Something blue old or new.

Dear reader,

The ocean breeze has stolen something close to me.
She carried it away and peppered the tides.
Leaving tiny pieces of me sprinkled in all the little seabeds.

“The only love that I really believe in is a mother’s love for her children.” - Karl Lagerfeld

I wrote this for my mum because she was really down.

Dearest mumsy,

You’ve been down in the dumps of late

So I wanted to do something that would negate

The inky sadness on your pretty face,

And get you back to your happy place!

Below is a list of things you do,

That help people, like me, to not come unglued.

See, you’ve helped all these humans that you’ve met

But you hardly ever have time to dote on yourself. And yet,

You do all these things without a second blink

So please, pretty please, take one second to think,

How:

1.       Your smile lights up an entire room, you must be part sunshine to clean away all that gloom.

2.       Your cheer and good nature are by far the best I’ve seen. You’re humble and hilarious and fun (and definitely not mean)

3.       You look pretty good for a fossil in motion, even though I'm sure you’re probably older than the ocean!

4.       You have so, so many friends, all over the planet, you kind of remind me of a really well rounded pomegranate.

5.       Nobody I know has ever had the heart to speak ill of you, and even if they had, every single human would say it were untrue.

6.       You have a family who hang on to your every word, whether it be sober, muffled or (as it is often) slurred!

So please, dear mumsy, please do me this one favour,

Please desist with this silly, woeful behavior!

And look at this list when you feel like a mountain of crap,

And remember how awesome you are, even when you snap.

“Sane is boring.” - R.A. Salvatore

In an attempt to write more, here is something that I whipped up during a chat with Barrel. The ending will follow soon.

The lesser boring Barry

Every morning was the same. Barry woke up at exactly 5:59am; a second before his alarm clock whistled, just as the sun was peeking out from behind the morning mist. Breakfast was a well rounded ten minute affair of precisely squared apple cubes and artfully lathered toast. Showering took another ten minutes as its mistress, until finally, he was fully clothed in the crispest cotton seen to man. To top it all off, was a big finish that consisted of a swift but vigorous shoe shine and then off he went on his way, primly clutching a slim briefcase, only to stop at the corner café for a cup of piping hot java; ready to take on the day.

But this morning was different.

Barry awoke, with a start, to the most unpleasant ringing sound he’d ever encountered. The sun was still playing hide and seek with the moon and his alarm was a long, long way off. Something was off. No, in fact, something was very wrong. This was just not how things were done in his house. Ill at ease, Barry laid his sensible head back down on his ever so slightly creased feather pillow and closed his eyes. Unfortunately for Barry, his body was now in full morning mode and his limbs refused to rest.

From then on his day got much, much, much worse.

- Breakfast was a no go.

- The dishwasher had inexplicably stopped halfway through its wash and Barry was left helpless without any cutlery and plate-less.

- The toaster, perched on the wrong digit, spat out a charred remnant of what had originally been his last slice of whole wheat rye.

- The geyser was in woeful need of repair and so an icy cold shower was the order of the day.

- Meanwhile his ears were still ringing from the hideous disturbance that had woken him up not so long ago.

- In a hopeless sleep deprived daze, Barry had also notably singed his favourite collared shirt.

But the straw that broke that camel’s back wasn’t the mouse hole he discovered during his rigorous yet thorough flossing regimen, it was the scrape his new loafers incurred during a tad-too-vigorous brush with the polish. Finally, at his wit’s end, Barry stripped his singed cotton off, unfolded his flannel two piece and balefully tucked himself back into bed for a sick day. Only to be unceremoniously wrenched from a blissful slumber by the same unpleasant ringing that had signaled the demise of his day.

“To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism; to steal from many is research.” - Stephen Wright

The idea thief

He stalks in the night,
Inky black foot prints,
Carving his own path,
Full of treachery and betrayal.

He is you. And me and she and her and him and they and we.

"He's so emo, he's dead" - Hallie Haller

EMOTEP CHARACTER SKETCH

Emotep is an emo zombie character that my friend and I came up with. Thought I'd have a bit of fun with it.

- Has many skeletons in his closet. Literally.

- Pessimist and cynic

- Not the talkative type.

- Has a speech impediment: When nervous will repeat the word “brains” over and over

- Completely straight edge

- Orphan

- Occasionally practices voodoo

- Athiest

- Has the personality of sand

- Huge fan of Plants versus Zombies but has never cleared level 1                                                                            

- Has a tendency to fall apart in rough times.

- Has never had a girlfriend

- Very private individual

- Has a habit of chasing those who get too close to him away. Literally.

- Only friend is Bill Murray                                                      

- Insomniac

- Favourite movie is Hannibal

- Actually see’s dead people

- Prone to intermittent surges of white rage

- Refers to all music as “too mainstream”

- Actually has a death wish

 - Obsessive compulsive with hair care

- Rampant hooligan while skateboarding.

- More socially awkward than Kristen Stewart            

- Addicted to milk

- Was previously a drummer in some band but had to retire due to severe arthritis.

- Has a chip on his shoulder because of the above.

"Quiet people have the loudest minds" - Stephen Hawking

There’s a universe in my head and it’s struggling to stay hidden.

From time to time it slumbers but never for more than an hour.

Constantly tugging on my hair like a petulant child, it tails me around like an invisible stray thread.

It is exhausting.

Meanwhile, the world around me is in complete chaos;

engulfed in the fires it ignites, slowly, surely, burning all who tread its worn rubble.

And yet, the universe inside my head, with its ever prickly presence, is the one that carries the weight of something real.

Something comforting.

Something true.

Its silence draws me in deeper, a siren call I reach to under water.

“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.” - Marilyn Monroe, Marilyn

To be a cupcake would be sweet,

To constantly be such a treat,

Everyone wanting a piece of you

You, all colourful, fresh and new.

Oh but to look that good for a day

I'd be a cupcake if I had my way.

But just for one day,

They don’t keep well.
Just for a day would be quite swell.