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Frank Gush

 

I wanna be loved

I wanna be loved

Aw, Here’s a virtual fish wife hug.

Oi, sweetheart – didn’t you hear me? I  said I wanna be loved.

Catcall.Ice-bucket – overspills neo – classicism sentiment.

Laced up bosom heart flecked with pieces of steel.

I wanna be loved. 

I wanna be loved.

Oi, did you hear me, babe?     I have a heart filled with soapy suds.

Empath – duty-bound to sympathize with alpha bloodhound seeking to incarcerate her with a gun filled with duds.

I wanna be loved. 

I wanna be loved.

I’m a sweetheart – you’re a sweetheart – let’s roll one, then turn up the funk.

Assholes everywhere!

Toy story – meme becomes a true story told in oral.

prelude to come.

Free verse

You wanna be loved?

You wanna be loved?

You say all this yet your eyes create walls caging doves from their song.

If you wanna be loved – stop asking random others who stray close to the sun.

Couch potato manners – will find love in a familiar hand -left or right. Don’t forget to inhale that idle bong.

Sex or weed?

Weed and sex.

She wasn’t complaining. She screamed so loud for me to stop. 

time out, tiger!

Interpret this as you may.

Did he ask if he accidently overfilled her ear orifice with over bloated seaside swimmers?

or accidently bottled her into a state of frozen lager?

You wanna be loved.

Then taketh not all for thyself, young decrepit blood.

Giveth – free flow,   no sweeping statement dogs escaped Noah’s ark or God’s flood.

Move beyond your fantasy.

phantasmagoria is not free in  She-ra’s  sword sex symbolic cooperation.

Try to retain warmth in a sizable fee.

Hot  Hooter eyed water bottle – cost effective.

Not enough to help him resurrect an Absolute spirited goddess.

Rewind and recycle,

dog-eared Tai menu gender – Bangkok pussy.

Remote scratch and sniff, no taste only his eyes can see.

I wanna be loved.

Can she be Frank?

Her passion doesn’t lie in fulfilling his lonely nights.

Energy dwindles,

Netflix catch- up and book endeavors find her closer to her G spot than Boy George midgets dressed up in red tights.

Mrs did you hear me I wanna be loved?   You’ve got the love I need.

clearly seen fro her 1 D profile, one thumb- all upstream.

Mr of questionable status,  do you listen?  Hear what is going to go down.

Spit, gargle, brush – repeat.

 Learn some manners, leave this bee, nectar bonus points ran out when you demanded she slathers you in full moon clots of cream.

*Inspired by humans and observations* 😀

Flushed out

LINDA G’S #soCS WORD PROMPT  HERE.

socsbadge2016-17

Are you in or are you out?

Flushed souls poke human, paper mache skin ,fanned  out.

An elegant pack of cards – Spades aimed at its target , packs a clout.

Doubt grim reaper,

he is great at connecting you with your inner weeper.

Toxic three hours – temperature – fever finally  breaks.

Her family can finally let out sighs numbed with dull aches.

Anger ,rage, death hopping two feet forward and shuffling back -creeping – hiding.

Taking it’s time to declare an order.

The heart is wrung out. Pruned -nothing left to saturate it.

Heaving up chunks of oxygen – empty –   salted   escargot ready to be served for an entre – the media will never admit, it is a mass homicide .

Senile ghosts mumble out hammered toasts.

Champagne flutes . Morphine patches – how much more hammering and wheezing  is left,  until the invitation arrives ,requesting her attendance  to relieve the pain and burden of being a believer in idol hosts?

I write to right this rite.

Prepare for an urn, a coffin or a heaped body tossed in a dumpster.

Respect the ones that loved you and who nurtured you. Those she loves she protects like a mafia gangster.

Not on here much,checked out more times than she cares for.

She’s always ready to come back in but, it does make it harder to live in her  skin -deep within.

Little girl ghost howling – cajoling – beseech the black Jesus – bypass Mount Olympia to get a message out to the true king.

Shaking and a moving, trembling, who are we fooling?  Head to Las Vegas –

check out the true king with a white cape flapping around him -winking at groupies – rents them out  like  he has a permanent   50% discount with  the  budget car rental company, Avis.

Take a trip to Barcelona. Live life on las Ramblas with cava and tapas and plenty of one euro shots at Espit Chupitos.

Never imagined that naive  senorita being whistled at would  fall so far from la Sagrada Familia’s homemade fajitas.

Waving goodbye to a ghost last seen roaming the hospital’s resuscitation ward , two years in  February.

Son kicked her out – took a flame to her hair and in a mad white blitz  hoovered her own cemetery.

Rest not – rest want.

Out  In.

In. out.

Pout, little coquette – this is her last chance to impress Henry  the eighth with a carefully measured out squeal – one last squeeze- ears reciprocate to an ecstatic shout.

Desolate, impure. Turn back the clocks but only – one hour.

Protest – demonstrate.

Who made these rules up ?

Time will rewind back to a time she desires. She will make the keeper of his hour- cower.

Murmurs, whispers, emotions. Mixed states.

Take her now and make love to her – make her moan  and forget about the woe that lives in her veins -gliding on ice skates.

She needs just him  inside her. Only he can take away the regret, the guilt that feeds on her black hole sun.

He knows how to distract her.  Make- believe that time can still be merry , doused in her own orgasmic fun.

In and out.

once you have found an in are you going to torment this Empath for eternity?

Narcissus, listen to the  nymph-like echo that pleads for you to look away from your mistaken idea of your  lover’s identity .

My venture with her Dementia

*REPOST pour ma Gandmere and for feeling helpless*

For she’s a jolly good fella… For she’s…. a she is..

not even a fella

She’s 83 today.

Big deal, right? 

 what is so special about her lying in a state care home in a periwinkle neglige?

She is someone I dread going to see -every single week.

I won’t stop going – even when every at every visit, I have to protect every orifice from catching the decay lingering in the air.  The food smells like an institution – a broth of flavoured purgatory.

This is not the final destination- I will take the unknown every time. 

Staring death in the face – eye to eye.

She fights with every breath.

‘Tu veux du jus?’ says, I  – mentally fumbling about for something to fill the time. I pour her a glass of watered-down juice.

she grunts and moans in feral tones – I assume she means oui.

Usually, I am really comfortable  at free flowing . This doesn’t  flow  so well.  I’m in the thick of it. It’s a plot,alright. I’m standing too close to it to fill it with flowery words. but I have to get this out of my head.

My head shouts:

Move.

March.

Turn around.

Salute me.

Do something.

Stop.

walk.

 Over and over arrows laced with commands to make me revolt or dissolve. 

I’m  not so sure anymore.

I’ve got no other vices.

Thought about having a drink, taking more valium than I should but the outcome is always the same.

So, I sit here trying to process my thoughts. Align my feelings – they are like every kind of liquorice all sorts, except for the actual plain ones. The ones I look for when I want a taste of Life.

You don’t always get what you want. Well, you may have a winning streak for a while but you don’t know where you are truly going to end up, do you?

Sure. we have goals – Do you know with absolute certainty that no obstacle will come in the way and prevent that from happening?

Hey, Don’t stop the fight. We need more of you.

I’m not here to put you on a downer. 

Tripwire, I fall into the firing line. A spray of bullets rains through me.  Visualise it on a time-lapse sequence.  Don’t call me a hero. I am a coward. 

I see her fight.

83 years old.

She can’t remember,

can’t talk, 

she can’t even walk. 

The rings she has been put through. It’s not evil it’s truly wicked. 

She is so divine if only I could make her all fine.

Skin flawless. A  wooden doll. so tiny.  She has so much fire.

 Burn in hell, Weak? they said.

 She had it easy. (Life.) She didn’t for the fucking record.

 Stop the record!

Now  I can take the needle and jab any mother fucker in the eye, who dares to judge her with their hypocritical, artificial, over consumed minds. 

It’s like like the song – easy like a Sunday morning.

We all get at least one of those days – some have a more fortunate hand.

When will this be over?

When is she going to die?

Another person, I love and could have done more for.

No, no

No regrets!   the little sparrow bursts out a melody enough to make me weep.

Here I am bawling – feverishly knitting a   blanket infused with Tsunami waves, suffocating myself, wallowing- staring at her – All I want to do is start hollering. 

If I do I know I will get collared.  One apprehension is enough for one day.

I get to be alone with her.

She sucks up at least half a beaker of juice.

 I love you, gran’

Her eyes glisten – a meadow dew-effect. We connected.

She knew I knew she knew I knew. 

It’s that befuddling. 

I couldn’t hear the radio, I couldn’t see the lampshade glow.   All that energy directed me to focus on her mouth.  

Possessed,

 she came out with the most grateful and graceful,

THANK YOU – I have ever heard.  English is not even her native language,

to me – her own granddaughter.

Thanking me for giving her some juice. Seeing her an hour a week. It’s all sluice.

Drink up your purified juice. Punishment does not lie.

I ran out of that place- discombobulated.

Sometimes, I feel nothing. Other times, I am a gibbering wreck but I always have to collect and that is why I am a respected member of the poker face club.

I have my own Ma who needs me. My daughter.

I’ve made some crazy bets.

A lifetime of betting and I see only now, how important it is that I need to take care of myself.

There is a struggle – warfare -conflict within me.

Not thin enough to be hospitalised but thin enough to warrant concern. I still get appraising looks for this form I inhabit in now.

It awakens the Furies inside me. No, you need to accept me for who I am. Whatever shape I transform into. 

I need you to. I need me to.

She is about 5 stone. She eats a lot – can’t put on weight. What a fucking paradox.

I restrict. I know I am putting on weight. I deliberately don’t do cardio exercise anymore.

I do walk a lot  -like them L.A. girls. Power walk my way up   ‘panic attack  ‘hill and finally dwindle down into a corner. Shallow breathing.  It’s better than hyperventilating and heaving. 

Girth.

Something to do with birth.

I have everything I need to get obliterated- fuck I could OD – I’ve always been the ultimate elusive escapist of life.

I had to talk to myself.

Me? Talking sense to myself.

So it was my Gran’s birthday today.

She is still clinging on to life. She is not hanging out with her fellow homies in the lounge downstairs making cupcakes or doing puzzles – listening to Polly-the ultimate nutcracker, sitting in her favourite chair and swearing.  Put her hands down her pants to feel something. Nobody else cares.

I can’t swallow. These are not the most sprightly of places to visit.

How much longer has she got?

How much longer do we all get?

I wake up every morning to life- I stare at the innocence in the eyes – it’s reflected back to me in my daughter’s eyes.

Still, I  have moments when I contemplate dicing with my own life. gambling it, frittering it away.

To have this kind of raw, exposed insight. To know better – is self-flagellation.

To sit with a belly full of food and a head and heart full of thoughts and emotions

and wonder …

not wander.

I’ve done that far too much.  

Escapology trick 101.

I wonder why I won’t accept my lot.

Am I the only one?

Really?

I’m not convinced. I’m sceptical like that. 

I mean sure I’m special but c’ mon……..

I have issues- being a narcissist is not one of them – unless I am having I look like shit – no one liked my selfie post today.

Then it’s all about me mimicking others emotions to get what I want.

drifting…..  

 Thoughts.

I’m not overly whimsical with this post.

On a lighter note me and my husband ( bless him) we fucked so hard yesterday.

DING DONG!

We had a round two because I wanted my pleasure.

So I fucked him good and proper. I role-played, Gepetto, in retrospect.

I wasn’t bothered about his needs. For once.

It’s actually a kind of breakthrough for someone like me. 

My Nose is not growing.

I could say so much but I may embarrass him. Oh, hang on. I  do that all the time. That’s why he married me. I am truly one of a kind and so is he.

A perfect match. 

Ladies, you know how when you have been fucked ( I’m not talking about making love and a bit of slap and tickle) I mean when you wake up the morning after?

Cliche phrase alert!

‘John Wayne’ has come out as a woman. It’s all good but its the after-effects of pedalling on a bike, cards t t ticking in the wind, bells tinkering the first time – all that bruising. 

 Serious bicycle abuse.

My  Man- is hurting today. I’m laughing. I’m evil.

Don’t worry he enjoyed it. He keeps making sure I don’t forget it. 😀 

Of course, I was on top.

My ride – my rules.

So I’m gonna leave it there – I think I’ve covered some pretty big themes.

Sex, Life, Death, Abuse.

 I’m done.

Feeling vulnerable now. Do you mind if I put my armour of skin back on? 

If you made it this far – fucking well done.  Not patronising you. I promise. 

Not my usual style of writing. 

Life is short – make it sweet. Stay on top of the game for as long as you can.

These are my words.

* Inspired by my Life, Dementia, thoughts*