Out of concern I write.
Don't judge if am wrong or right.
Fundamentally, it is my right,
To address an I'll that is becoming a rite.

Many  swell like foam,
Being pumped to boom
By needle or rather *****
But in reality that are just but fume.

Peer pressure is  powerful  witch.
But can only enchant you if you wish.
We are empowered to be the wizards of our life,
To make freewill choices devoid of strife.

Aunty, getting slim tea is now slim.
Brother, guys are sleeping in the gym.
Boss, your colleagues are booking for liposuction.
I still wonder why you guys are rushing liposyn injection.

Ladies with Bees made of silicon
Counting themselves among the slaying lexicon,
In negligence of the pains to reckon,
They do whatever it takes to be a beauty icon.

Smokers are liable to die young.
You ignores it as if it's written in ching-chong
Liposyn users are liable to kidney failure,
You ignore to prove your velour.

You are made from the best kit.
Don't risk it all for a ****.
Stop thinking anticlockwise.
A word is enough for the wise.

Blessedinkz

I arrived at the church at 5:30.
It took me a bit to find the place

  there were only a couple half-inflated baloons
  to mark the occasion.
  Those, and a small sign with an arrow, which led
  
      down some stairs and into a cafeteria.  An
      older lady greeted me.  She had a calm smile
      on her face.  The kind that comes with age, that
      says that you've been there, done that.

"Are you here to give?"

           Of course.  Why else would I be here?

  "Yeah"

She leads me to a table that has a number of tall dividers
set up on it to prevent people from peeking at someone
else's personal life.  Like I care if you've had syphilis in
the last year...well I might if it weren't all men in here.

I start filling out the form.
No, I don't have an STD
No, I haven't spent a time totaling more than 5 years in the UK before 1996
No, I don't use drugs
No, I haven't had a fever in the last 24 hours
No
  No
    No
  No
No

I do admit that I have been out of the country recently.

I hand my sheet to another lady.  "Where did you travel to?"

    "Japan, mostly Tokyo and a few places just outside"

    "Carol, could you check Japan on the list?"

She turns to me.  "I'm almost certain that's OK, but I have to check".  Another contented smile.

I sit down to be interviewed, we go over the questions once more.

    "Alright, I just need a small sample before we begin"

She takes the sample with a small contraption that
fits over my finger and jabs a small hole.  She runs
a quick test with the blood, letting a droplet fall
in a test tube filled with a blue liquid.  

The droplet sinks to the bottom.  She checks a box.

Apparently we're good to go.

  I'm given an empty blood bag and a number of rubber-banded vials
and pointed towards a circle of beds in the middle of the room.

I walk up and a portly gentleman takes my bag and asks me
which arm I'd like it in.

"Right"

I pause.  

I want to be able to check my phone while I'm doing this.

"Actually, let's do left"

He gives a grin.  "Here, hold both your arms out"

I comply.  I immediately notice that my right arm
has a very accessible vein.  We're doing the right arm.

Oh well.

   "Let's go with the Right"

I smile and sit on the plastic seat

He swabs my arm with that wonderful orange/yellow dye
and gives me a stress-ball to squeeze, to help the process go
quicker.  He comes back with the needle.

I look away as I feel the uncomfortable breach of my skin.
It's a small pinch followed by a dull sensation, my body
telling me "That isn't supposed to be there, get it out".

         I hate needles.

I feel a light sweat break and my breathing quickens
ever so slightly.  It's ok because the hard part is over
I squeeze the stress ball every few seconds and I chat
with the man.

His name is Nick, and he's been doing this for a few years.  
He used to work in a restaurant, and then he worked for a
flooring company.  
He remarks
    on the fake grouting that the floor in this room has.  

You  can tell that he loves his job, that he's satisfied with life.

He comments on the t-shirt that I will receive for doing this

(because who would do it if they didn't get a t-shirt, right?)

He says it looks like a blueberry snowcone and tells me a
rather entertaining story from his youth about blueberry
snowcones.  

I pipe in with my memories of the Tropical Sno  shop we had
when I was a kid.  

The bag is filled, the needle is removed.  A bandaid is placed,
and then my arm is wrapped with a smily-face bandage.

I give him a left-hand shake and go sit at the refreshments table

I drink a Pepsi.  I hate trail mix.

After about 10min or so, I get in my car and drive home.
I put on the blueberry snow-cone colored t-shirt and sit
down to read a book.  I think about the people working
at the blood drive, and I think about how happy they
seemed.

I wonder to myself what the difference is between someone
who gives blood and someone who gives time.  I have friends
that travel the world for the Peace Corps, living in third world
countries with no running water, no niceties.  I think of friends
who could sit in blistering heat, helping to build a house for
someone they don't even know.  I think of myself, who thinks
that donating money to the Leukemia foundation and donating
blood to the Red Cross is somehow equivalent to donating sweat
and an able body.

I should really do more
maybe then I'll earn that smile
that those folks wear so proudly

they are bravely terrified of me
and i don't know how to react.
i try saying this or that or getting up
but i swear to mother clown every time i try
it's just worse.
they keep shooting silver at me,
they keep locking themselves up in caves i can't reach
my terrible terrible wings are too big.

i could always just eat them,
but it's like they're learning to get away
it's almost like they've learned my tricks
almost like they know now when they're hallucinating.

the baloons filled with blood won't pop
i can't quite reach georgie's arm.

I miss the bright blue hair that doesn't stand out.
I miss the croaky voices when we all decided to shout.
I miss the midnight raves in all of their madness.
I miss the people being free and just pure happiness.
I miss just the people and how amazing they are.
I miss the walk to the village 'cause we're all too young to drive a car.
I miss the henna on my arms which instantly washed away.
I miss the pride march and queer disco all of which were pretty ******* gay.
I miss the ****** baloons 'cause why the **** not.
I miss the one ******* girl who I didn't tell was hot.
I miss the political jokes and the question time Q&A.;
I miss the jokes about consent and the woodcraft way.
I miss the workshops on politics, on science, on the war (against fracking).
I miss everything including the café and folk suply store.

One ,

life - does go on ,

Two ,

I get what i want

Three ,

He get's what he want's

Four ,
Sunday's are for chillin

Five ,

( u r probs asking why didn't she say , she yet to include all the women out there )

but that's an assumption,  (^^^^^ that is guv. ), that list goes in order of importance..

it's* just numbers* , we've been told, go in that manner ,

whatever -

i've got you this far , now ..

i think i would like to just
document
this moment .

and preserve it - because this golden flower
of a feeling
where nothing , matter and everything hangs in a fine balance and the whole universe just opens and starts to dance , and infinit is no longer a goal but the present space all around
in whatever convex , concave confines you would call these human bodies

keeping us weighed down like lead baloons to the physical world
and - no , we're not from this plane

we ARE from this planet though , but not this dimension either

i rekon,
aliens are exactly - what we are , but in the "future " after
                             we've learnt how to time travel
and we come back ,
                                     and because 'we as earth' 'i.e - the current inhabitants -

AND WE REALISE ! THAT WE HAVE BEEN FOOLED! those,

who are under a dastardly spell,
woven into our minds good and deep - using words and symbols , number and name - anything to rise to that fame.......

Like an oil spill

                        it has swept through our eyes and blinded us from the truth that -.-
there is no such thing as time.

we just made it up

but there are such things as dimensions , we've seen them -  we've seen them crumble away before our very eyes and just exisit in momentary spots of delusions illusions

and the wonderful thing is our creations , effect our physical reality - what we make in our minds , we put out for the world to see , the other illusion is that somehow your mind is this dark foreign space .....YO...


MIND IS FULLY  light !  EVEN the shadows emit some kinda glow....
so vivid !  well , there's magic in there , and poines and stardust and sometimes
if you are very lucky someone will come along
and tell you about all kinds of yum! And play with you - there in the mind's garden
to create everything , materialy

i just, hope , that when we wake up - all of us - then ,

we are ready to face what will be a new dawn , in my eyes - humanity stands on the tip toes of heavens open armed throws or the pits of depths,

- that are diamond encrusted found after the coal has been left for centuries -

We are the those fabled stars...the ones that seem so far away...we ARE MADE UP of the same stuff , now tell me - who do i bow down to...i only give bows of respect. Earning it...

there are no more melodies,

sweeter nor more healing , than the eyes of love's serene face just , all magic and stuff, making me speechless and speech full , with the eyes that over throw ironic nonchalance , in a second and are ready for go up and get em and ready for snuggles in beds
this is the only story i've ever known and (you can not have written it!)

this is my life what i've discovered from my journeys findings..I hope you have your own take....but...what is that i hear you say? ....

....what happened?
Just, started , saying yes.
i guess..

and gradually , and quite elegantly with hindsight , this has been built.


and by tHIS i mean this poem.

pro's
prose ...
heh heh

future is vast expanse of confusing
unknown romanticised nonsense

past is like the dead
we still feel it but it's not there
it fades with clown-like indecency
mocking our misfortune at it turns
and waves goodbye

present is spent in other realms
except the rare flicker
where mind and body reunite
like old friends long missed

intangible, consistent, inconsistent
nonsense is the cruel ticking of time

there is nothing we can hold
in a moment and own
It all escapes us
like helium baloons tugging
from the tiny sticky hands of
small children
floating into the blue sky
never seen again as every moon
and sunrise
although we forget

Its not a bubble gum
sweet and then bitter
after that sweetness vanished,
you spit me
I like bubble gum
I love the baloons that I made
even if it explodes I can reshape it
don't worry I never get angry