Scroll down for the answer to this. Or you can read my post and then read the ending. It’s up to you.
Did I prepare-?
meh -not really.
Did I have an idea?
yup -kind of.
is there such a thing?
Character well rounded and believable – good and bad traits?
It will come.
one small one for now.
Show don’t tell – my mantra!
I will sell my soul to the devil…
for now ‘Blurred’…
twists and turns?
Aaah yes of course. Twister is an awesome game. A great game to inspire writing, c’est ne pas?
Shitting myself. I’m still trying to navigate the website
Burning the candle at both ends?
never stopped me before.
I CAN DO THIS! Personal growth never hurt me before so why change a good thing, right?
I write for personal achievement and I write because sometimes I find that words come easier in the written form. I also write because I’ve been told from a young age I should write.
I write because I can. This blog exists because I have a hell of a lot to write about , interests & my mind needs a place to let the dense mass in my mind tumble out & create form & order.
I’ve finally received my results for my 1st year, doing my Masters, in Creative writing.
PASS-with merit. I officially can use more random letters after my name — ha ha!
I am now in possession of a post-graduate certificate in the Arts and Humanities!
How’s this going to help me with what I won’t do?
I have a dream.
I do. 😀
One of my goals is to move back to France. They love people with diplomas. I hope to get a well paid job there. I need to book a trip to The French embassy later on this year. My husband has decided he is going to take on my surname and become a French national. He’s English!
He’s not only English, he is Northern, from West Yorkshire.
I feel so uneasy about my family not having a passport. My entire life, It was drummed into me to always have my passport (in date)in case, we moved countries.
Which we did- a lot!
Moving on . ( pun unintentionally intended :D)
What’s happening in my life?
Loads of shit- ha ha! as usual.
I’m doing better – I keep making a come back. Oh, life – you little tease!
Dare me to live.
Dare me to succeed!
MENTAL HEALTH UPDATE
Yeah, it’s been.
up and down,
up again ,
very up –
not quite sure
aargh why did that and that and that and ..
did I do that?
Those kind of moments, really.
Surely someone can relate?
Not happy about a medication increase in my anti depressant.
I don’t of any person who is on (high/ highest legal doses) of
Two anti psychotics
Two anti anxiety tablets,
and sleeping medication.
I know my health posse want the best for me.
I don’t bullshit them.
I tell if I’ve been using shit coping mechanisms, good ones. Thoughts ,feelings…
I made my psychiatrist laugh.
He offered me psychology therapy — again .
I was like:
‘Look Dr J, seriously every time I sign up to a pyschologist , they leave!’
All my psychologists have left me half way through doing whatever new pycho babble, current trend treatment , is used, to deal with folk such as myself.
One dude, fell asleep in a couple of our sessions.
So, I was like
‘ Listen, I know how to use CBT/DBT, I know how to communicate and talk. I know what keeps me well . I just want a cure’
Another laugh escapes from Dr J.
He is a legend.
A legend ? yes, but not a wizard 😦
He totally gets me and I feel I have a choice in medication changes etc..
I’ve asked to come off one of my meds because I don’t see the point of being on it. It hasn’t helped me.
These meds have affected my memory. I’m terrified of getting Dementia. I’ve been on (legal) tablets since I was 13/14 and I’ve never been off medication.
Talking about memory.
I’m using my creative outlets to start getting into the open mic poetry scene .
I love performing but my memory is really rubbish. I’m going to brave it by doing more live poetry next week. I’m excited. Nervous. It’s all good.
I have my final year of my MA to keep me — super occupied. There is a lot of work to do. For part of my thesis ( check me out)
I’m thinking of using my blog to interview creative folk who live in my community to talk about, their work, (durr!) Creativity and their mental health. My photographer mate is on board to take pictures. Some people have shown interest — yeah!
My heads occupied which is good.
How will doing this help me with my thesis and final work?
Well, I am going to use this year of discovery and research on the link between mental health and creativity as an alternative form of therapy to cope with life’s unpredictable moments.
Then I will have loads of inspiration to write a film script (120 minutes) on a character ,who , is thrown back into society after a long stint in mental /prison institutions , and who is looking to find him/herself and another way of being and expressing him/herself positively, in society.
The opening scene will kind of look like this
I have an ending – (a bit abstract at the moment) – saying there words:
‘I look around for the first time with clarity. And see I’m exactly where I need to be. Around the misfits. The beautiful misfits just like me.’
DAISY’S UN NAMED CHARACTER
It’s all early days and I still have 4 scripts to write, a critique and a character analysis on a famous playwright to do before the final chapter.
All in all. I’m alive, optimistic-ish, full of emotion, drive, passion , a pain in the ass but just doing my thing.
All terribly boring really… 😀
So, I am back!
I can’t commit daily to blogging but I have joined a group on Facebook.
It’s a website for us!
I’m a newbie, its good be around other bloggers again. I’m hoping it will keep me off Facebook and keep me connecting with people like yourself. People who use their time more productively. Doh, oh the irony.
One rant before I go : I wish people would stop leaving public posts about my appearance on my Facebook.
If you ever happen to read this
I know you are having a shit time dealing with your own weight issues. I’m well aware of mine. Please take a look at yourself. Look after yourself first. If you don’t – FUCK OFF!
That is a wrap. I know. Hilarious! ha ha!
Thank you so much for reading
Time to step out and live real life..
Catch up soon!
What’s everyone else doing with life? Blogging?
I’m genuinely curious to know.
She gets on with life as a wannabe music journalist,
She’s a charismatic kinda gal.
She likes chilling on Sundays,
She likes reading in the week.
She likes to contemplate owning a goat.
But when she starts to daydream,
Her mind turns straight back to her cat-Tatty Anna
Sometimes I look at her and I look into her eyes,
I notice the way she idolises about Tatiana with a smile,
sensual lips she can’t disguise.
But she thinks it’s GOAT making her life worthwhile.
Why is it so hard for her to decide which she loves more?
She likes to use words like ‘eish man
She likes to use words like ‘sorry.’
She likes to use words about GOAT finds
But when she stops her talking,
Her mind turns straight back to Tatiana having a heart attack.
She likes to hang out with Pinkie
She likes to kick back with Belle,
But when left alone,
Her mind turns inwards she obsesses over losing her Tats
She’s not too fond of gossip,
She really loves cheesecake & wants a goat
But she just thinks back to Tatiana
And she’s happy once again. knowing she is owned.
A twice bitten man shy tortured in an encounter with his tye.
Every seen a crystallized heart shatter?
Ricochet fresh flesh of four chambers?
Stained bloody by his past lover’s hand
Sodden & trodden by a call to “man up”
Pump up depleted testosterone to counteract the shame.
Even though a trampled heart was not his own doing.
Grievously body harm. It was a gift given
Not by a temptress nor a malicious entity by nature.
Ergo two hearts vowed to be one soul
Living as a unit. Love of life was their goal.
Loneliness to combat. Fated to be mortal.
Revealed their sealed vows together in front of a chosen crowd
Dramatic entrance. One heart faltered .
Death was invited to observe the day
Yesterday’s reminder of the shell of who once was.
Death reminded all that life is fleeting. Unpredictable.
Everyone but maybe one didn’t grasp the significance
Empty on reality. Thankful for ‘mothers little helpers’
Songs of blue accentuated the highs.
Hopeful for love to remain true.
Ever hope to love truly but wonder whether you do?
Obviously caught up in the fervour and knowing the right thing to do.
Obviously ignoring common sense. Abandoned security for a chance leap declared impulsive.
Ended up in heart surgery. One shattered by betrayal.
Left the other with paper scissors & words to shake a corpse into resurrection.
Note to self I’ll continue this when I feel less tired
Less restricted. I won’t be some other possession.
Day 19 prompt from napowrimo.
Today, I’d like to challenge you to write an abecedarian poem – a poem in which the word choice follows the words/order of the alphabet. You could write a very strict abecedarian poem, in which there are twenty-six words in alphabetical order, or you could write one in which each line begins with a word that follows the order of the alphabet. This is a prompt that lends itself well to a certain playfulness.
This essay seeks to demonstrate how valid some form of knowledge and belief in mythology was, during the Classical era, in Athens. It remained a potent force in many different contexts, this will be evidenced by analysing four ancient primary sources.
The first is related to Performance: in ‘old comedy’. Specifically focusing on a section of Aristophanes’ ‘the Frogs’ (136-64.) work ‘, the second examines a source on ‘sacred disease’, by a possible Hippocratic doctor (I-II), The third primary source will explore the ‘Homeric hymn to Demeter’ (2) (1-495) and its relevance in classical society and finally the fourth source presented will look to the relevance and what’ mythos’ meant in terms of ‘logos’ during the Classical period by looking at one of Plato’s famous works ‘the republic’ (2.377b5-3.3.389d5). The main themes to be covered are the gods, life, ethics and the afterlife.
Myth’s continued appearance in entertainment gave playwrights a broader spectrum of themes to play out in relation to the God’s character traits, ideas of the afterlife and what was considered to be good and bad gods. Aristophanes play ‘the Frogs’ which won first place at the annual Dionysus festival is often looked at in a political context.
This essay simply seeks to look at the play from a more surface value perspective. This play proves that myth was indeed a powerful antidote to the serious more philosophical and everyday issues that Athenians were confronted with.
It depends on how informed the internal or external audience were as to how much an individual gained from the experience.
There is a scene that occurs that is completely sardonic where Xanthias expresses his discomfort of going to the underworld and a dialogue takes place between a corpse and himself whereby he is trying to barter with a corpse to go with Dionysus in place of him, “Hey you the dead one, I am talking to you, do you want to carry some luggage to Hades? “(136-64.).
This kind of baldy alternative take on Hades underworld shows how myth was still a huge inspiration for artists in Greek society in regards to the issues and questions relating to the Gods and the afterlife . Myth in this context was contorted and manipulated to tease an audience and provide entertainment.
Then contemporary audiences would have to have some familiarity with myth and Greek culture to fully appreciate the wit that Aristophanes regularly makes reference to. An example: Dionysus preparing to go to the underworld when Herakles is describing the directions to take: “Next …. Of hands”. Dionysus wants to know who these men and women are. Herakles tells him that (they are) ‘the blessed’ ‘the initiate’s’.
This reference is proof that outside of this play there is some other knowledge about the ‘Eleusinian mysteries’ –specifically the cult of Demeter. It appears that on stage nobody was safe from being mocked.
According to ‘Homeric hymn to Demeter’ (471-482) “Happy is the one of mortals of the earth. But those who are uninitiated into the holy rites and have no part are never destined to a similar joy when they are dead in the gloomy realm below”.
Cults of religious worship were colossal in Athens during the classical period even whilst supposed ‘scientific’ and philosophical debate was occurring. The exact rituals and full commentary of worship which occurred in this particular cult were kept extremely secrete. Modern excavations show that at the sanctuary there was holy place dedicated to Demeter (M&L, pg344). The cult did not discriminate class, age nor gender.
This was an annual and ritualistic event similar to the festival of Dionysus in that it attracted masses of people but for different and more serious reasons. The ‘Homeric hymn to Demeter’ contents are emotional, intimate, vengeful, god fearing and relies on the God and Goddess of fertility (which provides an under tone of birth and rebirth to the nature of worship) to carry on harvesting the crops so the mortal race could continue to survive.
The church and state stuck to a rigid programme of what was to occur on each day of this 9 day festival which took place during an important time in terms of agriculture produce is of concern.
The nine day celebrations tie in with the hymn “For nine days… her body.” (40-48). and is a particularly antagonizing quest for a mother looking for her daughter who had been abducted by Hades. It is believed a part of the myth of Persephone and Demeter was appropriated for ritualistic re-enactment. .This cult did not dissolve until it was repressed in Roman times.
This shows the unwavering worship of Gods of mythos despite other ways and methods of approaching myth during this period.
Another important area to highlight with regards to Greek mythology is the attitude towards medical treatment when it came to illness and the study of Biology.
Like in our modern day there are various methods and people to whom we can put our faith in to cure an illness.
The same can be said for the Classical period. This Hippocratic source talks about ‘the sacred disease ‘– (or Epilepsy as we know it).He states that: ‘in my opinion (it) is no more divine or more sacred than other diseases but has a natural cause.’ One could interpret this cause as not coming from a random bored God but coming from our complex brain and body which is divine because of its complexity in nature.
The source presents as wanting to reason and encourage people to look to alternative ways to curing maladies.
Instead to by following the norm by a “facile method of healing….consisting as it does of purifications and incantations” and then showing a reluctance to look at nature is pure ignorance. This source shows alternative thought that perhaps the Gods give us the internal make up to cure our own bodies. Indeed, this physician (II) has a strong opinion concerning the people who ‘christened’ epilepsy (mental illness) as a ‘sacred illness’. He terms them as ‘quacks’ and ‘charlatans’.
These supposed knowledgeable people ‘being at a loss’ in their ability to ‘cure’ or atone for an illness, have instead ‘spun’ as the Hippocratic doctor says “a plausible story and established a method a method of treatment to secure their own positions”.
He is not attacking people’s belief in the Gods. He is stating that respected people in the community had exploited ill people in their ignorance and that there is in fact a more natural way of finding a solution to the various ‘maladies’ by studying the body in its present ill state.
The majority of whom followed the Hippocratic non-traditional method of teaching did so for honourable means to genuinely find a cause and a solution to all illness even if s the prescription came in the form practical advice .Professor Helen King (Open University transcript on ‘Myth in Medicine conclusion) makes a valid point stating that ‘ Peoples beliefs about their bodies are complicated… Medicine doesn’t deal with questions like ‘Why me?’.
Treatment often went hand in hand with religious worship as one relates and attempts totreats the ill mind or body and the other relates and attemptsto treat our psyche .
Plato believed that the soul and the body were separate to one another. In his ‘the Republic’, a dialogue between Socrates and Adeimantus is essentially a discussion on ethics and morals as to what could be interpreted as the necessary elements needed to create a utopian society.
Socrates is not against the belief in the Gods –his argument is to do with content and how the ancient poets have portrayed the Gods in their epic poems; ‘the ones Hesiod and Homer .to people’ (2377. b5-6e.) He argues that these poets created ‘falsehoods’. Stories that make the Gods appear without virtues.
Socrates goes on to discourse (378.5c-e.). One critical viewpoint is that he doesn’t believe that children should be brought up on stories about Gods at war, killing their parents and stealing for example.
These kind of parables, he believes are not setting a solid foundation for people to model their own morals and code of ethics. Young people especially are impressionable .
There is further debate about what is good and bad and the two characters come to the decision that “Gods of course are really good and they must be described as such.’(379.10b.).
Socrates does state that if these stories need to be known then they should be censored to the correct and minimum of people. (378.5a.)
If one is to take on the idea that Gods are good then the idea that they are responsible for all that is not good is a contradiction. The overall summary of Socrates argument is that if people felt a personal sense of responsibility towards themselves to be good in this life then they should not have to fear the afterlife.
Furthermore there is interesting discussion concerning the Gods and their changeability (379.10d.382a). This lengthy debate about there being something more wonderful than the divine form would only make sense. If there was a virtue better than goodness. Socrates again insists that poets must present the Gods as they are: good –virtuous and not in a way that allows them to assume many disguises lowering the basic morale of a society. “Nor should Mothers… children too cowardly.” (379. 5d-e.) It would appear that these snippets of dialogue from ‘the Republic’ reveals that Plato’s’ philosophizing was on other canonised version of the Gods.
These characters had strong views about how the Gods could come across as unreliable punishing, moody, and unstable and that these qualities could not instil unification of trust, virtue and stability in a society. One can clearly see that Classical philosophy was not mainly concerned with terminating myth but it questioned the beneficial effects certain mythological representation’s had on an individual and as a common people.
To conclude we can see that in antiquity Epic myth and Tragedy, Old comedy was never meant to come across as banal. Indeed people with influencing and fantastical ideas of Gods and the afterlife and the author’s agenda and ethics were displayed and debated about. Pre Homeric and Hesiod literature mythos was mostly told orally and so there were many contradictions and versions of myths and what mythical characters did. There were many determining factors. One for example, was the strength of the story teller skills, another was more concerned with demographics. One thing is certain is that Greek mythology was the inspiration and conversation /debate starter from many areas even outside of the western world for subject matter relating specifically to ethics, the afterlife and life and creation. A person can consider this as universal evolvement of thinking and it is not assumed that Greeks were the first humans to enquire on and seek reason on our existence through debate about mythology. There is simply not enough evidence to back this up. Finally Mythos on its own acted as a sacred harbinger to bring meaning to life and issues inside and outside of it.
Write to recover is what I always say.
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.
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
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.
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.
The Lakers swan to the crowd
I’m a nutter.
I’d crack a prince just to see a picture of a colourful scene.
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.
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
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*
‘Always look up wherever you go – those who walk with there eyes to the floor miss out on so much of life’
If you have followed my previous posts on from the start of doing my MA, you will know it has been an ocean of tidal waves and tsunamis and, high tides and low tides.
These still waters of mine run deep.
My First TMA (tutor marked assignment) Act one of a stage script about a homeless couple received a CLEAR PASS of 62%
There were tears, miscommunication, fallouts, despair and I lost confidence in my writing abilities.
TMA 2 ( my second genre -Fiction writing) I wrote a supernatural piece about a girl who (accidentally) commits suicide.
Lat night, my tutor emailed me to say she was having an issue submitting my marks via the online system and she didn’t want me to start worrying, so, she copy and pasted all the feedback and my mark into an email.
She gave me useful and extensive advice on what I propose to write for my EMA ( end of module assignment due in May 2017)
The second act to the homeless couple script.
I do feel more supported, understood, challenged and more confident in achieving what I want to do with my writing for this piece.
Oh, the results for my TMA 2
82% a HIGH MERIT.
I’m back to the marks I was getting when I was doing the final year of my BA in the Art and humanities.
I need to keep this momentum going. I don’t want to find myself under merit territory again.
I invest a lot of time in people and the things and causes I dedicate my time to.
DAISY DOES VOLUNTEERING:
One thing I have had to put on the back burner is helping to co-facilitate 12 weeks of WRAP (wellness recovery action plan self-management program) with the EIP ( early intervention prevention ) team for people diagnosed with at least one episode a psychotic episode
I’m gutted. There were many issues that led me to distance myself from this.
Issues of funding and logistics.
I enjoyed meeting up the people I was going to work with. I loved their energy and enthusiasm.
A lot was promised and then not delivered.
I felt the need to email my colleagues and tell them what I thought about how the course was put together- I was my usual blunt self and not very diplomatic. Ooops…
I feel that if the NHS ( national health system) in the U.K. expects results from a new therapy or a new way of self-help/lifestyle and illness management program, then scrimping on pounds is not helping promote or inspire that WRAP works.
In the long term WRAP (run properly) will most likely save the NHS money.
As far as I’m aware- nobody knows what is going on with this current WRAP workshop. I haven’t fallen out with anyone. I can’t give all my energy into something if everyone doesn’t have the same vision.
For me, it needs more planning and preparation and I’m not going to be that person who just turns up to volunteer at a workshop to go –
‘Oh look at me, I’m making a difference’ – when I know, in my heart, the results this particular workshop can have on people’s lives if it is implemented properly.
I’m currently putting my energy into other charities I work with to see how I can help them.
DAISY GOES TO HER FIRST SESSION AT THE ACTING PROGRAMME WORKSHOP :
I wasn’t nervous until I got to the place. I arrived early. It was bitterly cold and I hate the cold.
It turned out to be incredible.
We did a few Actor warm-up activities such as being aware of filling the space and being aware of other Actors around us.
We did some improvisation and using our body exercises to convey emotion. Loads of fun!
What a lovely bunch of people. I am definitely going to the next session next week. We all seem to have common goals and everyone is so unique and interesting.
UNEXPECTED SURPRISE ALERT:
There is a possibility we may (or may not) put together a little something to perform to students at the university after the 8 weeks. How awesome is that?
I do try and keep up with you all on here. It has been difficult but the more knowledge and confidence I gain in the above areas of my life – the more time I will get to have fun- one being reading blogs and blogging random stuff
DAISY LIFE UPDATE:
It was my husbands birthday on Valentine’s day. We have a sleigh bed!
hi ho! hi ho! it’s off to bed I go – ha ha! It’s massive – king size!
After the mid-term school holidays in February, my Bella – my daughter will be joining Year one ( she is in reception at the moment) for her reading and writing class.
She has two mates with her who are excelling just like her and she is a bit of a whizz kid at Maths.
DAISY’S MENTAL HEALTH UPDATE:
Long story short. Pushing other people’s buttons to get an honest answer has been difficult -emotionally- to sit with – without trying to avoid the emotions by self-medicating.
I’ve been angry at myself for nearly destroying the best thing I have in my life- my family – because, I believed ( with help) that someone cared more about me than they actually did.I put a lot of my energy into helping a person when they had a meltdown last year. It all got thrown back in my face.
I finally know the truth. That is all I ever wanted. Now, it’s time to let sleeping dogs lie.
That’s it – all very boring but it’s all happening
Physically. I’m eating better and I have more energy. I haven’t lost weight which is something that terrifies me equally as putting on weight does.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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?
I’m taking back my power.
I’ve got my ammo and my gun powder.
I’m not going to use it cos I’m more of a peace than a ‘fuck you -let’s bomb you to oblivion’ type of person.
I have realised that to allow someone who thinks nothing about me to have so much power to lure me into a paralysed state of persuasive perversion is:
True insanity. I have my true penny and that is what counts.
I pushed him away like a woman under attack – I pushed my lot away – until it formed blood clots on the insides – comparably sized to mounting a herd of elephants.
unwilling to be ridden- trunks raised up, irate – exploding in shouts.
I started to talk about what goes on in my head and my true penny told me that we all makeup scenarios in our minds, to make sense of the lives and situations we come across, in this world of an uncertain, never-ending skyline.
I thought I was losing it.
I thought I was obsessed.
Turns out my brain works out my issues based on characters and story lines and other shenanigans.
Crazy? maybe but creativity strokes the beat with a brush – I feel there is almost a genius to be found walking on this fine line.
Swastikas and Reds are not my idea of interior decorating.
Tearing down my walls.
One little Nazi’s thought is not going to make me come down to that kind of level.
I have my life.
I am the queen of my disco.
I have retro roller skates on .
The sun is my Disco ball. I’m on the rooftop, in the light-beaming under the rays.
Not hiding in the dark, under the influence,an imposter.
A star that can’t twinkle, dishevelled – so shady – a back turns away – It’s the one known as the blue devil.
We are on two separate paths – I notice the screams of a shaken baby.
A rattle spins across the floor – Dummy dribbled with garbled spit.
I guess mommy is right when she says: ‘You always want what you can’t have’
It’s not infatuation, love or anything like that – This baby is having a tantrum – she didn’t get what she wanted .
She didn’t even get a maybe.
I’m done slithering on my belly across damp floors. Waiting for the next Gestapo, soot-stained boot to squelch me.
Turn out my guts until, all you can see is the insides of me- a sore sight of limacine.
Phantom limb syndrome – I am back from the war of past, oppressive obsession.
Nightmares were all I had to grieve over.
I didn’t lose any limbs. Only my inner self- belief .
I’m a china teapot lady – I’m done trying to find happiness in a person who happily lives life drinking out of cups made of polystyrene .
The present is my greatest gift. I’m not wasting another second wishing on dreams that we can be friends.
My heart is my greatest ally and foe. It makes me work.
Dwarves getting their hoes to do all the work – chasing fairy dust , axe- picking fights with one another, to grow in a place under a roof of artificial light.
Genuine and melodic – true light – mountain breeze is the only place I will find a place to atone.
To make amends.
Let it go and go with the flow
I stand before the world smiling – unashamed – this is my show.
SHOUT OUTS AND AWARD NOMINATATONS TO FOLLOW
Ladies dressed up to watch the jockeys race, not on but against their steed.
A befitting bet, the only time you will see her bow down, wearing a fascinator – laid on the mud- sacerdotal, on her knees – lunacy fanned out in a stylish turn of the century plead.
Mixologists stir up a great spectacle – 50 per cent proof. This skulls hidden unconscious is about to set Ablaze
Four straws facing north, east , south, and west. It’s nearly 8 o clock and she is losing all sense of walking along cobbled streets – eyes misty -sultry in her glaze.
Somewhere, busy – night rolls her up in its fringed tapestry.
Abandoned, lost. Cries of her child – don’t let them take her.
Don’t let them know she is the true reason the station has become a living catastrophe.
How did she make it past the patrolled border?
An elevator –
confused – out of order.
A wack to the mouth causes bones to elementary fracture.
Spewing out pieces of ivory tooth and red rotten metallic pulp. She has become the victim of a mere capture.
No eyes, no mouth, no voice.
How can an invisible entity cause so much blood to make enough for a devil Mc flurry?
She stumbles about – finally free – absorbing kleenex tissues to stifle the colour of Florida’s orange rain.
Elbows, whistles, laughter – a short dwarfed jockey, begs, catches her eye – nods at her in mocking disdain.
Maybe just this once she could wish for a platform called nine and three quarters.
She knows the wizard told her to click her shoes thrice and think of home. How is that nothing resembles a place she knows holds the faces of her loving daughters?
Chiming spinning, no change, no credit card, no ticket.
Ringing, coming from her leathery bag – could it possibly hold the conscious of a good-hearted Jimney cricket?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Where are you?
Familiarity breeds a set of stifled sighs.
Eyes veer to her left, a drunken, matted hair women scream to her brood “don’t let these people put you down. You are who you are – Never be ashamed and don’t fucken frown.”
” Let’s have it.”
Nothing seems familiar. She doesn’t recognize a face, a place, not even the sound of the underground.
Train tracks look as slumber full a place to have a reality dysphoric fit.
All of you attempting to copy her brand of me -too-ism.
Not even the darkest version of voodoo blended with rum can get you to her level of cuckoo-ism
Her child appears. Disappears in the arms of another blur.
A man who says he is her husband is here to take her home – in his arms – he attempts to gather her.
Not without my daughter. She knows what these child traffickers are doing.
Police form a ring around her – all flashing lights- yellows and blues.
What happened Miss – Miss?
She breaks down into a misfit of boo hoo-ing.
Assaulted by her mind and the evil hands of time.
Destroy the ones she loves – her gaping heart – her child won’t come near her, not even if the thought crossed over to bribe her child with a dime.
Rage, fury, vengeance and betrayal – a feud with her family- the ones who have stuck by her to the very end.
Divorce on grounds of stationary inebriation.
Rings are thrown to the ground. Frodo come get what is rightly yours and have your eternal salvation.
Clean sheets, a bottle warmer tinkers at her feet, a hug from the husband who she tried to chase away and defeat.
A portrait of a framed married couple- Cracked and jagged on the side of this man. Fragmented glass distorts a smile, rendering it obsolete.
So it is true she is the one encrypted with a learned evil, the one who holds the reigns of the one who goes by the name Deceipt?
She picks ups her lace parasol. It can only hide little and only reveal so much – she still has the fascinator and her original brand of receipt.