is my head really hurting or does the sun tell me its not the day for working?

I take it all too personally
blog
friend
if you don't blog for a day or two
think
end

I am not cautious enough
how
why
commit, voice an opinion
good
bye

coming home

son on phone
money for food
ten quid
and another quid
enough for T

does his mother know
no
so

she said, I need a break
I said my boy is grounded
no friends allowed

so as she threw him on the street

did she think
my boy
wouldn't give her boy
a bed
food

er, erm...
not sure
I
know what to do with her boy too today

brief blog

bed

rest my head

oh

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Znethru pro
http://www.sibeliusmusic.com/cgi-bin/user_page.pl?url=febland/
21/06/06 @ 23:43
It's difficult but my advice is: 'keep looking forwards'.

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KandAmoist [Member]
22/06/06 @ 05:44
I guess that many people blog because of a transient need or want. And because of the personal but impersonal nature of blogland we don't have the same reservations about "abandoning" the friends we've made here when the drive to blog has diminished.

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isadora101 [Member]
22/06/06 @ 09:31
I have only ever had this one blog so the medium of blogging was new to me, it took me a while to realise just how transient the blogging community is and I observed the different ways that people "left" their blogs.
There are the ones who delete out of the blue, the ones who keep you guessing (will they, won't they) and the ones who give a credible goodbye(much more civilised)
I suppose we will all "abandon" our blogs one day but I for one would at least say Goodbye to the "friends" who have bothered to comment on my blog.

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GoingSomewhere pro
22/06/06 @ 19:36
MrUdzio wasn't on my friends list, but BellaBella was. Only I don't know if she did say goodbye, as I sometimes miss posts despite checking at least once a day. I've found in the past that when I've gone through individual blogs that there have been posts I've somehow missed. The problem is that when someone deletes their blog, I can't even get in touch with them. Now that Blog.co.uk has stopped doing the feeds, I can't even look via them as they remained even when blogs were deleted.

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isadora101 [Member]
22/06/06 @ 20:53
Yes, it's tricky, it happened exactly the same with me when one of my "blog friends" Flipkicker deleted. I didn't know if I had missed his "last" post or not.

Still.... that's Blog-Life

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GoingSomewhere pro
22/06/06 @ 22:29
It is Blog-Life as you say, but I miss that sense of closure. It's just another way in which modern life leaves us feeling lost. Everything always seems to be in a state of flux.

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isadora101 [Member]
22/06/06 @ 22:42
Yes, I understand totally,
For instance when Eponymous (name dropping again) left we all had the opportunity to say goodbye, each in our own individual way which as you indicated gave closure satisfactorily.

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GoingSomewhere pro
22/06/06 @ 23:32
Pity he deleted the blog though, but it was good that at least we could say, goodbye. I do sometimes think about him and wonder what he's up to.

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avrilo [Member]
23/06/06 @ 22:59
Yes, I prefer a goodbye to the blunt disappearing of there one day gone the next.

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Leave a comment :

should be the beginning of a really good start for abit of porn...chocolate mousse...except I would have to eat it, rather than spread it on and lick it off....

I conjured up some chocolate mousse after fantasising about it yesterday!

Got up at 5am this morning, finished packing, toothbrush, knickers and drove my car to my work carpark. Hopped in a cab on the Oxford Rd and arrived 40 mins early for my coach, and the cab cost over half the cost of the coach ticket! Could, maybe should, have walked...

I'm in London, Victoria, after the obligtory dash for the toilet I'm off to my FAVOURITE sushi restaurant and...its shut, no, not shut, closed down, no more, ceased to be and though I know there are supposed to be others of the same somewhere else in London, I never bothered to check where, so my favourite sushi is, gone like the restaurant , forever. And yes they have opened a Yo Sushi at Victoria and yes I do clamber onto one of those 'not built for hips' stools and enjoy my bowl of Miso, salmon, spicy sticky rice etc.., Im grieving over my loss and refuse to enjoy as much as I really do... oh i had chocolate mousse for pudding..erm desert...see there was a point to my tale and title afterall..

I didn't know Yo sushi did chocolate Mousse but they do and it was lovely, but the fantasy had palled...

For hours on the coach I had been enjoying a lovely fantasy, I'm eating my favourite sushi dish, warm with cream cheese, you have to eat it to get it... and there is this lovely young man...Keanu Reeves style, lots of different nations rolled into one and I remind him of his favourite Auntie, he gets all warm with a transferred almost Oedipal feeling and I get all warm with my transferred Keanu feeling and he wants my company in his flat, stush pad off ebury street and I want some naked hours all curled up, reading our blogs off his laptop and mmmm,.... well it killed it , the venue for this delicious fantasy being shut, forgot all about it in fact in my trauma and just went and ate....

ah theres a pattern I am rather familiar with!

I pushed the door closed quietly and wandered into the kitchen.
Its not a great place to be today, hardly ever is these days...the side is half full of unwashed pans, one or two items of dirty washing lay rather self-consciously on the floor...they've missed the laundry basket, which I noticed earlier had found its way into my mother's room...the back of my mind raises the question 'why?' but I haven't the energy to explore an answer. The floor has been cleaner, but conversely its been far dirtier. in fact the kitchen is neither great disaster nor a haven of spotless tidiness...ie if you were to have sex in my kitchen, which I never have done..you'd get a greasy arse but not a infectious disease at least not from the kitchen...obviously in a fantasy the sexual partner will not be carrying anything mildly or seriously infectious.

So, I'm in the kitchen, I don't have to get to the point or a point, its my blog for heavens sake. I sniff delicately at the cold pan on the stove and decide the leftover pasta ( millet and rice, gluten free variety) tuna fish, prawns and pesto that I cooked earlier is definitely edible and eat it, from the pan with a fork that was lying on the side...I would rather be eating chocilate mousse , homemade and thick and creamy but this home hasn't made any for quite a while though yes I do know how, which makes it worse that I haven't made any and therefore am not eating any.

I return to the siting room. where I blogged about death only an hour earlier. then shared a tale of woe about an out of control sixteen year old with his mother whilst my son showered having pursuaded me to let him in after throwing him out, no socks, no keys, 30 mins earlier...is that how long he knew it would take for me to calm down? I am affronted, give him £4.50 for the cinema but not his keys, moral victory? well his mates's mum is impressed. I explain that it seemed to go so smoothly because she was there...we do some more oh the woe of single parenting together. She is more miserable than I but then I realise she was my age when she gave birth to her boy and she is truly, honestly knackered.

So having closed the door on her less miserable now after some bonding back and having eaten my less than attractive snack, I return to my blog and have a read and a scribble and conclude that its time for an obligatory dribble..no really . I can write porn and mills and boon and hopefully something in between and make my FORTUNE.

Which is what I am supposed to be blogging only I'm not on point am I.

I'll try again tommorrow. Love and all.
x

If I stopped working how long would it take before trees would live longer, I am surrounded by mountains of their carcasses, stripped and bleached and pulped. I am so sorry, please forgive me. Once I might have thought that every word I wrote was precious, the aims of my endeavour so noble...

blast near;ly got caught my my exec producer...big cheif, ceo blah blah...we have to meet! later my lovelies, later

yesterday, couldn't settle at my desk, however urgent the report, however complex the data to analyse....actually it wasn't complex just untidy! so to treat myself for being so good as to drag myself from blogging into work, I took these pics of work for my blog! Sort of creative compromise.....

From memory
unspoken and unbound
sex seeps into my consciousness
like a trickster getting her kicks
slipping a wet tongue between my lips

and shuddering in unison
a shared refrain we should not sing

and its been far too long
I do not wish to memorise the words
or even hum the melody of this particular song
oh but a warm and gentle breeze slips along my neck
from ear to nape
and I'll tremble at its touch
and embrace the rushing and the swelling

as my nipples lurch into my shirt
as once we rose through chorus
neither swords are drawn nor is it dawn,
yet I am feeling the need
for a weapon to thrust myself upon

oh damn the children of the blog
with only twenty, thirty years upon the earth
reminding me of passion long unspent
and forget the cost of betrayal skimmed with hope

ah never mind the fault
like one long buried in an ancient vault
the beast is woken and released

though loudly creaking and cobwebbed
the scatterlogical door has been truly breached

my verse will tangle with my desire
my loins will burn with ardours' fire
and there will be an endless litany
of emerging lust and fantasy

and likened to an ode it'll never satisfy
it is too soon,
I am too young
let me wait a little longer
I'll sing again.

but
in the stillness of true love
and
whenever I am strong.

She slipped out of the City again this week,
your precious diamond,
and mine and arrived with me for another flying visit.

Sometimes when she rings with her mad plans of coaches and trains and mad motorway dashes to visit her boy, I forget how much I love her.

and then I remember the instant of that falling in love , how, with my belly bulging with my own little bundle ( born exactly 4 months later), I gazed into her cot ( is that what they call those plastic boxes that in my memory balance so precariously next to the narrow confines of a hospital bed?)and saw her screwed up little old mans face and was amazed by its beauty.
And now she is woman, graceful, tall, strong and so confident.
You have given her the gift of being your daughter,
and she carries it with gentleness and composure.

Do you recognize yourself reflecting from the shine in her smile,and her compassion and love?

I know her brother beseiges you today
and you feel often the failure of his disability,
but your child shines so beautifully because of you
your warmth
your patience
your understanding and intelligence
your commitment

you have succeeded in providing a fantastic home for all your children
and D tears at it , he tests it, but I can see its stands firm in the light and laughter of your gift.

I am missing the ease
the
mind to fingers and thumb
into the keyboard
across the hum
writing
a poem or two
when blue or
when nothings new
something to do
and I am missing you

and this is the blues
the nothing to say
feeling impoverished
rythmn is all squashed
spirit is humbled
and peeling
and reeling
blues.

do you
do you
do you
feel this way too
not neccesarily now
and again
do you
do you
do you
feel this way now
and again
not empathetically
totally actually
do you
do you
do you

feel the aimlessness anxiety claimlessness
now and againlessness
tuneless
lost my muselessness
blues?

Yesterday,
after the heart of the heat had eased over the horizon
I lay and gazed up at the sky

and the first thing in my head
were mrudzio's clouds and the tales that they tell
and

at first i seemed blind
the cotton wool stretched across the sky
hid their stories from my seeking mind
and my glazing eye
unused and unpracticed since
childhood had passed to
finding the certain
path from the clouds to the grass

then

he stepped up lightly
full of grace
a thrusting chest
and amazing face
viewed from below
his magnificent chin
his throat exposing
his arm flails to the front
a hand raised in warning or
self defense

a wing from his shoulder
or maybe a cloak
and strong thighs
tucked in to
dick witington boots

at first I wonder where he would go
striding so purposefully
across the snow

then my eyes must refocus
for there in his arms
a woman is dancing
and these are her charms

her long hair is gathered in
her pony tail swings
her gaze is all for him
her his heart sings
and they dance to the music

and yet her legs lifting
toes stretching and kicks
perhaps not a dance,
are my eyes playing tricks?

if my lovers are fighters
well they are unmatched
he towers above her
and
still
so does his gaze
he holds his purpose
there in the cloud

and yet slowly they both melt
questions never resolve
for clouds hold onto secrets
never give clues
any solution

is
up
to
you.

I am in awe at the start. This sister articulates pan african socialism with passion and directness. She doesn't hide behind cliche nor debate the need to spell Africa with a K.

Though Reggae music is in and of her life lood, she doesn't surround her judgement with rigid cutural archetype. I am in awe and soon in love, spurred onto action, to embrace my politics as a way of life. With this sister as my guide, I have found my home atlast.

N is tall, slender but talawa, her wide Nigerian face is spangled with freckles, most people, did I? think the legacy of her Scottish mother, but she later tells me , her father, dark as he was, was the bringer of freckles into her gene pool, and thats a tale worth a story all by itself and perhaps I have not the right to be the teller. I'll get back to you on that. It includes runaway slaves, north american indians, ships and oceans and long long journies across the atlantic and back...

Her wide light brown skin is spangled with the freckles of her fathers and she has a legendary gap between her teeth, the legend, as far as I know remains mythical, as we generally all have less wealth than we might have hoped for!

Her hair was always wrapped and worn high above her head and her clothes were smart. I hadn't quite developed a style of my own by this point, I was only 27! and still getting it together, my wardrobe consistedly mostly of swathes of 'african' print fabric,unhemmed and ususally tied haphazardly at my waist, faded t shirts, a worn leather jacket or unravelling tweed, the locks on my head were unattended, picky would be far too understated a word! My sister, N, was smart, clean, professional and slightly fierce.

Later her warmth, generosity, good humour, suppressed sexiness and ability to share a bottle and a half of good Bajan rum and still offer up a challenge in a game of scrabble would make her one of my favourite companians and her wisdom, love,honesty and long hard looks at our shared vulnerability, a sister I will cherish for ever.

my love
is always known and unkown
beside and afar
coming home soon
or refusing to touch me
my love

my love has your eyes
and your smile
your gentle gaze
and burning desire
your curse and your mocking
your truth and your loving
my love

my love remains hidden
whilst she's yelling from rooftops
and transparent from beneath
the soil of my grave

my love flows toward me with the thrill of the surfer
trips at my threshold
and stumbles on blindly
my love

my love gives me earache and toothache
and heals me
silently suffering
love is the candle
love is the flame
and I am the wax
and I'm melting
again.

loves lays sacrifice here at my alter
gathers the kindling
and builds the fires
that burn me.
my love

my love splits my atoms
reasoning shatters
enjoins me to please
drags me up from my knees
my love
is my prayer
is the whisper
the windsong

my love you have gone long
but still never left me

my love
yes, I heed you
though often can't hear you
I need you, my love
though I often cant bear you.

be near me and tender
my spirit I render
complete now and forever
my love.

I'm listening for the lullaby

I stand upon no new horizon
nor believe in no new freedom
nor shattered hope
nor dream

I'll make my mistakes
and the taste in my mouth will be sour
the beat in my heart acquiece to its power
and i'm crying again

I'll
stand in for the rain
nothing to lose but the heat of the sun
nothing to choose but the heat as we run
say it quietly

I really am listening

I am yearning for sleep
let me rest

I am longing for sleep
for the song of
the lullaby
and hold me gently to your chest
and my ear will carry the rythmn of your heart

whether together or apart

and

and

I really am listening

I needed the tears, sweetly
no
time

let the hurt dissipate
nothing should matter
this much
or this little

hardly
barely
said
nor read
mispoken

friendship revoked
and cynical retching
far far far
from fetching

i call you back
hold me
dont scold me
not yet

tears do not matter
or flatter

i can always remember
something changes
and its
exhausting
lying between all the ghosts

fly with me to the centre of the earth
curl up with me in the cradle
together we'll rewrite lullabys

love is a poison
stinging

love is the antedote

fly with me across our oceans
above the speeding sands
and there is no time
neither past nor present

and in the here and now
forgive
forget

love is a new beginning
and
we are the butterflies
and after the struggle from our cocoons
and the pain as the blood surges through our wings

we will

fly

you and I

neither together or apart

being certain
that now is the time to start.

and I know
all I want is to love
anxiety enduced
reeling from the shock
wasn't anticipating
the neediness exhibited
by desire
to love

and I know
words don't always belong
flowing through me
like a stranger whistles
the last stanza of a song
my antennae attuned
by repetitive action
sucks up the signal and
spills it
decoded
onto the page

I am startled
stumbled like a drunkard on a stage
throw out the
language
like a gift
or vomit
uncontrollable
and yet
immediately begin to sift
structure
revel in the form

recreate the language to
recreate a norm
and the free fall is building up a debt
and I'm all for caling of the bet

dangling in the air
no parachute or bunjee jumping
thoughts collide in
mid air
display
with fireworks and
all the works
and here it is
like a squalling newborn

a poem
mine
I hardly think so
but then

what do I know?