carpet.

Mist of lavender lingers.

This bitch knows how to spray.

Don’t mess with this O.G.

Peppered, seasoned hair, non-linear lines carve out a facial narrative.

Don’t be fooled by this kungfu hoe.

Inebriated illiterate desensitized to her strategy in a game of cruel Cluedo.

It’s all so normal. It’s life, you know…..

 

Scissors aimed

ready

to

stab

a beating heart

 

Positioned in foetal

Sucked out the uterus.

 

Pro-choice.

Pro voice.

Pro-life.

Pro midwife.

Tall walls

Bricks bolster the Illusion of affairs in order.

Fiercely scrutinized is the woman who maps out her own destiny – navigates the boundaries that her ideas can afford her.

Quality control.
The NHS paid for a private eye.

Two signatures deemed sufficient to see her through the hours of her sobering silence.

Shameless in her deflowered disguise.

Ginger nuts, unsavoury tufts.

No, this wasn’t her nine month due – no ice cubes for killing in the name of freedom to govern her own vessel.

No need for pro-life Stepford wives lies.

Sins anoint.
Sins accumulate.

Where would our saints stand without a dissident at hand?

Society sits down, protest proudly.
Part the veil of clouds
Peer piously downwards,

ready to strike thunderbolts of judgement.

 

Rain down booming terror tactics.
Esther cares not for their gospel band.
Society sips, exhaling wafts of fair trade Ivory coast coffee beans.
Privilege smells of a modern holocaust of starving babies in bony mothers arms.

Who said any of these women consented to consummate?
Penetrative obedience to the phallic statues erected in morning glory psalms.

Civilized society!

What if God was one of us?

a scripture in the making.-

Touch and kiss the sky.

Would he become the true reflection we see, when we catch ourselves about to exhale the final breathe before we die?

Fantasies always signed off with a silver lining and promises of a rainbow.

Reality is cold,

winter serves a plateau of ice.
Frigid flowers are frozen in angst
Shatter like glass.
Rebel against their reproductive nature.
Air.
breathe.
One full gasp.

If only a mere raspy rant leaves on its depart.
It’s either them or an urban jungle of homo sapiens collecting another free day ride.

Ready to infect ignorance on every global ocean that has shows we all go out at low tide.

Rebirth!

JUST

ICE.

Everybody’s got to hear the shit on FM willows call!

Stumped hand makes it arduous to know what to write about.

Travel apartheid

The darkest continent claims

Red card racism arrests flight of imaginary motion.

Air control. Trafficking sentient beings.

Venomous vendors plugging PC ( dis) respectful tests

Elevating inflation of people’s final destinations

Lost to incubation .

Ineffectual accusions of discrimation .

A part from hatred , what is the solution?

People are racist – black against a white supremist nation?

Apartheid of resources brought to a halt

Red light district with too many needles to purify our patriotic precious colts.

Threatening ethnic cleansing . A modern day global

HIV

no person can stereotype to one culture – bacteria spreads without copulation.

Endemic.

Pandemic.

A matriaxy of mistakes

Dividing the world to another war philosophy.

Peace stammers to another halt.

( word prompt ‘travel apartheid) Thank you to my good writer frirnd for being my muse just by a small conversation.

Demon Junkie

Because I could not tell this demon,
it did kindly tell me it wasn’t all a fantasy
Paraphanelia of the supernatural, everywhere,
Yet not a drop of tormented screams to tell nor see
You can tell its mental manipulation, ungodly beauty, but I choose to be deceived.

Disarmed by a seducing look

Naked as the first female form -I almost believed I was in the garden of Eve

the antichrist led me to become this incurable junkie.
Never forget the unalterable attempts to resist its allure

All attempts were futile I remained a hopeless druggie.

A succubus, however hard it tries,
Will always be a compelled rogue demanding to be in need.
Does this dream walker make you lust after?
Or does loving it make you bleed?

When I think of this Lileth, I see an entity in need of consuming Chi .

Grunt, gheep, grope

Eventually, this demon will depart with my seed.

*I needed a writing prompt and I decided to use a poem generator

this was the original computer-generated poem and I was inspired to change it to make a piece of work my own.

Because I could not tell for Addict,
it did kindly tell for me.
Addict, Addict, everywhere,
Yet not a drop to tell.
You can tell, you can get, but can you believe?

I cannot help but stop and look at the incurable junkie.
Never forget the unalterable and hopeless junkie.

A fiend, however hard it tries,
Will always be rogue.
Does the fiend make you shiver?
does it?

When I think of alcoholics, I see a depressed personality.
Crash. crash, crash.

The one’s left behind

  • a unique take on world suicide prevention day *

Who is this lady? She is elderly, yes.

A grandma,a mother a sister, an aunt, a great grandmother.

I don’t know. I have forgotten. Hang on a minute…

Aaah yes there was this one time that I was sat in her house -plush, ‘propre’ , stylish and I couldn’t sleep.

I kept on getting up to go to the cupboard on the far right of la cuisine that housed all the gigantic Cadbury’s chocolate.

I ate and I ate and I ate some more. I always seemed to be able to eat more.

I didn’t it like it when she bought the dark kind. So bitter. So classy, so not me.

But back to la cuisine.

Footsteps pander lightly behind me. I turn and look around and I look into the eyes of a lady with pure class-sans maquillage. This seems to counter my non- class evolved youthfulness. The lady asks me a question ‘Ca Va?

I’m expected to answer with the same ‘ca va.’ but it is something like 3 am in the morning. Obviously ‘ca va’ is not appropriate for this setting.

I don’t know why I can’t sleep, I confess. I’ve shoved a load of pills down my throat in an effort to be like the one whom I shall refer to as the Manic depressive. The lady sits me down and makes me a Sleepytime tisane – . Good herbal shit. We sit at the kitchen table with our ‘Sleepytime’ tea, I can’t remember what we talked about.

I have a habit of forgetting things, you see. It is so frustrating. I go back to bed feeling cared about. Why didn’t I feel grateful then?

No regrets. Have no regrets. Okay. I try not too. I wish I had paid more attention, then maybe I wouldn’t forget so much.

I can hear her laughter in that loud roomy part of my brain, it’s threatened me it will become a real auditory sound that knocks me sideways with fright turning me into a paranoid wreck.

I have to remember that laugh. She used to laugh at my jokes. She loved me. She told me she loved me all the time.

She also loved another – another woman-my mom. Angelic looking, graceful, naive and I don’t know – wonderful?

This lady helped me out with the angelic-looking lady. Yes, I remember, one poignant night, the angelic-looking manic depressive and I had a vicious fight. I took a braai fork to her neck.

I was fucking going out to drink and get strung out on drugs and Miss Manic Depressive could mope in her stupid illness and fuck right off.

Well, she took that big FU literally. We had this stock of prescription pills that could take our local pharmacy out of business – bad joke- that’s why I rely on comedians for such amusements (Omid Djalili and Gabriel Iglesias being two of my favourites ). Nothing like a next-day hangover and a shrill ringing phone to make me grab a handful of downers.

I’m not ready for the sunshine just yet- maybe not ever. The lady on the other end of the phone wants to know if the manic depressive is okay. Of course, she is ok……

I turn over

…but she isn’t.

She is one tunnel turn away from death. I need some Rohypnol and valium and I need t

hat lady on the end of the phone.

She says she is going to get the next one hour flight from JHB airport to Durban and I need to get the manic depressive to a hospital. I don’t have health insurance. I’m 15 years old.

A cocky shit who obviously knows it all but nevertheless in my narked upstate I somehow manage to get the angelic Manic Depressive a space in a run-down public hospital in Africa – in a- I kid you not – broom closet. Sick people were lying on the floors, covered in congealed blood, in the corridors of this hospital. So I count my blessings that we had some type of room and a bed.

The lady meets me at the hospital. It’s touch and go. We are rooting for survival on this one. Black tar leaks down out through a tube from some part of the manic depressive’s body.

Hours pass.

She is okay- stable.

She is in a coma.

The Lady transfers her to a more upmarket private hospital. She has the master card. We spend the night next few days at the Oyster Box hotel – in a chalet. She takes on me and my two cats. Lilac and Mocha- and we all sleep in the same bed united by our love for the angelic manic depressive one.

We don’t know if she is ever going to walk again. I mean it was an overdose with powerful intent. No, pithy cry for help as some believes a suicide attempt is. The angelic manic depressive has a new name angelic, rapid cycler Bipolar.lady in The other lady is my grandma- as you probably have figured out. We go and see her every week. She broke her hip back in Feb 2015 and can’t walk anymore.

Okay… so that happens with a lot of old people. Yeah, but this lady, my grandma has been stripped of her dignity, identity, memories, and she can’t remember she can’t walk. She is stuck on a loop – every few moments she tries to get up and screams in frustration when she can’t. This lady sitting in the middle is my relationship with someone I love who has Dementia and Alzheimer’s.

I know I’m not writing something fucking profound but she means something to me and her family. She is living a world with no faces, no colour and the world speaks another language to her. How is she meant to interpret all this shit?! People talking.

Loudly?

Other elderly people not moving- crying, shouting, fondling themselves to remember that they too can feel.

My Chronic Anorexia 10 stone self could envy my grandma’s current weight. 5 stone if that. She forgets how to eat. Imagine that?

What type of existence is this?

This is where I get political. Let people die with dignity.

I signed up for the campaign years ago. Who is this lady? She is so much more than she looks. She has had a life people probably can’t even dream up and a life where people would also be horrified how she survived such heartache, ( love is the answer here, folks) but for today we can’t go back into the past too much without forgetting. I don’t want to forget, not today. Those two memories I can hang and frame in the gallery of my mind.

They are mine. No one can take them away from me but Alzheimer’s can. Dementia too.

You know what really makes me sick about all this? When a person with these illnesses die, Alzheimer’s and Dementia don’t take the credit. The diagnosis of death is usually a secondary symptom. How twisted and messed up is that?

Does she remember her husband? Where does she go?

I should have been a Neuroscientist or something. I want to know what is going on in her head and fix it. All clichés but they are my clichés for today. Can you believe people are being diagnosed with these maladies at as young as 25 years of age?

I would rather choose to die than have everything taken from me. Would my Grandma say the same? I wish I had asked her.

Me: ‘So Gran, let’s talk about something so morbid as to how you would like to die.. ‘

I’m putting it out there. Me? I don’t want to suffer and I don’t want to feel pain and I don’t want to not be understood. That is not living that is stuck between two perverse worlds. I want my family to pay the ferryman and for him to take the money and take me along the river Styx to E

lysium and let me die with dignity.

Information on the dying dignity campaign http://www.dignityindying.org.uk

Dear So called friend

Bears in man cuff

Walking with man cuffs round the 4 edges of these walls

and every reflection i gaze into

Al I see is those beaten ,bloody paws

the ones that climb into me even when i scream out

I am worth more.

I seek for a relief from this constant itching to feel sweet relief for a few hours

I long for a moment when I can look in the mirror and not see a pair of eyes lower and cowers .