Mindfuckery

You know the type.

Manipulative.

Loves to screw your brain.

Messes your mind any way they can find,

Is hurtful and cruel.

Then does it all over again.

 

It might be an ex or a current,

It could be a female

Or male,

It should be someone

You best, or ignore,

Then their mindfuck might fail.

 

It could be a boss

Or a neighbour,

A colleague who won’t give you rest.

Or kids in the ‘hood

Who just won’t be good.

Think what to do for the best.

 

It could be someone in your family

With an ex

Who’s really a prat.

Help make them see that his dick’s really wee,

Then you can both

Laugh about that.

 

It could be a friend

Who’s no friend at all,

Delights in bringing you down,

Dump them.

No one needs that crap,

A ‘friend’ who makes you feel like a clown.

 

Whoever they are

Remember your mind

Is yours, not a fairground pot luck.

Demand they desist,

Ignore if you wish

Or tell them you’re having no truck…

 

Ah, you thought that last line

Just had to rhyme

With ‘luck’ and a word I’ve used before.

Ok, then, we’ll say it again.

No mindfucking here.

Close that door.

 

My banter is intended as humour

But the message is one

To heed.

No one, not any, known past or in present,

Has the right to

Mess with your heid!

 

It could be someone

Whose words are no fun

Or actions are designed to convey

Ridicule, stress

Sadistic duress.

Don’t engage then they cannot play.

 

It might be yourself

Who’s the culprit,

Battering away at your brain.

Ego destroyed,

Validity void

Stop it! Don’t do it again.

 

A flower with filaments tender,

Seeking to bloom

Where it can,

Nurture your mind,

Stuff others who find

Pleasure in ruining elan.

 

Give what is due

But whatever you do,

Keep your mind well intact.

Those who insist

On taking the piss

Should know a couple of facts.

 

Spirit of self is a wonder

Shared,

A blessing two-fold,

But fucked with for fun

Is just not on.

Resist, persist, be bold.

 

It could be the politicians

Obvious I know,

That’s their art,

Assisted by media

And spin ,they begin

To screw your head and your heart.

 

Don’t fuck with my mind, you moron!

My head is my own!

Try that cheer.

Say it again till they believe it.

And then

Say it again, so you hear.

Video reading Mindfuckery

Innocence Injured

No callous thoughts

Nor cold intent

Should dwell where love’s

Been freely spent.

 

Unequalled pleasure

Can’t decry

Where love was known

Though, by and by,

 

Treasured moments

One time enthralled,

Glimpsed afar,

Now unrecalled.

 

Bitter hearts

Disclaim, with voice,

Past memories

As if no choice

 

Had taken part

In ending all,

Hostile relations

After the fall

 

From grace and trust

Where love was living,

Recollections

Unforgiving.

 

They passed this way,

Once hand in hand,

A surer love,

No wedding band

 

Could so unite

The two apart,

Where love once dwelt

Lives broken heart

 

And cordial calmness

Claims surrender,

Harsh words, contempt

Sever, dismember,

 

Leaving nought

But recollections,

Remembrances,

Bittersweet perfection.

 

Imperfect memory

Chills to the core

All treasured moments,

Never more.

 

Coupled collapsing

Feels dismay,

Abysmal distrust,

Love cannot stay.

 

They grieve their loss

In strangest manner,

Vindictive, cruel,

A jealous rancour.

 

These people are

Still known to me,

I watch

And listen carefully

 

And ponder how

A love once sown,

Grew then withered,

Split to the bone.

 

Words, then endearing,

Draw blood, now bitten,

Fragmented love

From two once smitten.

 

Divided, riven,

Torn apart,

Indifference chills

But where to start

 

When coldness turns

To malevolence

And hurts and robs

All innocence?

Don’t Be Alone

There are those who are lonely,

So desperately lonely,

Even when surrounded by friends.

There are those whose physical pain goes on

And they question if it ever will end.

 

There are those whose pain is an emotional one,

Those who ponder life’s end solution to ease,

The darkest of any confession.

There are those who carry a burden of guilt

And those with deepest depression.

 

There are those whose hearts seem

Broken in two,

Those whose hatred is well justified,

Whose angst and sorrow is boundless, but

It seems to eat them alive.

 

There are those who feel as others feel,

Hearts  full of despair

With righteous cause and frustration.

There’s sadness that feels like a terminal disease,

States to country and nation.

 

It weeps,

It seeps

Into pores

And floods,

There is hurt,

So much hurt,

It feels

There is blood.

 

There are those who imagine an end

Of all life

So suffering and sadness will cease,

Whose pleas on their pages

Know terrible loss

And pain that knows no release.

 

The hurt that abounds

Is palpable here,

A microcosm of earth,

Sharing distress and souls set on fire,

Crying for song of rebirth.

 

There are those whose posts are filled with good cheer

And those that say nothing at all

Of feelings or thoughts

Or what lives within,

Preferring a different recall.

 

But for those who are here

Whose very beings starve,

Seeking for someone to listen,

Bear in mind

That we all have these feelings.

It’s part of the human condition.

 

If no one is there to answer your needs,

No family or friend will suffice,

A message in private may help find release.

Do it and don’t even think twice.

 

I’ve no great answers

In fact, I have none,

Just a sense of the life that we share,

Please don’t be alone,

If you need a vessel,

Remember that someone is there.

 

It may not be me,

It could be another

But many there are who believe

That a problem full shared,

Whispered and heard

Is a problem that’s going nowhere

 

Except to be halved

Or quartered,

Diminished,

Maybe not ever to be

Over or finished

 

But lessened because

Someone cares.

 

So don’t be alone

Whatever your reasons,

There’s someone on here,

A man for your seasons

Or woman,

A friend,

A fellowship found.

Please don’t despair,

Don’t sink to the ground

Without looking up

Or inwards or out.

There’s someone for you,

Please just give a shout,

 

If only to curse at life’s

Little foibles,

Its terrors,

Its spectres,

Its myriad of troubles.

 

There are those who have offered this to me

And I’ve done the same in return.

You’ll know who to trust,

You may never need

But remember there’s always someone.

 

So when strength and solutions

Are quite overcome,

Sincerely believe

There is always a one.

 

Don’t be alone.

Please, don’t be alone.

Your Strength

Your strength

Astounds.

Reading

Your words,

Your pain.

You go on.

You focus.

And go on.

Not lost

Completely.

Absorbing

Hurt,

Channelling,

Reinventing

Self.

Words

Unspoken

Reveal

As much.

Your

Ability

To be.

Just be.

So much

Strength

Revealed.

So much

Hurt

Concealed.

A Kinder Soul

I’ve rarely met a kinder soul,

So full of inner feeling.

Doctor, surgeon, rabbi, priest,

Shamen, all know healing

 

Of such a type that mends a life

But none as clear as this.

The sort that gives without compromise,

Asks not for a kiss.

 

Though merit due to such a one,

Deserving so much love,

Shall one day know the glories of

The love from up above.

 

Until then this friend shall be

A friend to those who seek,

In silence they communicate,

No words they need to speak.

 

But those that are, are clothed in form

As angels shining bright.

My love to friend goes travelling

Out beyond the night.

 

Some friends there are who shall be named

And others who shall not

But, friendship still, their value, worth,

None, like this, is bought.

 

 

 

 

Why Do We Say What We Say?

http://secondthoughtstwice.wordpress.com/2013/08/26/who-are-we/  posed a question I began to comment on. When my comment started to look like I was taking over her post, I thought I’d give my reply in my own post.

Essentially, the question is why do we blog and say the things we do?

 

For myself, I think it’s because for all the years that my head has been buzzing with thoughts I’ve usually written them down and filed them away. Not necessarily stories and poems but thoughts about all sorts of things.

In my life, I feel there are only very few who would want to talk about certain things. I am lucky to have two or three people so close that this was a possibility. But, I don’t see them as often as I would like and life moves on and they, although still close in mind and spirit, have their own worries and thoughts and cares to contend with.

So what to do with all the buzzing that goes on inside and why would anyone be interested in any of it? I’m going to put that down to arithmetic. If I know a few people of like mind within my closest circle of friends and family, the odds of finding more of that shared empathy is greater the wider the radius of communication.

Not everything I say will interest everyone. And that works in reverse. But, I have already found gems here and I hope others enjoy some things of mine.

I get to chat and find open communication that, I feel, judges less in terms of the hidden me. But, perhaps, judges more on what I do reveal. I’m pretty sure that there are already a number of people who think I am a garrulous arse. But, I can live with that.

There is almost a level of flirtation to some communications but I see it as good banter with kindred spirits.

Those who don’t like my stuff don’t have to read. And, also true, in return.

I don’t make close friends easily. Oh, I have loads of people who think I’m one thing and I guess I may even ‘act up’ to that side of me that they like. It is part of me. I’ll be the clown, or the talker or the humourist. But, it is very much, a small part of who I am.

Here, I can be all of the bits of me. Like finding best friends who know, intrinsically, where I’m coming from. I already feel that I know that of others here. I may be kidding myself here. So much is unshared. But, little by little, we open up and disclose more of who we are, to better find and perhaps even narrow down those we may become closest to. As in life.

In years gone by, my best friend and I could talk for hours and days on anything and everything. Teenage into twenties, into thirties and so on. It has never changed but opportunities to share that closeness of mind and spirit have.

I used to joke with her that it would have been better if we were gay because then we would have found our soul mates. But, we didn’t fancy each other. Well, not much!

Actually, there was probably a fair measure of narcissism going on there because we looked very much alike as well as thinking and feeling in such similar ways.

Had I met a man who was like my friend back then, I would probably have ended up in a mental institution. I did not need someone who was so like me that they would pander to my reflective self quite so much. I needed someone who understood but who balanced that side of me. I got him.

What I do miss though, is the level of communication I found and shared with my friend and others whose lives, like mine, have moved on.

So, Why do I blog?

Arithmetic, seems to be my answer. Widening the net and catching closeness in its folds.

As Diamonds

I count them carefully

And gather close these treasures,

Old and new alike.

Antiquity and modern.

Scents of valued familiarity

Mingled in form with fresh.

They seem from the same

Rich seam

Of ore.

Mined for worth,

Pressed and tested by years

Of pressure,

Carbon, as diamonds.

Friends.

‘Ugly’ People

‘Ugly’ people can definitely grow on you. I know this for a fact. Conversely, I have known some really good-looking people whose entire appearance and appeal faded on better acquaintance.

Take Peter. He was not what anyone would call handsome or even particularly attractive. His hair was wiry and stuck out at odd angles. It looked as if it had not seen a brush or a comb for weeks on end.

He was also at that teenage stage where most days brought an avalanche of excess sebum to the hair follicles as well as to the skin. So he had this lank, wiry hair that was unkempt and mostly unclean and definitely not styled. His face at the point I knew him was not suffering too much from the oil that attacked his hair, so generally he wasn’t too spotty.

What was most prominent about him at first were his teeth. They were not buck exactly but they were there when he smiled and talked and laughed. You couldn’t not notice them. They weren’t very white either – more a kind of off-white, but not dirty.

He was a bit odd-looking would be about the kindest way of describing him. But because I didn’t find him attractive I could completely relax with him and that was where his appearance began to change. Peter was what people would call a character. His behaviour was off the wall and he expressed his feelings and emotions freely in whatever way came to mind. I never knew him to do anything wicked or mean, just eccentric. He was what you might call a free spirit and it showed in his dealings with everyone from fellow students to teachers. Everybody recognised Peter for what he was and he was liked for it. I think everyone envied his self-expression. Teachers smiled at his antics and students wanted to be able to adopt his carefree pose to their work and relationships. So, yes, this odd-looking boy of seventeen became for me a really attractive person.

I didn’t know how not to take things seriously and found it difficult to relax in the way he did with everyone. He seemed to be so comfortable with himself and with others while other teenagers, including myself, were angst-ridden about their image and relationships and the world and the bomb. A lot of us took ourselves seriously in that obnoxious way that only teenagers can – where they feel that adults really do not have a clue and do not care about the really important things. Adults become so caught up in a world that revolves around trivia like paying bills and feeding families and arranging holidays and planning for a new car and stuff that did not look at the GLOBAL issues.

Superior teenagers have got to be some of the most insufferable people on the planet. Peter wasn’t like that. Maybe that’s why the adults liked him as much as his peers. He could have a truly sensible conversation about all sorts of issues and speak from the heart with the ease of one not embarrassed to have real feelings and emotions. It may have been his family background that contributed to so much of who he was or it may have been just who he was born to be but I’m glad I knew him.

I’m older now and I find myself remembering him fondly for the kind of person he was and wondering how he had grown at such a young age into someone so unique and likeable when all around him were the usual teenagers that he really ought to have been trying to emulate because that’s what teenagers do. They follow a code – unwritten but perceived and forceful – that few dare break away from.

With teenagers of my own now I want to understand what made Peter the way he was because I would like it if my own offspring could be half the confident person he was at that tender age.