Word Bombs

Lips.jpegThis is a plea to all the people out there who talk over others in conversations; who wait for their turn to speak instead of listening to what the other person is saying; who monopolise conversations…

STOP IT! Continue reading

Morticia and Me

When You're Forced to Hang Out with Regular PeopleA friend tagged me in a meme on Facebook. It was a picture of Gomez and Morticia Addams of the fictional and freaky Addams Family, looking bored amongst a sea of happy smiling people. The caption reads: “When You’re Forced to Hang with Regular People”. I actually did laugh out loud because not only do I love the Addams family but being the ‘odd one out’ both physically and socially really resonates with me.

I’ve always loved the Addams Family but as a child I was particularly drawn to Morticia. Whether played by Carolyn Jones in the 1964 TV series or Angelica Huston in the 1991 and 1993 films, the character of Morticia was awesome. Morticia was my complete opposite: She had jet black hair, mine was blonde, she had what I consider to be a great figure; sadly I didn’t (and still don’t, she says, keyboard covered in crisp crumbs!), the Goth look was, literally made for her, whereas I was rubbish at trying to pull it off in my late teens; she lived in a massive gothic mansion, I didn’t; she was adored by her husband, I am adored by myself (although even that took some work!) and – most importantly, she was comfortable in her own skin.

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The Whole World in His Hands

The World.jpeg

It all started with the eye in the hand. I drew it a lot when I was a kid. Not like the hamsa or hamesh though, I’d draw around my own open hand then draw a picture of an eye in the middle. I don’t know why, I just liked the way it looked.

My parents, both deeply religious, were disturbed by my works of art so they burned them. Undeterred I continued to draw the symbol, usually unaware of what I was doing, you know, drawing them absentmindedly, so whichever parent caught me in the act took to slapping me on the hand with the hardest object they could find before sending me to my room in tears or beating me until I promised that I would never draw the thing again. Of course this was a promise that I could never keep, not because I didn’t want to (I mean who wants to be beaten constantly and called every name under the sun by their parents?) but because I had no control over myself as far as the image was concerned. I’d just look down and suddenly my hand was moving and before I knew it, the image had appeared. It happened on random pieces of paper; in the sand when we went on vacation; in mud on a school camping trip and, possibly the worst time, during a Sunday school class. We were supposed to be drawing the animals of Noah’s Ark but of course I produced the hand-eye thing. Mrs Patterson, also disturbed by the image but, much like my parents, had no idea why, showed it to mum and dad ‘out of concern’ (yeah right, everyone knew she was a nosey old bitch) and my parents freaked. They took me to see the priest suggesting to him that I may need a baptism of some kind. May I remind you that at no point did anyone ask me what the symbol represented or why I kept drawing it, nor did anyone research in to the sign, yet everyone involved decided that it was evil and that, since I was the kid drawing the offending image, I must have been the conduit of the devil.

Thankfully our priest was blessed with a little bit more sense. Sensing that my father’s anger and my mother’s tearful hysteria was just making the whole situation worse, he told my parents that he’d like to speak with me alone and ushered them out of the room. He asked me how I was doing, how things were at home, if anything was bothering me, you know, therapy type questions, then he moved on to ‘how long have you been drawing this symbol?’, ‘Where have you seen this symbol before?’ ‘What does it mean to you?’ Of course, being an eight year-old little boy at the time there was nothing I could really tell him as far as my drawings were concerned. I had no idea what the damn thing meant, I had never seen it before aside from when I drew it and it meant nothing to me beyond the fact that I liked the image, I thought it was cool – and who wouldn’t? It was a hand with a freakin’ eye in the centre!

Home on the other hand, well that was another story. I could talk about that all day, although common sense told me that I probably shouldn’t. Continue reading

Room 203

203.jpegMarcie was trying hard to empty her mind of all its clutter so she could focus on the task at hand but there were far too many distractions. The carpet for one. She’d forgotten to pack her slippers and never wore socks so was forced to walk barefoot around the room. Hotels were notoriously nasty anyway, but budget hotels? Well, one could only imagine. She wondered how many florescent blobs of seamen would show up if she were to somehow access one of those ‘black lights’ forensic scientists use at crime scenes, then shuddered at the thought.

Thoughts of the seamen covered carpet made Marcie think of the bed. She wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly tonight. If the floor was covered in that stuff then what chance did the poor bed have? She opened her bag and proceeded to examine her night clothes: long sleeved T-Shirt? Check. Jogging bottoms? Check. Bandana? Check. Hooded sweatshirt? Check. One pillowcase from home? Check. One double sheet from home? Check. The important thing, Marcie mentally reminded herself, was to ensure that not one ounce of skin or hair touched the hotel sheets. Her mind went back to a recent conversation she’d had with her cousin about the time he’d contracted ringworm from sleeping in a hotel when working as a flight attendant.

Another shudder.

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Forgive us our Trespasses…

LordsPrayer.jpeg‘Let us pray’.

With hands clasped and eyes closed I bow my head solemnly but the anger racing through me makes it impossible to communicate with God in a meaningful way.

Surely the most blasphemous deed is presuming to know the thoughts and wishes of God, yet these so-called preachers, these ‘messengers of God’ – of all religions, commit this sin every time they open their dirty putrid little mouths. Wars are started because of these people! Conflicts that wipe out entire generations and scar those lucky (or unlucky) enough to survive.

I love God with every fibre of my being so it hurts – I mean really hurts when these fraudsters claim to be speaking on behalf of God.

My boyfriend is nudging me and as I open my eyes I see that he’s pulling faces and trying to make me laugh. The site of him creates a warmth within me that is so powerful I want to cry. I don’t know if Tony will ever fully understand how I feel. He’s an atheist so the notion of me being offended by people manipulating and mis-interpreting the word of someone who, as far as Tony is concerned, doesn’t even exist, makes him laugh. Continue reading

Big Girl Pants

Image source: FreeFoto.com

We are taught that womanhood begins when the first flow of blood releases itself from that sacred place between our legs but really this is the first step in the direction of womanhood; the body physically preparing itself for the biological strains that will accompany womanhood.  In this (Western) society womanhood is also associated with the loss of virginity. Again, this is another step towards the womanhood but without the proper emotional and psychological preparation it is purely a physical act void of any real emotional and spiritual meaning.

Surely giving birth is the sign of one’s arrival at the gates of womanhood? Considering the number of neglectful, thoughtless, cruel and selfish mothers in the world I am inclined to disagree. Like sex, without the proper spiritual, emotional and psychological preparation and support, giving birth is merely a physical/biological process. Continue reading

Heatwave, Lemonade and “Speed” Dating

IMAG0216At 7pm on Wednesday 1st July 2015 – the hottest day on record in the UK, I was in a bar in Monument, Central London with about 7 or 8 other people. I didn’t know these people, I’d never met them before, I may never meet them again but they seemed nice. I was tired and hotter than a bottle of Tabasco sauce in Hell, but I had decided that if I didn’t attend, I’d regret it so there I was, sitting with a bunch of very beautiful ladies and opposite some very ordinary looking guys.

This was my first Speed Dating event. Continue reading