Bitterness

Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean. - Maya Angelou

Storm- Tim Minchin

Daunting

The flashing black bar on my white word document looks pretty daunting today.

2672 words till this assignments finished.
That number seems pretty daunting too.

People always think...

 'People always think that they know other people, but they don't. Not really. I mean, maybe they know things about them, like they won't eat doughnuts or they like action movies or whatever. But they don't know what their friends do in their rooms alone at night or what happened to them when they were kids or if they feel fucked up and sad for no reason at all'

Bitch- Carolyn Kizer

Bitch

BY CAROLYN KIZER

Now, when he and I meet, after all these years,

I say to the bitch inside me, don’t start growling.   

He isn’t a trespasser anymore,

Just an old acquaintance tipping his hat.

My voice says, “Nice to see you,”

As the bitch starts to bark hysterically.

He isn’t an enemy now,

Where are your manners, I say, as I say,

“How are the children? They must be growing up.”   

At a kind word from him, a look like the old days,   

The bitch changes her tone; she begins to whimper.   

She wants to snuggle up to him, to cringe.

Down, girl! Keep your distance

Or I’ll give you a taste of the choke-chain.

“Fine, I’m just fine,” I tell him.

She slobbers and grovels.

After all, I am her mistress. She is basically loyal.   

It’s just that she remembers how she came running   

Each evening, when she heard his step;

How she lay at his feet and looked up adoringly   

Though he was absorbed in his paper;

Or, bored with her devotion, ordered her to the kitchen   

Until he was ready to play.

But the small careless kindnesses

When he’d had a good day, or a couple of drinks,

Come back to her now, seem more important

Than the casual cruelties, the ultimate dismissal.

“It’s nice to know you are doing so well,” I say.

He couldn’t have taken you with him;

You were too demonstrative, too clumsy,

Not like the well-groomed pets of his new friends.   

“Give my regards to your wife,” I say. You gag

As I drag you off by the scruff,

Saying, “Goodbye! Goodbye! Nice to have seen you again.” 

Ghosts

Reminiscing about Halls

Today I miss halls: the guys from Jamie FC, Frying pan cricket, Panos, Jon Jon, the cat we called Tuna, Mike, the 50 chicken nugget night, cheese throwing, the night where 'It didn't fucking hurt but it could have', when Chris hid under my bed, the gravy granule shower, the casual everyday frape, the day when rice went everywhere, bed in shower, the German shots, mud on chin day, Steff's birthday chunder, the weir, Kieran eating his change, Kirrrsty, when their tongues touched on THAT photo, floor chip, 'Hey Tom it's security', METROS, Squi and Frank, the fancy dress, the chinese man, the gates, 'merry fuckmas' and 'is that my jacket!', the missing vibrator, the alarm in the lift, snow day, the lizard, the hospital visit, Iris the ironing board, mushroom, 'you spill it you lick it', chunderbox, oh hey cricket match day, football sunny pub crawl, the end of the year tradition.

We had fun.

Homesick

Kings of Convenience

Fighting

You say he'll be fine
and he's in the best place
but
I have eyes.
I see exactly what is happening,
and I can feel him slipping away.
You keep asking how I am.
Isn't it obvious?
I know you're trying to help
but right now I don't want to chat,
I don't want crappy coffee from that stupid machine
and everytime you hug me you're making it worse.
I'm not being fair
but indulge me, just for now.
I'm fighting cause he's stopped,
I'm angry at the world,
not at you.

Man At The Bus Stop

Sat alone at the bus stop
seemingly lost in bittersweet memories
shivering in your thin woolen jumper.

Eyes closed under heavy rimmed glasses
I look at your hands clasped together over your thin stomach.
Loose, wrinkled skin,
dark patches,
blue veins standing proud.

I try to imagine you young.
Thick dark hair, big white smile,
a petite brunette linked
with your muscular arms.

But the image fades as soon as it arrives.
The small white haired man before me is all I can see.


I feel naive, ashamed and young.
The lines etched on your face
tell tales I will never know,
though I wish I could.

Milton

The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.


From Paradise Lost- Milton

What Wilde Said

Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask and he will tell you the truth- 

Oscar Wilde 

-

The overwhelming sensation that I should be somewhere else rather than sat here waiting is getting to me.   Trying to write why reputation management through crises is important but my mind keeps wondering off.

Hell Yes!

Me, my dear chums and these chaps- 30th of May, St David's Hall. 

I have waited a long time to see them so I hope I get tickets now! 

Paranoia

-For T. Stewart-

Don't leave me.
Fears, irrational thoughts,
paranoia
converge.
I try to rationalize
one at time
only to find
several
more
pushing their way
viciously to the front of my cranium.
High-speed motorway crashes.
Unfasted roller-coaster harnesses.
Unseen falling objects.
Wet hands near sockets.
I hear the begging cries
of the what if's
and the screams of
terror.
Watching friends and family
being slaughtered.
Knifes push though layers of skin.
Plane crashes.
Violent house-destroying fires
started by leaving the switch on...
did I leave the switch on?
Slipping on rocks
falling off cliffs
still falling.
Don't leave me with
myself.

In Paris With You- James Fenton

In Paris With You

Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful
And I get tearful when I've downed a drink or two.
I'm one of your talking wounded.
I'm a hostage. I'm maroonded.
But I'm in Paris with you.

Yes I'm angry at the way I've been bamboozled
And resentful at the mess I've been through.
I admit I'm on the rebound
And I don't care where are we bound.
I'm in Paris with you.

Do you mind if we do not go to the Louvre
If we say sod off to sodding Notre Dame,
If we skip the Champs Elysées
And remain here in this sleazy

Old hotel room
Doing this and that
To what and whom
Learning who you are,
Learning what I am.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris,
The little bit of Paris in our view.
There's that crack across the ceiling
And the hotel walls are peeling
And I'm in Paris with you.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris.
I'm in Paris with the slightest thing you do.
I'm in Paris with your eyes, your mouth,
I'm in Paris with... all points south.
Am I embarrassing you?
I'm in Paris with you. 

James Fenton

You

came in,
strolled around in your muddy boots.
I made you coffee at your request, you
dropped the cup.
The shards of my late mother's china cut me as I clear up,
You told me not to be so clumsy.
You scowled as I produced dinner,
You don't like mashed potato,
I should have remembered.
I let you push me upstairs,
your arms holding me tight,
whispering filthy things, slapping my arse and thighs,
too hard.
Your shed your dirty work
clothes on my floor
before ripping my pale lace dress.
I tell you what you want to hear
as you grab and squeeze, marking my body.
You purposely come on the sheets,
on my side of the bed
and collapse on me.
Heavy,
sweaty.
You bite my neck before you slide away,
satisfied.
I remain where you left me,
waiting to hear the door slam.
I look in the mirror at my face,
drained of colour, black trails from my eyes.
Where you bit me a dark angry bruise
resides.

As you leave
you tred on the colourful flowers
breaking their slender necks.

Daughter- Medicine

Beautiful song. Perfect for a reflective Sunday morning. 

Ink in Water

I feel like I'm getting pulled in every direction today.


Ink in water- Alberto Seveso

'Get me away from here I'm dying'

The grey streets of Cardiff are bringing me down. 

I want to get away somewhere new. 

Like Norway. 

Reflections

As I touch the hard cold mirror I feel it crack.
I push harder.
The fracture splits
and divides
conquering the surface in seconds.

Splinters work their way into my finger tips
and cut the fine lines on my palms.
Segments fall and shatter
as I pull my hands across
the schisms.

Blood the colour of dark rubies
seeps over my wrists
creating smooth
uneven trails across my skin,
and drips at the elbow

I step back and
remove my hands from the mirror.
The reflection stares back, palms up, cupping blood.
It surveys the damage,
and smiles.


- I'm trying to write an essay about the use of the double in certain texts at the moment and it's been interesting thinking about the 'dark other' and how it could take over (eg The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde). Anyway, I'd love any opinions and helpful criticism!

Memories

This song is ace. Just saying. It's interesting how songs, films, smells, feelings take you places and remind you of people. Sometimes it's not the good things you remember but hey, we all learn from our mistakes. To quote the poster I spent 2 years looking at in Mr. Crowes class: Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it- Churchill. 

Quiet

'Understand that there are two kinds of quiet. There is the quiet you could never stand, the kind of quiet you feel falling asleep at night in the empty countryside, the way the silence beats violently against your ears and all you wish for is grating city noise.

Then there is the quiet you relish. The pressure of water against your eardrums. Hushed submersion in chlorine or saline. Underwater, the silence feels truly quiet. Impenetrable.'

http://thoughtcatalog.com/2012/how-to-fall-in-love-with-water/

Marvellous March