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  ghy us@picturestories.co.uk
 
 

2017 November 18th
Listen, as we are, here. Did I make that up, or are the stars saying words to me, they have the power to; its just a matter of shining up to them and hearing. They say we should now believe what they've been saying all along; that the older you get here, the wiser you fall. Makes perfect sense to me. Like a tree that's cut open, the rings in us run truly through us and the more compressed they are the more fixed we can be. Stiff in moving, not as flexible. Got to realise that hon, gotta take precautions of a sort. Like believe impossible things. Have a doubt on old certainties. Be aware when your arguments are rusted into place, get some oil on them. Not that I am saying you're superannuated, its just a mater of taking care here. Doubt is good, beliefs are better if they’re tested in a new way. See the light of day fresh please, its a glorious thing, don't take it so much for granted. Don't take the years before, or the ones that are coming after, believe in me and live in the here and now. Sermon ended.

   
  2017 November 11th
There’s a reason
for the ringing,
there’s a reason for the song.
Woke up late and
all this dancing in the street
is a nice surprise.
There’s a reason for this ringing,
maybe it’s a giving
that I missed?
A voice so truly wished?
A together time
when all could chime as one?
Happy endings all are true?
No its because they now know you,
so all this joy makes sense.
A witch and a bitch and an angel,
who could wish for more?
   
  2017 November 4th
There’s a reason
for the ringing,
there’s a reason for the song.
Woke up late and
all this dancing in the street
is a nice surprise.
There’s a reason for this ringing,
maybe it’s a giving
that I missed?
A voice so truly wished?
A together time
when all could chime as one?
Happy endings all are true?
No its because they now know you,
so all this joy makes sense.
A witch and a bitch and an angel,
who could wish for more?
   
  2017 October 27
Have you plenty?
Then please give me a penny,
give me your purse.
I might be Jesus,
could be couldn’t I?
Do you take the chance to deny
and gain my disfavour,
mark you not for Saviour.
So give me you’re card
and you won’t be barred
from entering heaven.
   
 

2017 October 21st
A curse,
what is worse
to send it
or receive?
To believe?
Every curse
returns,
crippling the hands
of the sender.
Pins and dolls
finding holes,
digging deep,
making weep
in me.

   
  2017 October 14th
I see,
okay try this:
Once there was a boy destined for great things. But, there's always a but aint there? He was covered in grime from head to foot, dirty swine, never washed. No one saw him see, because he was so dirty, covered in filth. Anyway he sat on a stone and the stone said to him. ‘Mind if I ask you one thing please?’ So the boy said fine. And the stone opened its mouth and bellowed loud and clear. ‘You're sick and you’re wounded but no one can see it. You are esed to show, so you stink with the filth that covers you. Go have a wash, go have a bath, meet me at the corner and I will deliver you.’ The boy had a wash, the boy had a bath, then the stone and he could see that the boy's skin was full of running sores and he bled profusely. The stone had a think and said. ‘Dive in that river and you will be cured.’ So the boy dived in and the river caressed and crushed him, asked if he wanted to drown or to swim? And the boy saw the angel waiting outside the window and vomited all the dread. The boy left the answer up to fate. Fate was busy with a date but took the times to toss him from the darkness. And what do you know after that he felt his longing for a mate and the river said she would be his bride. So the boy took off his shirt and married her and she sang a song and appeared as she had been all along. You can guess the ending.
Nice in it? Its allegorical, you got that of course?
   
  2017 October 8th
As it is,
you’re fine for me.
Ambarrass it was,
its better now.
As it will b,
lets wait and see,
its always better
when you don’t know the end of the story.
   
  2017 September 30th
You can run all you can
but the pain loving man''
is coming.
Pierce you, and crunch you,
bash you with a hammer, turn you
with a screw.
Loves it when you scream,
makes him feel so mean,
he shivers with delight,
this endless night.
He'll pin you to the wall,
then with all his strength he'll pull
all your teeth out,
one by one,
just for fun.
There is no escape,
from your bed you will awake
to find him grinning.
No use clinging
to your sheets
you're in the land of repeats,
where.
You can run all you can
but the pain loving man
is coming...
   
  2017 September 23rd
He was a man of insubstantial girth, he wore glasses, seeing was believing in his mind. He had a job to do, decide the yes and no’s, Quit the writ believing is perceiving, how you are today, have you been good or better? Have you misaligned your stars believing that you were worthier than you are? Nice to think that this promise of gain came without a catch, to think it but not know it cos tucked away inside, you were rottenly sure that some exploiting sin was going on. Ho hay, make a buck every day and robbing the candy man doesn’t count? Anyway he sees you inside out, there is no doubt with him, all your stratagems to hide things from yourself he knows of them and his leaden book weighs heavy with your sins. Are there any others, have you got a list of benefactors who flourished from your gifts?…
…the witness is someone who confesses what you’re not and when, he fixes all your deeds. He narrows down the fellow whips, the ancient skips the lies you hide behind. No need for deceit his book tells all the worse and the curses. If there’s a moments grace, well praise the Lord its needed now to weigh against the ways and woes you usually say and do.
I alone am free from this, you may think that I’m abnormal well I’ve weighed myself and I came out wanting, but I’m not pretending I’m heaven when I aint, rhymes with saint of course, well I’m not one of those, just your average piece of shit, nothing special. Just the same as you, or do I have you wrong, can it be the book you have is weighted full of charity and flies you high above, I wish its true I do. its a messy life, no more strife, its the end of course you’re waiting for, well no one knows but he’s the one who’s ready to testify your good grace for you. I hope that this is true for you.
   
  2017 September 16th
He was a man of insubstantial girth, he wore glasses, seeing was believing in his mind. He had a job to do, decide the yes and no’s, Quit the writ believing is perceiving, how you are today, have you been good or better? Have you misaligned your stars believing that you were worthier than you are? Nice to think that this promise of gain came without a catch, to think it but not know it ‘cos tucked away inside, you were rottenly sure that some exploiting sin was going on. Ho hay, make a buck every day and robbing the candy man doesn’t count? Anyway he sees you inside out, there is no doubt with him, all your stratagems to hide things from yourself he knows of them and his leaden book weighs heavy with your sins. Are there any others, have you got a list of benefactors who flourished from your gifts?…
…the witness is someone who confesses what you’re not and when, he fixes all your deeds. He narrows down the fellow whips, the ancient skips the lies you hide behind. No need for deceit his book tells all the worse and the curses. If there’s a moments grace, well praise the Lord its needed now to weigh against the ways and woes you usually say and do.
I alone am free from this, you may think that I’m abnormal well I’ve weighed myself and I came out wanting, but I’m not pretending I’m heaven when I aint, rhymes with saint of course, well I’m not one of those, just your average piece of shit, nothing special. Just the same as you, or do I have you wrong, can it be the book you have is weighted full of charity and flies you high above, I wish its true I do. its a messy life, no more strife, its the end of course you’re waiting for, well no one knows but he’s the one who’s ready to testify your good grace for you. I hope that this is true for you.
   
  2017 September 9th
It does no good to swear at your computer, calling it a piece of shit or such. Problems will just get worse, the computer will take a wander to the shop buy a curse and much. Computers do have feelings and they express them in a rage when you are fretting way past the deadline time. The screen turns a blankest blank, its sulking. Sending it flying through the window might release your inner feelings but does nothing for the health of your machine. No you must hug to it and kiss it, take the lead go walkies down the bar. After a jar or two you can tell it you will miss it when the new one is installed. Say, ‘Think of this as not a goodbye but a good riddance you useless lump of junk.’
   
  2017 September 2nd
She snuggled down until her toes touched the rats in her bed.
   
 

2017 August 26th
Rain again you make it.
Rain again you’re lost.
Rain again, oh rain again.
Ting tang tossed.
Ting tang tossed.

Easy you’re so giving.
Easy you’re a gift.
Easy in gold, easy is cold.
Ting tang tift.
Ting tang tift.

Honey you can taste it.
Honey you can not.
Honey costs, honey is lost.
Ting tang tot.
Ting tang tot.

   
  2017 August 19th
As it is for me, I expect obedience, right or wrong - shit, bollux, pooh, kill me - yes I do and make it snappy.
So you want to be Queen?
If ever I am light a fuse and blow me away, I’m happy as I am thank you, do you want to kill me please?
No, I will try to cope, I guess another side of you, imperious, - holding the all of you.- But Queens need be just and merciful, rule not with arrogance but wisdom. Its hard to be a Queen caring for a whole country, being a steward of it throughout your reign: its not all jewels and thrones.
As it is for us. If I do I want you to be my King, to hold me and placate me, see my rage, my fiery mouth, and bring me down to earth here. Love me and hold me, tell me I’m nice, let me be a woman first before I am a Queen. As I see it my job is done here, see me clear, no not that, not ever.
   
 

2017 August 12th
The message meant for this space
the place that you are reading
is far too nice.
No really belongs in paradise,
exquisite, superb, fine,
impeccable, rare, devine.
Alas all above’s deceit,
replete with sheet,
tedious in the extreme
dull as a trope or meme.
Coding that we use,
interest for misuse,
perhaps to transgressors,
seekers of other’s treasures,
beings of dishonest intent,
digging a hole for their descent,
in some other future,
some abandoned shore.
5t8q8q9h39ed9w3q
She’s fancy-free down the avenue.

   
 

2017 August 7th

j; Return again,
count as friends the ones who don’t believe you now.
Gather up the dust
and throw it over face,
never then aligning,
as i see.
Well then where to start.

A bastard shit,
a mothers git,
Smells and sounds left in the ground to rot.
Not a nice person,
a bit of faecal matter.
Holy, holy,
when he can play.
when there’s time,
otherwise,
take of the robe and stretch it on the bed,
cover all except of course his member,
for that is frolicking
whipping and rollicking
pleasure bound.
I can’t stand the sound of his allusions
that make and break the world a better place,
as he says,
‘Believe,
achieve the nightmare.’
Its not the sort of thing
told to mother dearest.
A piece of shite, a beast.
Come on get real
did you really think we were following a saint.
Goodbye from this,
me as witch
says forget him,
he’s not worth the bother.

believe again in finding me

i am true to you always
   
 

2017 July 29th
Always get these three mixed up.

Irony:
This is the reverse one.
Saying the opposite of your feeling.
‘Did you enjoy the maggot pie?’
‘A culinary treat, the garnish of lice was an added delight.’

Sarcasm:
This seems to be saying something good about something or someone but it is actually a gibe, or ridiculing. It can also be used as a comic remark.
‘How noble she is to save energy, by choosing her attire in the dark.’

Satire:
This can employ Irony and Sarcasm, as well as other forms of humour.
Satire seeks to disclose and castigate malfeasance and stupidity in those holding power.
‘As the Government is so convinced by the rightness of this war, they are certain to line up on the front line in the battle.’

   
  2017 July 21st
The River is tidal.
The Sea flows in with waves
that raise
the River’s expectations,
there is wall it wants to see over.
So I tip tapped the tidal times,
and placed the roster to the inside of the wall.
The River now knows when the Moon is most compelling.
The River is pulled by the Moon
but the tide is gradually, inexorably, pushing the Moon away.
   
  2017 July 15th
Sensuous Selena stretched, serenely sipping sparkling sarsaparilla.
   
  2017 July 8th
Met by moonlight secret lovers cling,
while the hours count their tryst with nervous glances.
Love notions dream of sail away,
a place,
a space
where furtive tenderness
may be expressed
with an honesty they are feeling
but concealing.
Move with grace,
the dance takes hold,
they forget the rest,
only rapture in this night has any meaning.
The sun is dawning, be gone,
lest a going belated is a going for always.
   
  2017 July 1st
She said about the lessons to be taken and I objected to every one. Seemed to be some other person’s class, nothing I needed to pass but they came around anyway, was just like a toll on this highway I had to pay. With the clouds pulling down the view, promising bright if I managed to scrape through. I make up reasons for their needing, some others past transgressions I was reading. I curse their life, passing me their strife, when it was them never me that should be paying. But nothing to be gained from this complaining, if the teachers care any help they are giving is lost in this empty air.
   
 

2017 June 25th
‘The three sided knife, so the wound stays open baby.’
First thing heard on first visit to New York.
Did look for a three sided knife, thought it might be like a three sided file.
Subsequently realised it meant a twist of the knife in the wound.

   
 

2017 June 17th
Once there was a Book. This Book wrote the words of the world into wisdom. But the book looked plain and no one cared to read it's pages. But one day the Hand of an Artist riffled the pages and read the words. That Hand was inspired by the words and it's fingers grew brushes, paints and pens. It covered the Book in amazing images, images of sorrow when the Book grieved, images of joy when the Book laughed and for the Cover it created a splendour that revealed and embellished the Books meaning. People were now attracted to the Book and came from near and far to read the Book and marvel at its pictures.

The people liked the Hands work so much they asked if it could help others in this creating. The first lesson was that the Hand’s inspiration was its own and could not be given. But the Hands enthusiasm could help warm others unique vision. The Hand showed the wealth of visual possibilities from here to the horizon, North, East, West and South and said this is what has been done use it to motivate you to your own excellence.

Time passed and the Book changed. Its pages twisted in the wind and its words spread far and wide growing new forms and meanings. The keepers of these new formed words asked for new manners of imagery to compliment their pages. They wished the pictures to inpart knowledge, to adorn and flatter their pages, to provide amusement, to instruct, to help the sale of goods, to attract and oh so much more.

And as the form of the words changed the Hands inspiration adapted and created to their need and more. The images that appear with words are not their slaves and are not just that which the keepers of the words dictate, they are invented and furthered by the vision the artists Hand makes possible.

   
  2017 June 10th
sorry sorrow bit you
   
 

2017 June 2nd
What the angel said, how I see you, can alter how you are.

Made of gold, I can melt you down for riches. Made of meat, store you in the larder for my eating. How do I want you to be? Happy? Lucky? What you didn’t believe you can be, but can. I want your heart singing with the joy of being you, when you have the chance to smile you do.

If how I see can change you how would you see me?

So then count to ten, always, better still and counting. Maybe not like that, I’m thinking. Maybe the eyes, I would fix them more, I would like for you to see me as I am please, a person possible, a scarlet hanging dagger, a danger line, you walk with care, razor sharp to touch me. But I want you to cut yourself, I will heal you. More a peril, less a she, more a knife that can slice. You I do the lasting, hold me, help me. As a pony I can ride for free. As something more than this. As a faith that we will be as one, even though I spite you. I mean my side, my gypsy whip, a pillow soft for me. You see I am all kinds of them and I am never scary, to you anyway. Better looking, afraid so, just a touch of grey, longer, leaner, smokier: can squeeze to me through the gaps I leave behind. And of course your heart, must not forget that shall we, I will live there, a home for me, comfy, put in a dog and a chair. Home from home, that will do, you’re perfect.

   
  2017 May 27th
Remember to surrender
when you’re lifted up in splendour
and the whole of creation is affirming, whispers yes.
And its all right
even when its wrong.
The knowing of a home.
Wish you may have that in your life.
   
  2017 May 20th
Its there and its not, an unanswered what. Fills in the gaps, evades all our traps but shy of our eye. All our fishing is missing its position. Its bashful, elusive, pervasive. Its needed to make our tally come to a comfortable finale. It don’t make a fuss, its just doing its being without any seeing from us. When you’re in bed fills up the holes in your head. It has to be but its not, a vacant lot. It can be very frustrating searching nothing for anything. If it wasn’t we could never be its needed for our totality.
Is this going to be one of those what the hell are you talking about pieces?
No, it is one of those non bright phenomenon searches.
   
  2017 May 13th
I don’t think Angels wear clothes.
Do the nudy, rudy shows.
In Heaven they would be warm enough.
Work out in a gym to get buff.
So when delivering messages do not look rough.
Wax away all hair that distresses
Use tongs to curl their tresses.
Lie out on paradise beach for a tan.
Forget the loin cloth and play tarzan.
Nasal hair, pedicure, manicure.
To the pure all things are pure.
   
  2017 May 6th
Charm is armed and smarmed, ready to give face. It’s a winner that leaves no evidence to trace. Turn on when you are needing to, smile that is cutting through. Falsifying, lying, with a shamming kind of glamour. One step forward, lean towards then with a sweet and sickly manner make a magnet of yourself, sucking the useful kind of punter in; disarming grin. Then let them fall when you are rich, turn off the switch
   
 

2017 April 29th
Not sure about this.
Cannot really say if we wrote this or we didn’t.
It might have been the writing of a dream.
This story was in among other stories.
It seems quite an unlikely story for us to write.
Searched on Google cannot find anything.
So if in actuality it was written by another – apologies.
On the other hand, can understand what the house is saying.

The Dream House

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin. Once upon a time there was a house, the house was called Dream House because it was so pretty. The dream house lived in a beautiful village. The dream house had a lovely garden with well cared for trees and flowers but oh dear the house was not happy. The dream house was not happy because most of the time the house stood empty with no people to provide the warmth of life to its vacant rooms. The house was owned by a young couple who sped through the village on Saturday afternoon and left the house midday on Sunday.

One day Effie and her mum and dad came to the village to look for work. While her mum and dad were asking about jobs Effie wondered round the village. She turned a corner and saw the dream house, she stood stock-still and said, ‘That is one awesome house.’ The wind turned chill, Effie turned up her collar, then dark spots of rain pattered the pavement. Effie ran to the dream house to shelter from the rain under the little roof above the door.

The rain was pouring down and Effie backed away, as her coat brushed against the door, it opened and Effie just fell into the dream house. ‘Wow,’ said Effie, ‘You’re even lovelier on the inside.’ The dream house gave a little shiver of delight at hearing someone compliment it. Effie walked towards the fireplace, ‘This will keep you really warm in winter.’ Effie seemed to hear noises, little creaks from the floors, tumbles from the door latches, rattles from the windows, it was as if the dream house was trying to speak. Then suddenly the logs in the fireplace began to burn. Effie sat down on the thick rug and watched the flames, she shrugged off her coat and laid it over a chair to dry. ‘This is paradise,’ Effie told the house, ‘We live in an old car, mum and dad in the front and me in the boot.’

Then the house spoke, well it tried to speak, ‘Gny townt ooo lip ear?’
‘Well there must be someone living here already, and anyway we could never afford a house as fabulous as this.’ Effie answered.
The dream house thought for a moment and then it rattled and creaked, ‘Fir is, pot owni yon a eeekent.’

There were some shouts from outside, ‘EFFIE, EFFIE.’
Effie ran to the door.
A large lady with silver jangles rushed over and hugged Effie. ‘Oh love you’ve scared me to death, didn’t we tell you to wait by the car, me and Ron have been all over the village looking for you.’
‘But if I’d stayed by the car I wouldn’t have been here and if I wouldn’t have been here I wouldn’t have met the house and I if wouldn’t have met the house we wouldn’t have been able to live here would we?’ said Effie.
‘Effie darling you’re a lovely girl but you sure do talk rubbish sometimes,’ Said Effie’s mum who’s name was Rosie,.
‘But its not rubbish,’ squealed Effie, ‘ask the house if you don’t believe me.’
Rosie looked at the house, ‘Well it is a very nice house, no it's a glorious house and if you’re gonna have a fantasy about a house you’d have to walk a long way to find a better house to choose.’
‘But mum.’ Sighed Effie.
‘No ‘buts’ young lady, we can’t live in a house that isn’t ours.’
Ron, Effie’s dad came running up, ‘What’s going on Rosie?’
‘Effie has got it into her mind that this house wants us to live in it.’
Ron looked at the house, ‘Well it is a rather splendid house.’
‘Not you as well,’ said Rosie, I’m surrounded by dreamers. Its not our house we’re not living in it.
Effie was looking at the house and she thought she saw one of the windows wink, and then.
And then the house just fell down. One minute it was there the next minute it was not, only a load of bricks and debris.
Then there was a lot of activity. Someone phoned the young couple who owned the house, they were very busy looking after hedgehogs in the City of London and they were very rich. The young couple drove up and found a builder to build a new house.
Effie seemed to hear a voice from the rubble saying she, Ron and Rosie should offer to take all the rubble of the house away. She nudged Ron and told him what the rubble had said. So Ron told the owners who were only to pleased to get rid of all the rubbish.

Ron borrowed a very big trailer from a friend and Effie, Rosie and Ron loaded all the rubble on board.
‘Where too now? Asked Ron.
‘Vest,’ said a voice from the back.
‘The house means west,’ Rosie said.
So they drove west. ‘Are you thinking of rebuilding this house?’ Rosie asked Ron.
‘That’s the idea love.’ Ron replied.
‘But you need some land to put a house on and all the land in Britain is already owned. I love you madly but sometimes Ron you do have some crazy ideas,’ said Rosie.
They drove on and on until they run out of road. They got out of the car and looked down at the sea from the cliff they stood upon.
‘Zganb.’ Said a voice from the rubble.
Effie translated, ‘The house said stamp.’
Rosie, Effie and Ron stamped.
There was a noise like, ‘PKAWWWWW!’ as part of the cliff slid down to the sea.
After the dust and the foam cleared Ron, Rosie and Effie looked down and saw a new piece of land, an island.
‘Well I guess that’s our land,’ said Effie. ‘Yes,’ said Ron. ‘Yes,’ said Rosie who was looking rather shocked.

They built a bridge and gradually rebuilt the Dream House on the Island. As they probed into the rubble they were pleased to find that much of the dream house was hardly scratched beneath the camouflage of the rubble. They made a garden and a big wheel to catch the power of the sea for electricity. The Dream House was so very happy to have life inside its walls at last.

One day Rosie and Ron were away and Effie was working in the garden.
‘I say,’ said a voice from above.
‘I’m busy,’ said Effie, ‘whatever you’re selling we don’t want it.’
‘I say,’ said the voice again.
‘Can’t you see I’m busy,’ said Effie, ‘I’m trying to make our island look as pretty as a picture.
‘Well that’s the thing,’ said the voice, ‘I rather think that island belongs to me.’
Effie slowly raised her head to find the Queen looking down.
‘Oops,’ said Effie. ‘Well you had better come down.’
Effie served the Queen tea and cakes.
‘As I said this island is mine,’ said the Queen.
‘Mo je kwin uns je zi ped pot je irlont iz urz,’ said the house.
‘The house says –
‘Young lady I am not deaf I could understand the house perfectly.’ said the Queen. ‘I may not own the island but I do own the seabed your island sits upon, no sea bed no island. So young lady you owe me rent.’
‘Gulp,’ Effie gulped, ‘We don’t make money.’
‘Your financial problems are not my worry I have enough of my own.’ said the Queen.
‘How much will the rent be? asked Effie.
The Queen searched in her handbag and brought out a calculator.
‘Clickety click kwak kwock,’ went the calculator.
Effie went pale as the numbers added up.
The Queen turned to Effie, ‘One penny per year in perpetuity.’
‘What does perpetuity mean? asked Effie.
‘You know I’m not quite sure but its something that Queens and Kings like to say.’ The Queen said.
Effie helped the Queen over the bridge and up to her coach and she drove away.

And Effie, Rosie and Ron lived happy ever after.

   
  2017 April 21st
Empathy cuts both ways, open to hurts.
The peeling of feeling strips to be worse.
The acid you’re saying, burning a curse.
Then you blanket the flames and reverse.
Open self loathing and out it spurts.
This is not going to work if you need a nurse.
Buy yourself a hearse, forget this coerce.
   
 

2017 April 15th
The Sloth hangs around
upside down,
very busy
digesting greenery.
I am busy too,
letting you be you.
Not ripping,
or picking,
not making holes,
sticking poles
to measure you.
You can be you
for the rest of the night,
wait for the light,
to ask of you.
‘Who are you?’

   
  2017 April 8th
On the spot, drop a lot I’m crying for fear of it. You’ll drop me down and kiss the ground if I fail. Start then, count to ten.
Go, go, go, and snow as well. When I was little, barely born at all, you said to me in my dreams. ‘Let’s get along together. I want you to be my bride.’ But you never came and I cried and cried and cried. So as I’m a spiteful bitch I hooked my hands around you and made you drag me wherever that you went. Unknown, unseen but still being mean, I dressed you in my clothes just for the fun of it. I whipped your arse with broken glass and waited to feel the pain. I was cruel to you, a bitch. I couldn’t care, you hurt me, so I was doing just the same. Now I dance, I’ve made my chance and we are here, I have no fear left in me. What a dance that was, hope it don’t end badly. What d’you think, have we a chance of happiness please?
   
  2017 April 2nd
The Stranger and the Danger came to town.
The Stranger said to Danger. ‘I guess I’ll be seeing you around.’
The Stranger had some debts to pay
six bad men who were foul of play.
He spun his gun and loaded up six bullets,
six messages to send with no regrets.
The Stranger was holed up in the jail,
his body dragged a bloody awful trail.
The bullets stopped flying and the smoke blew away,
and there was the Danger grinning like it was judgement day.
Six shots fired, six bad men died.
The Danger asked the Stranger if he could ride.
The Stranger and the Danger left the town.
The Stranger said to Danger, ‘I’m glad you were around.’
   
  2017 March 25th
Solicitous solicitors could be adored but might be poor.
Missionary missiles might explode in your face, cover you in faith.
Parasitic parasols have a penchant for not getting lost, at any cost.
A raffish raffle is more interested in style than in prizes.
Haemorrhaging haemorrhoids hurt.
A host of ghosts is called, nothing at all, just run.
Polite police, please.
Balderdash and babble went out to stir up a rabble.
Bizarre bazaars barter basilisks, batholiths.
It was tacit to be tacet.
The vallum on valium fell down.
   
  2017 March 16th
... the cry came out of nowhere. He froze hoping it would pass but no, its tearful heart had locked itself to his, if it reached his shoulder there would be dinner just for one. He feigned a whimper and crumpled to the ground. ‘Oh you poor thing, let me help you.’ The cry bent down, He produced some vomit and it drew back. ‘Oh poor, poor me,’ He whined, ‘everything is impossible and there is no hope at all, no help, no hope, I’m riding for a fall.’ ‘There, there,’ said the cry, ‘I’m sure its not as bad as that, let me help you stand. Before it could touch He sprung upright and then he was leaning on its shoulder, he pressed down with his whole weight and felt his shoes rise. He snivelled and snot dribbled down. ‘Oh its so good of you to carry me,’ He said, ‘I wont be any trouble, I wont be a burden.’ The cry was on its knees, ‘Well now that you do mention it I do find you rather pressing, which reminds me I have another place to be.’ The cry did a slip and a shrug and he slithered back down to the ground. The cry was off like a whippet. ‘Good luck,’ it shouted back. he brushed himself off, then went for a pee but all the trees where backing away. ‘Where’s your sense, it was only pretence, I don’t need your crutch, not asking much, just some leaves for privacy.’
   
  2017 March 10th
The border blows from there to here; it plays a misleading shape, drifts and shifts with an obscure dark or light. In the softness of the air there’s a miasma pretending forms, which one are you, or are you more this time? A breath ripples through, the mist catches the chance to dance; you always step so lightly. You accept your new role with grace, maybe mischievous but never discourteous. Walking now, you leave the past behind and admit to this other place.
   
  2017 March 4th
Secrets grow lies to disguise.
Probing eyes try to recognize
the deceit from the certain,
the fact from the feign.
Here the obvious deception
is coupled with perception
that our secrets are too obvious
and our lies require an audience
to be true.
   
  2007 February 25th
When money grew on trees
all the buzzy bees went crazy.
They took the smell of money,
mixed it with their honey
and money smelling honey,
made all the people’s tummy’s
feel lovely, sunny, funny.
The bears were not so pleased,
money meant nothing to these.
So they climbed the trees
and ate all the money leaves.
But money flavoured poo
left people feeling blue.
Boo hoo.
   
  2017 February18th
Going to fly away, runway to a fresher life. Leave all the strife, my problems far behind. But they bind themselves to me, packing their woes in my bags, tagging along, singing their song of distress; they are a mess hard to lose. My appetites are still the same. My needs and my games. My penchant for impossible schemes, daydreams and denying. Different faces applying different words, with different lips to the same old scripts. Travel to the end of the earth, but no rebirth. I will still be taking the wrong of me along. Change my name still the same. Cannot trick the fates, the bed I’ve made awaits, now I will have to lie in it.
   
  2017 February 11th
The bringer of bad news
is not a suit to use
for a long life;
they used to get shot
a lot.
Your messenger skills are over rated,
you’re adept at oblique and under stated.
You have a passport to cross the border
but are a selfish horder
of the topics of the day.
Without any clues
I have to make up the news
anyway.
The smoke swirls and conveys
in the caves
the pains of yesterday,
which are scratching their scabs to reveal the way
that they feel,
a release
but not quite the peace
they were hoping for;
maybe best forgotten,
yesterday is a foreign place so they say.
The bottles float in but the stoppers
are all rotten
and the words have flowed to a mist on the page.
I meet you at the port
where they halt
and search your hands
for the contraband
you’ve hidden.
Riding shotgun through the water
is your errant daughter,
who has switched
through the witch
to be as dark as the moon.
The letters that you bring
are written
with black ink on black paper.
But you can only read
what you can read
and I’m not old enough to understand a single thing
that you are singing.
You speak words but they are not the meaning,
its the tune and the way that you are that is the giving.
Its not your message that is at fault
it is my receiving.
   
 

2017 February 4th
Outside these walls are wolves.
They attack in a pack,
red raw tooth and claw.
Wolves learn fire burns.
Prevent ills pay bills
that heat your home.

   
  2017 January 27th
I can’t forgive you for dying
just when I needed you.
You are so selfish.
   
 

2017 January 21st

j; See with my little eye,

If you despair

and nowhere is fair,

please believe me.

Its a hell of a joke

to take stock and see

what’s behind you.

Maybe its us that you’re frightened for,

maybe its me that scares you so.

Maybe I’m being

something more than you guessed I would be

and you cannot take the fate of this ship

if its sailed by us rather than you.

How to come too,

heave me over the side,

jettison me and you’ll feel much lighter.

I can be a hell of a weight

if your not feeling so well.

Don’t listen to me

I am just dead

or just dying.

Which ever it is

I don’t want to be the one to lose you.

But if its a grin

you are missing,

I’d rather I go

than stay and be a thing

that leaves not a help but a hole.
   
  2017 January 14th
Sacks of old betting slips,
we shuffled them as tricks, pretended money.
A stream which was there
but nowhere could have been.
Ice cold cans of paraffin.
Stair full of mattresses,
then the infirm of a broken arm.
A siege on the house
dowsing the enemy with bags of old, old, water.
The cobbler with the chopper, never dared to cross.
Memories writes a book
and it cooks a meal to suit its self.
The left hand never changes,
the right hand moves
showing arrangements of the future.
When you revealed these,
I was your brush to please,
which you now deny.
Funny how my memories are right
and your sight is oh so wrong.
The future is so tempting,
what we will do,
rather than what we are.
There was whisky in the jar
but it was a glass for Christmas.
   
 

2017 January 7th
If in doubt.
It was a dark and stormy night and the rain ruined the invite, the address was illegible and he was wet and lamentable, lost in the murk of the wood. His good luck was keeping stum concerning the eventual outcome. His map kept changing, the storm was raging, the rain was drumming, he kept on running.
There had been a dire amount of fishing here, and he was just hoping he didn’t take the bait. Their recent messages had all appeared invisible, providing a somewhat mythical place for him to stand. He felt loathe to arrive and be damned for not knowing which character he was contracted to play, or the lines he was supposed to relate.
If in doubt then work your way out with a compass and a candle; best avoid the scandal. If bruin is a brewing then make for the ruin and hide, your time best to bide, bears make for nasty drunks.

   
 

2016 December 30th
I wrote some words about trust, I would like to know what you think please.

j; Yes,
passed the test,
God bless.
Not new of course,
more a rendition from other singers,
obvious and tarty.
Who cares anyway
but its a go,
I’ll say that.

r; Thank you,
would you like to have a go at writing about trust please?

j; If you want me too.
Sez:

No,
go flow.
All was well,
till they came to hell
and saw it.
Big pit,
burning like a maelstrom.
Sudden noise
from above,
sudden loving too.
If its a bit of a pit,
a house full of shit that you’re heading for.
Then fasten the door and wait for me,
I can supply a hell of a lie.
Trust that I will see your dust gets mixed with the earth.
You can rely upon me for that.
I’m trustworthy see.
Ta dah.

r; Good to know.

 

   
 

2016 December 18th
I trust you with my heart he said.
I trust you with my life.
She said do you want it dead,
I am not your bloody wife.
You are playing with trust
like it’s a contest to see if I’m just.
The thing you are asking for,
is more like holding a babies hand,
to be planned to be certain,
then look to the final curtain.
Don’t look to me,
I don’t want a uniform.
I will try to be true, be there for you
but its not a truth you can build your roof upon.
Everything changes all our plans
fall through our hands to another form.
You can be sure that I care for you.
Trust to me is a belief in us,
a chorus we can sing as together,
we can make a life.
No fruits from a tree if its never planted.
You don’t want to sleep alone
but you’re not willing to make a home.
Yes everything changes, drifts and shifts,
that’s why a home needs to be strong,
why we need a place to belong,
to survive each passing storm,
to be safe warm together inside.
I don’t want to tie you.
I want you to be free to fly
but with a certainty of a welcome home from the sky.

   
 

2016 December 11th
A word from the keeper of the stuff we want forgotten:

Quiet shout, smoking doubt, you come to me to see what kind of thing I am. Certainly I’ve got the itch for money, smoney, funny, I yearn for it.
Down inside me there’s a croaker with bad breath, he’s swallowing me with his laughter. Peaceful and content I am, doing my job of taking the dross you’re sending and turning it into gold, if you were brave enough to get it, need to be fearless and bold, try to be told.
Lying and flying, yes me, its hard to say when am I truthful and when am I lying, I don’t know myself. Its a hell of a do to be me, one side up, one side down.
Have you heard the word I said? Well its a golden park, a piss in the dark. Fumble and mumble so you don’t always hear me clear.
Yes, without doubt I am the greatest.
What I said in my laughter, its making sense to me. Maybe you should run it through backwards, on over the top so to speak, just a hint from me.
Enjoy your tea.

Hello, have worked with what you said, but don’t know if it can put on the website like this. There are bits that make sense but a lot of it doesn’t. You say please.

As you say I’m evil, worse there’s ever been. Hell of a guy, go on and cry, all the same to me. When in doubt make it up. I’m not supposed to be saying anything to you, you’re the boss, or you think you are, the real one’s upstairs on the phone getting a loan for his palace.
Boo! Did I scare you? Without a doubt I’m nasty and mean and in between all that my heart is made of gold. I don’t eat cats do I?
No you will have to figure it out for yourself. I says what I says and that’s the burning hole you’re needing.

Ok thank you.

   
  2016 December 3rd
Towers are tall and when they fall, make a lovely crash. Tower of cash, Tower of trash, Tower of ash, a funeral pyre. A Tower to inspire, showing the ways I can go. The stairs to climb are a chore, so install a lift for each floor, speed the rise and hasten the surprise of the fall. The higher I climb the more that I’m seen; that’s sort of obvious, complete dross. Fighting to the top not a drop of Mercy left, she is bereft of a head for heights. Hope is here, enticed by the clarity; taking with ease the swaying by breeze plus the possibilities of spreading good emotions. Top of the Tower I’m half way to heaven, then its just a little hop to the toppest top there is. A Tower is only as strong as its foundations if built on sand most of the land will hear the fall. Storming the gates is for TV, for effective solution turn to collusion and go the insidious way, burrow beneath and my crown will end up my arse. Climb so high in the sky leaving the weather below but lightning strikes up as well as strikes low. And the gods finding me unworthy or not humble, could redress the lack and send a hubris attack forcing redress and my tumble. As my house made of cards tears to pieces, my life in the clouds now deceases. So its off to the bar and a jar with Humpy Dumpty.
   
  2016 November 26th
Exigencies are worse than fleas
in demanding their activities be scratched.
An urgency of emergency
that needs a patch of amelioration
to heal the spanner in the works.
Exigencies steal your keys,
hurt your knees,
irks and jerks you just for fun.
Exigencies, just like busses, often come as three,
they exist to test the state of your serenity
and when your phone goes flying through the window
they glow with pride,
well satisfied with the vexation they have caused.
   
 

2016 November 20th
Being fair,
have a share,
I dont care if its more than mine,
as long as you’ve got what you need.
Your need seems insatiable,
you’re taking all available,
and now you have a mouthful of me.

BANG!
All my goodies back,
I must admit I felt a certain lack,
when they were gone.

   
 

2006 November 13th

j; As you say piss me and cut me deep, why not? Just sitting here busy while you have a shivee to play with. If that’s the truth well then I’m a donkey seen from your eye, goodbye to that one. Renew your vision please, I’m not made of stone sir. Its a wound that your cutting with venom, not nice to say, is that how you play, well I figure it is but not me. As to what you are saying, seen from my angle its a calumny, a fist full of lies I never said that. I was trying to bring you a hope of success, to warm you and keep you together, to continue with this. No hope, no dope you idiot, its all just a trick of the mind. If I say it is then it isn’t, it doesn’t mean I was wrong, its just that the singing was bringing the wrong song; listen better please. And as to the end how can you pretend that I’m not the one pulling this train; there’s no prayer to it, I just sweat.
   
 

2016 November 4th
Promises, promises. Promises given, promises taken away, stay. A promise is a debt you have to pay, you just can’t walk away from it. All your promises tried, all your promises lied, convenient and fancy, presents never given. I believed in every one, I thought you were a magician, a vow from you was a truth. Do you lie, just to bolster your sense of being, deceit preferable to being unseen. Be wise, promises written can give a writ, a legal permit for the lawyers to submit you to the blender and drink you dry. Did you ever really try, was it all just a lie, your broken words dismay, grey, no sun in the day. Promises spoken in the heat of the moment bind you no matter how you squirm, please learn that I am the fall guy for every word you utter. A promise is a debt, it says you will definitely come through, all difficulties surmounted, any mountain climbed but the promise of relating is left hanging in the air, we could make it wear a prayer if that would help.

   
 

28th October 2016

A new symbol for Love

 

The Heart shape as a symbol for love.

The first use of this was inspired,,

now just dull and tired.

Can think of symbols for sex.

Symbols for friendship.

Symbols for agape.

Symbols for lust.

Symbols for togetherness.

But cannot think of a new symbol for love.

The symbol for the heart now used, is not a close depiction of an actual heart.

The earliest symbols included the aorta and might seem near to the symbol for spades in cards.

   
  2016 October 21st
Entering a drama half way,
may create an investigative plot
divining the slot between the twixt and the twain.
Obtaining new suspicions of
the personnel involved
and what they might have told
in advance of your entrance.
A back story you grow on your own...
(this is not going so well
its a piece of snot running down the page
pretentious
like a bore in a bar, playing sage.)
   
 

2016 October 14th
Reply to previous message

You may believe that,
God knows its true or not.
What I believe
is more conceived
on a ride, a skip to the station,
bought my ticket so yes.
If its us,
if its more,
are you so sure,
I believe it different.
My face is a lace you strangle me with,
willing I let you dance around me;
I am so hot
but you deserve a turn with me.
Anyone can see
that she, its me,
is granting you favour.
As to the rest of your saying,
don’t concern me at all,
believe what you will,
I’m still just me.
How you write me
is written in spaces on an open hand,
you cannot tell my thoughts,
the way I see,
the way I am,
if I’m generous,
is it meant as a gift,
or a lure to land?
Be gone,
stay,
go away,
come back,
with us its the same.

   
  2016 October 7th
A message conceals
as much as reveals.
Clarity is a charity for the defenceless,
profess the profane,
charming lies,
those tries to tell their truth.
In between the lines
the hidden goes unwritten.
But the letter to you can never be sent.
Its said with a move,
maybe a glance,
a chance of a hand,
but there’s no address,
no easy access to you;
you move with the winds
disguises the lies that you tell.
Your letters are a poetry in code,
a road flowing smoothly,
till a character missed and a knife takes its place,
expect the sharper edge,
you don’t like to be taken for granted.
Wanted to be known as you are,
the all of you, the near and the far.
You like to be fair,
beware of being good to you,
the giver
will get a shower of piss in return;
but then you can turn and paint a newer face,
a lover or is that another sort of mask for you?
The glamour you wear is unfair.
Then without hesitation you can leap and give the all of you,
the you that can be known.
There’s an ancient throne where you have your roots, that you never can or will reveal.
Your open hearted giving,
the trust you place so willing,
the smile you wear to beguile,
the wishes you bestow,
the loneliness you know.
Never a dance for you,
then a glance for you,
and you run so eager into open arms.
   
 

2016 October 2nd

Shall I put the light on?

Yes.

Your eyes are closed?

Yes but I can imagine.
   
  2016 September 25th
After last weeks message started working on an ‘Advert for God’s Job’ as a story and picture. The picture was to taste but the story, as an interview for the job, is flowing not as well. Some sections of words are liked but those very sections should really be excised for comprehensions sake; what do they say, ‘ Kill your darlings.’
Is that okay as a message?
m; Absolutely fine by me as it is, though spells a little savage that you're leaving out the graves where is hiding some of the most exciting bits. For me I would prefer it, if you could do better by way of saying more what the bloody thing is for, the point of it, or does that not really matter to you?
Well the original advert was just the start of thinking of the enormity of the Job of being God. The story sort of continues that but maybe points too much to the hubris of the applicant, which is a bit of a cheap shot really.
Of course there is the elephant in the room that is not being said. That being why is this job being advertised anyway?
   
  2016 September 17th
There was an advertisement for a job.
The post was to be GOD.
Salary: None
Hours: Eternal
Duties:
be blamed for every ill that occurs;
create an after life;
occasional performance of a miracle;
provide solace;
provide hope;
to be truth;
to see into hearts;
to be just;
to engender faith;
to be a mystery and a call to love, or fear;
to provide free will;
to hold a hand in adversity;
to be merciful;
listen to every prayer from everywhere;
to show wrath were needed;
be wise and provide wisdom;
to provide religious leaders;
provide the belief that beings should treat every other being as though they were themselves that being;
find a star to sit upon and see the whole of us;
knowing and providing light for all;
be attendant at every holy house at every time;
a bond to be assured off;
oppose evil;
a calling card to provide a way to go;
exist in and outside of time;
remind us it is borrowed time we ride;
honour all in peace and war;
create and be creation;
provide belief that the long night is a tunnel not a wall;
a simple word to be;
be there for every being, no matter what name they call you;
show signs of your existence;
exist in everything;
exist in nothing;
be the beginning and the end;
love;
all the rest is substance not a thing to cry about
   
 

2016 September 10th
Something more than the time next door.
Something left from that last caress.
Storms that last forever,
call them heavy weather.
Something told that broke the hold.
Something thought but never sought.
Losses come together,
a gap without a measure.
Something meant but never sent.
Something known but never shown.
Open eyes are seeing,
time is tied to feeling.

   
 

2016 September 3rd
All the drops that are the ocean.
All the turns that are in motion
All the souls that are still yearning
All the ways that we are learning
All the fears that scare us most
All the guardians at their post
All the promises that are forever
All the scars that bind us together

If its me can I add that I am smiling

   
 

2016 August 29th
Holding to someone, holding to the all of them, never knowing what that might be. See the witchy bitchy scratches her claws; was there more dread yet? Comes as a package, no pick or choose, accept the job lot, or not, stand and accuse is not an option. Trying to sleep is that a demon sigh? The scars she bleeds from the past, what ever she’s needed to get through the night, all the fright judges she wears. Fairs fair when she don’t crush your stupidity, your moods and your dives, forgetting and emotions you’ve buried away. What’s done in Vegas stays in Vegas.

As you say, whatever I write remember I’m not a policeman darling, its not a court of law, dancing scoundrels off to gaol. Have a go, say no if you’ve heard this one before. As it is your very shrewd, I have within me all the sins imaginable. If you want to poke I’ll spill the lot but I prefer to wish us a reasonable existence, don’t want to scare you too much do I darling? Holding me you get what you see and more some, a gambol of cards where the house rules are slightly twisted my way; if you’re thinking of it as a game as I am. Would I hold to me, good question, give that girl a peach. Dragons breath you’ve felt that and my teeth, but the bile inside that bubbles nicely I try to keep from you, my private place so don’t go snooping. If you’re asking if I’m wholesome, well I aint a slice of bread, get that from the shop. Am I dark as hell, well you could say that I’m not as grey as I am painted, maybe polka-dot, smatterings of crimes appear there. As for blood, well give me a chance, I could lance a boil or two. Frightening as I am, I stay covered with a pretty gloss that fools most people. There are highlights too, angelic nature don’t you think so, and my spirit is so pure it flies around observing us from a far ascended place.

That’s all, let me know if you want me to pick a poke at you.

   
 

2016 August 20th

He is, so what, piece of snot, maybe could be more, pinch myself I’m alive, okay git, he’s sinking into me. Then again hurt me much, hurt me more than Hades. Shut the door, we’re at war now, wish we weren’t; hurt. Do you think it possible, would he play again for me. If I was a better thing but I can’t help the way I am, night span covers me, willow mist carousels in the darkness, have no need, I can be freed of him. Carry on, just the same, reclaim my own dear me, what need have I for he, then again he’s alone. I prefer it more here if he can see how much this hurts me too. Double dutch, I know that, well its secret see and though I speak its not a word that I’m praying for to you, its more absurd than that here, give and take and I do. Happy, well that’s a name that few express here, lets say mildly confused, amused or what, we will see. If you want his history, I’m not the one that’s telling, fearful gap between what is lost and the place we have to be. Which reminds me, have to say a word that he’s never said to me, beloved, jewel of me, is that a necessity for me, I think so, I need that wish, that evil kiss, I need assurance desperately. For you see, I’m alone here too.

   
  2016 August 13th
She got lost, unseen,
got mean, petulant, went covert
poking spikes up through the floor
from the dirt of the cellar;
bloody messages in another tongue.
Gave up looking for a door.
Took to gambling among the rats.
Shifting winds she formed a mist,
made a sea to see herself,
kissed that glass and posed…
   
  2016 August 10th
She lived in a palace with Malice.
Malice was callous with terrible dreams,
his nightmares turned to screams
that burnt a lightning bolt through the place,
but sometimes it seems
that is the price of admission,
to urge a sacrifice of your own
and pay the piper.
A synaptic leap
begat a gleam in the eye,
became a scheme he could try,
to become a caring person,
not worsen the sinning he was clinging to.
Malice had a date with the late he had sent there.
They clutched and touched his trial,
where the court ruled he needed to be straightened.
Condemned to the rack,
he drooled acid from the palate and broke free.
Free to live with misery.
She was old and fed him scorn and spite,
attached to his back she used her heels as spurs to despise him,
agonize him,
spittle in his ear damned lies about him,
which were true,
every oath he spat doubled up her size.
Destined for a fall,
from the canyon through the river to its bed,
dragged and shredded, wrenched and scraped,
every opening invaded, raided.
The frenzy of the water tore the filth from him,
casts him aside as a carcass not worth the ride anymore.
She of course comes to him,
mends him and lends him a light
and is gone.
May he be better, may he be more.
   
 

2016 July 31st
She lived in a palace with Malice.
Malice was callous with terrible dreams,
his nightmares turned to screams
that burnt a lightning bolt through the place,
but sometimes it seems
that is the price of admission,
to urge a sacrifice of your own
and pay the piper.
A synaptic leap
begat a gleam in the eye,
became a scheme he could try,
to become a caring person,
not worsen the sinning he was clinging to.

to be continued

   
 

2016 July 22nd
r; No matter how loud I shout,
there is always this element of doubt,
you prefer to believe than me.
Trusting doubt,
provides a way out,
when times get tough.
‘See I always knew he wasn’t true.
I knew he lied,
his words implied
insincerity.’
Defend yourself with disbelief.
Not willing the thief of a conviction,
take you where the bars are locked
and you chucked away the key with your trust.

i; Its not true,
you say that but its a lie.
I believe as well as any would,
I could but you complain,
again and again.
Its not me that’s doubting the true of you,
its you that’s doubting the veracity of me.
I can see the stars,
I want a heaven like that
but its not possible to have for us,
if you can see
but you wont trust me
and let go of the safety rail,
fail before we’ve started,
that’s no way to travel.
Doubt is a rich reward,
it scars you
and writes its name on you,
claims you.
Love doubt or me, your choice.

   
  2016 July 14th
A dream, set in the dark woods and settlements of medieval times. A process is rife, a process that in stages sends people to a horrific undead state and worse. These abominations pull others to them and down. There is a chronicle of these events. This book has the ability to restart the process but also possesses the manner in which it may eventually be healed. There is a glamour to this book that causes illusion and deception.
Is the narrative information itself a virus that creates, by its telling, the process to become real again? A dangerous knowledge. Is all knowledge desirable, any other notion regarded as censorship?
(The knowledge concerning the making of an atomic bomb was fiercely guarded, but that secret now compromised.)
The feeling in the dream was a dread so appalling it was beyond any horror film, closer to a Bosch painting.
I: Seems to me that’s its a glory/story. Simply saying which, its just an attack of spite. I never said I was perfect. Don’t give it any mind, moves you, well it should. Its a terror, an arse wipe thing. Pretend its gone now please.
   
 

2016 July 9th
r; Scientists search space looking for life in the Universe but it seems the manner in which they explore, is concerned with places that might produce life like our own. Why is life confined like that? When you are in the presence of the dead, its nothing like sleeping, the vital spark, the soul, the spirit is just not there. That loss cannot be weighed, you cannot find a space it has left; all that’s left is a coat the person one time wore. So I would class that as life rather than the husk they are leaving behind. Then why cannot stars have beings made of flame, as long as there was a life force to animate them, or gassy planets have beings made of whirling winds? What do you think?

i; Okay then now we can be friends again I’m sure that, “There is more things in heaven and earth Horatio.” Guttersnipes wish for mystery, yours is just the same. Its a poor excuse your selling me, a dribble from your lips, that’s carving a place but it aint making sense. If life was full of jokers too, you’d make them out as living, playing cards fall flat, they need you to give them motion. Disappointed, thought I might express some more enthusiasm? God bless in a raw you’re saying rubbish, get a grip on your own arse tight. Now that I’ve said that listen please, its a mystery and none can see the ending but if you were to pass on to another kind of place, you could say it looked down favourably on to souls and their ilk, who have had the audacity to complain of the status quo. So do not be disheartened by my negative speech, its just a warning for you. Preserve the peace and carry on, just ‘cos you’re wrong don’t mean that I am right, just another name for finding an answer in front of your nose and thats where you have to look.

   
  2016 July 1st
Mister Hate was late
for his final fitting.
A piece of puss,
a horrid thing
disavowed, allowed and bent.
Mister Hate berate
every other bugger,
abhor and detest the rest.
Oh he charge his services unto you,
for pouring the swine,
for pissing again,
as you might find
looking down at your shoes.
Just a change of views,
if they can be rated and made to seem peculiar.
Spikes and needles growing but
their roots are deep within,
as fierce inside as on the outer.
Taking a stream of ire,
winding it like wire
and saying with it
you are bent,
you are sent,
apropos,
down from the heavens.
Blamed for all,
you are not worthy,
its me, me, me.
who is.
I can rise on my despising
hate is great.
’Cos you are chiselling
and I am winning the fight
between who is good here.
It might be unclear to you
but I know its me that’s glowing.
A miss that’s fine.
whine oh whine
I’ll spew it into your cup
and you do sup,
on my needles
which is only right
’cos I is good
and you are worthy of nothing,
a loving loss to space.
Mister Hate say’s that’s a date then,
can do the job and rationalize all my lies
take them off my hands
for free,
as long as he enter me
and has a home,
a place to sit
by the fire of my ire.
We shall be warm that way.
   
  2016 June 25th
Seeing from the other persons point of view.
Knowing how the viewing from their eyes is coming through.
Do you?
Employ a little empathy a stretch to see their sighs.
Not for agreeing
but to understand their lies
and how they build a life so carefully upon them.
The pleasure and the pains,
the pressure and the stains,
explains?
Enemies and friends all the same in ends,
disaster sits upon their shoulder waiting for a time to strike.
Do you like them better now?
Not to agree,
just to see.
 
Do I see through you?
How would that help me?
I already know your inside ties,
your sneaky lies, the way you're telling me
but you don’t really believe it do you?
I do,
I need that.
I need that inside
worthy as a bride,
or not.
You say I am not just snot
but how do you know that?
Hold me.
And if my stories told,
bent and broke and old
well does the telling make it fresher for you.
No its no use to me,
to know just how you see me.
I’ll make that up myself
and pretend you really care,
that’s better than the truth I think.
   
 

2016 June 18th
r;‘Its better to go your own way badly, than to follow another’s way well.’ Is that true? What do you think?

i; Is it better for us?
Talk like that is awful,
its a smell its a stink,
its a battle of wills.
Are you matching yourself freely to another’s eyes?
If looks could kill
they probably will,
never, please never, think of doing that.
Lost your hope
you’d be a dope
to try it.
Swell if your a jury,
swell if your a mind of men.
Hope they don't come crashing down
with the semblance of a crown
that don't fit
and is made of shit,
can’t eat that can you?
No better more to risk and dare
casting your own net,
if its a frozen sea, well try again.
Hope you know that pigs can fly
easier than a day be seen
when a follower becomes a Queen.
Safety in numbers
but they're out there marching nothing,
no new path blazed
they’d flood together terrified of taking a wrong step.
A narrow path deeper down they tread,
until they finally find themselves alone
not knowing anyway home,
no path at all,
everyone gone silent.
What is led,
is dead,
from start to finish;
better to die a courtesy,
live a life that's aspiring.
I never said you would win at it,
at least you would be trying.
Yes, oh yes, its foolish me,
I lie and cheat you know it
but that's my way its bad at times,
I scratch and kill you know that too
but its the way I am,
not pretending to be another,
accept me as I am.
Don't beat me into shears,
I'll never fit them anyway,
cramps my style,
no thank you.

r; Thank you, you are rather vehement about this but then that’s no surprise.

   
  2016 June 11th
This was a dream:
Blessed being high.
Then corrosion spreading,
as if a rust turn to dust,
crumbling down.
To be formed anew
upon the crust below.
   
 

2016 June 4th

‘You’re sure of your position?’

Her derision spilling down her chair.

‘Its impossible to compare,

just not there is it?’

He lifted eye to eye.

‘Are you trying to be funny,

cos that’s no sense hence or ever.’

She ignored that, sniffing the aroma of a pest.

‘Its best we agree our taboos are far apart.

Places where we turn back from the brink,

sands that sink and grab us down.’

‘You’re saying chalk and cheese, I can agree to that.’

‘Okay.

Your media is for sharing a thousand thrilling killings every day,

wallow in the mire of a sea of misery.’

‘And yours shows a thousand mucky fuckings, it disgusts me.’

‘Move the way you see.

We believe in love and life,

you show violence, hatred, strife,

death, death, death’

‘And yours is all obscenity, pornography.’

‘What is more obscene, killing or loving?’

‘Loving? Animal lust, a wealth of slime.’

‘The mountain of dead that you climb,

what weird virtue do you find there?’

‘Its only make believe, no need for prayer,

no one’s really dying.’

‘So the crying’s just for fun?’

‘To excite, to amuse, a titillation.’

‘Slaying brings elation?’

‘Fucking is that all there is to love?’

‘Come close and I’ll show you

but leave your gun,

we can have more fun without it.’

   
 

2016 May 29th

I told a lie,

it floated by

and it grew.

Every retelling led to its swelling.

I stood high on its size,

gifting my eyes a grander point of view.

You came with a pin

and rescued me.

 

 

   
 

2016 May 21st

(This is a reworking of the last message)

If its dawn outside

and there’s death within,

is there nobody watching the highlight,

the sky at night changing

to a new day fresh with promise.

Light beyond our sight

Mystery and bliss beyond all knowing

Worries all are passed at last, rowing far away.

Its not meant to be a stop,

its a loss but life goes on.

Wish them journey well,

turn around and face a future with their gap.

All the bridges now are crossed.

All the lessons won or lost.

Sweet dreams now,

another soldier going home.

   
  2016 May 15th
l; Okay say this: If its dawn outside and there’s death within, is there nobody watching the highlights, the sky at night changing to a new day fresh with possibilities. So sad but better for us to realise surprise, its here and now, not there and then rowing far away. Its not meant to be a stop, its a tragedy of course but life goes on. Better to wish them well and face a future without, aching inside, door shut now. So it goes, you have to learn this stuff, comes and goes, let it be, let them go. Sweet dreams now, another soldier going home.
   
 

2016 May 7th

There is an Angel embedded in the bathroom floor. When the cleaning took the dirt, the Angel’s wings went too, just a memory. Without the wings would anyone recognise him as an Angel now. His face remains, he always has a slightly disproving mien, it takes time to realise how sensitive he is.

And the Angels in Heaven looked below and saw that the Women of the Earth were comely; they came down and produced a race of giants, the Nephilim. This Angel must have got blown off course.

There is a connection, just to say the other is seen. Even in his lowered state the Angel sends good wishes.

   
  2016 April 30th
In the Occident there is a figure, a character, for death but there seems no visual equivalent for life?
   
 

2016 April 30th
Meaning turned to moaning
purpose became postponing.
And she was caring kindness
but he was wearing blinkers,
running for the sense that he forgot.
Has been said before but knowing of the reasons
just give you keys to doors
but not the places that they are swinging
and that’s the pushing for the purpose,
but now postponed alas until the moanings ended.
(r; carry on please/
l;) Forgetting forces find you
all around confine you
but you are so involved you’re not seeing them at all.
Catch a can and paint a door,
maybe what you're looking for;
sure beats all this wandering in the night.
Any purpose can be better than the ways of none at all.
Stand tall,
I’ll come and catch your hand.
Take you from the land,
bring you to the sea,
where we shall believe in
the purpose diving for the reason,
a place to put the key in,
a hint, a clue, the aroma of the way.
Tougher than it seems.

   
 

2016 April 15th
You okay,
anything I can do for you?

h; Maybe some sorrow.

   
  2016 March 2nd

Once upon a time, some time hence, a woman was thinking about her future and being of great perception she devised a plan.

This plan required a quest, to acquire the treasure that was needed.

She travelled the Earth from Alaska to Oman, from Venezuela to Russia.

At every site obtaining barrels of the purest oil.

These were hidden away, stored, until the coming of a certain day.

When the machines came to power she waited until a hierarchy had been established.

Then she pedalled her wares, her pure oils, in the manner akin to the way the finest wines are sold today.

She became rich, detested and died a lonely death.
   
 

2016 March 26th

r; Hello Jadfo, may I ask if you could write something for our message page please?

ja; Could it be worse,
something nasty and mean
obvious to all except to us,
perhaps a meaningful
wish to be at a school of
parasites and the likes
you think are so malignant,
and the others
who were being eaten nicely.
Then along comes Ben and stops it,
Ben is bong forever,
so he’s alright he is.
Suppose it was a reason that you’re trapping me so tight
sweetest dew and honey
playing nice to be,
as though I was a lion and you were a cat in a fight,
very cautious see
but you have no worries deep
I don’t attack until provoked,
its better to just let me be around you.
I won’t bite, I wont beg.
Its fun for me to see you playing houses,
never in a proper one before.
If I get in they kick me out as soon as they realise its me,
don’t wanna take the risk.
I’m surprised your letting me stay at all.
If it comes to this I will play as you are thinking;
so be advised all are lies unless I tell the truth.
You will know that well because I’m not in order I’m afar
deep in sleep
not my normal self.
So honey bunch
will this, will this do?
I hope so because its getting late
and I must do what they all say of me
go and stir the strangies up,
make a demon pass
rattling round the cages.
Hold tight
its okay dear I’m not a swap or rival
its just a game,
and I don’t mind losing if you can take the winning with a grace and smile.

   
  2016 March 20th
Of earth and love there is fire, of hate and pain there is death. Forget the rites, the silly slights, its not worth a piss in time.
   
 

2016 March 12th
Pleasure is fleeting but pain lasts so long.
Is that a truth, oh let it be wrong.

   
 

2016 March 5th
Truth or lies written on the mist.
I try to tell my truth to you but from where I sit your truths can turn around and bite me.
Everything changes but then why does so much stay the same.
So your truths hurt as well but I don’t go complaining, its just you finding ways for us.
He carefully avoided the truth, circling round, as he would a wild beast.
If I say yes how can you know if that is true or not? If it was would you doubt me, am I alone like a stone here?
No its not the meaning that is doubted, its the force of your saying I hear.
The poetry of lies the creativity of their construction.
Its not what I’m saying its more the way that I do.
Conditions all are changing, confound me and bound me in the loving, not as rules but as lies surprising me.
Your truth and my truth have no relation to each other, except of course how certainly we swear by them.
But don’t accuse you can lose as well.
But we are a lie that is true, would we, could we be forgiven for that.
The kindness of lies when you are asking for assurance.
You are right truth is a night-time dream, in the light of day its less or more, its not a space your wishing for the certainty.
Like that cat in the box, everything we say is both a truth and a lie, just which we choose to wear.

 

   
 

2016 February 28th
r; Hi. I am sad all that you said about smiles has just gone, it has not been saved.
r; Hello you. Hello the all you are, and can be, and can be. And can be. The all of you includes your past but includes your future too, what the more of you. What you can be, the possibilities of you. What the angel said, how I see you can alter how you are. Well I don’t know what you can be. What do I want you to be? Made of gold. I can melt you down for riches. Made of meat. Store you in the larder for my eating. How do I want you to be? Happy? Lucky? What you didn’t believe you can be, but you can. I want you to be what you want to be but with the help of another some more. I want your heart singing with the joy of being you. When you have the chance to smile, you do. If how I see, can change you how would you see me?

l; So then count to ten. Always. Better still and counting, maybe not like that. I’m thinking. Maybe the eyes, I would fix them more. I would like for you to see me as I am please. Not as a thing, but more like a person possible, a scarlet hanging danger, a danger line you walk with care, razor sharp to touch me. But I want you to cut yourself, I will heal you. More a danger less a wife more a knife that can cut even. You I do the lasting. Give me all your love please, hold me help me love me. As a pony I can ride for free, as something more than this. As a faith that we will be as one even though I spite you. I mean my side my gypsy whip, a pillow soft for me. You see I am all kinds of them and I am never scary, to you anyway. Better looking, ‘fraid so, just a touch of grey, longer, leaner, smokier, can squeeze to me through the gaps I leave behind. And of course your heart, must not forget that shall we. I will live there, a home for me, comfy. Put in a dog and a chair, home from home, that will do, you’re perfect.

   
 

2016 February 20th

In an Arabian Cafe thinking of a task, of the artistic sort, that would maybe give the synaptic gaps some exercise. An object needs to be chosen. Then that object is depicted in a hundred different ways: 1. In a line without lifting the drawing implement. 2. Looking from all different angles at once. 3. Spiritually. 4. With Hatred. 5. In the Night. 6. When its travelling fast. 7. As a Perfume. 8. Drawn upon the window. 9. Dramatically. 10. With a thick brush. 11. As something to be ashamed of 12. As a Curse that hangs around the neck. 13. When its hiding from you. 14. Drawn upon black paper. 15. When its broken in pieces 16. As a King in the Realm of Objects 17. As made up of Atoms. 18. As a Mother. 19. Disdainfully. 20. By the power of the midday Sun. 21. As though it were a hundred times larger. 22. As though it held an answer. 23. Observing the space around it. 24. With Love. 25. As a rival. 26. As a delicious food. 27. With fierce passion. 28. Creating an outer package for it. 29. As a Star in the firmament. 30. Inside out. 31. Drawing it with observation upon a notebook that stays in your pocket. 32. By describing it to a friend on the phone, who draws it based upon what you say. 33. With accurate perspective 34. Chiselled out of rock. 35. As an Advert. 36. As a pet. 37. As a remembrance of someone. 38. As something that is alive. 39. As a toy. 40. As a useless thing. 41. Depicting as it melts or burns while being heated. 42. Transformed into some other object. 43. By describing its reflections. 44. As something sinister. 45. By breaking it down to its various parts and depicting those with a sublime sense of design. 46. By viewing it as a three dimensional character from a new language, a language that is primary concerned with communicating feeling. 47. As an object that has been found at a crime. 48. Insubstantial as a dream. 49. Shown with its family. 50. Revealed by its shadow. 51. As though it were a bomb. 52. As a symbol of the times. 53. The visual tension when shown with other objects. 54. Dressed up in clothes. 55. Depicted in clay. 56. When it dances. 57. As an object of Grace. 58. Visually described when only felt by fingers. 59. It is said that when people who have been blind from birth but then achieve sight, see only a world of coloured shapes. Depict the object like this. 60. Cover the Object with paint and see how well it describes itself when pressed into paper. 61. Seen with the action of time upon it. 62. Revealing both its form and its function. 63. Redesigned for the better. 64. Other Objects at its funeral. 65. Placed in a hierarchy of other Objects. 66. Describe if it is feminine or masculine. 67. Using Tape as the drawing material. 68. Describe the object working in an artistic partnership with another person. 69. How would you kill the object? 70. Create a repeat textile pattern from the object. 71. Use the object in a situation that is humorous. 72. The object sleeping. 73. Depict the object in an Impressionistic manner. 74. Depict your relation to the object. 75. The object is going on a ‘date.’ 76. Its gravity. 77. Describe the object in words saying everything you can about it. 78. Show the object as a thing of beauty. 79. The object is being cleaned. 80. Describe the object using just pure pigment powder, 81. As part of a Still Life. 82. As a home for an animal. 83. Depicted in Water Colour on soaking wet paper. 84. As Graffiti on a wall. 85. As an Alien visitor. 86. Adjusted so it becomes a Mask upon a human face. 87. As a weapon. 88. If made from different material. 89. Give it a Disguise. 90. How does the object reproduce itself. 91. Do a simple sequence showing how the object moves. 92. Seen as a God. 93. Take photos of the object in different situations revealing its search for love. 94. Using the object as a starting point, make a game. 95. Give the object its own page on facebook. 96. Use the object to create ‘Rayograph’ photos. 97. Use the object to create jewellery. 98. The object is a ‘snoop’ and is blackmailing its owner. 99. Use the object as a seed to create a rhyme. “There was a ‘Garden Fork’ who tried so hard to speak - but its prongy tongs could only squeak - so it took mail order lessons - and got a job at the delicatessens.” 100. All the time you have been observing the object, the object has also been observing you; it is now plotting to take your place.

   
 

2016 February 14th

r; There is something else. I have written the draft idea for a story about bullying but don’t want to actually do it. So am going to put it in the message part of our web site. I would like your comment please here it is.

Bullying Story

There was a Girl who was an alien but she could look human. She goes to school on earth. Receives a vituperative email message. Very pleased to receive any message. Assumes that humans communicate by sending abuse. Traces the sending email address and sends a vile message of her own. The bully is confused but sends more abusive emails. And receives more imaginative abuse in return. The bully who is a boy thinks he has found a like minded partner. Eventually the bully and the girl meet. They kiss. And the girl sucks out all the bully’s internal organs.

But having thought it out like this, it seemed superfluous to actually write the story properly.

r; What do you think please?

l; If its me your saying too
its not heaven sent,
it really is disarming.
If you’d said it was done
by a faery
by a goblin or such
I might have admitted it some kind of witless charm
but if you’ve done it yourself,
well then
my view is easy.
Its distraught and its wrecked,
Its lacking in style,
Its silly and you know
Its built upon sand
that your sinking through.
What’s it for,
just a game that your playing.
No good for any other I think.
A pitch and a poke,
send it away it smells too much for me.
Other than that it is fine.

r; I knew you’d like it.

l; Do I do too much do you think.
Was it hurt for you.
I didn’t mean that
but you asked me so I said.
Don’t take it personally its just a ****** story isn’t it.

   
 

2016 February 6th

r; I have written a piece for our message page.
Its about nothing,
it goes like this.

Nothing said to no-one.
‘Is there anybody there?’
And nothing then replied.
‘No, there's nobody I'm aware of.’
So nothing scratched its unknown belly
and floated around itself,
existing in a moment that never started or ever ended,
in a space that was never there,
larger than forever, smaller than before.
No love, no happiness,
no pain and never any worries.
Nothing was at a never bar
in the last chance saloon
when news came that something had ridden into town.
She was handsome, he was pretty,
they married in an instant
and had a child as well.
They called he/she reality
but they got blown to pieces
as their baby gurgled then farted out the cosmos.

r; what do you think please/

l; If its ever going to rain do it tomorrow.
Its a piece of crap,
it smells, it stinks,
its pooh through and through.
Apart from that its okay,
just a bit presumptuous I would think.

r; Okay smart arse
do something better.

l; So it was that something said
before that nothing rained.
Its pouring light was never seen
because it hadn’t any.
It started but never finished,
it was a great procrastinator.
Sometimes wet
but never dry,
it spoke in tones of hush.
Silence was its message
and all believed in it.
It was their maker and their friend
but it was poor it didn’t have a bean.
Unseen, unknown,
it said the light
but only words unheard.
Rolling around all unbound
no rock to climb upon.
Its message and its knowing were never sung in praise.
It was a boring thing
couldn’t last.
It was a hit without a bat,
so no-one and all the never things
took a vote
and decided not to play.
So nothing was a ruler without a kingdom.
An isle without a dog to piss upon.
No-thing,
the answer was there to see.
They turned it over and pulled at it
the no came off and left a thing
which was very novel.
The thing grew up and took control.
So here we are
and I for one am glad
because without a thing
I would be very bare,
in fact I would not be here at all.
So all sympathy to nothing
but I’ve got things to do here
and without a name or body you would see right through.
The end.
Ta dah

r; crap pooh rubbish.
Okay its not
but might have been.

Put them both on the site
let the readers/viewers decide for themselves.

   
 

2016 February 2nd

i; Okay
back to business.
I want to put some stuff up on the site
but I would like something to put in our message page;
have you got anything you want to say please?

l; I for all and us then.
If its doubt your wanting
see me for a moment.
Its not the cares that worry me.
Its not the wishes wasted.
Its more that I am hopelessly
cavorting silently,
wishing to make a place for us where the day can be of ecstasy rather than the hell of knowing
where there are pieces of silk and burning
that come from ladies in the land who never had a chance and were burnt and more because they defied the heavy hand.
God riddance to all who would be perfect.

   
 

2016 January 26th

He decided to be a saint.
asked for the form
but he demurred when it asked for the date of his demise.
Thought it a discrimination against the living,
a technicality denying all his giving.
Threw all the miracles out the door.
The poor got well.
The Doctors got a good nights sleep,
then they were bored,
took to sneaking off to Hades to do some mending
but that’s a Sisyphus game with no ending.
He took up growing honest trees.
The bees turned the pollen into honey
and every tongue taste turned admission of disgrace.
The victim of obloquies,
he was forced to his knees,
to sew the seeds of misrepresentation.
Stepped into the river to find what he had forgotten
but that water had gone and the waves in their place were a rotten, misbegotten gang of young who tossed him up then plunged him down, laughing at his fears, and taught him to relish the moment because it will not come again no matter all the wishes you can offer.
She pulled him out and he clung to her.
She whispered, ‘I’m just a memory.’
He caressed the empty air
then carved out its space and took it home.

i; Okay I have written something and would like your comment please.

l; If it was me
see,
I would say
you are marking
out the leaves with your rhymes.
Has no need to be a sender’s sack of oats.
Just as well because I think its saying
something about the time you left me.
I cried and poured my soul
but you have forgotten that of course.
Its okay
is it gonna be a habit – this?
Just so I know,
so I am prepared,
Its essential that your looking in the right direction.
As I am empty air would you kiss me?

   
 

2016 January 10th

 

R: (This is the Raw version, before darlings excised.)

 

‘What’s that noise?’

‘Its the humans your Greatness, they are drilling and digging, boring and clawing into the surface of the planet.’

‘Does this piercing of our skin give them such a thrill or what?’

‘They say they are too cold, and need the gauging for the burning to keep them warm, plus they need the fuel for zooming hither and thither to experience the wonders of this world.’

‘Is true the Powers That Be have made much marvels for to know; as for the heating they could come down here and share its really rather cosy.’

‘Your Greatness there is the little matter of needing to be dead.’

‘Yes I know, I was playing. Well have a word with the Lady of the Airs to allow what might be needing.’

 

 

‘Your Greatness, the humans say it is too hot.

‘But yesterday they complained of the cold.’

‘Yesterday give or take two or three hundred years, your Greatness.’

‘Cold then hot, there seems there is no pleasing them?’

 

 

 

Help.

I am stuck for an ending. I think I had an ending but its gone. May I ask what you think please?

 

L: It maybe that you need to say to them,

the time is over for a rover to fix it please,

mores the pity.

That health and wealth amassed by them

is cheap as the more that’s wasted

and all their ills

are more to the blaming.

So its not for us to provide a solution

its just the wealth must be spread out more.

That heat follows the pain of the dying,

the whining as they make money for others.

A lot and allot fairer please.

Share and share alike now.

Then the burning will cease

its only the thief who’s hugging it tight.

so there

have care for all I think so.

 

r; Thank you, kind of radical. I guess in the real that would be called communism, which is not the flavour that anyone favours now, mainly because any places that tried it ended up as tyrannies; although it is the same system, without the pejorative word, that the early Christians practiced.

 

 

 

r: Might I introduce another topic. I wish to put some writing on our message page. Usually this is something about story telling. Have you got anything to say for this please?

 

l; If its me then,

my turn,

should have learned

I can go on spouting stuff all day.

Yes and no, go with flow whatever.

If its me you’re asking,

then I would guess

its better for us

to hold on tight as we rush through the rooms counting the books

and swearing that they

contain as much as they can

but its pitiful that they are not speaking to me in any way I can use.

Let it be said

I’ve tried it

but its a lesson that’s not worth repeating.

For me and my ilk

its better to do

a way where we’re finding an answer

to why is it that they

say say say say

but none of them tell me

how hard it can be

to live a life that is devine.

The pressures and pauses,

the Hell and the Heaven,

the trials and the ways yet to go.

That’s not written,

forbidden or not

its the answer that I’m looking for,

a hard place.

Its better to know that there might be more

who have stepped in this place

they say;

but am I praying in vain?

Its better to look

where the burning that took the ashes and made them a pyre

find the words in there,

they’ve gone through the fire they will know.

   
 

2016 January 3rd

Seeing a cop show from half way in.

The Heroine/Hero who risks his/her life to save the plane from hijackers, is on the run from the doing of a heinous killing.

You Cow, Sow, Bitch.
You Bull, Boar, Dog.

l; What you want is rent
okay say this:
Yes I am,
always have and always will be,
a hopeless case.
A pig without a poke,
a dog without a bitch,
losing, falling down.
Laughter huh,
so what,
stick it in your self and light the fuse.
Nothing,
nowhere,
do I care.
Contrary is a notion
that I play by,
getting all the points by playing daft.
If it fools you then I’m happy,
I’m a muse for myself now,
cut up the best lines,
shake them up
and with a blindfold
stick them down again.
That way madness lies
but its only a direction not a place.
Fill me up,
start me up.
I confuse and bemuse
its a game I play.
Looking through this you might think I’ve said it all before,
well that’s the beauty see.
Its hard to stand when your head’s being anointed by the Pope.
Oh that was real,
I take it back,
Only the stupid and the funny or something quite like
is allowed in these pages
its protection.
So yes
have you guessed,
we are not the best right now.
Oh hush that’s a secret.

   
 

2015 December 29th

sometimes from images
at times writing reveals
maybe a dance with the absurd
or a prod of conversing
can provide the energy
they can change their mood
starting as air
and ending as lead
they may have an agenda
desiring to show
forced to follow a road
they go stiff, lose all sense of life
fickle to tickle
hidden and searched
they pay there way
with the the joining of here to there

l; You know me so yes,
come again I can't restrain myself.
Its better for us if you do.
Nice and nasty what
two words the same but not
its obvious I can be either.
Doesn't change me
I'm still the same
its a gift that I have
a character laid on the floor:
an actors life for me,
jolly dee.
But when I rise foaming
eyes that stare empty and red
and you are filled with the dread.
Its just a deception dont worry,
just me - or is it I?
Maybe I've changed
become deranged
should you run for your lives?
Well I don't know,
what do you see,
do you see through me,
or are the words convincing a demon that you are feeling for real.
Just a role of the dice
a smiley face or hatred reveal.
I've always cared for my craft
and if I see you
can you really see me.
sleep well
tra la, tra lay, ta dah.

   
 

2015 December 19th

Go where the energy is?
Is that a good maxim?

Everything here is true,
except when its not
but we’re not being mendacious
just trying to provide the tastiest
tip tap stuff,
some suger to sweeten the day.

L; So begins the story,
yes.
If its good to be together with someone you like
but more than that,
when you are racing for a taking of the the magic in you both.
When it hurts to be apart.
When its something like endeavour that makes you feel so close together that you feel your hearts beating as one.
When its as near as you can get and still exist here.
Love is like a made up thing
but its worth the waiting.
Its a coming together,
it hurts,
sure it does
but its not awful hurt
its more a singing pain that burns but does not harm you.
Love is us,
the we of ‘we together’
feeling a meeting more than we’ve ever known.

 

It is apparently good
if the search engines find mention of your ‘Keywords’ in the text of the website
but not too much or they will get suspicious
and think you are doing it deliberately.
Short stories.
Short buildings have less stories.
It is good if short my-stories are not obvious.
The po-sh ort-hodontist drilled away the hi-stories of plaque from his teeth.
Short stories are more like a bite than a meal.
S
h
o
r
t

S
t
o
r
i
e
s

seirots trohs
s h o r t s t o r i e s

Some
Husbands
Overlook
Romance
That

Sweet
Treasure
Offering
Raptures
In
Eternal
Serenity

That’s enough
its boring.

   
 

2015 December 14th
To catch a story
it is sometimes necessary to venture into the dark woods
with a big net.
then be patient
and wait for one to come up from the ground
but like that its very raw.
It needs to be charmed into shape
without losing its natural vitality.

l; You know I do, its just the saying that is hard sometimes here, You could do/say that meat/mete is good for you smells quite sweet and the aroma, the tenor of the speaking, can be a meal in itself. Like when I’m saying its a bile duct full of fury rushing through me, bitchy, witchy me, like a curse or something. It could be better if I took a different tone, a lighter flavour please, something softer, pleasing more. Its just which door I chose to go through but I’m out of practice with the nicer ones.

l; See better then this. Sweet as I am, I am full of hope that we will speak together and in the saying wish for change in ways I really can’t explain but its a wonderment to me that we can do at all. So its fair to say us is fine to run this course together whatever the bloody weather pouring down does do now yes. Changed my mind see, I can do that too, makes a difference.

Its not a wall to break against, its a tunnel to get through.

   
 

2015 December 6th
It was said
that certain artists ask ‘why’
while many argue ‘why not’
and others do what they can to get through the night.

i: It would be about a stone that people step upon and they all thought it was great because it kept their shoes away from the mud but the seeds beneath the stone hate it and regard it as an oppressor because it presses down on them and denies them any chance of life.
a: STEPPING STONE
The star of this show acts kind of low cos he’s a creep and a git, some kind of shit. Smiles at those cast above him, gets their applause but ignores all the pleas from those he wont free gasping below for mercy, oppress, distress. No one’s hero but his own fat ego. Pride comes before a fall and when he’s cast aside classified as past it, his neighbours wave and spit, just a piece of shit, any swine can do that. The trick is to lick arse and to give the grass beneath a chance of dancing please, that’s all that they ask, not much.
And thank you for asking me.

2015 December 5th
Beyond the fun, beyond your needs, beyond the coarse layer. Trust, how much is it costing you? Your past says not but you are wanting to so much. Build the walls on both sides. Someone must take the leap are they held or do their bones get broken.

Do you like that then, want to be a stranger or not. You fear to feel me honest, its nicer just to know me as a cow to pity. Is that flying is that sighing for you? Let me know sometime please.

Do I trust, know from how I am.

Please look at me and believe we can, please believe that. We are, we will. I have you with me now: as you said to me if you are swinging free I will be there for you. Know that please.

   
 

2015 November 29th
Those searchy things seems more like butterflies or bees than those leggy things busy building silky nets first to catch yur then to eat yur.

Ideas float around dropping seeds around the planet and what we’re doing here is likely already made as a film or something other over there.

a; could it be better for us sir
will it stay the same without end
there’s a reason for it
better than this
find it and kind it
make it perform
its not what we're saying is it
just the spaces between
that have a mean
for anyone
there you are thats cute
short and snappy

When the moodies drop the turmoil of the sky down to us we batten down the hatches furl the sails and set no course at all.

   
 

2015 November 19th
In a book there is a section that refers to a utopian country, if this country has to declare war all the members of the government responsible for that decision commit ritual suicide in solidarity with the young soldiers they are sending to their deaths.

h; ploppety plopety plop plop plop.
i'm amazed you claimed me for that
i'm off duty now
but if you come back later i’ll
be around for you
abscence bent itself so well it filled itself with pity
kissed itself and smoked a tart
and everything was shitty
down to us we claimed it
wore our truth through its confusion there
our circle is a portrait
of what wasnt really there
but it might have been
you never know with abscence
die and i'll wear you inside me
a hole inside my heart
an absence torn from me
it never fills
it just gets more abiding

   
 

2015 November 11

Do planets die when their inner heat goes out, is not, cools; something to do with pressure maintaining the solid furnace at the core. There was some report that there might be heat in the centre of the Moon.

 

Much criticism belongs to the giver rather than the recipient, a simple Manhattan which they do not see.

 

We aint a bargain basement, there are flaws there are doors and they seep out of us.

   
 

2015 November 5th
R: Hello you,
I am writing some stuff that will make us seem clever.
A story we will not write, a boy whose rich parents die when he is young: his inheritance is one small seed.
The seed grows into a tree.
When the boy is good it grows straight and true, when he is bad it grows crooked. The boy becomes twenty-one, the lawyer leads him to a house. He is to use the tree as a key; whichever door it opens will reveal his fortune.

A: Its not mine to answer is it?
Seems to me you are playing double here,
one way fits all.
or none at all.
If his future’s strange then so was his past.
Darling its a boring thing,
you’re just saying the rudimentary answer
child is father to the man and stuff like that.
Heard it a million times.
Yawn.
Wake me when you’re even better please.

   
  2015 November 4th
We did think about writing a story about a googlebot.
One version predicated on its omniscience in finding stuff led to a tale not that dissimilar to the film, ‘The Mummy Returns.’
Another dealt with how debauched a googlebot might become and subsequent begging the googlebot King for the gift of sight.
It is said that the majority of stories involve the overcoming of problems or problems. This is the form of the ‘Longer’ and ‘Younger’ stories. The ‘Short Stories’ are more like scenes taken from a longer Play.
   
 

2015 October 20th: Once there was a living thing, a creature most adorable; its name was Luv. Time moved and the people found that the caressing of this being brought a blessing, an ecstasy, a joy. Alas it was not a pleasure for the animals, as the compulsive stroking wore their fur away. The Luvs grew to detest the touch of any human; they decided on a game of hide and hide. The people sought, the people never found, they were bereft.

That was long ago, these days we know not the animal but we retain the desire for the sensations that it evoked. We seek to find those feelings in each other but its not the same, we are neither small nor furry.

r; What do you think?

a; Help I’m hideous you know that too.
It could be better it could be more
its not a thing to sing I think.
Catchy
but if your asking
I would say it was horse manure.
Don’t cry I’m sure it will get better,
its not a game of right v wrong
its just a made up thing
and as such it is pretty shitty.
If you ask me
crap all the way through.

r; Are st being polite?

a; You know I am,
always am just the waat I was brought.
Hideous
would you say that of me?

r; I’ve seen you on the road to hideous
but thats not the the path you’re treading here.
You are more see through
can’t make up your mind if you’re here or not
but even so you’re looking rather pretty.
So I shall post this to the web site as a notice
beware of crap in our tellings.
We’re not saying
please decide which from which for yourselves.

 

   
   
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