Big Bit Beautiful

Recent hist’ry, further back,

Nothing born of chance,

Entwine threads and treasures found,

Conjoined in life’s dance.

Ghosts of words, mem’ries bound,

Ugly turns to dust,

Ethereal, spiritual, one love

In which we trust.

Haunted notes from music box,

Motes that swirl from lid

Raised reveal of velveteen,

Box’d coffin where we hid.

Hand to cover, prised, released,

Hinges rusty creak,

Ballerina, beautiful,

Pirouettes, she speaks,

Seeks the treasure,

Finds and shares,

Gifted girl, soul-gowned,

Energy with him reclaimed,

Twin-tuned from Underground.

 

Random click on open mail,

A moment glimpsed in time,

Comment came from words read there,

Here developed as I find.

Grave reminders, must we all

To humility subserve,

But, building up and strengthening,

Big bits of beautiful, all deserve

A second song from music box,

Reminders when we fall,

Composition, love created,

Biggest beautiful of all.

 

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Tuning Senses

See the fire growing fom the ember barely there,

See the flames begin their dance again,

See them feeding oxygen, thirsting on the air,

See them leaping, fire renewed from pain.

See resplendent feathers, reflected in the dance,

See the plumage, see the wings, they spread,

See new life arising from the ashes, sparked of chance,

See the life exhumed, reborn from dead.

Hear the thrum of music, crackling from the pyre,

Hear the mystic voice of phoenix rise,

Hear the heat in visuals scorching from new fire,

Hear the silent message in her cries.

Feel impassioned purpose, senses tuned to glow,

Feel the power pulsing in its name,

Feel the fire of life coursing so we know,

Feel eternal light rebirthed from flame.

 

 

Room 101

Just finished watching Room 101 on telly. I opted for Auld Fartdom.

As far as I’m aware, the origins of Room 101 are from George Orwell’s ‘1984’ where any occupant’s greatest fear was known and used against them to control any perceived rebellious streak.

The TV version, of course, doesn’t focus on fears but on aversions. Tonight a panel of three celebrities got to air their pet-hates which included noisy eaters, women whose toes hang over the end of open-toed shoes, travellers who recline their seats back into your space and kissers with overactive salivary glands. First world problems, I know.

But it got me to wondering about what things turn my stomach or bug me.

And I’m curious about yours.

Straight off, I’ll say one thing I cannot stomach is being in close proximity to someone brushing their teeth. Even my own kids. I’ve done it, of course, but cringed the whole time and designated that a daddy task whenever I could.

I won’t go into the fine details but imagine a scenario where I was forced to witness this enmasse. Last year, a class, new initiative, children all brush their teeth together in class after lunch. I was almost ill being in the same room as that amount of noisy brushing and frothy whitening around the lips. The thought of them all spitting into the sink had me reeling. But, no fears, they just swallowed. That induced a fit of heaving. It took every bit of self-control to remain in the same room as them and the teacher as he counted off two minutes of brushing. No one, as far as I’m concerned, should be compelled to be in the same room as anyone brushing their teeth.

So, what are your aversions? What makes you gag or want to close off the senses?  Or, in the spirit of the original, what really scares you?

((According to my 13 year old, people who turn their eyelids inside out, aubergines (but there’s a reason for that one) and clowns. With her on the clowns and the eyes. I’m responsible for the aubergines.))

Kingdom of Auld Fartdom

I have come to the conclusion that I have now become a tax-paying inhabitant of the kingdom of Auld Fartdom. I have visited its environs from time to time and peeked over the city walls, even ocasionally entering its gates, sometimes shaking my head at what I’ve seen inside. People, old and young and some of indeterminate age, cautiously going through the motions of life or, contrarily, completely knackered by their exertions in the fray.

I’ve always hastily withdrawn from these forays, accepting that some there are who are old before their time and others whose age has caught up with them, lassoed their legs and brought them down with a yeeha!

Lying in state upon my king-sized, coffee at hand, kindle on lap, I’m trying to recollect the last time I really felt like moving myself on a Friday instead of succumbing to end-of-week syndrome. Looks shattered, feels shattered, is shattered, shattered I shall be. Let me be.

I’m thinking back to my youth (pre-marriage and weans) and recalling how I was always first in from work, way before my brothers and sisters. I had first dibs on the boiler and didn’t even think of needing or stopping for coffee or any other sustenance such was my anticipation at the evening ahead. Getting shifted had priority over everything else. Leisurely hours of prepping for a night on the town were punctuated by the sounds of my siblings arguing over who needed access to the shower next. How many times one or other of my brothers would play the self-same trick of pleading an urgent calling for the bathroom, forestalling my sister’s ablutions, only to hear her roaring at them for stealing her towels and toiletries as the emergency apparently required immediate use of the goods laid out.

I would be listening to music, applying makeup, drying my hair, happily distanced from the melee if not the noise. Teachers’ hours were in my favour then.

The school day has changed somewhat, the hours have even altered a bit but not enough to signify the turnaround on my Fridays.

Supposing I had a heavy date lined up with Wolverine’s alter ego I’d be hard pushed to rouse myself with anything approaching the same cheery demeanour.

Want the shower? Have the shower? Need my toiletries? Wire in.

Trying to recollect when exactly it changed is proving elusive too. I still remember three nights out at the weekend in early marriage so not at that point. After kids? I could still have moved myself with gusto but opportunities were limited. Whenever they availed themselves I was like a dog out of trap two. So not then either.

Recent Friday forays into the city have been prepped for with fucks and grumbles at having to be there at a certain time, the inconvenience of getting there and the bigger one of getting home. But I’ve gone and enjoyed it despite myself.

Tonight though, supposing I was offered chauffeur-driven luxury each way, a slap-up meal in between finished off with dancing and a spot of tongue-tangoing with wolfman I’d have to decline.

Because I’ve taken up residence in the royal burgh of Auld Fartdom, just within the walls of the city, very much part of the kingdom and I can see people peeking through the gates. I’m mouthing, ‘fuck off’ at them with the gurniest face I can muster and I think I might like it.

 

One coffee has boosted my reserves and I’m contemplating a glass of red to remove the sound of children’s voices from my day.

If anyone does have a spare limo at the ready I may, with the help of some lubrication, be persuaded to step outside of the city walls for old time’s sake. But you can still have first dibs on the boiler. It’s a combi. Bit like myself on a Friday.

Impact

World keeps right on turning

In spite, not because

Of everything done and said,

Following natural laws.

Impact from external

May just change its course

Devastate, deviate,

Improve where none can force.

Rotational, cyclical,

Dizzying cyclone,

Spinning, spinning, spinning on

World no one may own.

 

Stupid Hateful Evil Morons

freshly pissedThis ^^^^ is because of what follows. Just seen via Twitter.

I downloaded the above image from Phil’s place because I was angry at something I read a couple of weeks ago on the same subject. I abstained from writing anything figuring that, as a fellow blogger would say, ‘You can’t fix stupid’.

But this here! I don’t care about fixing stupid. As yet another friend would say, ‘I want to slap the stupid out of them’.

How dare they!

http://www.queerty.com/young-lesbian-couple-left-unconscious-and-bloodied-following-anti-gay-attack-20150225

Stupid! Hateful! Pure and simple. Get the fuck over yourselves. This is why the world’s in a shitload of trouble. This is why I get depressed. What a world.

Stupid. Hateful. Evil. Alive and thriving.

Pissed doesn’t even begin to cover it.

 

Ha Ha! Different Strokes

Rise to conquer mighty when such fallen

Bequeath a legacy disdained by all,

Promulgations errant, contemptuous,

While vilifying poorest when they fall,

Guilty of a sin so much the greater

For in greed they measure parity of law,

Where need may criminalise the latter

Connections in the city favour flawed.

Austerity of measures, quoth the parties

While other parties play, committing fouls,

Running rings around the bastions,

A nod, a wink, their penalty, these fowls

Flock together, party on, still launder,

Evade their dues, know their system well,

Blame populace and global economics,

The graphics prove where guilty dwell.

One for all, if mitigation,

Let it be because compassion speaks,

Recognisant, sometimes valid reasons,

Current practice serves the corporate not the weak.

th-1

Tax Evasion versus Benefit Fraud

Different laws for different people,

Different strokes for different folks,

Loaded dice in this monopoly

Get out of jail free card – see the joke?

 

The Massage Dude

Should I really be laughing for the second time today at NTT’s unfortunate experience with a male ‘physical therapist’? Do guys really wear tight, white, lycra gym pants? And just how many words are there for an erection because I’m pretty sure NTT knows them all? Why do I laugh at stuff like this? I need to know these things.

naptimethoughts

I have a bad back, so I go for therapeutical massage frequently. I’ve always seen female therapists; not for any real reason, just because there are more women than men in the field.
Lately, my back’s been so tight you could bounce a quarter off it and my neck has gotten so stiff that friends have started making “stiffie” jokes. It’s time for a massage when people start to make boner jokes about your neck. (Haha, by the way, very creative.)

I called my massage therapist (you have to call them therapists. They correct you if you accidentally slip in “masseuse”, and you do NOT want your masseuse angry with you) to schedule an appointment. She’s a popular lady, so I’m used to waiting a few days to get in, but this time it was a TWO WEEK wait for an appointment. The only one in the office…

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