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Dear So called friend

Today

Walked out my front door

First time in 5 days, I turned right for a change of scenery chucking out the rubbish – the highlight of this today

Beneath my feet the concrete was still grey

My demeanour resembled the bland council houses unimaginative choice of decorating on the cheap -resembles a prison … whatever . No , I’m done rhyming today.

What prompts these feathered words typed and on display – a bird not in flight

Wings tinged with blue a sorrowful sight to see no fight

Eyes bright with dew dawn light.

Eyes screetching victoriously: I found the worm special of the day!

How do I say , justify , describe the way my heart swooned the wrong way. I looked up at the sky thankful for the first time in many for it’s consistant rays.

A distraction , a rouse – I knew it was dead . I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t move him onto a more dignified path. I was afraid he’d come back to life.

Circled around him in a hesitantly callous way

How dare he interrupt a quiet walk-the first in almost a week from sunday?

Did I imagine it semi flutter whilst I walked past him with my bin liner full of litter ?

I profess to love watching those with wings -airborn soaring . I’m envious in away. A speculating visual painting adorned with glittered hues , proof that life moves in every way.

I confess I have a phobia of dead birds. Past memories of one I wasn’t able to save in my childhood

Direction moved me to walk the other way from a lifeless soul left to rot on a staircase.

I’m ashamed.

Sins amass-theatre

 

Last night I went out. Yes, wahaaaaaay!

 Cheeky cocktail at T.G.I’s and then it was off to watch Grim North Theatres – ‘Sins of our Father.’

So this got me thinking about the word -ex-communication.

The production focuses on the seven deadly sins.

I liken them to the seven (not so) friendly dwarfs.

 

What I love about this kind of theatre is how vividly I can see who are the influences behind how modern theatre is still being developed in The U.K.  – there was plenty of surrealism-

Names of Influential playwright practitioners of Experimental theater  that come to mind are:

and indeed even

I think every play needs a touch of what I will call realism although naturalism would probably be the better word to use here. I say this because without a human, being able to identify with a character’s situation – all meaning becomes lost…..

We all have emotions. We all have vices. We have all had to make not so great life choices.

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In places when I felt, in the production, like  I was being pulled into a real-life situation – as one would expect in a 100% authentic kitchen sink drama / naturalistic play.   I DO MEAN NATURALISM  AND NOT REALISM HERE.

Boom.

Lighting changed from soft blues to startling reds.  These colors will all have a different meaning for the observer/ audience member /actor even. The subjective part of me was thrown back and made to rethink what I was seeing, question what I was, in fact, being led to believe.

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Music –  is  another great technique that I love to use when I’ve  written scripts.

Look at this  random picture

CLICK HERE LISTEN AND LOOK AT THIS PICTURE

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NOW,

CLICK HERE AND LISTEN AND LOOK AT THE SAME PICTURE

Nicola-Harvey-Abstract-Art-Abstract-Artist-Paintings-1

  In my opinion, Physicality is an actor in the theater is so important.

Yes. Dialogue is needed but what characters don’t say and do on stage, is just as important and helps me makes connections in my mind and heart, when dialogue couldn’t.

There is a lot of physicality and communication interpreted in the characters devised movements in this production.

What is physical theater in drama?

A form of theatre which emphasizes the use of physical movement, as in dance and mime, for expression. Disciplines include children’s theatre, film, comedy, drama,physical theatre, dance, cabaret, visual art, performance poetry, music theatre, and the full scope of music genres.

I am reminded of the Frantic Assembly. 

 

I loved the dance with the protagonist -Alexis- and the soldier( who turns out to be the seven deadly sins, final trump card) at making Alexis feel she should feel guilty for having had an Abortion.

She is faced with having to make a choice- to murder the concept of what we call life again.

The loose ends of the plot come together when  she is faced with the idea that the soldier is  her aborted son, or indeed  could have been if he had lived.

Not presented as a failure.

Not weak but a Hero.

Yet,Flawed and subject to all the same emotions as any human and very much full of heart.

He too corrupted by emotions and experiences.

What we choose to give into and not into is a product of our emotions about where we are in a particular journey of our lives.

Is it better to feel Pride rather than Lust?

Is it something that needs a situational context?

Why are some feelings seen bad and others good?

We all have them. Good and bad feelings.

Fuck what the church says.

It is our fundamental right to feel.

What do we  do with those feelings?

…well that is up for debate.

I feel this production was well executed because I can feel empathy for the ( antagonists)  seven deadly sins themselves.

Excommunication.

Do not shun what you are afraid of understanding.

Do not stigmatize what is the most natural part of you.

What makes you – a human!

Embrace all your feelings -I believe that hiding our darker sides makes that part of us stronger and unbalanced.

Lessen the burden -be a whole. Be a rainbow spectrum of light.

There is more than Black and White.

Yin and Yang

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Extract what you need in moderation.

Music I have been listening to while writing this. Shrug 7th Birthday Party Mix Tape By Marc Landish

Epic DJ-ing!

Playing now

 

 

OBLIGATORY NIGHT OUT SELFIE

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Have a great weekend! 

 

 

Can’t Promise her a title

Lazily, a  tigeress snores into her paws . If only retiring was as simple to rule her inner world.

Curled up in warmth after a stroll  into the big wide world,then  settle for a quinquennium pause.

Her heart beats.

Nationalists- not even  patriots  are exempt.

All want to play in their own chord, tighten the strings ,she keeps  it together, to satisfy their crucified minds.

In a state of constant – motionless movement.

If not an act of physicality -drill cumbersomely inside her cranium and you will see chemicals and synapses – making up fresh bricks and mortar, to fit in with the latest homemade yeast infused hootchie.

Glance away now, for fear of pitying an evocative attempt to get a rise from it.

Secret plots to charge this queen with treason.

Where will she live?

Her throne burnt to the ground to make way for a newly elected dopamine and serotonin scrupulous , democratic union.

Flags of self-belief – burned infringed – protecting her staked land  was all this monarch tried to take into hand.

Defamation – character assassination.

Cloaked – in darkness- rat scuttles past – no pause – it already knows this violated prisoner is barren.

Scars and welts – a confession is sought after by the cardinal living east of the castle manor.

Employed only to instill courage when the  most powerful empire seized a chance to escape into heritic souls howling in the wind.

Faith and Hope – not draft an erratic, purple, incensed  dogmatic pope .

Dire retribution -execute the one who claims  this state is her very birthright.

Clubbed to her knees –  she will crawl  not humbly- you shall hear her plea.

She  wants to make them a better nation.

It’s her biggest exclamation.

Out plotted by her very own court –  bribed by cheap whores-given away by the roughness of their hands, dressed up as expert courtesans,  who clearly have seen at least one day of sun.

Intoxicated by some amorphous potion.

Formalyhde doused  in cleaveaged lace dresses – it was  not her initial notion.

A scented air  of burning flesh

A greek tragedy indeed.

Scorned by her very  owns subjects . She may be longitiduely  dimintitive  but she refuses to be bullied into showing them that wanted emotion.

Defeatist attitude does not a fit queen make.

Words in  a precise order do not  prize a piece of   art,

so clearly a fake.

Forgiveness is her only weapon. She won’t see her country  be overrun by zealous creachers.

It would appear her subjects wish to prove that she is illiterate.

Tortured, holding her breath under water to procure a confession – let her reiterate.

The crown is made to fit one head – It is symbolic and vaporizes with her when she  exhales all energy and   is varnished as  dead.

Look how you’ve turned on one another – in the pursuit of power. It is  a notorious illusion.

To master control over all subjects requires more than an iron-clad fist and an outraged dalliance to declare outright confusion.

Compassion,

nurture,

recognition and honor are what she   offers,

accept these as the wealthiest of gifts.

Only a fool would scream,

‘Off with her head‘ -a face full of sour lemons and a lust to frazzle the last tether.

The Noblest  of causes – so much bloodshed – look into her bloody, vein threaded eyes.

She hasn’t slept for weeks in her fight, to appease  all those in famine, hungry and underfed.

She  needs no  steering Regent to aid her  in her duty.

All she demands is loyalty and valor.

With you all at her side ready to conquer life’s copious battles,

we shall not go down .

your  hearts will not know the true grief  inflicted made up of another community of arrows.

we shall not waiver.

Trust in your queen to walk as a stout  cripple ,duty bound to protect and hold it all together.

Capital gains for an elite aura

Random fandom

Venerable vulnerable

Society disappoints my inner light.

It screeches out a backdraft

 Quell the passion at the lack of incompetence.

 

Respect our traditions and values

Society came and went.

Flew over a universal credit faux pas.

 

Capital gains for an elite aura

Chakra karma paid & displays a tramp with an earnest title.

 

Sir Display Equinox Sonic fox

Sly enough to out weevil the equestrian retriever.

 

Animus archetype

Character sparks a debate seeking clarity.

More insight.

Live for the day (they say)

seize the Monet.

 

Be true to our nature?

Humanities’ fatal flaw.

The world is our stage.

only in hindsight

do we engage in our higher self.

 

It comes with the cycle of age.

Respect to our elders living in a world blinded by ignorance.

Dictating  Hyacinth Bouquets ‘ keeping up appearances’.

 

Failing to honor our  stories

Altering texts to appease the Ego.

Inner Iago

Escapism found in pictures of the anonymous

framed around wisteria fantasies

It screams autonomous

cantering  on beaches in a dark continent

Memories are all we have to keep us on the right side of sanity.

The acquisition of wealth is useless

Where did the mummies end up?

 

Eyes dazzled by coins.

The mystery of life lies in a pyramid.

Inverted by the shape of   our expectations

We let ourselves down.

We became Sellouts

Conforming  to Huxley’s  dystopia

conforming to live out Pret a porter lies

Covet  our true  label

hanged man squints

in contempt

inscriptions fail to authenticate our brand

Our tag

Our blueprint.

Pushing up Daisy

“… It’s passed on! This parrot is no more! It has ceased to be! It’s expired and gone to meet it’s maker! This is a late parrot! It’s a stiff! Bereft of life, it rests in peace! If you hadn’t nailed it to the perch, it would be pushing up the daisies! It’s rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. This is an ex-parrot!”

Monty Python

In my darkest moments when air extinguishes all light

Hopelessness hangs heavy above me

It hovers

Spongy , dense

A Cloud with a fierce clout.

I scramble around seeking for a match

I hear the mirthful giggle of a child

The purrs of a blissed-out cat.

My senses are aroused -Suddenly

The rain pelts down, the wind whips, lashing my face, arms- my entire mortal skin.

Eyes filled with tears of rain

Eyes filled with tears of despair

I’m reminded to look up.

I see a glimpse of a silver lining

My soul is weary

yet

 form of hope crystallizes.

Sealed into my thoughts for this second

I’m the Daisy that keeps pushing up

I’m the Daisy that proves that Life must go on.

My soul is renewed with a melancholic joy

I’m not dead

still,

I’m rejuvenated once again.

WRAP is it for you?

I have been quiet on the WRAP  front – wellness recovery action plan. Only for the reason, I knew this testimonial video would be available for YOU and others who want to take their life in their hands and have a plan for if it all goes down the toilet.


<p><a href=”https://vimeo.com/153148446″>WRAP – Experiences, Benefits and Rewards</a> from <a href=”https://vimeo.com/janeyoung”>Jane Young @ earth</a> on <a href=”https://vimeo.com”>Vimeo</a&gt;.</p>

Anyway, here it is. I think it will have more of a powerful effect on those of you who do decide to watch it. Instead of me waffling about it over 12 weeks on camera. If you want to to do WRAP and are not in a physical place close to where I live. You can still do it via my WRAP page. No costs – for free.  Or you can go to the founder of  WRAP-Mary Ellan Copeland‘s website and pay for the various material (if it is not free) that can be found on this website. It all about you. It is all about what you want to get out of it.
I have found out so much about myself and what I am like, what I enjoy, what makes me happy, what keeps me well, what works, what doesn’t work, what I want people in my life to do if I have a meltdown.

WRAP – Life and Values

Another Wednesday already! 4 weeks down and 8 to go.  Today’s session was to focus on ‘the homework’ I was given last week- I’m a naughty student and didn’t do mine for various reasons. Anyway , the most important thing is we all did it as a group today. YAY!
So, if you are ready type or write this heading down
  • WHAT IS IMPORTANT IN MY LIFE AND GIVES IT VALUE

Before I  list mine -publicly -I would like to remind you that these are personal to you and you may not want to share them and that is cool. The point of this exercise is to get your thoughts focused on what matters to you. What makes you sit up and go ‘I can go on for another day’.

What gives you that sense of purpose?

Again these exercises may appear elementary but once you have it in a form you can read it gives a more concrete meaning to what makes you feel alive in this world. This list should be in a place you can access it. I laminated mine and I  also have it on my blog. I know when I feel like shit and can’t make sense of my purpose in life, or I sense I am losing my way in life. I can get my list out

 and go through it to remind me what matters when I am well and in a good place. 

Right, so here is a list of mine;

  • My Family
  • the need to feel on top of things
  • finances in order
  • organising my wedding (short term goal)
  • affectionate and love hugs
  • Writing
  • Learning new things
  • My mental well-being
  • Maintaining a BMI that is safe and that I can live with the least amount of risk of relapsing
  • Feeling needed and important to others
  • Gaining and having peoples respect (while maintaining my own self-respect)
  • My cat -Tatiana
  • Planning/ Goals
  • My morning caffeine fix
  • Making an effort with my appearance -dressing fashionably -wearing makeup
  • Getting my hair, eyebrows and nails done regularly
  • Having an uncluttered and organised home
  • Reading time at night with my daughter
  • My daughter telling me she loves me- love, in general, is important to me 
  • Me time
  • Being acknowledged as a person 
Finally, I don’t want to bombard anyone with information overload, so I have decided to do an end of the week mini WRAP exercise that we covered with this exercise. So keep an eye out for updates. The content is about what you need to do DAILY to maintain wellness.

I’m going to make it

Sometimes I wish I hadn’t lived. That overdose was meant to kill me. I didn’t want to live and then I have moments when I look at my child and my Ma and cat and think -these are the people and moments to live for.

Life isn’t easy and no one ever said it is easy. I am lonely -I don’t mind being alone but loneliness is a particular kind of poison that will feed into all my securities -to the point I  will put up with anyone even if they treat me like shit.

I don’t need those kind of people in my life. I want my life back. I screwed up in so many ways. It doesn’t mean that my life and who I am and what I look like is not worthy of being happy and loving myself.

Surround yourself with people who make you feel good.

We have survived another day- I want to get back to living life.

Societies Ills

 

Sitting with a cup in me hand,rattling my pennies. The wind cuts through my salvation army coat – I feel bare.

Half an hour until the big brother brigade does their rounds, to come  clear off the debris of me, offending society, with my appearance of failure. Glasses fixed on nose bridges to hide poverty’s despicable,  shining glare.

It wasn’t meant to get to this point. I had a home, a family. Believe me, I was a carer. That was many years ago.

I let my parents down. They was ill. They fought a lot. Dyspraxia and Alzheimers is a blinding, rallied up bull  shit way  to steer 30 years of love straight out the front door with a forceful blow.

Pa was getting violent he couldn’t help it – it was the  frustration. The illness works that way . Too much protein in the brain ,the doctor says.

I don’t care much for protein. I just wanted him to get the right meds,  to make him the  man who he used to be

I came home from school one day and the living room had been touched by pa’s hard  handed caress.

‘Put ya fecking glasses on – you thick cow. Turn them around. ‘ere give them to me I’ll show you how.’

Ma was crying. Her perception was off the wire – crazy. Dad went to put on me ma’s glasses and stopped dead in his tracks.

 He had forgotten why he was standing next to Ma- and lashed out – his moves were not shady but he  was hazy.

I couldn’t watch them do this any longer. I had to get out. I wished to start a new life. 16 – find a home I could call me own, addle, get a job and be Miss independent. carefree,sipping on splendour.

I found me a job – I was smart not like them other lasses, herded in like cattle, branded with the letter P. Marked,dotted, scarred, scared, drugged – too skinny to be called slender.

I started washing up pots,owt I could do. I needed a step to reach them. They were that big. I was that short.  The gaffer  he was a bit of twocker- A Tyke.

 He should have been wooing his guests instead of fondling me tits ,grabbing me ass and jerking off with the hand he vowed to his wife to stay faithful with.

I couldn’t take that shit no more. I was no whore. I suppose I could have called me Ma and Pa

I said No. Loud and clear.

Decibels reverberating – Tin Tin like.  I was barking mad.

 Hotel  guests, eating their warm croissants, couldn’t ignore  the tone – it was him that had set that bar.

Didn’t even get me wages. Couldn’t pay me rent. I only had a room but it was my home. A place none could bother me. I could come home kickoff me shoes and read and chill.

 Be at peace.

That were  a few years now. Things change. Time never stops. Drugs, alcohol, overdoses, hospital beds.

None of it worked. I just got older, street smart, I was now living amongst  wild, underfed , hope-starved geese.

No place to shower, they say it takes 3 seconds to make an impression on someone. No jobs – the only job I could get was the hardest graft I ever did.

 Squatting on the cobbles and begging for scraps of bread.

Bread,

dough,

blast me to oblivion ,

 fresh like a baguette- warm ,baked.

 I was safer in  the streets than I was in a seedy local pub.

The pervading scent emanating from these places was  the end of hope and that was my biggest dread. I’d rather  be underground dead.

I got in with some  Christian volunteers – at first, I was in tears. I had Hope, but I had lost faith.

 Pa, he had gone into a state care home and Ma?  well, she had a stroke and I don’t know. It just got harder to think of going back. Mind,  it was me guilt.

At first, it felt like they were recruiting me for their cult. I knew there is no God.  I had seen what mercy truly looked like. Bleak. a dying art.

 I got attacked one night,got meself in a right snicket. I know I wasn’t to blame. Wrong place, wrong time, could have happened to anyone.

 It was me.

Weeks went by , started feeling nauseous, went to A&E – they confirmed what I knew.I was up the duff.

 I knew I had to reach out – me and my child  depart ?   never crossed my mind -not even  from the start.

9 months  passed . The SS got involved – my baby was honey coloured hair and blue eyed. A prize catch ,a  tick off the adoption incentive  target list.

I didn’t stand a chance. They convinced me she’d be better off in another one’s arms.

That toppled me, I came down like a house of cards. Not original but tell it like it is, Bards.

I started living in shared accommodation.Nice people, life been shit. We all make choices – doesn’t make us bad people,right?

I lost the plot, forgot my goals- to become a suited and booted member of society. I had my mobile phone I got  given to me by the charity.

I whip it out. I got a text.

what’s app – it’s free.

Overweening  Lady, with the fine, make up on and pretty, salon styled hair and the sparkly engagement ring. Don’t look at me like that and stare.

Is it so wrong to have a phone and live on the street off and on ? I ain’t got no one to marry me.

”  What prompted this stream of consciousness is obviously the content.  One of the themes of the play is centred around  Homeless people. I saw a man – I presume was homeless the  other day begging for my some money and he was texting with his phone. My first reaction was rather judgemental -so I started asking myself questions and this is the result. The register/style  of speaking and writing  I use is inspired by how some  people in Yorkshire speak. “