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Can I have a sugar daddy?


You were the first real man I knew, not some boy but a real man.

I tell myself I have dealt with the indifference. Yet, as soon as I find a way to make contact again. I let all my pride go and open my heart and soul to you. I do it publicly on social media websites. I end up looking pathetic but I don’t care.

I post things like:

I hope you will forgive me  one day so  we can build up a better relationship

or I  tag you hoping you will comment back.

I am looking after your queen. I won’t let you down. 

 I comment on those silly quizzes you do  that pop up on Facebook, like

WHAT NATIONALITY SHOULD YOU BE? –

 ME: You got you look like a Spaniard – haha!  funny I got I should be  American (silence)

New comment from a friend:  I got Portuguese 

You to friend : you look Portuguese

I don’t want anything from you . Okay that is a lie. I only want a bit of your time, a few words once a few years.

She warned me not to go there again. I wasn’t prepared to have my heart  broken again.Well, not broken but pumping with less voracity than before.

I know I wasn’t the most affable of characters all those years back. I mean what did I know at 12, 15 years old? 24 years old ?  Not much.

Yet, that was when you first turned your back on me.

I know I have mental health issues and to you it’s all just,

DRAMA. DRAMA. DRAMA.

 A heads up? It’s not been a fucking picnic or tropical island holiday for me either.

Do you ever think about me?

What do you feel when you look at a picture of me? Do you look at pictures of me?

Are you so distant with everyone?  We’ve been drunk and stoned together and you are a legend at Karaoke . Over the years, I  have seen how you make everyone laugh…

Why don’t you talk to me when I Skype? I know I fall way down the bottom of  the  hierarchy chain of the many  girls in your life.

 To have a slice of your heart…

Well, of what is left to give. Is that what it is? You haven’t got any more heart to give?

I don’t want much… a few words, a phone call – no maybe that is too much..

Okay ,what about a teeny tiny interest in my life on social media perhaps… You live so far away  and it’s my only source of contact.

Why do you reply to other peoples comments on what you post but not mine?

Why don’t you reply to my emails?

I’m  not bad. I’m actually a fucking awesome person. Why can’t the past stay where it is?

Don’t judge me.

I don’t judge you.

I thought I had closed the door on ever having a chance with you again. I opened it again three months ago, feeling we were in a more equal position. Me being older and you being older – wiser they say..

Never mind, I have  googled the meaning for indifference again and read it out loud,to  remind myself.

I can’t make you love me or want to contact me. I know you are going through hard times – if you must know-

we all do .

Maybe if you decided to chat properly with me I could make you laugh. We may find out we have more in common than you think.

Done with this post.  Finally got it out of my head. I can move on again.

No blame.

Never blame.

I am an adult and I choose to be happy.

I don’t resent you.

I am curious to know you.

I am sure if you let me closer, you would find I actually like you and love you- unconditionally.

But it is cool.

You are over there and I am over here.

Living our lives.

Your blood runs through my veins.

 Nothing has changed and that is cool too.

Indifference it is then, dad.

For the doubters..

FOR ALL THE DOUBTERS

If you could see what others do. You have always let doubt confuse your idea of who and what you are capable of.

I have always known you to be beautiful in all ways and I have learnt and felt your loyalty, pride and strength of character. We somehow picked one another and I drew a good hand.

You are the best kind of romantic and that quality needs to be nurtured and not be exploited by those who don’t understand your story and how you got to the person you are today. There are plenty of people who are not worth the bother, believe me, don’t believe me. I think you know that.

The past is way back over there. These are exciting times. Now,the future. Some of the best years of your life are waiting to be lived. You can afford to be picky. You deserve someone to ‘hug you so hard they will put all your pieces back together’.

Don’t let ass holes or wankers ruin today and the future for you. There is a lesson to be learned from everything we do and experience.

Yes, it is easy to pick out the negatives but on the plus side -you are free, you have been incarcerated, masks have dropped revealing the truth that cannot be covered up any-more, don’t take it personally. You were honest from the beginning. Take pride in that. Hold your head up high.

This is a new page, a fresh book even. You need as much light and love as possible to create the magic you want. You have not wasted time if you have taken some time to do a bit of searching within and decide what to take with you into this day and discard what has left you high and dry in the past. I read somewhere that the thoughts we think are mantras and a form of prayer.

Be aware of what your thoughts are saying; they may just turn into your reality. Take the time to find out what you are wanting from your life.

There is so much out there. There is something so rare about you. Life can be cruel but you have remained gentle and kind and it shows. You are one of the toughest people I know.

Please do not be mistaken that I think you are weak. Far from it. We are making good experiences and only the best people should be allowed to come on that journey, don’t you think?

Don’t shun all people thinking everyone is like the last person you shared your heart with. Don’t harden -don’t clam up. You are able to re-define your world on your terms.

Love as much as ever. To love is never a fault. To love the wrong person is easily done when someone is not upfront with you from the beginning or who breaks your trust.
BELIEVE!

Believe that there is magic and you are creating it. Shake off the doubts and smile, glow, be who you are.

There is no fault to be found in you. I have so much respect for you and admire you.

So many really do BELIEVE! do what must be done so that you can close this door and open to a new day.

Megillah of Love

Complicated?

What has love got to do with it?

Everything!

 if it stirs in that smouldering combination of emotions to make a delicious  sauce to go with a prime size cut fillet.

What is so complicated about love and feelings?

Simply, you love or don’t and that is end to these endless questions and irrational dealings.

If love is so simple then why does one emotion interlink with another juxtaposing emotion?

Simplicity is not  how I would describe love ,with how our hearts can split and antagonise our entire being, with one moment, played out in slow motion.

So how would you describe love?

Like I said,

It is complicated.

I can’t accept this when I know exactly how I want my love life to play out-

reciprocated.

True, love is about reciprocation too,

that can be complicated, as much as looking for that one missing ,glass shoe.

A prince will always find his soul mate and take her to the gates of his charming, heavenly palace.

And I suppose you will all live happily ever after, with a massive brood, including  a highly imaginative child by the name of Alice.

Love conquers all!

If,that is true ,why is it every time I switch on the T.V.  news has spread like an incurable infection  of more lost lives in war?

It gets addressed as significant as a child losing his precious ball over the neighbours wall.

Love is complicated  whether for a significant other , a lover or your country.

Love is action – it is doing what you feel .

No time to get caught up in thoughts of  morose ill.

It is sitting on a linen blanket  in the  country side, eating baguettes and fromages and sipping from  a glass of champagne

-simple – no need to get out the lifeless,numbing scrumpy.

Love takes on many roles.

 Responsibilities even and sometimes it can find itself in a place where it can’t justify itself by reason.

Reason with the heart is not meant to be pondered over for a dreary, frost bitten season.

It should come as soon as the first flowers peak out from their slumber to sing  out their unique eau de perfume.

It should be about Egyptian 200  thread cotton,  white sheets and limbs intertwined as one -far away in some distant room.

You live in this Grasse- like place with lavender filled dreams.

It is making me rather sleepy  and I can’t quite take in all the simplicity you place on love’s seams.

Dress it up how you like, but it takes complexity and skill to make an outfit that fits, makes you want to scream at your refection in fits of delight.

Delight…

Delight…

Delight….

You have become  like an annoying echo with all  this talk of love’s miraculous charm to infuse our souls ,wholly bright.

Bright….

Bright….

 Bright….

There is no hope for her now she is intoxicated -completely brainwashed -sucking  on  prime air of Elysium.

Love can burrow inside like a poison. You lose sense of time ,direction even.

How do you even know this is not the devils ways way to lure you to a place, in your mind, where it topples over into a tidal  insanity pool of frenetic waves –

completely caught up  in a schism ?

Look, I am not trying to be a complete Asshole or be the  mood killer,

but  I have to end this somehow -it has somehow turned into a farcical  troupe of megillah.

Megillah came to English from the Hebrew məgillāh meaning “scroll” by way ofthe Yiddish megile.

Definitions for megillah

  1. Slang. a) a lengthy and tediously complicated situation or matter. b) a lengthy, detailed explanation or account: Just give me the facts,not the whole megillah.

DICTIONARY.COM

The indulgent wool gatherer

Let us sit here for a second , right here on top of this lush hill.

Pause, for a moment and think about life and what we want to do – explore how we feel.

Lie down ,sprawl out  our arms and legs like star fish and gaze up into the sky.

Cloud gazing- can you see we reflect one of those red dwarf stars, we can see at nigh?

Let’s see what we can find in our future  before the clouds pass along.

They move far too quickly, our imagination needs to be strong.

We don’t always have to live in the ghetto.

We could pack up  our bags and travel the world , live hand to mouth with a  more energetic flow.

Learn different languages, eat fine food, dive off cliffs into  the ocean – wanting to live and win.

The reason very much different to how you wanted to end it on Hollin’s lane on the island of ‘Gyve inn’.

Second by second is passing us by.

We could get a move  on – leave all this materialistic waste lying  just here.

We just take ourselves and book a flight to anywhere -all we need is our combined heart and minds to see things more clear.

Bah!

Bah! 

Bah! 

Bah!

Bah!

What a great game. You do an excellent impression of a sheep, mon cherie.

Okay my turn ……

Arms prop up on elbows, Blonde curls and a mouth seemingly dipped in honey,

looks at the man and those bee sting lips are guarded by  all seeing drones.

What is the matter, my little sparrow?

You look at me with such warrant arrest,like we have only just met – you look straight past me like I am not even here.  Of course we can stay in touch with our loved ones  and take our cellphones.

‘I have a game”, says she, eyes dark, exposing true twinkling  stars.

The man forgets to breathe his head fully intoxicated like he has spent the day tumbling out of various bars.

“Walk over to those sheep – there! and I will tell you then what it is you next have to do.”

Slightly fazed but not wanting to show it – he heaves himself up and approaches the sheep with a hesitant  brazenness-

“Erm well – hello to you and ewe.”

He turns around to listen to the next part of his task.

His little buttercup opens her mouth , urging him  on to stroke the sheep.

Hesitatingly, he laughs when he starts to pet one and it lets out a great bleep.

Laughter emanates from  the couple, meets in the air, merge -dancing cheek to cheek -finally a caress.

The lady starts to announce she has something she would like to address.

Obligingly, the man will hear anything she wishes to confess.

“It’s all very romantic this talk of living a better life.

‘I can see it happening  -‘

‘Yes, I can see this happening. Me standing next to you  – I would love to be your wife.”

The man continues to stroke the sheep ,looks at the tufts falling away in his hands , looks down in horror.

Lady continues –

“if you were as half as good at taking action than talking like you are the  confirmed lead in every conceived theatre production of tomorrow…

I look around and see trees but alas, no money.

It’s all very well to sit and fantasise with you, when it is bright and sunny.

Well, I see a  much truer future with you – you have such a skill,indulging on your feet.- even if you are slightly heady and staggering.

I foresee a better  future for us -one with more purpose – by all means  continue with  these notions  of yours- not in  part but as a  full time career  in wool gathering.”

*TRYING TO INCREASE MY VOCABULARY*

WANT TO HAVE A GO?

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Definitions forwoolgathering

  1. indulgence in idle fancies and in daydreaming;absentmindedness: His woolgathering was ahandicap in school.

  2. gathering of the tufts of wool shed by sheepand caught on bushes.

DICTIONARY.COM

SPECIAL THANKS TO LINDA G. HILL’S #soCS -always inspiring.    

This, like all my work, is mostly free flow writing. I don’t really do much planning when I write.

Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “second.” Use it any way you’d like. Have fun!

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Spindrift

A true union of hearts was joined one summer in late  June.

The birds chirruped, the sun shone – the two became one -reflected for all to see by La  Luna- the moon

Air and Water – shouldn’t cross paths. These two elements casually ignore each other in nature’s form-its innate core.

He of Air –

She of Water.

The energy that caused the spindrift was something not even these elements could ignore.

Le Mistral caught up in a steamy, heady mood.

Strode across the sky scowling, blowing curses – chaos surely ensued .

La Mer

– she was winding down for the day.

The tide had come in, and she was ready to listen to a  mermaid wax lyrical her classic tale of Babe Ruth.

The wind so vexed was he – he deafened her with one strike of his herculean hair -clouded by his inability to self- soothe.

La Mer reacted in bad form. He struck her so hard, – her mind swelled up with great licks of waves – crashing and thrashing her mental whereabouts.

Never interrupt an element so passionate about listening to her favorite composer.

Le Mistral and La Mer could ignore one another no more. She would make him feel the repercussions of his foolish, senseless,not-so-well thought out Strop.

Now he would have to face his conjurer.

A tidal wave of thoughts arose inside her. He would pay dearly for interrupting her meditative state of mind.

He had no clue what feud he had started. Fire and Earth were shrewd not to intervene. They knew when to stay out of the way of a combination of this kind.

They witnessed how the passion of this great unforeseen union came to be.

The product of this affront was simply not even what the conflicted two could continue to deplore.

Witnessed by two friends .

 Wind and Water created the very first image of love .

Spindrift -a physical  feeling of exhilaration consolidated the two .

They were now ready for a new adventure – together -ready to  explore each other, become the couple -who looked to the other with eyes that said ‘j’t‘adore.

Definitions for spindrift

  1. spray swept by a violent wind along the surface of the sea.

Spindrift is a variant of the Scots spoondrift, with the nautical verb spoon orspoom meaning “to run or scud before the wind.” It entered English around 1600.

DICTIONARY.COM

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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.

Conscious heart

I just wanna be free from this heartache.
I don’t hardly know you and you bewitched me, yeah you bewitched me alright.

I know I can go acting all crazy – I have nothing but my insight.
Bliss bliss – just wanna feel this bliss.
I got scared I felt like I got bypassed – missed -dissed.
I covered my true emotions from you cos I was afraid you were gonna reject me .
See, I didn’t know…..
I didn’t know.

I don’t hardly know you and you bewitched me – yeah, you bewitched me alright.
Didn’t mean to cause no fright .
Connections were made when I felt your beat – it moved my feet.
You got me dancing – all I wanna do – all I wanna do –
is dance – feel these beats – merge , combine.
sublime – is that truly a crime?

I don’t hardly know you and you bewitched me – you bewitched me,alright.
I just wanna be free of this heartache.
Checked every lotion I got to remedy this potion.

Stuck in reverse.
My heart is not well versed.
All I wanna do is reach out – yeah, reach out.
I keep getting rejected.
Emotions are not my rationale.
I consume triple portions –
I am about to implode.

All I wanna do is reach out – yeah reach out to you.
I just wanna be free,
wanna be free,
free to dance and merge our beats.
Sensations to make me feel, something resembling a full pie chart -a work almost incomplete.
I know I can go acting all crazy. I have nothing but my insight.
This is my soul bared- naked as the day you undressed me.
I came to you.
Yeah, I came to you; bare, vulnerable.
I just wanted you to know – I wanted you to know .
I ……
I….
My heart can’t be reasoned with. I’m breathing.
It is real.
Not cognitive dissonance.
Laid myself naked and bare.
Rejected.
Rejected.
I just wanna be free from this heartache…

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.

P.S. I’d do it again in a heart beat

*Prompt FORBIDDEN LOVE*

Forbidden love shell-shock hearts with echoes of the gun shots .

Bang!

Fall to the floor .

Emotions mastery of us;

The puppets.

Universal soldiers we plea the heart must be acquiesce .

Ration it’s rational .

It’s bled blood red.

We walk — fine machines-

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Trivialise the flesh armour riddled with holes

Glimpsing sight of gleaming ivory bones.

Savage howls at  muscles contracting   into  contorted wounds.

Turn on the cannibals of Lust.

Devour us they must.

Tokoloshe monster

Neither height nor a warm bed will keep the heart away from

The obsessive frenzy of orchestrated, sexual slumber.

Denial of sacred sensory codes embedded within

 Mind will saunter in  Possessed —

Create a haunting soundscape of phantasmagoria.

Convince us that  forbidden love is worth the loss

Of Not only the Super Ego or the Ego but the Id —

That’s three parts of you or me.

Never regret times spent close to another body — chemistry is divine.

Aphrodite’s Divine presence

Unwraps our Im-pulses to climax to a primal rhythm .

Kindred spirits simultaneously reach the peak of a shared orgasm —

The body can’t hide from the  demon soul  inside .

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.