Blog Archives

Maybe she wrote

Heard the one about instagram being cocaine delivery service ?

Meme- it.

Nah! I just go for the pictures, personally but the deep dark web -hides

mews of creatures -deep- internally.

My world luxed out with a sunny day.

A line scented with silver

made for an olfactory disguise – remnants of rotting fish odor .

Murdered a child – fetus borne out of a reflux screaming match.

Woke up alive -bloated tummy and a 5 month walking nightmare-

It’s a boy – he secreted into every orifice

Raped me

respectably

Allowed insanity to become my better face.

Overdosed on affirmations

never have regrets

Turned around and married a man likened to the son of god

Fallen angel -I am

The humor isn’t lost.

Lets do a rewind – I’m allowing requests.

Here I am typing…

writing – spouting off words

Maybe one day it will all make sense.

Do or Dye

Sitting on the roof top trying to tell myself I’ve not misbehaved.

Blush rose hues creep up my cheeks and I know my hearts desire is unexplained.

I look at the stars — one always stands out brighter than the rest.

I say to myself — there goes my next conquest.

With liberal wings and green peace in my heart ,

I know for the sake of inhabiting my skin-unconfortable feelings will always play a part.

Forgive me for  being free spirited and seeking out a bon ami.

If I had testicles would  my new gender let me walk free ?

to be me?

It’s a plea.

I love what I desire .

I desire what I love .

I hate it when my sanity decides to imitate a neat whisky on the rocks.

Truth be told – I know I’m getting old .

Disambiguous feelings about the path I tread.

May my daughter’s laugh always bring me round to the sound of present day clocks.

Murmurs of hesitation .

Live my life, have a voice, and sail away

Where else do you think I would choose for a holiday destination?

The one I never have to come back from.

It’s me inside me.

Dare to take a part of me — feel my anticipation.

The specials-the after math.

Told  off for  my impulsive reaction.

The fact I’m conscious I am typing these words-

I feel inauthentic in how they roll out my mind with a hesitant tense formation

Words rise up ,around me – Jab me and a jeer me to dare say whats on my mind.

I’m not a child and I’m not venerable just yet .

So I swim against the tide of the alphabet soup.

Clarity I seek.

One tidal wave from forcing myself to write these words down;

If only to reinforce I have my own sound.

Sound as a pound

Scared of clowns .

That’s better-Socs — that’s my deal.

My contraband.

How I get from a-z- without reaching out for the  plan involving illegally, prescribed Ativan.

Banned from my perception of the elite.

Breached my licence to complete…

Should I hit delete?

This is my beat.

I won’t let me beat me down.

Self is the worst enemy-you know how it ages your reflection

scowling in a frown.

She’s back in business now . Wah da da da da — the song clearly has relevance in my sense of decline.

Fall 8 times — get up again.

Who am I to want merely blend in?

I was born to be a Bengal feline.

Character building — life coach ,I sense my patience won’t let me vote for your reality T.V. yoke.

It makes me sick.

Confession .

Watch one episode and I will mutate into just one more cockroach.

I’m on the down line with a mean upper hook.

Priorities in order.

House work infected by the pox — aren’t you glad you vaccinated your park life children?

Let my demon free to infiltrate the anti’s, confront them with the disease bitten book.

Have a say — what’s the worst that can happen?

Speak your mind — illegal aliens might just descend from that planet called Saturn.

Write to recover. Write to escape.

Shake up your mind , dare to continue —an inner ongoing live debate.

Not for hate — you make your own fate.

Feeling Anxiety. Too worried about what John Sax’s might reveal to his munchie  queen.

Know thyself and be true to yourself.

I’m not going to change my character to fit in with society’s latest heart melt.

Superstitious mind – I earned it in walking my path — did you see my black belt?

Stand up for who you are and what you believe in.

Some may consider me strange but have you had a look at your inner heathen?

The entity is back — no wheel-dealing with a bad batch of sugar coated crack.

6 million ways to die — choose one 

That came from a song – Who am I to sit around and hide?

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

Even Lunatics must break fast

The calm before the storm.

I break my fast musing over my odds of being crazier than the norm.

Muttering,

stuttering

— Brain sensory overload — the cranium structure is deceiving in its form.

The third eye lazily flickers in a state of REM.

an attempt to channel my inner chakra.

I’ve resorted to stick-on Googly eyes to play the part of spiritualist guru, sipping on high tea, to awaken my inner rapture.

Dear Goddess Kali, can you save me from the howling winds?

The mooing cows spinning around me

  moaning gutturally for their new fateful flight as fledgelings?

My Glasshouse shatters into a myriad of snow flaked, razor-sharp, jagged pieces.

broken,

unable to repair the damage.

Take a searing hot iron to my face to smooth out the grimace in my features.

Sacerdotal screams interrupt the night — another man stolen from his lullaby.

Sleepless ideas

patrol,

brazen in their efforts to destroy,

 my favourite playlist titled: sweet dreams.

behind the thousands of words, I’ve ploughed through with oars

Where will  I be?

Will I have sailed?

Will I capsize?

Will I have the ability to walk?

Will I  be a cripple, dragging myself by the elbows under a storm pelted bleached , grainy beach?

The Temptations won’t knock

They will saunter in.

Oh, it’s to be expected.

I refuse to fall to my knees

swearing  my allegiance to make another man’s family richer

Than see mine indicted.

I’d sooner sit on a floor, covered in colours of paint and corners lit with the smiles of my loves.

I’d sooner watch paint dry or read a screenplay loosely based on what I know about when life comes to rouse me with rough pushes or shoves.

Fire,

water,

earth,

and air

Elements balance my kinetic,

dynamic,

complex feelings of despair.

Change comes with a promise.

Fear comes with very little solace.

Motion to a new position –

don’t cower from success

It might even suit your current attire and inner prowess.

 

My time to deliver.

Get my due.

Affection,

laughter,

love,

and living

For me and my few.

 

My kind words are still here and my support?

I have some to spare.

I won’t waste it on those who don’t reciprocate

The err is but their own.

Chosen to remain frozen-staring down a hall of, pale, mirrored self-reflection.

unable to see

they are not the only ones

in need of encouragement or care.

I swill down the remnants of this blessed day with a bitter tea.

 

I clamour to suppress my applause.

I  catch out the dawn  rising with a yawn  unashamed ,gloriously

naked.

I’m no longer afraid to be the lunatic.

I’ve seen the powers of nature.

Forces of rage.

still, waters run deep.

 This insanity is something I hold dear to me-

The great mother gave it to me-

I will set with the  sun

It’s my duty to consummate all that is sacred.

Revised stream of consciousness — borderline poetry.

Pulp Estate

The best way to get through rough times is to be creative.

 

It’s not Saturday and I’m feeling non-conformist. I guess its kind of my way.

Haven’t done much this weekend — except nursing bruises, swellings, scrapes and downright painful blisters on the mouth.

I’m fuming.

The lows of last week found me beaten to a pulp like a survivor from a war jump.

Didn’t get no gangrene or scurvy dying on a rowboat at Dunkirk on sheets of ice.

Spinning around not a La Kylie Minogue mode.

I’m over the worst of the beating-

I “secretly” hope these two bastards get their come( t)uppence.

It would be easier to get high and escape from the downside-

Look out my window and the skyline is blocked by housing estates.

Crumbling – it’s always a better view at low tide.

Three a.m. wake up calls for months-every time.

The creative freaks come out so, I suppose I’m in good company and I will be.

just fine. 😀

Physical strength is the only thing that let me down in this fight against the Alphas.

If guns were legal I think I would use the second amendment to plea —

Y.ankee

O.scar

B.ravo

S.ierra –

Give at least one of the limp cocks a belter.

Only one would be laughing — this bruised weed — always making sure her brood is out of the firing line;

Standing in the shelter.

Ballroom blitz and shammy with my king.

Oh how we will dance!

— cowards should carry around organ donor cards.

On second thoughts, who would want the innings of someone who can’t fight to their  own strength —

Run little boys to your Audi and drunk mommy-

The one you beat up on a regular basis.

You think this is a female annihilation version of the crusades?

I’m low not in mood but my body says — sit down and feel your boo boos

My head says life is for living.

I don’t want to walk out of my house,

like a beast or looking like a victim of domestic violence-

Here comes the freak in an endless hued complexion of distracting tutus

The highs are the times when I hear my child laugh, my husband he bathes me and kisses me tenderly,

loves my sense of spirit when I look bloody unsightly.

In truth I look hideously ghastly—

Green beans and asparagus — home made by La Bonne chef, ma Mere.

I struggle to eat more than ever, but I won’t let two stomped out cans put me off the future horizon I’ve cut out —

The scenic view from here is a — plethora of orgasmic sight sees.

Lows inevitably come with highs.

I’ve accepted a hand

taken that step off the top roof.

The next time I’m up their , I’m going by lift.

Agenda?

To dance and rub shoulders with people channeling the same level — hearing a sub woof.

Clearly better days ahead.

Wasted time on talking pin heads.

Its fine, its mine, Its life.

Yesterdays news is on current recycle mode.

This Mary Poppins has already started making UP fresh linen beds.

A break from the toxicity of incurable idiotism — helps me see far up the winding road.

Perspectives easily imagined —

There goes a heavenly striking stair case.

It may not lead to a conventional heaven .

I’ve already stated my unorthodox ways right at the beginning .

I missed the word that rhyme ending three sentences up,

So, I’ll close SOCs by stating:

I’m recharging my load.

 

pycho phantic heathen

Write to recover is what I always say.

I’ve discovered,

Is  few of my words  leave me whirling with  – I’m proud to park,  pay and display.

Deals are made,

devils I summon.

People are abused, Charity leaps to a new order of Coven.

I write this way, with careless affray

to not lose a sense that words are tangible,

if  I work my fingers to imprint my genetic copyright

Confirming my DNA.

Some might say,

I try too hard

To write for better days .

Left to my own devices. I would live in clouds wrapped up in  grey hues-

a cemetery for all the left over  fillings

Thrown away, because of corrosive mouth decay.

In yer face!

Borderline – on the rocks.

I write to prove I’m far removed from serving  more time, in a straight jacket in New  Jack City.

Gangsters running around with silver bullet signed glocks.

I’v’e spent my better days basking in  previous glory .

Like butter it melts away the fear  of sleeping dormant .

One wrong box and I’d have been mistaken for a Tory.

Liberal with my words, eager to serve and love all my friends with creative pulses .

Tic tacs, I guzzle-colours textured in obscure.

I fight these escapism ,  inauthentic, paradise bomber  impulses;

To get high with — to lose track of time.

To think

I need a  potion of artificial wired, chemistry alternatives.

Usually these act as a placebo.

Serve to knock off my crown of  free willed determinism.

Courage lives in a mane,

a city  near Massachusetts

Puritans might discover I’m Freud in a ghostly slip.

I’ll be hung ,

Hands lie limp by my side.

Bled feathers  will tickle  the crowd-

Show I  bluffed my way into the inner circle of creatives who have a grasp of the

same

sane

 mundane

chain.

Heads up!

Forever chasing  the dragon of stream  of consciousness .

My thoughts fail me,

I’m beginning to think,

I’ve become presumptuous.

The kindness in others  words — to allay my anxieties,

Overwhelms me .

I tie my own tubes.

Disgraced.

I refuse to give birth to a dancer  with stubs for toes, phalanges pimped out to strike a  quivering echo-like ,   Margot  Fontaine pose.

Inner fear corroborate with the sinner without a legitimate C.V.

Write nonsense-

The Lakers swan to the crowd

I’m a nutter.

I’d   crack a prince just to see a picture  of  a colourful scene.

Abstract,

Mindful – in  the lines.

It’s not important.

Just a visual spray of shamanic chakras to impregnate the rainbow-I foresee.

Leprechaun leave my latin beats to breathe.

Mouth the words of soft brie , camembert and  wild boar.

Grant me a baguette —    riddle away, and I’ll gather my thoughts to satisfy thee.

Goddess Luna grants a cycle to merge with my  rites in fertility.

Thoughts exiled to Siberia-paid to be alone.

My government  saves me.

My soul

I will put down-

Though I know I won’t gamble it all away.

I win back my losses

Trust me, I know there is always another day.

Write, write , write.

Each word is a  middle finger at the writers academia  establishment .

I don’t want to be even  almost famous.

I don’t need a book with my name on it.

I blog merely to pour my inner most thoughts out — free up my world.

It’s about as poetic as I can get.

How about I insert the word fragrant?

I’m not academic.

My passion is not systemic .

Always in a position to sky dive.

Risks thought about

After I land in the hornets hive.

Stings heal .

It reminds me I feel.

I live by my words ‘cos I’m irksome and caustic within.

I was born walking into  webs of contradiction

and, now,

All I beg is for  is a hint  of credit

For expressing myself in this audacious fashion.

I’m not here to chat ’bout literary success.-

I’m already thinking about my post party dressed as myself-

the bodacious writer ,

Who is in fact a sycophantic heathen.

*INSPIRED BY A COMPLETE MELT DOWN IN MY ABILITY TO WRITE AND FINISH MY MASTERS*

Free cello flotsam

 

I followed a trail

To rock with scurvy emotions inside of me.

Don’t know what to expect.

All the rage, ignorance, silence

bleaches the promise of a future sapling tree.

Astrology says we have a Destiny, and there’s apart

inside

Who revels in the nostalgic quest within me.

Why do I shirk off those who encourage my rays to reflect outwards?

Why do I seek out on my impulses, toxins to detract from my light?

Keep me from growing into a burst of melody  I can shout out to the cowards.

Confidence issues get the best of me

it’s just all about

ME

ME

ME!

But….

It isn’t-it’s also about my husband , my Bella bee.

When I enunciated my vows last June-what a chirrupy day.

I didn’t have a clue what commitment to another meant

That I would be required to stop mid-flight and stay.

Stagnant breathe, I cry out for security

Inside it’s all I’ve needed to explode into full maturity.

I write aplenty about letting go

The rage, the ability to let it stop over analysing my creative flow.

Seeking out what exactly?

Roses thrown at my feet every hour?

In case I forget in my self and believe I am merely dour.

I crave a prism of  connection and escapism.

All I want is to answer my own question.

What is my purpose?

Ignored.

The birds murmur in their usual stanza of cursive.

Have I ever learnt the language of civility?

Emotions  have tripped me over

Countless times.

Surprised to appraise the sky admiringly

I’m chasing after the elusive high

Frequent in multiple forms.

molecules,

atoms

Sometimes a shape  in a human form of fungi 😉

sigh, me and my warped sense of humour

Desperately  trying to prover I need a holiday under my current demeanour.

the rage inside is never  quelled .

I write and I write yet the tears continue to overspill.

Reticent to see what is standing in front of me

I pause,

I look up

and despite the majestic scenery,

I feel the weight of my guilt-dissecting me into bits to use as flotsam at sea.

One small town to the next

Happiness is a state of mind

Not some hidden idealist.

A paradox of uncertainty

Love me.

Need me.

Crave me.

Believe in me-

The true person outside of my physicality.

I’m not stating I’m beautiful or full of grace.

I do believe I am unique .

This is more than a hope or a whim.

I don’t see absolute distaste when I glance at my face.

The simple moments, the words , the memories that won’t hold on.

I have a purpose-some path to walk without feeling triste

Emotional depths descend into an abyss — it ranks.

I adore the ocean , I hate that I need technology to breathe in, and gasp.

I’m not a shipwreck lying on the floor who gave up and sank.

I’ve learnt how to swim and fight,

For what its worth.

What do I want with this life-streaked , woven into nature’s tapestry?

Here, little bird, come closer unlock the coded language that will show this mystery is more than a pyscho spieling diatribe of empty soliloquised solecisms

Dead eyed,

Heart stammers .

 Side by side a pack of soulless zombies.

A sweep of consciousness

Polish face lifts

immigrants on a striking shift.

Release the scent of the maximum sedative.

How many wrongs make a right in a world indulging in a  toupe wearing predictive.

In the slums – she bares her teeth.

rips at her tights.

Hoping to show she can cough up her own weight when she’s challenged to cognac fights.

Be funny! 

Be sunny!

Rhyme like a dimer who thinks life is one giant inflatable bunny.

Spring in her step – she waddles a concubine to the left.

Eating her mushy peas and the renmants of a palate once cleft.

oh, come all ye faithful – fish nets, voluminous hair.

All that makeup gunk and dressing attire scream out they live in a world in scenic bare.

Boxed tight in – creativity swivels to an allurer.

Betrayed by the one she led down consciousness  – hostile intruder.

Be funny!

Be sunny!

Genuine, inspirational, honesty appeals to an egotists intellect.

How much funk does one consume to come to believe in this deficit?

Character assassination -Emotions maul – pall bearers shuffle on knees.

a clear casket in mind – drunken on herbal skies, the night before the shaman declares he indeed sees.

Truffle this slice with something so nice.

Be happy!

Be funny!

49 kilograms of crystallized heart stacked with genetically modified, combed honey.

Pest in my side. No great thought- a merry flow tilts to contrive.

This is what you get when you reach out for a pair of ears to listen to what you wish others could see through your hide.

Make it a happy ending!

Tortured with teddy bears, candy floss not fit for human consumption

Connect the E numbers – ADHD charged disorderly suspected of the ability to function.

Write what you know.

Know what you write

For old times sake, can’t we just make up and redo introductions without resorting to repeats of historical dramas televised late in the night?

Spirited away from a despicable raven heart that galvanizes.

Bloody, pumped up

clogged up arteries.

Whimsical bird   – an indulgent Eliza

Do little.

Timing is everything, nothing, and something.

If she could just make a connection – could she expose the trilogy cycling stationary in the ring?

She gives a damn but it is probably not what you think she has planned.

Convolution confederate.

marvellous toast dictates who should ordain an anthem to strawberry jam.

Drummers in a sweat lodge – chanting druids beating on stones, let the sow lose her intelligent piece of three-year-old jambon ham.

She’s not a funny writer .

She writes what she wants to – it’s weird and it’s messed up but it is fucking fun.

Sanity is a line just beyond the blur – hasn’t it ever occurred to you she writes to live for her?