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Mike banana

Aug 11

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inspired by this T -shirt )
Mike / Nike bananas – waaaah?

Don’t believe in a day a tee.

Don’t believe in a dye a tee.

I believe in emotions.

A parable.

A moral .

A story.
A lesson

learnED

If I listened without interrupting ( never filmed my candidates on camera) I’d be past  the ignorant rear view mir row ing
dialed   hind sight one wave  too late.


Long pause… ( episodic moment).
Bananas
Should have put a hashtag

(#)  radiation *may cause seizures * * drug use * misuse * violence * harsh  misuse of a vape * .

Film censorship can be deceiving.

I watch many films primed or netted for my viewing,

I see the warnings
How these kids ever going to adjust to life calling ?

I need a bit of tuning.

I started this off topic ness from listening to a past recorded conversation. I’m out of my depth .

I see

I’m out of my depth.

Now..

I’ve a 6 4 2 bounce back pillow from the silent sisters who muted on their way to the unseen pleides.

Piroutte mode.
Peel out of the mould

Did I lose you to a Mike bananas T- shirt that the mad republic would ask a beetle to submerge.
These words  die with a relic…
. . . . . . . 7 dot dive  of dismal drivel.

Iil

Posted in POETRY

4 Comments

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Random generation of Procrastination

Random generation of Procrastination

Jun 22

Posted by

  1. Collect your  RANDOM WORD HERE 

News

Makes this tale mangy from substance abuse.

It rips at the soul-

 Makes censorship an ideal way to protect society

from the ugly truth.

Weak humans

Covering up their tracks.

Idle loneliness

makes for an abode

 Senses  summoned in to serve

 body possession

resembles

a genre of  the common trap.

Jedi modification

trance.

silence

or

Depeche  mode

Crazy contravenes with inner child’s freshly painted creche.

Dynamo

Isn’t as mighty

 Paired up with a jogger,

 a fit bit,

and a

radiant glow.

Three strikes.

When did time get so slow?

this temple-

Armour of organs in free harmonic flow.

one

Sincerely thinks.

Yes.

It is wise to know.

Faithfully your

beat  sets up another trap for

The inner mouse.

Eventually,

it will come out.

lose control.

No.

Leave.

Go!

 Big Ben caught in the designated zepherous zone.

 Failed  to save uncapped pressure

 Builds up into a deafening detonation.

Unintentional.

The inner logic was damage limitation.

The government ordered trench coats

  In full sight.

Tainted

 unprotected,

pollution seeps out from a  piercing moan.

Bridal mess   Sleuths about

 in slippers.

 Track tips far too early.

Nevertheless

behind.

Hands cover sight.

Mind convinced its temporary.

Blindspot.

Nevertheless

It’s all right.

Habits washed in  deficient  light

 credit token-

a  gesture.

kinder

More compassionate.

Guilt?

perhaps…

The decision fully saddled.

Vows  riddled

Wholly broken.

The course is  hardened terrain

Rumours rustle  barren branches

 summer shamed of its remaining leaves.

Scarlett

Stops

Shaded

Strangers

Point fingers in one direction.

Signpost makes a statement!

all-inclusive meals

Beyond

The border of Insanity.

Handstand

then

 the cartwheels-the body released from  tension

 Moment  of clarity

woe, for  the gifted

gasping on

thorn scented roses

Stoney  carves out

The centurion tone.

Inflicts an incident.

A beat.

A blockage.

A seizure.

 Arithmetic arrests Maroon’s motion.

Apprehended by fear.

Not one morsel intervenes.

homebound

Iris catches sight

 A distasteful  Discovery.

Host

bloody

broody

burnt the ceremonial toast.

Finally

Alone

A legitimate  excuse

 eyes wide open

 shed

Timely tears.

Posted in STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS COLLECTION

20 Comments

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Old soul

Jun 13

Posted by

OTHER WORDLY .

Unfathomable to relate how a portrait of an unaffected cherub

mirrors

a forgotten dimension to

the paradigm LONER.

PENSIVE – angelic eyes

unfreeze momentarily — expressions animate the oil painted canvas.

Voice barely audible -mouths out to me

Who is this new persona?

Blood of my labour sworn to tell the gospel TRUTH.

Astonished -wrinkles crease — at time ‘s wildfulness to penetrate her innocence—

She’s not looking back at her youth.

BULLIED

The cycle continues-

Elders blame the outsider for a lack of faith in conventional —Spirituality.

ELDER peers down through an intoxicating incensed haze.

Measure me up.

Squares me up.

On humble grounds

I stand a full head above her broad shoulders.

Closer to her divine maker

pious prayers hail down

the blame game

the name game.

Tortured soul seeker

Scarpers for the licks of hell’s flames.

trips over underwood

poltergeists log a strategic placed guilt ambush

rotting the core of this circle of life’s CONTINUITY.

AUTHORITY ISSUES.

Time will decide whether we are cosmic twins born 3 decades APART.

This is her descent  to destiny .

roughly sketched into this world-

pallid , charcoal smudged into silence.

An artist confronted with his frailty to conceive life.

Mourns the leftover clots of a being.

Miscariage – remnants of nurture -a mere puddle of blood outlining his corrosive flaw.

A splattering of colours, tears stained by remorse.

a howl of def toned melancholy

The artist sips a cup of penny total tea.

recomposed.

A sighed relief-

she has -AWAKENED.

ALONE – – is she fated too?

-The rebels never conforms

Transience

Stricken by the awareness of my own

MORTALITY.

 INQUISITIVE betrayed by her translucence

frown rouges her cheeks in introspection.

familiar strange words

Alienation effect prompts a impulsive turn around

the past

curses

damning this  loner to truly see.

An epiphany of divine INSIGHT

UNDER or OVER ACHIEVER perfection adorned with feathers of liberty –

don’t try to please anyone!

A storm intervenes obscuring the BIGGER PICTURE-

Save that energy

for life

is a gift and

It’s your greatest fight.

RESPONSIBLE for so much — tempted by earth’s seasonal affective disorder

Why does she have to be mortal?

Wings hook into shoulder blades

Reduced to a puppet attached by silver linings.

aerial view-

panoramic

circular murmuration

obsessive.

Eyes strain ,blood shot.

Wind exhales mustard peppered vapours

orchestrating sight to follow a new PERSPECTIVE.

WISDOM revealed by the crooked halo’d questions

glitterer

shimmers her every inflection.

the yearn of experience — to keep heavens babe toothless , unaware of the survival evolution taking place

Within.

TENACIOUS – I overlook her every smile

from above

stitched up my heart

remains

the scapegoat

the seeker.

until a moment forces me to find a burial ground

Unwillingly close my eyes –

the universe screeches –velocity erases all time.

Formless parts full up spaces amongst the dirt.

await for these settlers to wipe all memory from this life.

Old souls are never alone for eternity.

We have one another to rise above our hurt.



knowledge is power, wisdom is happiness and truth is freedom

Posted in STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS COLLECTION

19 Comments

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Scars -a bloody unwanted reminder

Scars -a bloody unwanted reminder

Jun 10

Posted by

Writing prompt -Scars

One scar I have is huge – it almost wraps all the way around my upper wrist -it is 2-3 cm wide.  Indented, It reminds me of a dried upriver.

The cause?

Domestic violence.

Before I continue…

Domestic abuse & Toxic relationships

Rape -NO means NO.

I’m going to state the obvious here.

Domestic violence is a relationship fucks about with your mental health, whether you love the person or not.

Toxic relationships have usually tipped me over into using shitty coping mechanisms like drinking too much, taking drugs, overdosing and not managing my medication or my eating disorder and Bipolar.

So back to the blood river scar.

One night- no

Another night of heavy drinking and arguing, I found me in a house -not mine- that looked like a slaughterhouse. all dirty browns. There was a rusty scent of blood impossible to ignore.

Every time I inhaled, the scent would drip down the back of my throat like a  tap -I could taste it too.

I  had mixed copious amounts of alcohol with my medication and all I remember is trying to push my ex away with my left hand ( I am left-handed), he grabbed my arm and I struggled back.

BLACKOUT

 An image.

An arm.

 a massive shard of re-enforced window glass- barbered-   poking out of my right arm.

Another image.

the back of my exes legs and back running up the stairs.

PANIC 

BLOOD

DRINK

VODKA

WHERE IS THE ORANGE JUICE?

WHERE IS THE GLASS?

WHERE IS MY EX?

BLOOD 

DRIP

BLOOD 

DRIP

BLOOD 

DRIP

BLOOD 

DRIP

PANIC 

PANIC

An arm coated thick with blood. I wear it like an accessory

Blood makes noise.

I hear screaming.

Mine.

Ex reappears and tries to grab me.

I try to run away.

PANIC 

BLOOD

DRIP

I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE.

Why is my ex naked?

In the middle of the street?

Rolling on the floor with me- trying to muffle my screams with his hand. Trying to stop me from running away…

BLOOD

MIND FUCKERY at its best.

“Look what you have done…” ex says.

6 hours later – location:  hospital.

The doctor asks to speak with me in private. My ex doesn’t want to leave my side.

I don’t say anything. quack quack! quack quack! quack quack!   the word on a loop…

“What happened?”  he wants to know.

“We don’t know. We were drinking. I can’t remember. It was an accident.” my ex speaks for us.

My head bows down,it almost appears as if I am nodding. I can’t quite remember.

What I do remember feels like I have made it up, it is so detached from my mind and emotions. It is about as close to me as Pluto or Saturn.

3 days in hospital my ex never left my side.

Not even to go home to wash or brush his teeth.

I wasn’t alone- my mother was with us too.

I was high on morphine for the pain.

Why didn’t they operate sooner?

Did they want to monitor me?

The situation?

Us?

three days later…  I’m being wheeled on the hospital bed- away from the stale, coughing ward…

“countback with me from 10,” says the anaesthetist.

“ 10 , 9 ,8 ……“

BLACKOUT

“1”. my eyes burst open. I gasp a breath. It is  like I’ve been living in a homemade sac filled with half shallow water and half air.

 Disorientated.

What happened?

I look down at the artwork the surgeon has done.

No more blood.

re-stuffed re-patched, recovered,

by a micro surgical  hand.

Discharged.

Back to the carnival freak show.

I enter his home – a massacre.

Dry blood everywhere.

Smell.

Bleach.

Sound.

Scrubbing brushes.

Stubborn blood. 

If only it could serve as a reminder of what actually happened that night.

“I don’t remember” the ex says.

How can he and I not know?

Every time I look at my scar I am reminded of the chaos that was my life for 4 years.

This scar says –

mutilation.

despair.

secrets.

emotions numbed.

detachment.

silence.

silence-1.jpg

This scar reminds me to NEVER be silent in the name of so-called love or a sense of loyalty to one who claimed to love me so much he would do anything to keep me.

http://www.vevo.com/watch/suzanne-vega/blood-makes-noise/USIV20300313

When I left him, I did not take his threats seriously.

 What he did next gave serious competition with the scar I see.

That everyone can see.

Toxic relationships result in a severe loss – sometimes that means your life.

Think carefully about what and who your life may include.

I was reborn again on the 06/05/2015.

The day the court ordered social services out of my life.

The day that my ex turned his back on me,  is the day I realised I had been holding my breath for years.

I had forgotten how to breathe.  I might have been dead- a wanderer.

06/05/2015 -I remembered not only how to breathe again but why.

Life -not just my own but that who is of me.

Life is precious

Life is my responsibility

resumption_by_jorgeremmy-d3drxy2.png

Posted in WRITE TO RECOVER

67 Comments

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Shame boy.

Jun 6

Posted by

My first attempt at Flash fiction. 

 

No one  knows just how much I see. I’m just the scare crow to keep the birds away and for the children to mock me. I am made of sticks. Where do sticks come from?

Trees!

Once upon a time I was a living breathing being. I helped sustain life and I even got hugs for it. People would marvel at my glorious lush head piece of green foliage. I was tall and grand and people sat by me, happy to take some shade.

Now ,I am just a bunch of twigs. Look at how they dress me. I am so ashamed. I can’t bear to look anyone in the eye. This is why as each day passes I die just that little bit more. Rigid – if only I could reach high enough to be a part of heaven’s deities again.

Posted in STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS COLLECTION

37 Comments

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All hands on deck

May 31

Posted by

A silly poem –
Ho! Ho! Ho! I’m going to put my two cents worth in.
Board the Jolly Roger with Hook and his crew of Rum kins.
Ah no, I’m not slumming it. I’m going to be an honourable Captain.
See that ship flying out of the clouds? Welcome aboard the Jolly Willows- sorry,Hook I can’t do with the bellowing acting.
I lost two excellent Bloggers at sea these past two days.
Left the Willows. I never told them to walk the plank. Maybe it was the Sirens who lured them to an unfortunate land of curds and whey- more an isle than a bay.
Please, as a Captain of this gallant vessel – understand I can’t always be around in one place,or indeed in several dimensions.


I am merely human – I have a lot of responsibility -. I sincerely care for all those in my community. You are my stars, my right navigation – you are my suspensions.


I have many journeys I need to make -some are on here and others in another place.
Neverland -is not just me expressing my presentiment . I have been there. I don’t want you to think I am a coward bowing out of my duties trying to save my wilting face.
Today, I take a trip to the land of the forgotten. The old and frail and the ones who need my time for just a couple of hours.


My family needs me.

 

So does Miss Tatiana- not a parrot but a cat who gets irate when she misses her daily dose of affectionate showers.

 


When I return, I trust you will still be here – we can give a great cheer- shout outs to the newest Friends of the Willows who enjoy many adventures.
Magic is everywhere.

All you have to do is believe, ignore the sceptical skeletal ones who still have their chattering dentures.
I do not wish for no heart; that I could collect you like a pirate collects simoleons- that is not what makes this ship vibrate, gets it revving.


The most valuable treasures are the souls and bodies who inhabit this space.
Bon voyage , my true stars . I shall never be lost if I look to the skies ,I most certainly won’t need a thimble of rum close by me- for – just in case.

Posted in STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS COLLECTION

20 Comments

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Her Legacy.

Her Legacy.

May 31

Posted by

Coming from a place of Fury. Never go to sleep with an angry mind so I saved it for waking up on my side of the bed.

Move two steps and three paces backwards, doubts plague me. Dementia ‘s grey cloak veils all I want to retain in my head.

The sheep get weary before I do.

I watch them sleep.

Wolf-like I want to smash through them. Fangs connect -impact on bone and tissue -a red massacre.

I need colour in my life.

This visceral creativity is swallowing me whole. I’m in the bottle – blurred images are all I see on the horizon.

Spin the bottle,maybe I will land in a place with less strife.

Cramming  in mouthfuls of

anxiety,

 self-loathing,

head battering, assault weapons of thoughts.

I’m bloated to the state that my discontentment leaves me, like a sleepy wide-eyed owl – manic in my state – shoving in fistfuls – I need to lucubrate.

Nothing sticks except the whiff of the end of a successful selling day at a  Parisian fish market.

I am the babe the market seller gave birth to. Times up for this broody bird to incubate.

Cord snapped with a fish gutting knife. Abandoned the moment money exchanged hands.

Only enough for a Meal for one. Survival is my greatest chance. Nurture myself and hone in on any innate talents now, so I can control the succession of Fates brass bands.

It is my birthday. I get one day to shine. Tomorrow I could be slapped away with one salty breathe,  inflicted wounds forgotten with yesterday’s newspapers headlines.

I came into this world with the cards I was dealt. I can cry a Seines- full of tears for the life that could have got caught up in the catch of the day fisherman’s net lines.

I refuse to be that inmate -on a bed of foliage, with one glassy eye, staring up at you. Doesn’t matter how well you dress me up – my fate is not to be found in a 5-star Michelin restaurant.

Grill me, poach me,  puree me- see what happens when you try and throw me in the oil fryer.

This amphibian has wings of hope.  Higher consciousness has blessed me with a generous grant.

I soar above all the conventional career options for my kind.

I will never be normal and for that, I will not apologise.

Evolved -a hybrid.

I have to decline your maverick binds.

Today I walk with two legs  and two eyes looking forward. Destiny is a start and thanks to you, dear mother,for letting me find my own way.

 I took my life into my own hands – my heart beats with passion,drive, ambition and the fear.

I have made it this far – so either stick by me and support me in what I do or feel free to stand out of my way and go astray.

sizedimage (3)

Posted in STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS COLLECTION

55 Comments

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Damsel called Distress

May 16

Posted by

High on life- no artificial sight.
I know what I will do if I ever get mugged.
I will look my mugger right in the forehead and say I can see the emergence of his third eye.
His monobrow will wriggle in confusion.

Then, I will 1970’s kung fu him in the balls – He will be blubbering. This is my first chance to demonstrate myself-choreography, self-defence,dance class, get fit for life.

I’ll grab my bag and wallop him once or twice.
I’m not condoning violence,but I get the feel for it , I’m grooving, putting my own spin on it . So he rolls with the punches and I carry on rolling my dice.
Then when I feel we are on an even keel . I’ll stretch out my arm, give him a hand up. Hell, I will even get down on one bended knee.

The score will be settled and even.
That is what you get, mate, for attempted thieving.
Panic alert flashes across my eyes. I didn’t know Mr potential mugger had another job. He’s a rather talented actor – he is making me believe he is actually bleeding.

Wait a few seconds – look left -look right -look left again . Got to keep my wits about me. Road safety training might seem elementary but it can be a life saver.

Seconds turn into the longest minute ever documented. I don’t think he is an amateur . In fact, I’m checking for signs of a well-known face; not some chip off the old block. I can hear the other stars calling out for their missing, celebrity neighbour.

Things are starting to turn grave. I’m the one who was in true danger.
Superheroes, do they exist?

I need one pronto – bring a carpet -we have a John Doe to roll up and we need a couple of spades and all of the aces . I need a super professional with a zany twist .

Moments pass. My superhero hasn’t pitched up , he must have run out of gas.
I’m on the run with an imaginary gun – this is not fun. He started it. What an ass!
“Oh why hello,officer, I know what this looks like. Yes, I am running” mentally exercising my train of thought.
“Hit and run?”
“I don’t drive, officer . So can we skip the walk in a straight line, touch my nose and rub my belly and get to the part where we both laugh about this situation.” We may end up in a quaint bar .
The one that sells all the good rum.

My mind is working overtime. Think! Think! What would any civil, well to do , ordinary , civilian lady do in my circumstance?
“Now, officer . I think we can have a bit more fun with those cuffs. Got any fur? oh, how I love to purr.” I’ll lean over just so he can clock my cleavage. Hey, this could work! Have you got any better ideas?
This may be my only chance.
“Ma am ,Are you trying to poodle face with me?”
“Me? I don’t even own a dog. Are you trying to call me a bitch? Now that is offensive.” I was merely using my right to freedom of expression.
My wits tell me to back the fuck down. He is jangling what sounds like more than one key.
He reads me my rights. I say I’m catholic. I ring God daily, no messing with Angel administration. I have him on speed dial to atone for my sins.
Now this – this is unjust. All this fuss. What happened to the good cop , bad cop scenario ?
All I’m seeing is the end of his boot and my own reflection in his riot helmet gear. Have I been transported into some retro game and swallowed a mushroom and turned into super -uber Mario?
Granted, he is a shitty plumber. But, he does get to collect plenty of coins. Maybe I can bail myself out .I don’t need no man to rescue me . I am the victim and the surviving princess.
I get the feeling the only jangling I am going to do is when I walk the line. Stub my toe. I think my entitled title just got ripped off me.
Scoundrel. It was that mugger that’s got me in this stitch . I’ve been demoted to a rather fatigued and distressed seamstress.
Moral of the story?
Don’t go acting like those sensational media heroes.
Just let your entire shit go- JUST.LET. IT.ALL.GO.
And tomorrow you will wake up not in a cell but smiling into your favourite stripy bowl of cheerios.

Posted in STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS COLLECTION

40 Comments

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P.S. I’d do it again in a heart beat

P.S. I’d do it again in a heart beat

May 4

Posted by

*Prompt FORBIDDEN LOVE*

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

Bang!

Fall to the floor .

Emotions mastery of us;

The puppets.

Universal soldiers we plea the heart must be acquiesce .

Ration it’s rational .

It’s bled blood red.

We walk — fine machines-

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Trivialise the flesh armour riddled with holes

Glimpsing sight of gleaming ivory bones.

Savage howls at  muscles contracting   into  contorted wounds.

Turn on the cannibals of Lust.

Devour us they must.

Tokoloshe monster

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

The obsessive frenzy of orchestrated, sexual slumber.

Denial of sacred sensory codes embedded within

 Mind will saunter in  Possessed —

Create a haunting soundscape of phantasmagoria.

Convince us that  forbidden love is worth the loss

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

That’s three parts of you or me.

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

Aphrodite’s Divine presence

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

Kindred spirits simultaneously reach the peak of a shared orgasm —

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

Posted in STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS COLLECTION

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Trumpet life

TRUMPET LIFE

Under pressure.

Breaking apart — splinting at a crucial fissure.

Until,

It  causes an eruptive displeasure.

Disquieted mind  brushes strokes of  bad blood around these elemental  chambers.

Cordoned off.

This is my plea.

So, don’t arouse my anger.

Beaten hearts with a wooden spoon.

These wings will fly-

I’m a fledgling, not a buffoon.

Weep for the Teether’s – the naive doomed  creatures.

They grow into  adults

Dolly the sheep baa’ed down pilgrims resting on mothering Sunday.

Bloody miscarriages — that awoke the town from their  walking slumber.

Think 6 nonsense thoughts a day to keep you sane!

Perforate these gums.

We’re merely animals lacking in  humanity,

Evolved to maim the world for self depravity.

Governed by  social media surveyors  cohearsing   joined up conversation into cursive bubbles.

Uttering bullocks — unravel the mind to overcome the low ebb of the  tide.

Disquieted mind tumbles over.

Terribly tainted, it is prompted to conjure a pantomime.

San Francisco knights

Dangle buckle boots or  bare feet over the  bay.

The full  moon is reflective.

Learned that life will conquer them too  if it has its own way.

Make it a Wishing well.

Make it the  Stage!

Exist or live….

Hell is on earth  — uprise to increasing fees,

We’re bludgeoned to death

if we don’t  pay.

Over and over.

More and more.

Gluttonous gloaters   feed our souls community  with   skunk;

not from Bombay.

We walk around the streets in mobile  psychosis.

We are a society fabricated from bedlam , deserted   in these woods.

Wondering about other lands,

Running away from daggers armed by cloaks concealed behind hoods.

We dance around  the pink elephant cuffed behind its  cage — waiting for the  trumpet,

To spray all 7 dynasties  with glory seeds.

A trunk  with roots in disarray,

This is Life that I seek to portray.

*Inspired by writers block, panic attacks, mental illness, injustice, isolation, fear and the song ‘San Francisco Knights by People Under The Stairs’

*Inspired by writers block, panic attacks, mental illness, injustice, isolation, fear and the song ‘San Fransico Knights by People Under The Stairs’

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