This life

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This life of ours so precious

I walked down the road to nowhere again

in Westerly 98 drive

it’s 1998 again,

& it’s too precious, too precious,

too full of hope and flashes

of yesteryear as one city flashes by underneath,white and grey, but mostly white, no green, no green, only dust & the Salty Lake, the one so revered on postcards & castles & seagulls, revered on them all,

& flashes into another, a city far away, revered & legendary, longed for & missed,

& the apprehensiveness we felt,

the patience , the strangeness,

the oddness & the weird, but above all, those smiling, polite faces & the green, dark deep green, green, and more green…

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she didn’t

that awful sadness when you realize that the thing you couldn’t understand about her was that you had good parents and she didn’t and that was your right, but it was your privilege too. “Why was she so accepting of things that were cruel and unacceptable?-especially to herself?” Maybe you know a little bit more of that answer now…Just a little bit more..dress

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the tree ball

The tree ball is coming!

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I have always wondered…

flabby plates

I hate elitist-ness in anything art, coffee, road accesses, book prices and availability, smartphones and coffee again…

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Tree granny

tree granny 2

because in the end we’re all odd plants in granny dressing gowns with too much coffee and tea on our systems and a desire to express how hurt we all felt at not being seen as we really are

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The lady in the red hair

20171217_144816The lady in the red hair (and sometimes brown and sometimes black) laying claim to curls she doesn’t have, a son of a decade and a cup full of bitter twisted pain

“cuz I’m arrogant, I’m proud so I’ll make it out that my man and my drinks, and my clothes are somehow raw things to do”

“I’ll make myself a femme fatale and give a forced claim of the pain I was once forced to follow as my moral guide, and go against it, no trash it at every turn”

She tries so desperately to fit into a movie or a reality show, one a few decades old, one she watched on TV one night when she was nine. One she should not have been watching as a nine year old

as her brother screamed in the background at her dad and her mom and stormed out to kill in an evil war. She walked a path that seemed wild but was silly. She walked a path that hurt. That laughed at her and seemed like abuse now, on her

and by her

She took red haired pictures at the beach, for her it was such a privileged thing to do, she stole privilege and tried to force it into her muted showy life. When she is old she will have stories to tell. So will all of us.

About her.

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Panic. Fear. Worry. Dread.

I feel like I’m a giantly insignificant thing that’s like jelly, instead of being like water, or a proper being, and that I lean forward into the world, no, I lean down, my head is bowed. I feel like panic, fear and worry are all inside me, like the weights used to hold those bright adverts down over the railings of the overhead bridge, I feel there is something terribly wrong, something I missed out, something I can no longer express, something I can’t hold inside of me. Its like a bright streak of sour, stinging with chilli, through my jelly self, this fear and worry and panic. Like I’m doing something wrong. Wrong. Again. There’s something so wrong about my world again. Something frightening. Panic. Fear. Worry. No. When did I start caring again? I desperately need time. More than I have now.

I can’t seem to walk straight or upright anymore, my moral conscience bites me down, telling me I’m wrong, in the wrong. There are no safety nets from myself, not anymore. I am just being, nothing more.

I don’t like hearing their happy voices, I don’t like waiting for this, but I dread when it actually comes. I can feel them again, my old dead friends, Panic, Fear, Worry.


How do people walk straight? How do they go through this without being bowed down almost completely. The harder pain is knowing that as the days go by, we are slowly moving into newer selves that don’t have us so much anymore. I can barely breathe. I am so-

Panic. Fear. Worry.


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