Dear Lesley,
I'm sorry to have to do this through a letter, but
last time your crying just humiliated
the other couples in your group session.
Although, this might save embarrassment,
and make me look better, now that we are
both sleeping with other people. (If you
can call conjugal visits to your ex-husband people.)
This letter may well be the last memory
you will have of me, if your social worker
lets you keep it as a memento anyway.

I am leaving, and I won't be looking back either.
I am sure you won't be surprised or terribly upset.
It is completely your fault, no doubt about it!
Mainly, it is your long history with lying problems,
even more than your alcoholism, that keeps me
from being even remotely interested in continuing
this relationship with you. (I told you I forgave
you for sleeping with your boss, but I guess I
never really did.)

You would be so much better off finding someone
that can accept the emotional baggage that
you carry around, the ones with the orange tags.
Maybe your analyst can explain that to you better
than I can. I must say, I will miss some of the exciting
times we had together. Like when you got so drunk
and flirted with my father at our family Christmas
dinner. My mom has still not gotten the red wine stain
out of the tablecloth where you puked on it.

I'm glad this is finally done and we can go our
separate ways. I think you will find someone else
with whom to have an unhealthy relationship based
on physical attraction and a passion for strip-club bars.
Hopefully, this will happen incredibly far away.

Good riddance, and Happy New Year.

PS Maybe you should just go back to being a lesbian.
PPS I have no idea where you parked your car.

A girl who does not want to answer, "who are you?"

Waking up at the end of the drinking session, hopping on that vernacular, still doubting the self. Still lost in who I am, who we are; getting into situation one would never get in to. Drunk drinking, ******* in the head yet I swear to myself that it would be well without the chemicals, arrived on 2014 doing the first things that I always said I would never do. Yet, as Frank says, "regrets, I have a few, but then again too few to mention."
3 o'clock in the morning, still spitting, always saying, "I don't regret nothing." But, who are we as twenty year olds? What have we done, what have we been through? We still have enough to do more than most that we meet here, now. Still that pretentious *******, still that person with that self-righteousness. Brainfucked. Still in between the past and the future, maybe it is called the moment, who knows? That feeling between leaving and arriving, that rationalization. Still here, haven't made one move, haven't constructed one bridge. Still trying to find that fate, still falling apart in the middle of the night, never getting enough sleep, still thinking about that One.
Never knowing who's behind the head, the jailed joker, the one who makes the jokes yet not knowing why. Why judge people so **** much, why have such strong opinions, why can't we just be? Always meeting people who can calm me down, yet never, never.

Never what one would think, never like that one one would meet at a bus stop, in the bus, smiling at you for no reason. Never being able to meet that person again yet that smile in the memory. And, it will never be You. Constantly jumping, jumping for who knows why when You know that cold lonely cement reeling in, closed-caption goodbye. Back in that purgatory, same place, building bridges to the same exact spot, building fate to that exact same moment of denial, the mind before the rejected kiss. The rejected kiss You are so used to having, the feeling of being on top of that world yet falling from that peak, falling from that canyon, screaming loud as one possibly can. That rejection, that feeling of hitting that ground so hard, the only thing one can do is get up on one's own. Purgatory, stuck in this mess. Stuck. Only wishing You can steal that kiss, maybe for that moment that can take You away from living that moment that You loathe to live, living in the moment only to loathe the future, viewing the future like its hindsight by living in the moment. Falling for that same moment You wish You could grab, hold onto, wishing the subject was You, jumping, falling all on alone. How hopeless romantics fall, living in that disastrous moment, how it should have been, how it should have started, how it should have gone; hopelessy hoping for it, for that one, for that once. How it ends: Who I am? I dont know yet, but probably not who you think I am. But, just like that, didn't know something so beautiful could fly so low, would love to try for a rejection. Please dont. Thank you for the rejection, a chance not to break a heart.

Signed,



soon to forget.



ps. it does ****.

pps. the future *****. 'NO WAY. Future doesn't exist.'

Switch off
switch on
one more mod con'

what is life without electric curlers
vibrating pillows or clocks that glow in the dark?

A long time ago when John was switched on
a younger mod con'
here and gone in a flash,
cash was cash not a promissory note
not service charge because there's no ******' chance
where there's no ******' hope

ah
I lost the thread
computer tells me
conversation dead and to get a life
or switch off
my reply
*******

Mother told me,
'son
no blasphemy'
and here's me
cursing to all and sundry

ps, I hate Monday,
but that's not the end of it

mod con's are put upon this earth to
destroy conversations and culture,
hairdo's and weirdos and who knows
that last one may not be true

Mother told me,
'don't trust politicians or men
in pigtails'
that was a long time before Cameron
came along and he is most definitely
a 'mod con
should be in a chain gang but we
don't have them so we put him in
Number ten which is fenced in anyway.

pps I still hate Monday

switch off

you are an ***
I made a poem
you yelled at me
Evann and I said,
"******* LOSER CHILL YOUR ****"
and he said like a pshyco
"No U LoSEr"
and now I am forced to take desperate measures
*******,
-the entire site
Ps, we reported you to the mods :)
pps, hey could you guys knock some sense into this man he blocked us ****
ppps, ur mommie said you can't raid area 51 bc u bulli me :))))))))))))))))

keep on crafting verses
which ain't just a means of killing time
but, lyrics-wise
also a means of whacking turkeys
and black hA̲ts I'm versus
such as hacks with lyrics rather poorly
organized, which is why they're strE̲E̲t-gang-like
and, of course, autocratic vermins
composing both unjust regimes & crime
rings; said means of whacking, fO̲r when
my stuff's hatched, I̲t seems like
the close quarters battle chO̲I̲ce pre—
—ferred among primeval tribes
of present days northwestern states
["hatchet"; North American Indians; USA & Canada]
once again, a path of wA̲r is
picked, like how you may feel after surfing
through bA̲d news, O̲r when
you indulge in consumption
of content re injustice, corruption
["piqued"]
ju[ɪ]st like the weapon O̲f the Reaper
I've gO̲t a grim side
["scythe"]
and, like a cross gal-beater
'bout to blow off his ******* steam by
laying his meat hooks O̲n a chica
done no wrong to him, my
plan of attack is horrid; hope you o[ɑ]pps have **** hearses
plus caskets ordered
for yourselves; a nutbA̲g with swO̲rd dex—
—terity; dozen slashing strikes A̲t a tO̲rse, which
like a lush lass performing
in front of you a **[ɑ]t lA̲p dance, serves as
stimulation; then I hA̲ck off fO̲relimbs
and as a final blow
I get my target's gO̲rge slit
many would likely ca[ɔ]ll
such scene "bloodbath", but that's absurdish
for, in the scene, there's o[ɑ]bvi no
******* tub A̲s a storage
for spilled blood; it reminds me mo'
of a blood fountain (view-wise)
an assassin thirsty for blood's back to murking
————————————————————————————————
you know, knowledge & thou[ɑ]ghts about things
being either unjust, such as crim. rings
or unrighteous regimes, or O̲nes causing de[ɪ]s—
—pondence, regardless if I̲t's
something from the past or stuff that exists
in the present, are like a disease
that's why it's said unkno[ɑ]wledge is bliss
[to be more precise, "ignorance is bliss"]
that's why sO̲metimes you wish
your mI̲nd were at peace, like sO̲meone deceased
or you were in a better place
like a country scene wI̲th autumnal sU̲n-illumed trees, but...
————————————————————————————————
like an eye-catching gI̲rl with
an untactful shO̲rt rig
pU̲t on (like that war-monge[—]ring sh#tbag)
(that personifies a corruptive impact)
(of power) & acting *****
in front of an unattached het bO̲y, this
**** autocratic wO̲rld's ju[ɪ]st
****** asking for it (aaargh!)
while you already've got a tragic pE̲rs. en—
—vironment, which, alongsI̲de of the sh#t
mentioned just prior, has you turning
slowly into a ******* madman bursting
with flipping steam (loco)
excuse me if it's an indecent thing
to say, but the world of the living seems
like a giga[ɛ]ntic dumpsite (gigantic dumpsite)
for it's full of pieces of trash deserving
to be eliminated; that's why
you sometimes wish you were a master termi—
—nator serving as a real embo[ɑ]dier
of retribution, like Red Hood, Punisher
besides, as it's been mentioned prior ta
this, there's anger occurring I̲n you O̲nce in a
while, which itself isn't mU̲ch of a
scourge, unlike ex-hitmen compelled to cO̲me back ta
a path of spilling blO̲O̲d, but, a—
—kin to a cellar with a bU̲nch of au[ɑ]—
—thoritarian-regime-or-mafia-
-linked ******, some drU̲ms of a—
—lcohol, & a ca[ɛ]ndle lustre o[ɑ]—
—ccupying a somewhat evil mI̲nd of a
vengeful sO̲n of a
gun, it's a somewhat combustible story
["storey"]
when you've got not up to ***** sources
of blowing off steam
————————————————————————————————
atrocious, obscene
in self-expression, but it's just a reflection of this
corrupt world that I've been
influenced by; while the boat that I'm in
is a far cry from a floating posh inn
["by floating posh inn", I mean "cruise liner"]
more like an old brigantine
with nigh-on nO̲body bei[—]ng
on board; but even
sinking lO̲w when I scheme
my bars, I'm sti̲ll on
a morally higher ground than those rO̲gues I'm agin
like Ledger's Joker, I deem
this world deserves a better category of crims
than gangsters & ******* ******* for im—
—proper, self-assertive regimes; a bO̲ld breed of in—
—dividuals who'd be disposing of prin—
—ciple-lacking sods blindfolded by ching
and power, like thO̲se I've just in—
—dicated; you may get your f#ck finger
and your pointer organized, sim. ta
a **** mo[ɑ]b, I̲nto the V sign if ya
know who I mean
[9 letters, the 1st one is "v", the last one is "e"]

“Collier took Oona and Charlie backstage and introduced them to the star and (Katharine) Hepburn's mother, an outspoken advocate of birth control. Gesturing toward Oona, Collier proudly proclaimed, 'Isn't it wonderful? This young girl is the mother of three children!'; 'Nothing wonderful about that,' Mrs. Hepburn quickly replied. 'The wonderful thing would be not having them.' (One only can imagine what Mother Hepburn might have said upon hearing the final count.)” [From pps. 157-8 of a biography of Charles Chaplin's fourth wife (and mother to 8 of his 10 children), Oona: Living in the Shadows by Jane Scovell, 1998]

WIKI: Oona O'Neill Chaplin, Lady Chaplin (May 14, 1925 – September 27, 1991) was the daughter of Nobel and Pulitzer-Prize-winning American playwright Eugene O'Neill and English-born writer Agnes Boulton, and the fourth and last wife of English actor and filmmaker Charlie Chaplin.

In Hollywood, O'Neill was introduced to Chaplin, who considered her for a film role. The film was never made, but O'Neill and Chaplin began a romantic relationship and married in June 1943, a month after she had turned 18. The 36-year age gap between them caused a scandal, and severed O'Neill's relationship with her father, who had already strongly disapproved of her wish to become an actress. Following the marriage, O'Neill gave up her career plans. She and Chaplin had eight children together and remained married until his death in 1977.

8.
I was so busy doing nothing today
Waiting for life to be over
Waiting for time to pass
Waiting for lunchtime
Waiting for 2.30pm
I went to my sisters baptism
She spoke to the congregation
About her conviction
I cried
A lot
I'm glad she's going to heaven
But worried I'm not.

Day 9.
Back to work
Had nothing to do
So I offloaded to the other side of the world
Big mistake
Everything went to ****
I broke down
crying
again
And now all my energy
and enthusiasm
is
gone
I dont want to do this
Or that
or anything
I just want to do what I want to do
I'm so sick of people telling me what to do
Oh I KNOW it's because they love me
And it's for my own good
But that doesn't stop it
FROM ANNOYING TF OUTTA ME
whinge
complain
sigh
****
Welp
Anyway
Whatevs
Do you laugh in glee
At how easy it is to manipulate me
The "disappointment" card
The "headache" card
The "wasting time" card
Guarantee success
I'll do it
P.S. I love you
PPS. I'm sorry

10.
BUSY BUSY BUSY
And just as well...
Breakfast with sister
She asked how many trips it'd take to get my stuff outta her house
I asked why
She said 'in case i should help'
But
Then the truth came out
She wants me to give back the key
*** for tat?
She's angry
I wont tell her where I'm going
I'm being "foul"
Kinda wrecked my day
But breakfast was good
And I was busy busy busy
Went to work and talked to Iris
She likes my trousers :)
Worked for five hours......... plus
Collated my crap
Went to the shop for some things
Australian things
Mum called
Asked if I was coming home for dinner
Wish I could have said no
I miss having dinner with my man.

11
I forgot my washing dang it
So much to do
Note: My boyfriend is freaking awesome
Feeling a lot calmer about DVT
Mark helped me a lot today
It's starting to sink in
Today is probably the last day I'll spend with him
Tonight was the last time I'll have dinner with the family
Tonight is the last night I'll be sleeping at home
my comfy bed
my big spacious room
my lack of awkwardness at opening up the fridge and cupboards and staring inside
I'm going to really miss the old life
lots of emotions
lots of scared
looking forward to what the future holds though.

This is the last verse/post for a while... leaving for Europe tomorrow... the next 21 days will be just me staring at European things and counting down the days til I see my love again

I LOVE YOU!

I AM LOOKING FORWARD TO SEEING YOU AGAIN SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!

XOXOXO

“Since like always produces like, this is the law of infinite application, it works on every vibratory level, it cannot conceivably be broken. For thorns do not grow on thistles and neither do juicy red tomatoes grow on apple trees.” -- Fr. pps. 136-7: The Door of Everything by Ruby Nelson (1963)