Friday, 15 December 2017

Thank God It's Frida!


When in turmoil, just smoke a ciggie, have a staunch bird on your arm and put flowers in your hair. We're all just as strange as each other, some of us just hide it better.

I moved house in a heatwave which I do not recommend. Sweat dripped on my glasses and I cried because obviously I did most of it myself and realised how hard it was, despite so many offers of help. Help ugh get it orf.

I can't show you any photos of my new beautiful 1900's miners cottage because a bomb has gone off in here - but I have a backyard, beautiful verandah, A WHITE PICKET FENCE complete with white matching swing on the porch. Like Anne of fricken Green Gables. And aqua splash back tiles in the kitchen. And stepping stones (symbolic.) I made it out of my prison flat alive. I'm one tough motherfucker.


A FUSE NEEDED CHANGING IN MY ELECTRICITY BOX AND I CHANGED IT MYSELF. THIS IS A VERY BIG DEAL.

I no longer live directly across the road from the charming police in the police station  ... thanks for being SO considerate, fair, and understanding you guise!


I dreamt of a cemetery that was on fire - all of the graves got razed to the ground but I knew there were still rotting corpses underneath. I tried to tell people but they wouldn't believe me and I finally didn't care that I wasn't believed. I know death like the back of my wrinkled hands and I don't need to point it out to others.


I absolutely do whatever I like except there is no curtain of madness. Embarrassing but true. And I don't care anymore. I just. Don't. Care.


Oh where is my lover who takes away the lies, brings me hope and coffee and poetry?

Right here. I'm my own lover who refuses to settle for anything less than spectacular which won't be happening in this lifetime so I'll light up the sky myself. Write my own soothing words for me - and you. Kiss myself goodnight. Move out of a prison flat straight into the light. Blessed the fuck be.

As for you, Computer? I love you. Be careful .. for what it's worth I'll be having another crap christmas but it's just a day. Stay alive, stroke your hair, sweep your back deck, find at least two teeny things to be grateful for ... remember life ends eventually. Which is scary for some, relieving for others.

This last picture is for you. Swear on all the Gods if I can get through the things I get through then you can too and I don't promise anything these days but I promise you that.

xxx



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Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell

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