Archives for the month of: December, 2012

Firstly I will apologise in advance for what might be a strange and rambling blog (more so than usual that is). Please can we all have a moments silence for the can of lager that I just stabbed and eviscerated whilst trying to liberate it from it’s packaging. I of course feasted on it’s contents like a half starved mountain werewolf/vampire hybrid and now feel a little woozy. I am most gutted as this now means I have ‘the taste’ early and ten cans might not see me through till christmas after all :(

Now, I was drifting off into a magical place watching Rock Poets a programme mostly about Jim Morrison, but with input from American and British poets from the 60’s and 70’s. The imagery that their monologues were evoking was truly magnificent. It reminded me of the time I went Whale Watching off Virginia Beach. I didn’t know whether to point, take a picture, watch or wet myself! Well I wasn’t so excited watching tellie of course, but I was torn between listening and writing. I can see that I will have to watch it several times over.

I was feeling a bit blue, I had been to see Mr Muslim. I ought not have done, but I had to kill the perfect image of him that I had in my mind. I did so successfully and he is just a man again, he like myself is starting to show his age. But, I wanted to stay there with him and talk and hold him and be held by him and… well chemistry is a powerful thing. He looked at me with sad eyes. It wasn’t pity, but there was sadness there and I can’t tell who it belonged to. I have been listening to Beyonce’s “I miss you”.

My cousin lost her baby and is of course so very sad about this. It brought back loads of memories for me and the very apparent emptiness of my own womb. We are not supposed to talk about these things, about the fragility of early pregnancy and so women lose children and blame themselves over and over without just cause. I can’t help thinking that is somewhat Masochistic. So what if some men folk can’t take it? Surely it is best that everybody knows about the realities of life.

Anyway… fairytales and fucking diznee… you know who I mean. I wrote a poem about it once, I find it quite funny, but so close to Christmas I won’t share it.

As I was tidying the kitchen a fly resurrected itself. Seriously, we have had some bitterly cold weather and there is no separate heating in my kitchen, where this thing came from I have no idea. It was clearly dying and fell into my recycling (which seems to suggest I am a drunk Italian by the way) I emptied said recycling on floor so it could fly out side and feed something crawly, but no, it flew into my bin and then stopped buzzing. Stupid fly. I am not emptying my bin out. As I had my window open my prayer flags were flapping so it may already have had a good send off!

I am of course cooking a vegetable pasta sauce type dish. And where are my tea-spoons disappearing to? Oh, this reminds me… Things that I have not told you 1) I am alergic to the cat. I have sprayed some stuff round the house that hopefully will control the amount of itchyness in her dander.

2) I am not allergic to cheese, but it does make my tummy poorly. Go figure. BUT there is an answer to my cheese woes, apparently in the form of Nutritional Yeast! Which is apparently cheesy in taste and will provide me with all the nutrients I need so I don’t have to start eating whole cows! I can now go back to a mostly vegetarian diet!

3) My life coaching was very successful. But I am unable to share the out come. It should reveal it’s self through my actions.

My sauce needs stirring, I’m hungry and I want another drink. My house is nearly ready for Christmas, not bad to say I don’t usually celebrate and I am going to leave you with this…

Have a superly amazing Christmas (whatever your religion or lack there of) and a supremely joyful New Year (or Hogmanay). I hope that you get everything you need and a little bit of what you want. Love, Light and Laughter to you all.


As I prepare to write this post, first I read the blogs I follow, one in particular catches my thoughts (Bottledworder). Not exactly, but syncronistically. Do you like that word I just made up? Don’t correct me, let me believe it’s mine. Tonight let my Dyslexia have free reign, more so than usual.

Yesterday I intended to post today (especially after that blog!), I knew what I was going to post. I knew that I was going to carry through my resolution not to edit the two pieces I am about to present to you. They are only unusual in terms of the fact that they are unfinished.

I have this massive spot on my lip, I just thought you should know this, it is very painful and even after three days is showing no sign of going away! In fact, it’s growing. I might spontaneously combust after all, but what a way to go, taken out by a boil!!! Why doesn’t spell checker like combust?

SOooooooo… the second of the pieces, it ends in a way that I do not feel. I am not waiting. I told a lot of people to leave me and my life alone recently, those are not the actions of someone waiting. This is doing. I am doing. Presently, I am messing up a piece of artwork for a friend that should have been finished for her birthday in October. Shhhhhhh. It’s ok I only know 3 of my followers.

High every one! Thanks for liking and following my blog. I am thinking that I wish I had bought a beer or two now and that I find the cat clacking very distracting, I wish she would bugger off. OK. Are you ready…

“You will do anything to make me smile. But you won’t make a job of it. You will not try find elaborate solutions to simple problems. If a shelf is falling down, you will carry the weight until I can take all the fragile things off (as opposed to running around to find something to prop the shelf up with). Eventually the shelf will have to be fixed and you’d rather do it now, because you know it won’t be done otherwise and eventually the brolly will become a brolly again and the person who wants to stay dry will not know that it is no longer an umbrella. The shelf will finally drop it’s burden and then…”

Even I want to know what then! I was invigilating an open art exhibition and a customer wanted to talk. We talked about printing and etching.

The second piece was meant to be about a performance that I did, but it had it’s own ideas. I have also kept the limitations of the piece of scrap paper that I wrote it on. In this instance I think a re-write would completely change the ambiance. PS I am led to believe that suki suki is japanese for *really like* I hope I am not wrong about this.

“Last night I fell in and out of love.
I was down and out, a whore, a drunk.
I had a baby and I left it with it’s curious father.
The audience named it Star. A wicker baby
ready to be thrown on the fire. Disposable.
Trying to cheat the cold I stay at a friends.
Her alarm goes off six times or more, I need to pee.
She eats, showers, feeds the cat, dries her hair,
and in my borrowed bed I think, “Just go to work!”.

Ungrateful I am and more ungrateful yet to come.
The cat cries for attention as I bring the box up
from the cellar, kicking the spare boxes out of the way.
Foul tempered, my alarm went off six times or more.
I stole into her ship sized bed, and slept well.
Too well. Grumbling on the way back from the shop
I hear a train. I know I will be late now. I did
not anticipate it would take 1 1/2 hours to make a
half hour journey. He lets me in through the door,

I’m too stiff to fall in. I must be blue, he asks
if I have seized up. I’m surprised he noticed. I am
sore and want to cry. I’m fed up. I could do with
going home. I’m hungry I haven’t had a cup of tea.
I’m an hour late! He is kind and I begin to calm
Laughter is a balm. Now I am making pom poms.
Or rather one. I am bored already. I make a tea or rather

a coffee, steal some biscuits.
There is no one around to ask,
my upbringing pricks my
consience. I am here to look
after art, we cannot fathom
the word; currate, invigilate
attend. It shouldn’t matter
but it does and has done
for the last three days.

I drift back to last night
and wonder why I can’t just
say what it is that I do,
when I do it so well.
No wonder people think I
am mentally ill. I’m not
I’m Dyslexic, apparently
my reading and writing are
unaffected and it could just
be that I have undiagnosed
Autistic tendencies but then
again… And why all of a
sudden this level of honesty
and rambling style? I have
been reading Suki. “Do you know
Suki they ask. “Yes”. or

rather “no”. We have
met, but I know her
more for her poems
than modeling and
I read her cards or
rather Pixie Mummy
did and she surprised
me with her ambition.

Suki is on my mind;
or rather suki suki.
Yes, I am alone too

I was riding high on a wave of performance and good work. I was about to post the amazing things that have been happening since my last blog.

Supremely amazing things that I will not recount in this post. Things I would rather tell you about. But, I know that I will not sleep tonight if I don’t express my thoughts on this one clearly. Why blog it? I think that it’s something that needs to be shared. I am bit by bit sharing my experiences, and might share more, but for the fact that they keep being minimised.

“You have to put aside your differences”, just one of the frequently heard comments when I object to working with a man that abused me in several ways. I invited him into my home, he started being a shit and I asked him to leave after 6 weeks. He refused to leave and finally moved out after 4 months. I was too poorly and in too much emotional and physical pain to do anything about this.

When I finally got him out he continued to make life difficult for me. I told everyone it was partly my fault (laughable that prior to our relationship I did not play the blame game). I was very broken. It took me a further 6 months to have him remove his things from my home, I think he thought that he had me that good, that he would be able to move back in. Eventually a friend of mine intervened. The police, as ever, fucking useless.

I was still accepting responsibility for some of the abuse that I was suffering. He was that adept at playing the victim that even I believed him. Another of the reasons that people didn’t believe he was abusive is his charming manner. He was mostly well liked. Even those that saw through the act did not think him malignant. Not even when I started to tell them, I was wrong, he is a very unpleasant person. They are starting to see the chinks now, but it’s taken time.

A year and a half on, I am whole again. I did not ever believe that after the first psycho I would land straight into the lap of another. Ten years of living in a cave to avoid Psychopaths and fuck me, if it doesn’t happen again. Who could be so unlucky. That would be me. Strangely, it was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I am more myself than I have ever been, now I am whole again.

My inner and outer worlds look pretty similar, where once they used to be the source of real and deep depression. I am. I am also frustrated at not knowing how to make people aware that the reasons I don’t want to work with this man are more profound than a personality clash or a bad break up. I want to do this without revealing the hideous time I had with him, not to protect him, but to protect me.

I wish he’d fuck off out of my home town to be honest, go back to where he came from and leave me in piece. I very much doubt this will happen. I stood my ground with the last nut job, so I could complete my degree. I don’t think I have the stomach to do it again. And yet. How many more times will I be advised to “put aside [my] personal differences” before I blow up. Literally, spontaneously combust.

This is all back ground to the real reason for blogging this. The real reason is to make a request of all the decent people out there, male and female. If you are told that someone is abusive, believe them. If you see someone having a shit time, you can guarantee this is only a fraction of what is happening behind closed doors, and if it is safe to do so, name it. Let the person know that their behaviour is unacceptable. If someone tells you that someone is an arsehole, do not think “oh but s/he’s ok with me”. Chances are that is because you are not the type of person that they like to abuse.

Some arseholes are very good at making the victim look like the abuser. They are called Gaslighters. Look it up!

Nice people don’t abuse other people, but people who like to abuse other people ACT NICE. That is how they get away with it, over and over again. Please. Be part of a community of support. Even if it’s just having a quiet word in someones ear, even if they are unknown to you (ie my friend had a shit time with this person, be careful). This is not gossip, this is saving lives. You have the power to stop abuse. All you need is a little bit of courage.

(Song of the week… “Bad Girls” by M.I.A)

I have no idea who Delius is really. Yeah, he was born in my home town and as a friend of mine said, “Banged a Black woman and left her pregnant. Turned out to be a bit of a c@nt didn’t he?”. And a pub I used to like bore his name… More recently though, my local haunt has appropriated his monicker.

This has become my creative home. The home where I do the work I ought to be doing, the stuff I don’t get paid for. As always I take the shit jobs no one else sees the value of. Like cleaning. Everybody benefits but no one wants to be known as “The Cleaner”. Middle class arseholes like to say things like, “The first name you should learn is the cleaner’s.”. They like to be ‘seen’ as ‘inclusive’ but are rarely spotted thanking the cleaner at the end of the night.

I digress, as ever, caught in a rant.

So, I’m serving beer, whilst doing my real work. The undefinable, but none the less real. It’s a feeling I have, perhaps it’s mental illness? One I am never the less proud of. I like to give, what ever is needed. A beer, a laugh, an ear, a hug. What do you want? If it is mine to give, take it…

I watched the performance, it was amazing. A Double Bassist plays, whilst a dancer performs. Piano, leaves, star light… On a loop, for two hours. Nutters. We are in a church, the spiritual home of Delius. I am surrounded by the people who helped to build my theatre and I can feel a sense of home. I am not giving tonight. I am receiving.

I have had some disappointments over the week. A friend I was glad to invite back in, has turned out to be a bit of a c@nt. But I am strong. Somewhere in all this mess. The heaviness of being out of work and out of luck… It has lifted and revealed “Me”. I haven’t felt this good in years. And now it seems as if the community I once belonged to is coming together again and being re-birthed.

This post will seem incongruent and disjointed I am sure. I haven’t given my all and told the full tale. It is protection. I am convinced that honesty will only get you so far. I will not lie, but I will omit the FULL truth, as pertaining to myself… Don’t we all?

Fuck it. Let me reveal myself in this poem inspired by this evening…

“I Am Your Eternal Friend.

As the hoover carries away three hours, people shout their joy.
Bass reverberations hang in the air and the smell of oranges play around the room.
There are small injuries, the kind that remind you of the times you have shared.
And as you check in the mirror, you will catch your breath and remember.
I drank to catch up. I paused, stopped and listened.
The fog of the moment embraces me and the common purpose highlights each individual need.
Once again, we are here together.
Reaffirming what we already know to be true.

Does anyone want anymore beer?”

I am drunk and I bid you goodnight!

I appear to be regressing. I know what is going on here. It’s a lack of purpose. I am not needed by anyone but myself. I miss all the discussion meetings I want to attend, for myriad reasons (excuses). I have lately taken up a half arsed chanting, for a problem that I already know the solution to.

I tell my self that religious devotion is meaningless with out the heart. The heart is empty. The heart is angry. The heart is lonely. If you see the Buddha kill the Buddha? The Buddha can fuck off.

I’m listening to Selah Sue. In particular, “Summertime”. I’ve been worrying over this problem; trying to have mind, body and soul in alignment.

Eventually, I realised that chanting, rejecting, meditating, intellectualising this problem was not making it go away. I needed for once, to submerge myself in it. Finally, I broke through the fog, but the journey was a difficult one. I always miss the most important of things: to be compassionate towards myself.

In the peace that follows the storm, I pick up my pen, which I have not done for some time. Here is where my heart is…

“In the darkest hours the turmoil seems a little more dangerous than it is, even in the most misty and cloudy of days. Somehow loneliness pinches the more painful parts of your psyche. You would sell your soul to the devil (if you believed in such a thing) just to find the things you know to be unreal. When dawn breaks, you can stretch away the sleep with a smile. Shuffle closer to your lover to capture them in an embrace, as if by protecting them, you are safe. And as they turn to reciprocate your tenderness, you can bury your head in their scent and release the nightmare of loneliness.”

Hold the one you love close for me. Allow me to love, vicariously, if needs be.