Pooh and an Inebriated Tigger

Pooh and an Inebriated Tigger
Originally uploaded by rielouise.

According to one of those oh so wise people at Chavscum the mere possession of these items makes me a so called chav (the insult du-jour). Oh well, suck on this! I rarely take insults on the net seriously, particularly those from the barely literate.

The Violence of Parting

A shudder, sudden
A vehement, violent, viper's sting
I was nothing to you
And yet, I thought I was everything

You fragmented before my eyes,
Transformed into everything I dispise
Hatred emanated from your face
Telling me to begone from this place
Get out of my house, you cried

Sudden, searing, a lightning strike
I was a mere child
Just like your little girl
And yet you tore me in pieces
Emotional limb from emotional limb
Frail, fragile enough already

You recocognised my condition
Without realizing it - madness
People are afraid of it
I realize this as I stumble
Half-unreal, across flat grasslands
And through crowded streets

I tense my body for death
My body tenses for death
Contemptuously, it passes me by
Those who don't want to - die
Those who do - don't

It still burns
It still turns
Revolved inside
Everytime my eyes
Fall upon you.

Overcompensating

I slept deeply, drowning. Then I awoke from a nightmare in which Bella and I were caught up in some trees as we attempted to escape the flat. Their branches held us tightly to their trunks. I shouted and Bella yowled but nobody seemed to hear us. It was as though we were on the other side of a sound-proof glass wall or that we had somehow slipped into another dimension. The sun, shining though the widow, woke me up. I was shaking. So now the trees are out to get us.

A bunch of people came traipsing though my flat. A smug council woman in a pillar box suit who clutched her clipboard so tightly that it was as though she was afraid she might drop it and would be instantly devoid of everything that made her life worth living. She asked curt, brief questions. A dark look crossed her face when I told her I'd reported LMP on Friday and then on Saturday, pointing out that she had been under psychiatric care.

The care taker came booming in and then a whole bunch of council workmen. It's bank holiday but the world at the council clearly hadn't stopped working as the gentleman on the other end of the line had implied.

The caretaker took over the place with his booming voice and the other two just chatted amongst themselves about fishing. I was, in fact, feeling like a fifth wheel and the Doug showed up and united everyone. He is excellent at that.

Later, I went back to Doug's. I hadn't eaten all day so Doug made me some toast. Unfortunately, before I had time to tuck in, Jill turned up with a rather gormless-looking, student-boy in tow. (Athough later he told us he was 33 and was deceptively young). He made an unforgiveable faux pas. Jill was giving me a deep purple mid length skirt which, to be honest, I didn't like. I prefer very long, or above the knee (with opaque tights, of course, I like to preserve my mystery). Then Student-Boy said 'But that's a lovely skirt. Is it too large for you?'

I am not larger than she is. Most of her weight rests upon her bouncy breasts. I am a little more evenly built.

I said, 'Gosh, Jill, you're a size 8. I never managed that even when I was anorexic. These hips you see here are bone and they can only be removed with a chisel. Anyone care to volunteer?'

Weak laughter. Then Student-Boy tried to redeem himself by telling me that most fashion designers are gay and that is why they prefer their models to look like boys.

Sorry, babe, you missed your chance.

They were on their way to the Live and Let Live for Sunday lunch. They invited me along. Not after that remark. I bear a grudge.

Later, Doug and I went to out usual Kami's - a Greek/Italian restaurant run by an Iranian (only in Cambridge). We had Vegetable Moussaka. Heavenly but not heavy as those dishes often are. Doug recounted the time he was 'laid out with the dead'. He was fighting in the toe of Italy when he contracted infectious hepatitis (nothing to do with the sexually transmitted kind). He was airlifted to Sicily and then somehow put aside with those who had died. An American airman happened to be passing, saw Doug's eyes flicker and alerted the authorities . Doug was transferred to a military ward in which other men placed bets on whether he would wake up or not, 'You lucky bugger,' one of his comrades remarked 'The last seven men who've been in that bed have all died'. Doug was appalled but it was not long before he himself was joining the fun and games.

A wonderful evening all round.

Splash

New splash page. Appropriate, no?

A Heavy Voice Hangs In Her Head

Preoccupied With Death

Preoccupied with death
Especially her own
Simple and repetitive
The bottle of pills
On her bedside table
Beckons her

A heavy voice hangs in her head
Slit your pretty white throat, it said

Food holds no answers
Starvation holds no answers
Purging, then running, hiding
The monster that lives inside
She rips her skin open and
Her sluttish coloured blood seeps out

A heavy voice hangs in her head
Slit your pretty white throat, it said

The sun comes out
On Christmas day
She watches it though
The sealed window
The grimy glass
Of her hospital room

A heavy voice hangs in her head
Slit your pretty white throat, it said

Aftermath

I left Doug's house at 7 am on a Sunday morning. Doug insisted upon accompanying me back to my flat. We bundled Bella into her basket and made our way across the green. I dreaded what I might find. As soon as we pulled open the front door we were almost overwhelmed by the stench of smoke. The water damage was mainly confined to the bedroom. A red-headed fire woman had spread tarpaulin over my bed. There were puddles of brown water on the clear plastic. Doug insisted upon helping me soak the water up with towels. Unfortunately, some of my stuff was damaged. I will contact my insurance company on Tuesday because, after all, we all know the world stops turning on a bank holiday weekend. Happy bloody Easter indeed. Bella, meanwhile, yowled for food. (Even though she had helped herself to her doggie host - Freddi's food.)

After Doug had left exhaustion overcame me. I shoved the tarpaulin aside and fell asleep immediately - with the comforting presence of Bella by my side.

Doug

Doug
Originally uploaded by Bratcat1000.

Doug, without whom I would have spent Saturday night on a bench!

Bleak, but Strangely Appropriate

Blackened Rose

A rose, once red, now blackened, charred,
Only half alive, too delicate to touch
Still embedded in the earth

Pied Piper Bombers target beauty
They fall, they call, they turn, they burn
They are unworthy of my concern

I wonder what the flowers felt
As the bombardment began
My arms spread out

A plane swoops down
The pilot eyes me - a withering look
Why waste your worries on insentient beings?

If I pick them I will kill them
If I leave them I will kill them
So I pluck that solitary rose

And look up at the sky, it is blue
It is bright, it is clear and for now
The bombardment has ceased

I look down at the blackened flower
In my hand and then make a fist
It is mine to kill and so I crush it.

Mad Neighbours - Part II

Haven't updated in a couple of days and for once I have a wonderful excuse.

As I was writing Saturday night's post the woman upstairs (who from now on will be known as Little Miss Pyromaniac) was unleashing chaos. There I was, typing away, listening to REM through ear-phones, in my own little world, industrial head-phones clamped over my ears (to block out my wonderful neighbour's music) when I smelt something burning. I leapt off the bed and ran to the door. On the landing I was confronted by what I thought was an apparition - a fireman standing before me. Then I looked up and saw flames billowing out of the bedroom window of my upstairs neighbour.

My first reaction was fury. 'She's done it again. I told them this would happen*'

'Yes, well we can deal with this later. Now, is there anyone in there with you?'

'My cat,' I said. And then, 'Oh my God, I think she's got children up there. And her brother...'

'Yes, we know. We're dealing with it.'

I went back into my flat, scooped Bella up and stuffed her into her basket, gathered a few essential belongings (diary, kittyputer, folder of poems.). 'Aren't you going to put some shoes on?' asked the fireman. I shook my head. Little did he know he was talking to a woman who, as a child, had deliberately walked barefoot in the snow, to test her own endurance. No, my feet are tough. I am not afraid of cold ground but what I am is a pyrophobe (one of the few perfectly reasonable phobias, in my oh so humble opinion.)

As we reached the bottom of the staircase the bedroom window exploded outwards and shards of glass and sparks tumbled to the ground. I let out an involuntary scream and the fireman told me not to worry. I felt like saying, 'It's all right for you with your fire-proof clothing. I am not similarly protected.' And I dread to think how poor Bella must have been feeling, trapped in her basket with no idea of what was happening.

And the thought running through my head was, No one could possibly have lived through that.

The neighbours were all out, staring upwards. I think they'd been evacuated. The fireman told me to go and sit on the bench opposite but I didn't. I sought sanctuary where I always seek it. At Doug's.

I hovered around his door for a while to make sure he was still up. I think he was in bed reading. I called out and knocked the door lightly. As soon as he appeared I said, 'She's done it again.'

Doug was bewildered, 'Who? Who's done what again?'

He invited me in. I led him to the window and showed him the three fire engines with their flashing blue lights. He invited me to sit down and did what people always seem to do in these situations - he made me a cup of tea. I sank down into one of his armchairs, my head in my hands. 'She's destroyed it all, Doug. Herself, everything. Why? Why would she do such a thing?'

Then there was a knock at the door. It was Jill, a representative of the residents' committee, a bubbly, bouncy (in more ways than one) young woman who arrived in these flats in very much the same circumstances as me - i.e: as a result of mental health problems. She lightened the atmosphere. Doug popped out every now and then to check upon progress. The woman was rescued by firefighters. Her children, apparently, are elsewhere.

After Jill had gone Doug and I went into my flat to assess the damage. Most of it was water damage - confined to the bedroom. That will be covered by insurance.

I spent the night on Doug's sofa. Bella tried to take over the place. Freddi, curious at the presence of another animal in the house, approached Bella who shrieked at her and scratched the poor dog's nose. Naturally, I scolded Bella for abusing Freddi's hospitality.

I was tense and anxious and could not sleep.

I left at 7 am, Sunday morning.

(To be Continued...)

Mad Neighbours

I awoke to the sound of rain falling...inside my flat. The people upstairs had let their bath overflow, again. They did this yesterday. I rang the council to complain (after having approached my Neighbours From Hell) but to no avail although I was told I would be compensated for any damage caused. They are now playing their music at such a volume that I'd be surprised if the citizens of Australia cannot hear them. I am competing with mine - Suede's first self titled album - let's see how they enjoy that!

It looks like I have yet another Friendly Neighbourhood Psychopath™ on my hands. Doug came over and told me that the woman upstairs (who frequently makes enough noise to wake the dead) had gone nuts a few weeks ago and flooded the launderette. She had been taken away in an ambulance - to the ward I am usually admitted to, I presume. lucky thing! Last year she fell asleep in her bedroom, leaving a candle burning. My ex-boyfriend burst in and rescued her. I was at my desktop in the sitting room, listening to music through my earphones and so I didn't hear a thing. Apparently, as this woman was being led into the ambulance a guy leaned out of his window and yelled out to Doug, 'It's all kicking off round here, en't it. Don't need the telly with all this going on!'

Such sensitive neighbours!

I know I should feel sorry for her, I know I should empathise. But I don't.

Not after the ten Valium I've had to take because of her today.

Bella Cat Head Resting On Paw

Bella Cat Head Resting On Paw
Originally uploaded by louisemills.

Bella the Cat sleeping in my childhood bedroom in my parents' house in Birmingham.

No Cure

Ruby Residue

Your corpse is riddled with ruby residue
My friend, there is no cure for you
God would not be appeased
The spirits could not be pleased. No prayers
Or sacrifices or religious rituals would do
And, once again, I look at you.

What drew you to this troubled region,
This zone of apocalyptic restlessness
This land replete with death
What reactionary pedagogue
Instilled the altruistic madness that resided
So stubbornly in your head

Above, the clouds resume their duel
The wind screams across the land
You walked into the storm
Fearless while we slammed our windows shut

Already I can hear your spirit
Walking above me
Today is the first day of your death.

The Encounter

My blue-lipped battered-wife chic is fading.

I encountered our Friendly Neighbourhood New Zealander (see previous posts) on my way back from the supermarket (oh, my unbearably exciting life). One of Andy's multitude of 'best mates' - a drug addict/ dealer who, contrary to all the stereotypes is mild-mannered, almost submissive. He loves animals and this, as I said, endears him to Doug. He is nearly always accompanied by some animal or other. This time he was walking an Alsatian. Like Doug, he is the neighbourhood pet-sitter. Great, so he is adored by animals and small children. A prime candidate for sainthood. Some alert the Vatican - this man must be canonised.

I spoke to him in a loud, firm voice, 'Hello.' And then, because I simply could not resist. 'Aren't you going to see your 'friend'' The inverted commas were clearly audible in my voice. He had the good grace to turn away sheepishly.

Before guilt could set in, I inhaled deeply. climbed the steps and knocked on P's door (see yesterday's entry). He answered immediately - punctuality is something one would expect from a former Royal Navy officer. His story filtered through Doug so I am unable to ascertain his accuracy. When he divorced his wife he was given a bedsit flat (apparently ex-military are given priority when it comes to social housing and, rightly so, in my humble opinion. After all, they are worthier than pseudo- like me ) Later, he managed to exchange flats with C, my rather intellectually-challenged former neighbour.

He invited me in. His flat was decorated with warm, dark colours and was much cleaner than mine but then he doesn't have Brat Cat Bella who is growing older every day and sheds copious amounts of fur and insists upon using my litter tray - the bathroom - as her litter tray, to contend with. Thick, cream curtains, a sofa and an easy chair. Sony stereo - all separates. Belongings aplenty but he appeared to be much more adept at keeping in order than I am. (I think that's a result of being in the navy. I think I may enlist). His was one of the cleanest homes I have ever encountered, devoid of cat fur and duck down. (I was bored last week so I started to pluck the feathers out of one of my pillows with a pair of tweezers. Progress was slow so I took a knife and slit the pillow open. Symbolic perhaps. The consequences of my actions were duck feathers all over my flat which no amount of hoovering is capable of obliterating.)

I sat down and leaned back into P's overstuffed sofa. P. opened a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. He offered me some Chile-con-Carne which I had to decline, telling him that I was a vegetarian. Still, the New World Sauvignon was exquisite, sliding down my throat and warming me up from the inside out. It freed my mind and loosed my tongue.

'Now, tell me what happened.' P settled back into his easy chair

I was startled by his direct approach. 'Well, I was attacked by Andy and now the police are pressing charges. Simple as that.'

'What I don't understand is why you went there.'

'Given that he was my friend and has been for the last ten years, I don't see why you find that so surprising. He had invited me, and I quote, to 'pop in for a cup of tea' and that's exactly what I did.'

'But, given what he did to you all those months ago. Some men would see that as a 'come on'.'

I was perplexed. 'A 'come on'? I'm sorry but I've no idea what you're talking about. What is he supposed to have done to me 'all those months ago.'

'When he exposed himself to you. When Doug told me about it, I said, 'What on earth did she go down there for? Wasn't it rather like, you know, responding to an invitation?'

I had to work hard to hold my anger in. Don't some people believe that there is more to life than sex? And I was furious with Doug. What right did he have to go gossiping about me to the entire neighbourhood? I slowly and patiently explained that when Andy 'exposed' himself to me he had been in the throes of a manic episode and one of symptoms of this part of bipolar affective disorder is extreme exhibitionism. I pointed out that, once, when he was very ill, he had exposed himself to a group of Catholic priests and I very much doubt he was attracted to them.

The assault was not sexually motivated. I may never know what it was motivated by. Handel's Messiah was playing in the background as I spoke. and P. told me about his own history. He said his mother had an affair with a young Jewish man who subsequently rejected her she became pregnant. Her father also rejected her. Homeless and penniless she eventually found a man who would accept her without her unborn child. As soon as P was born he was put into a children's home. He never knew parental love or affection. (That's one thing my own parents got right - the first seven years of my life were idyllic until the novelty of parenthood wore off, until I started questioning everything around me - my father's alcoholism, my mother's submissiveness. No wonder my teachers used to call me the 'But Why Child'. If only I'd kept quiet, if only I hadn't protested, if only I'd been a 'good little girl' my life may have been very different. But P didn't even have what I had - no loving parents during his formative years. He was regarded by society as a 'reject' and the staff at the home never failed to remind him of that.)

P is 76 now. He was reunited with his mother in his 50s. I must say he is remarkably unencumbered by bitterness.

Unlike me. But maybe that comes with time.

beau2

beau2
Originally uploaded by Bella the Cat.

More doodling from me!

The Rain

Celebrating the Rain

Turning to the sky,
I welcome the rain
It runs down my cheeks
It drives the sun away
I celebrate the thunder
I revel in the lightning
I frolick beneath grey skies
While others run like horses
Across the tortured ground
Of a desolate moor
Will it strike me?
If I have the audacity
To curse God and his monopoly
Of the sky, of the heavens
For I am Satan, you see
And I live in a walled city

Friends in 'High' Places

This morning I received a card from P. - my next door neighbour, an ex-naval officer in his 70s. It was a white card, adorned with winter flowers. In it he expressed his regret at my 'ordeal at the hands of that dreadful person below you' and wrote of his determination 'in my capacity as elected chairperson of the Housing association' to 'get him moved elsewhere. (Ooh, it appears as though I have a powerful person on my side.)

I panicked when I saw those words. This is not what I wanted, not what I wanted at all and I've never espressed the desire for his departure. Rightly or wrongly, I no longer feel that he poses a threat to me. If anything I pose a threat to him as I am about to take away the thing he loves most - his pride. I am going to humiliate him; to make him pay for what he has done.

Because I don't think he's encountered someone who's been prepared to do that before.

And it's about time he did.

Garfield

'I START MY DIET TOMORROW' -

My sentiments exactly!  And yes, that IS a box of Senakot Laxatives he is standing on.  It adds a whole new dimension to the picture, doesn't it?

Random Thoughts 2

The Triumph of the Sun

Turning to the light,
Away from the dark
It enervates me
It banishes the void
I have created for myself
The moon falls down
From the sky
And we celebrate
The triumph of the sun
The victory of day over night

Arrested For Impersonating A Human Being

I sat through my eating disorders therapy group with the soothing feeling of Diazepam flowing though my veins.

'Have you seen Andy,' someone asked on the way home.

'I think he's been arrested again for impersonating a human being.'

St. Marys

St. Marys
Originally uploaded by Bratcat1000.

A sneaky pic, taken on the way to the surgery.

Random Thoughts

Do You Believe in What You See?

Do you believe in what you see?
Disinterested in what lies within
How can we grow?
How can we flourish?
In this land of degredation and decay
Can life emerge from death?
A mutilated vision of myself
That emanates from the mirror
Grasping at the moon
It remains forever beyond my reach
I curse those from whom I was born
I dread the coming of the dawn
But they gave me a gift
And I have wasted it.

The denial of God
The denial of the light.

Amoral to the Core

When I returned to my flat Andy walked out of his front door. Just as I was about to climb the steps. We stared at one another. He gave me what I suppose he intended to be a menacing look. Our eyes locked but, to my satisfaction, he was the first to look away. There was no shame in his face, only pure malice.

He is amoral to the core.

Renewed Obsession

Renewed Obsession
Originally uploaded by louisemills.

Two new kitties join my household. Let's hope they don't run away this time and that Bella the Cat doesn't get jealous of them!

Slay That Tiger

The Second Slice

I took a second slice
To slay that tiger: hunger
But the pain does not lessen
While mourning a lost empire
I consume a blueberry muffin
Some strawberry shortcake

Trauma and memories
Illustrated perfectly
They accept no allies
They show no mercy
I feed the fear
I feed the hostility
The world within
Is clouded and gloomy
A long and steady fall awaits

Consuming sugar coated junk
Sweetness turns sour on the tongue
I am left with anger and nausea
I look around and see
Another wasted day
I miss my voice
Where has it gone?
It clots around my core.

Doctor!!!

Dr.S. is on a much-deserved holiday. So I had to see a locum - a short (yes, shorter than me), dark, plump (yes, plumper than me) woman - who interrogated me about my medication for about ten minutes. I felt an almost overwhelming urge to say, 'Look, just sign the damned prescription, you stupid bitch!' Of course, outwardly, I remained impeccably polite. But my inner voice disturbed me. I sounded lie some mad junkie. I told her about my possible broken rib - more damage inflicted by our Friendly Neighbourhood Psychopath®. She gave me a cursory examination. 'There's nothing we can do about broken ribs anyway.'

'I know that,' I said through gritted teeth. 'I do have a loose grasp on current medical practice. If you look at my notes you'll see why having it confirmed is so important.'

Why are doctors so damned awkward? Do they do it deliberately to demonstrate how much power they have?

I felt relieved as I walked out of the surgery with my prescription clutched in my hand have avoided (with some effort) punching the supercilious bitch in the face.

And I do so despise violence.

This was followed by disconcerting over familiarity at the Chemist's (Good old Boots). The pharmacist said: 'You look well.'

I felt like telling her to pay an immediate visit to her optician.

Bella Snoozing

Bella Snoozing
Originally uploaded by rielouise.

There she goes again, indulging in her favourite activity: dreaming of mouse-flavoured Sheba!

Candles

One Hundred Candles

One hundred candles burning down, slowly down
A flame at a time. Until there is nothing left
But melted wax. Useless as ashes in a grate
There is no one left to manipulate

Evil emanates from me. A stream of obscenties
It devours me and everything else around
The flames of hatred and resentment and rage
Then it departs and I remain
Agonised by shame
Evil is my name

I have driven those angels away
The very antithesis of me; awash with purity
Howling like a wolf
in the wilderness
And my dreams have moved
Far beyond my reach

Miraculous News

Miraculous news - my mother is reading fiction. She usually settles for biographies and true crime. She took my advice - the words are discipline and perseverance - until you get caught up in the flow of the story and cannot extricate yourself.

(Okay, so it's only Patricia Cornwell at the moment but I'll get her onto the hard stuff ... eventually.)

I am disturbed by my neighbour upstairs - crash, bang, - and her ten brats (okay, I exaggerate). But it's driving me even nuttier than I am already.

flowing flowers

flowing flowers
Originally uploaded by Bella the Cat.

A Dull Doodle from a Dullard! Duh!

Newborn

You Came

In the midst of May you came
We were as one, seeking the sun
Awaiting the cock's crow, the streams flow
Over bristling, frosty land. Milky clouds
Over still and silent cattle, glory-bound
Before the daylight becomes faded, jaded
Across a calm sea, a quiescent ocean

Your tears- each droplet - glistening gold
You emit guttural but glorious sounds
I elevate you to my lips to drink
That surge of emotion. I am at one
Within and without, the heart and the flesh
This deep river was born
To be in motion

Straight to the Top

I rang the council this morning about security measures to protect me from Pseudo-Messiah. I spoke to a cold, distant housing officer called Steve who seemed to be going out of his way to be as unhelpful as possible.

'Personal security is the tenant's own responsibility.'

'What? Even when you've been physically assaulted by the psychopath who lives below you?'

I concluded the conversation with a sarcastic, 'Well, it's so good to know you take the security of your female tenants so seriously.'

He said he would ring me back within the hour. By the end of office hours I was still waiting. I telephoned the housing office again and the guy who responded (I never did get to know his name) lowered his voice conspiratorially and said, 'If I were you I'd go straight to the top, to the housing officer's boss.' and he gave me the number of her direct line.

I spoke to her and she agreed to 'release the funds immediately'. So, I shall be getting two shiny new Chubb locks fitted to my front door.

Mission accomplished.

There's a lesson in there somewhere. ;-)

A Walk Through Town

Involuntary Fugitive

Runaway

A runaway,
An involuntary fugitive
His eyes, an insult
Wide pools of chocolate
God's hand reached down
And snatched him away
He has gone and now
No one believes that there
Was ever anyone there at all

'Victorian Values', My Bottom!

As if to illuminate what false memories nostalgia can engender Doug told me about a fellow paramedic who was born into the Victorian era and went into service. He was very into servility and the tugging of the old forelock. He worked for 'landed gentry', started off as a footman and rose to the dizzy heights of Butler. (How the humble had risen. I wonder if he suffered from vertigo.) He described the initiation of each new female employee into the household. She would be forced to permit the male employees of the household to..um..'have their wicked way with her'. She had to succumb to their demands. These girls were very young and to be dismissed and sent home in disgrace would have been mortifying.

Stories such as this blow the myth of superior Victorian morality out of the water.

Donna Tartt's The Little Friend (Current reading)

Donna Tartt
Originally uploaded by Bratcat1000.

Delightfully intricate. Supercedes even her debut: The Secret History.

Summer

Summer...
Yep, how I adore it. Surrounded by smelly, sweat-soaked bodies and flies that commit suicide when they hurl themselves at your car windscreen. Delightful. Told you I was weird.

Summer

Alienated by this landscape
Illuminated by the sun
A casual stroll
And beads of sweat, they roll
Down my forehead

And wild birds, they scream
At one another in their trees
This is a climate
Everyone adores
Everyone, that is, but me

Summer is slovenly; it tortures me
Mercilessly, and I long for winter
I long for the purity
Of frosted ivory, of crystallised water

I was not intended to flourish
I was intended to remain
Frigid, precise as an icicle
Suspended above the ground.

....See, told you I was nut-so...

Nostalgia

Rather strange experience in One Stop. Oliver, the rotund American shop assistant stopped me from buying a DVD. 'You can get five of those for that price at HMV'. Hmm, nothing like a loyal employee

'Oh, I know Oliver,' Doug said later when I went to visit him. 'An American who can't stand America. Calls me 'Squire', you know. I tell him I haven't got any land, any money, anything associated with the title: 'Esquire'.'

He told me about an old lady he visits who lives above him - Dot (my mother's namesake). She is ninety-eight but still clinging to life. She is fully compus-mentis but her body is falling apart bit by bit. She is going blind, she cannot rise from her chair, she cannot use the lavatory by herself.

I would prefer the reverse - that my brain would be the first to go. I would prefer to retreat into childhood, absolved of all responsibilities.

I think Doug finds her somewhat demanding. He becomes exasperated with her constant complaints about modern life: 'It's a funny old world. Life was so much better when I was a girl (Well, of course it was, for you), the world was so much better when I was a girl.'

'Nonsense,' Doug scoffed. 'Imagine this - if you'd been in this position back in the '30s,unable to move, unable to take care of yourself. All those years ago you'd have been on the scrap heap. You certainly wouldn't have the benefits you have now. You certainly wouldn't have a team of carers coming in three times a day to give you meals and put you to bed. You certainly wouldn't be permitted to stay in this flat. They'd force you into a nursing home.'

Nostalgia breeds views through rose-tinted glasses.

Bye Bye Bella Cat

Bye Bye Bella Cat
Originally uploaded by louisemills.

Bella the Cat off out to play...

Old Lady Cat

Bella the Cat

Old Lady Cat. Multi-coloured feline.
How do I halt her decline?
Attention seeking brat cat.
She clings - How she clings!
A white sea with black and brown islands
A rumbling ball of fur
A sweet sleeping semi-circle
The colour of liquorice and caramel and snow.

moving art the lost art of the socialy (sic) excluded

The epitome of Ghettoisation:

moving art the lost art of the socialy excluded

Thank God I'm out of it.
Oh, and Lifecraft's website could do with a serious makeover.
Any volunteers? Link

Bella in the Dark

Bella in the Dark
Originally uploaded by rielouise.

Bella the Brat Cat indulging in a secret midnight feast!

My Creation

Crack In Your Skull

A crack in your skull as deep as the sleep
I am imprisoned in. Mementoes of you to keep
Beneath my pillow as you are hauled up
To heaven on invisible wire. I remain in the mire
Of grief. I curse God, the thief, who stole you from me

I miss your affection. I miss your touch
You are hurtling through the air. I am anchored
To the earth. You leave me with a heart, shrunken, charred
It did not occur to me that you were perishable
You came from me, you see. You were my creation.

That Thing

I visited Doug to check up in him. There was a large square plaster on the back of his hand. He asked me if I had seen our Friendly Neighbourhood Psychopath™ recently.

'Thankfully, no,' I replied.

As I said, Doug despises Andy so much he can barely bring himself to utter his name. He frequently refers to him as 'that thing'. We agreed to call him the Pseudo-Messiah, along with his Pseudo-Followers.

Odd coincidence - an acquaintance of mine is moving into John Thompson's flat (the Scottish guy mentioned in an earlier post - the one who was subjected to Andy's intimidating behaviour - he'll be in the 'Cast' section when I get it up and running.)

'For some reason all the Scottish people I've met seem to really despise me,' Andy once said.

Ah, a nation full of people with excellent taste.

Card

Card
Originally uploaded by Bella the Cat.

A delightfully cute kitty card from Lisa. Very appropriate.

My Father's Rise to Superstardom

Mr Father, the Fascist Dictator


As a child I witnessed my father's rise
To superstardon. He donned his disguise
And marched out onto the stage. Some
Had called his rise meteoric but I know now
That he did it by stepping over the bent backs
Of peasants and beggars and orphans

His obsessive, possessive love
Drove us away. And now all that is left
Are his memory of those glory days
Are hundreds of faded photographs
Scattered across a shattered no-man's land
And shreds of music from a ghostly
Regiments' marching band.

I recall him repeating a thousand time
The words his own father passed on
'He said, 'Remember son,
'There is no action without consequence'
And then I wonder whatever did you do
Before you found a cause to attach
Your megalomania too?

And I remember that towards the end
As drooping and drooling he stumbled
down the street and the people began
to laugh, talk about him and the crowd
Which had once parted before him
Now spit contemptuously into his face
And now the people They laugh, they talk,
They cry, they gorged on his downfall

But he did not beg, he did not cry
You do not beg for absolution
You do not consent to a cease-fire
You believed that you were Christ
And could walk upon water
But instead you sank beneath the ocean
At one with the creatures who live beneath
A monstrous ogre under the sea.

Night Thoughts

I couldn't sleep after Lisa had left. She had said that it was 'anti-Christian' to live with someone (living in sin, as they used to call it). There were so many arguments I could have levelled against that. Dredging up my amateur psychology. One of the reasons the Catholic Church is so despised by Christian fundamentalists is that they are not permitted to 'confess' to God directly; that they require a priest - a mere man - to act as an 'intermediary' via the sacrament of confession. Why the are the other sacraments preserved? Why do two people who love each other have to use a priest as an intermediary? If they truly love each other then why can't they use their 'direct line to God', make their declarations and let that be the end of it?

Contemplative

American Princess

The European Night and the American Poetess

The European night is unfamiliar to this American poetess
In a way that she cannot define. The stars are brighter somehow
No matter, it is indeed divine. A lamp burns in her window
It is the star that beckons us home. It seems to smile. At what?

And the full fat moon is visible through the glass
And beyond this room yesterday calls once more
And the moon gloats
At the stars she overshadows
Like a brilliant big sister

Are the trees overwhelmed too?
Their fingers reach up, up, up to touch
Her dangling there for all to see
What a narcissistic show off she must be
That full all-effacing (rather fat, actually) moon.

God in My Ceiling!

Lisa eventually arrived and we spent a wild evening talking and shrinking M&S lemon and lime. She noticed the blue tinge on my lip. 'Yes,’ I replied. 'Battered-wife chic. It's all the rage. She didn't get it and I didn't expect her to.

We discussed religion - a subject close to my cradle-Catholic heart. 'It's as though we're all down here and God's greatness is up there, beyond the ceiling.' (Flawed metaphor - a bit underambitious - the ceiling. Whatever.)

'Whoa, God's in my ceiling and I've never even noticed.'

She doesn't appreciate my quirky sense of humour. She dislikes people who laugh at Christians. (She doesn't consider me, as a Catholic, a 'legitimate' Christian). I said that the best defence against this was to learn to laugh at yourself. Then you immunise yourself against the mockery of others. Lisa does not seem to realize that I was initiated into the Holy Roman Empire the moment I was born and have had this stuff shoved down my throat throughout my life. Lisa always begins by saying, 'I don't mean to be patronising but...' Well, actually, Lisa that is precisely what you are doing. I know far more about theology than most people I encounter. I've only spent my whole life immersed in it.

But I cannot deny Lisa has faith and bucketfuls of goodness. Wherever that comes from doesn't matter to me. There was only one problem with the evening: Lisa's determination to govern the course of the conversation. After describing to be in minute detail the occasion upon which she had kicked a psych nurse in the shin by accident when she was in hospital and they were trying to forcibly eject her from the nurses' station (That is their sanctuary. A patient puts herself in peril by simply hovering on the threshold), she snapped, 'Anyway, I don't want to talk about hospital anymore' as though I had been the one who had done something wrong. I hadn't been the one to initiate the conversation. And she makes me feel guilty, she makes me feel as though she is saying, 'I determine the course of this conversation. You are incidental to the whole process. I am the focus.'

I wanted to snap, 'Well, don't bring the bloody subject up then.' It seems so manipulative and I resent that.

I made Lisa watch the third of Auschwitz, The Nazis and the Final Solution (videod months ago and I didn't want to watch it alone) - dealing primarily with the corruption of the SS guards. Irma Griese was mentioned. She was a female SS Guard. Her father didn't approve of her membership of the SS. He disowned her, I believe. He was a simple farmer and she was a simple farm girl and that, presumably, is all he thought she'd ever be. And then the SS took and corrupted her. Or did they? Was the capacity for sadism in her already? Was the SS merely the catalyst? She took pleasure in shooting random prisoners, in beating them, in sexually abusing them. Real pleasure. For her, it was a recreational pursuit. I don't understand and do I even want to? She was hanged at Nuremberg. A banal phrase entered my head, 'Her poor parents' and then I wondered if they could have done anything to prevent her from turning out the way she did. (That whole 'blame the parents' thing is a tad simplistic in a case like this.)

And then I recall that she was twenty-two years old when she was executed. This would mean that she was only nine when the Nazis came to power. Not, I stress that I am attempting to excuse her. She was one of the more 'successful' products of their indoctrination and, as membership of the Hitler Jugend was compulsory, I suppose there was little her parents could do to intervene in the situation.

Lisa was surprised that the SS Guards of the camp spent so much time indulging in 'recreational activities' - alcohol, drugs, women aplenty were provided for them. 'Good God,' Lisa gasped. ('I never concentrated much in my history classes at school,' she told me).

The camp Kommandant, Hoess, lived with his wife and four children in a nice little house on the outskirts of the camp. I'd like to know how they turned out. Hoess, according to his prison memoirs, remained unrepentant to the end.

There were frightening incongruities too, The documentary revealed that there was an area of the camp known to the prisoners as 'Canada' in which belongings of the Jews and other victims of the Nazis who had been murdered in the gas chambers were sorted and the valuables set aside. One Jewish woman developed a kind of rudimentary 'friendship' with one of the SS guards. He declared his 'love' for her, even whilst he was assisting in the annihilation of other members of her race. Love or a twisted kind of infatuation? Whatever. This 'love' drove him to risk his own life in order to save her sister from the gas chamber. He didn't, however, manage to save her nieces and nephews.

'I'm sorry I made you watch that,' I said as we embraced and she left. 'Not terribly pleasant images to fall asleep to.'

'Made me? It's not as if you shackled me to the sofa.'

'No, and anyway, you made me watch EastEnders, so I'd say we were about even.'

Monster Dog

A Little Late

Autumn Trees

Made up of long and short bones
The tree's innards are exposed
Charred black branches are fingers
That reach up up to the sky

The winter is merciless
It rips away the leaves from those trees
Like forcibly removing
Some octogenarian's mask of make up
They look down with regret at the
Leaves scattered around their feet

Green was not everyone's colour
But autumn was a ball
Clad in rainbow gowns
October for those trees
Was, most certainly May week

Out of Time

My blog is like Out of Time - the first R.E.M. Album - always playing Catch-Up...

(EDIT: That should have been my first R.E.M. album. Oh well, I'll just blame it on the multitude of psychotropic meds I am taking).

Tuesday, and Lisa came over. She was supposed to have arrived at 3, then 4 and then finally at 6.

In the meantimes Doug telephoned. He has torn his hand open on a certain doggie's teeth and had been to the doctor's for a Tetanus injection. He let Freddie the dog sniff the damage. 'She didn't manage to lick it any better though. There's anti-septic in animal saliva, you know.'

Doug had once let their old but now deceased dog: Caspar - a warrior of a German Shepherd by all accounts - administer surgical treatment and he managed to cure his master's injured toe. And they don't allow dogs into medical school. Pity.

OU Card

OU Card
Originally uploaded by Bratcat1000.

'Get Well' Card from my OU friends.

Dreams

The Proprietor of Dreams

I ride with my horse unsaddled
Onto the field of battle, wondering
Who is the proprietor of my dreams
Is it the moon, corrupted by trees
Whose branches reach up and up

To caress it. This usurper of the sun
That once witnessed two towers fall
Those ineffectual elements
Each rock is eroded by its sister, the sea
These are the songs all children sing

As our ghosts depart to join the ancestors
'We'll be back one day,' we cackle
Others sway to the wind's aerobics class
I drift with the river instead
Grey waves, grey waves, they greet us

We are oh so theatrical. A world away
From soft rugs and eiderdowns
I encounter my own impossibilities
My God, how they laughed
Our lives like jelly congeal

And we pour blue blood
Over the red of some pauper
I tried to die countless times
But I was always dragged back
By the stench of that trench.

Send Me to Switzerland

Apparently, Our Great Leader has turned his attention to those who claim benefits or, more specifically, incapacity benefit. This affects me directly because that is one of the benefits I claimed when I was ill and, if I relapse, may well claim again. Well, put a plastic bag over my head and inject me with an (un) healthy dose of Phenobarbital. No, do. There is an organisation in Switzerland - Dignitas- which has helped quite a few severely clinically depressed people die. One catch - you have to run the gauntlet of the psychiatric 'profession'. Then there's the money. And I haven't even got over the first hurdle - persuading my GP, Dr. S. to sign a form declaring that I am a suitable candidate for euthanasia.

'I would miss you,' he said. Well, I'm charmed and everything but isn't that a kind of selfish reason not to release me from this cage, from this body I am imprisoned in, from this planet that I despise.

'What about your family?'

Shrug. I should imagine they'd be glad to get rid of me. Besides, if they really cared they wouldn't want me to be tethered to a time, to a place, to a world I don't belong in.

All this sounds so clichéd, so juvenile, so ridiculous but every time I read articles bemoaning the state of the benefits system and the implication that I was a parasite I feel like this. I work part time. Being terrified of other members of my species kind of makes the prospect of a full time job (in the short term, at least) impossible. This sounds like something you'd read in Mein Kampf but if the rest of my species don't want me around then why don't they simply dispose of me, like the Swiss.

'Feeling a little low? Draining the world of precious taxpayers' money? Come to one of our luxurious Suicide Centres® and select your preferred method of Euthanasia.' That's my solution to the existence of parasites such as myself. It's my life - mine to keep and mine to take. But no one's going to stand up and say all this. Even though they're probably thinking it. No one wants to be accused of being some kind of neo-Nazi. F*ck those Nazis - they sure did give what could have been a solution to half of humanity's problems a bad name.

I have another less radical, less shocking solution to the problem of parasitic incapacity benefit scroungers and that is working from home. I have agoraphobia, people phobia and just about every other phobia you can imagine but I am Internet savvy, I can design a spreadsheet/database. Hey, I can write government propaganda. I am not afraid of work; I am just choosy about the place in which I choose to do it. Working from home (or encouraging people to) would solve an awful lot of social problems.

But it would also lead to a loss of control of various major corporations over their employees. And maybe that is what is preventing the work revolution from taking place. Loss of control is so difficult for a government to tolerate.

Or maybe they could just send me to Switzerland.

Somebody Loves Me

Valentines Roses
Originally uploaded by Bratcat1000.

Belated Token of Love (merely using that phrase makes me feel somewhat nauseated - what a sad old cynic I am) from a former boyfriend who remains a friend - I have quite a collection!

My Only Companion

My Calling

Writing poems is my calling
My stanzas are my children
My only companion is my muse
I do not know her name
But I think of her all the time
She visits me in sleep, in verse
In rhyme. I sample her strange soul
My reason represses her
The door slides open
And she glides out
Crippled and stunted
How distant she has become
We grow drunk in the sun
Her day is almost done

The World Outside My Window

The world outside my window disappeared for a while but it thrust its way back in. In the form of Michael Jackson and what will inevitably be a farcical trial. The TV camera focused on the crowd thronging outside the 'courthouse'. A rotund woman, her belly wobbling beneath her tracksuit, stepped forward to say her piece. She declared that her faith in 'Michael' was so absolute that she had given up her job, her home, her family in order to camp outside the courtroom and demonstrate her support for the great man. Whether Jackson is guilty or not is perhaps not the most disturbing issue here. Michael Jackson is undeniably talented but this does not make him incapable of evil acts. It does not make him some kind of infallible deity. He has legions of fans who appear to be willing to do anything for him. And they call me a nutter! To many, celebrities are the nouveaux aristocracy. And they can do no wrong.

New T-Shirt

New T-Shirt
Originally uploaded by Bratcat1000.

New T-Shirt designed by former boyfriend.

Pretty horrid, huh?

(Being a former anorectic I can appreciate the humour but I can think of many who would be offended. So, I'm giving it the publicity it deserves!)

Beneath a Dark Sky

Madam Prozac

They call me Madam Prozac
All night outside my window
Cats shriek, fight, cry
Beneath a dark sky

I am the wallflower at the party
Sweet scent blossoming
I float on the outer circle
My perfume grows repellent

Like a kitten I curl into a ball
Sleep leads me into dreams
I hide beneath my dark veil
My memory of the sun is dimming
The sky grows greyer every day
No light is strong enough to shine through

Closing Ranks

I couldn't get an appointment with Dr. L.C. until 4.30 pm so I spent the day working on an article I've commissioned to write about class prejudice - a subject on which I am something of an expert. I turned up ten minutes late for my appointment. I have an injury to my spine as a result of the assault so I was forced to walk more slowly than usual. Fortunately, Dr. L.C. was also running late.

'I'm sorry about what you've been through,' she said, as I entered her surgery. I'm growing weary of hearing that but I appreciate the sentiments. I gave her a brief account of what had happened. She laughed when I told her my response to the C.P.N.'s over-earnest: 'We just want to make sure you're not suicidal.'

I had replied: 'No, I'm homicidal.'

'They obviously weren't that concerned about his safety then.'

'No, I suppose they weren't. That's of some comfort.'

She advised me to try and shed the fear but to hold on to the anger: 'It can be extremely empowering.'

I told her that I was determined to change psychiatrists. What I didn't tell her was that I believe Dr H. is an incompetent fucktard. I don't think that would have gone down very well. In my experience doctors are tremendously (and sometimes fanatically) loyal to one another. These things have to be handled subtly. Never openly attempt to turn a doctor against a colleague. They respond by closing ranks and then you're lost.

I've learnt that much at least.

curly Qs

curlyqs
Originally uploaded by Bratcat1000.

New Webpage Design

Rubies

Red Ruby

Black cat orders ebony fur to shine
She steps back, radiant and above
Her the white stage lights wink
I exhibit my endless skills baking
Cakes for weddings, cakes for wakes
Cakes for christenings

Evil creates storms from my thoughts
The secret is in my hand
I bring up each buried head
This is the point at which
I embrace the sky, knowing
That the ocean will never be beaten

A white robed ghost in a high window
Cooling like a apple pie on a wire tray
He stands beneath wet with dew
I am being evaluated for marriage
And he concedes that I am indeed
Exceptionally slender

And the ruby stains the centre
Of my forehead and my wedding cake
Crumbles at the Christening
We pull away, we dissolve
And our minute fragments
Fly for a moment and then descend.

Operation Fortress

On Monday I was awoken by the 'phone ringing. It was Lisa. She had telephoned to make sure that I would make an appointment with a female doctor at the Medical Practice we are both registered with. Dr L.C. Lisa advised me to make a request to the council for extra security to be fitted to my door. If I must live above a psychopath I shall insist on extra security measures.

Lisa suggested several measures:

1) That I get the front door replaced
2) A chunkier security chain
3) A spy hole
4) 2 Chubb locks

'I didn't want to say anything before because I didn't want to alarm you,' she said. 'But I've always thought your front door was awfully flimsy. One kick and that wood would probably shatter.'

Lisa has an eye for these things. She has, after all, been burgled herself -- twice. She had to fight hard to get Granta Housing (her housing association) to take her concerns seriously. She also advised me to take the attack alarm (which she herself had given me years ago because she was so concerned when I told her that I was in the habit of taking long walks in the middle of the night) and my mobile 'phone with me wherever I go.

And my swordstick, I thought but I didn't tell Lisa this.

She wouldn't approve.

MP3 Player

MP3 Player
Originally uploaded by Bratcat1000.

Does anyone in the universe have a Philips Micro Audio Jukebox? Or am I terminally unique?

Eye to Eye With Their Ally

Saboteurs

In the milky light of the bleak dawn
Agents and saboteurs awake
Preparing to assassinate
Some dark lieutenant
Of the occupying power
They will not be acclaimed
They will not even be named
They will remain
Unknown, a footnote
They dislocate our fate
We wait. Where are they now?

Missing, presumed dead,
He said. Martyred
Wanton devastation
The butchery of me.
They took lessons
In the art of destruction
Sabotage is a craft
They were taught
How to kill
With their bare hands

A veil was drawn
Over their future
They did not know
What their mission was
Until the final moment
When they were despatched
By air and by sea
Smuggled in by gunboat
And parachute
Eye to eye with their ally,
With their enemy
Upstart amateurs
Armed only with cyanide
Inside a suicide pill.

Dedicated to member of SOE
(see soon to be established on Drowning In Academia)

Time Creeps Along

Time is passing slowly, agonisingly. Like an inebriated tortoise. I have regular telephone contact with various friends. I did tell my mother what happened, after all. To forestall any hint of a smug 'I told you so' I also told her what Lisa said about there being nothing wrong with seeing the good in everyone.

'Yes,' my mother replied sharply. 'You see the good in everyone. Everyone except your mother.'

Make of that what you will.

Tracy Chapman Collage

Tracy Chapman Collage
Originally uploaded by Bratcat1000.

One of my favourite singer-songwriters. She has the capacity to articulate my feelings.

She was also Viz's Suicidal Sid's fave too!

(Along with Tanita Tickertape...and what d'ya know, she's a favourite of mine too!)

Dead Celebrities

Army of Dead Celebrities

Army of dead celebrities
Marching across your wall
Once in a while you exhume them
Respond to their call
In life
In death
They have no voice
Revived every now and then
Loved then despised
By turns
Icon and iconoclast
They are absorbed into your myth
A character in someone else’s story

Tracy Chapman

Listening to Tracy Chapman - songs replete with meaning. (See Sidebar for link) :

'All that you have is your soul/Hunger only for a taste of justice/Hunger only for a world of truth.'

The only person you can depend on is yourself.

'This time I'm gonna be my own best friend (...) You'll be the one with the most to lose tonight': a determination never to be hurt again.

Big Scary Tiger-Cat

Big Scary Tiger-Cat
Originally uploaded by Bratcat1000.

How could I feel unsafe with this fierce creature on the prowl? Beware of the cat...un, not!

Academics

The Supercilious Sorcerer

The night slithers along so agonisingly slowly
And so I burst impetuously upon conversation
With the boy beside me.
He is a pedagogue, draped in florid
Wreathes of knowledge

A supercilious sorcerer. My ignorance
Appals him. Our conversation is sluggish
With the odd jagged edge
I don’t think you like me, I said
Our discussion is a wintry scene

Ridden with ravens. Ice coats the river
As pure as a premonition
Imprisoning last summer’s foliage
And to shelter from his superciliousness
I plunge into that ebony lagoon

And insensible and beyond reason
I escape his overcast intellect.

The Visitor

On Sunday evening there was a knock at the door. My first visitor since 'the incident'.

'Who is it?' I called.

'It's Sean, Andy's mate.'

I eyed the sword-stick Doug had given me, leaning against the wall. I pulled the door open as far as the chain would allow me to. 'What is it?' I snapped.

'Could I borrow a cup of sugar?' he asked.

'Could you kindly fuck off?' I spat before slamming the door in his face. Very, subtle Andy, very subtle. What were you trying to tell me there: that you have many followers and they're all out to get me? As I said, forewarned is forearmed. Emphasis on the latter part of that expression. Bring 'em on, as George W rather ill advisedly said. There's nothing I'd like better than an excuse to wipe one of those little pieces of filth off the face of the planet.

Marie2

Marie2
Originally uploaded by Bratcat1000.

This is how I feel...

Bereavement

Bereavement

Winter
Announces its arrival
It whistles. It moans
But it means no harm
It hurts unintentionally
Our blood freezes
And the bones of the old crack
We are without protection
Without umbrellas
Without raincoats
And sorrow runs deeper
Than they’ll ever know
But not as deep as yours though

A winter funeral
Tear ducts do their work
Hands lean on shoulders
And grief mingles with
That damned rain
Will it ever stop?
Then laughter is liberated
All smiles unleashed
For we are off to the wake
Where we’ll feast,
Drink and remember and I’m sure
That your laughter will be
The loudest and most raucous of all

Vulnerability

Because of Andy the world has faded for me. He made me feel vulnerable, degraded. Before that night I had felt as if I were invincible. He has made me feel uncomfortable in my own body, unsafe as a woman for I now know that my mother was right; that no matter how intelligent I am, no matter how well I write, no matter how eloquently I speak, some man can come along and crush me simply by virtue of his superior physical strength. And that terrifies me.

'Don't be so damned defeatist,' a voice in my head admonishes. 'Forewarned is forearmed, remember that.' Yes, my intellect and my emotions are most definitely at war with one another.

Bella Learning to Code

Bella Learning to Code
Originally uploaded by Bratcat1000.

Now you know who conjures up this pile of sh*t!

A portrait of my parents' marriage:

Marital Bliss

I did not conjure him up, he simply arrived
And then suddenly we were married
And, just as suddenly, we are pleading with God
Asking him to let it end, please, let it end
And hot blood red anger swells the house
That simple, suburban house we remain
In our hellish togetherness to retain
And then, of course there is the dog
That yapping, yowling post-man eating dog
(But we love him just the same)
And any affection that remains
Is lavished on that spoilt brat feline
And so we proceed, we go on marching
To the rhythm of the drum of martyrdom
Oh, isn’t it fun. And did I forget to mention
That we have a tribe of hyperactive children?

Venturing Out

I decided that I really needed to leave to sanctuary of my flat. I had this really crazy idea that if I didn't now I never would and would be trapped in here forever. I went to the Grafton Centre where, to me dismay, I bumped into a couple who hereafter shall be known as Mork and Mindy. They looked like the perfect couple, holding hands and whispering intimately into one another's ears. Mork is a guy I met when I was in the nut house in 1998 (after my disastrous year of teaching). An instantaneous attraction developed between us. Inexplicable really as he isn't exactly my type. He is, however, a man with a fascinating history. He studied theology at Cambridge, travelled around the world and returned as a Muslim. He was not exactly super-devout when I met him as he was up to sharing a cheap bottle of plonk in the hospital grounds (Please note, that is all I shared with him). He was recently sent to a secure unit for pushing Dr. H. down a flight of stairs.

Mindy has an equally fascinating history. I met her in hospital as well (during my 6-month stay back in 1993.) She was a very creative and artistic young woman. She planned to go to drama school. Unfortunately, her life deteriorated after that. She became pregnant. As soon as the baby was born (it (a little girl, I believe) was removed from Mindy's care by Social Services. The genius Dr H. had a hand in that, apparently. Years later Mindy was incarcerated in the same secure unit as Andy. When she was released, she and her common-law-husband, Geoff, were housed in a flat opposite me, in a block called Hanover Court (the block in which Doug lives). Geoff died there of a heroin overdose. Mindy was arrested and charged with manslaughter but was never tried. There was a lot of malicious gossip at the local user-run drop-in centre. Ironically one of her most valiant defenders was John Thompson (One who had fallen victim to Andy, ironically). Andy's foolishly faithful friend Sean participated in some of that verbal garbage. 'Dreanna' (Mindy's bestest bestest friend at the time) reckons that she did kill Geoff'

Members of the circuit are so loyal to one another

Mork and Mindy had heard what had happened already. My, news certainly travels fast in this town. I wanted to race away from them as fast as possible but they insisted upon expressing their sympathy

'He should be banned from lifecraft,' Mindy said.

'We read your book,' Mark told me. 'We though it was excellent.'

I thanked him politely but what Mindy said next both astounded and infuriated me. I wondered whether her motive was malicious. There is - and always has been - a mutual hostility between us, a kind of undeclared war. Seeing her reminds me of why I have more close male friends that those of the female variety. In my experience, women aren't particularly loyal to one another.

'Half the men there think you brought what happened upon yourself,' Mindy said. The provocation defence, huh? After a sharp cough from Mork, she added, 'But the other half think his actions were completely unjustifiable.'

'I see. Well, Andy has this natural ability to manipulate people into taking his side. I should know - he's done it to me often enough.'

'Yes,' Mork replied. 'He did something to me last summer that was kind of manipulative'

He didn't elaborate on what that 'something' was and I didn't take the trouble to enquire.

Before we parted Mindy pressed something into my hand. It was scented candle from Evolution.

I walked hurriedly away. So, half of the men at that testosterone-ridden party thought I'd provoked Andy into attacking me so viciously, did they? Did I expect anything more from that bunch of malevolent misogynists? So, why exactly should I care? He's a pseudo-Messiah and they are his 'followers'. In addition, they are terrified of him. I'm no psychologist but the reason is obvious - a room full of big, strong but cowardly men who failed to protect a five-feet five woman from a six-feet four man (the policewoman made a point of emphasising the difference in our respective heights and builds when she was writing up my statement) and they failed to intervene. So they try and justify it in the only way they know how. Andy's behaviour was justified because I provoked him; thus negating the need for any kind of intervention. What a neat little psychological trick to play on oneself. An even more horrifying thought is that the whole event turned them on in some way. Well, I hope they choke to death in that moral vacuum they choose to inhabit.

Mindy made it sound as though it was acceptable for these men to excuse Andy's actions. Maybe that's what she expects from men. Maybe in her world it is justifiable. Well, it isn't in mine.

And Andy is about to discover that.

Bella in a Box

Bella in a Box
Originally uploaded by rielouise.

Scaredy Cat - Hiding in box after screwing up the setting of Kitty Puter - New Hewlett Packard Laptop.

The Hoarder

I am a hoarder
All of my yesteryears
Are locked up
In a trunk
In the dust-choked attic
A feast for all
Tomorrow’s mice.

They will gnaw holes
In my old schoolbooks
And in my battered diaries
That encapsulates all that I am
Stained by so many years
Chronicles of family madness
But, you must see that all this
Is not the only me

There is more
Much more

Propaganda Offensive

On Saturday Mary (Daniel's ex-wife) rang to tell me that Daniel had been shocked by what he had witnessed and that I am welcome to 'come over for a meal' some time. (Hmmm, I think I may put that off for a while.) Dylan, my mentor and friend - the one who helped me get my book of poetry published - also rang to say that he had heard what had happened and the propaganda offensive Andy had launched against me has had no effect whatsoever. Lisa and Aaron were also shocked and concerned. Lisa urged me to come and stay with her but, strange as it may seem, the only place in which I feel safe is my flat. She also urged me to tell my mother about what happened. 'Wouldn't you like to know if your daughter had been assaulted?' she asked. I may just do that but I really can't face any more 'I told you so's'; although Lisa also said: 'It's not your fault, 'rie. People often blame themselves when these things happen. You're not to blame for seeing the good in someone and then trying to bring it out.' Mother won't see it like that though.

Nightmares

throughtrees2
Originally uploaded by rielouise.

Poem: Sunset

Sunset

Evening and the sunset’s compress
Soothes our inflamed flesh
And I am stunned
By its sudden incandescent flare
The mud, the silt stretches for miles
Encompassing everything.
We watch the ocean rebound
Its sounds, its historic hiss
Slaughter all other sounds around
Injuring the air and to verify your existence
I grasp your hand. And above the elements
Bicker with one another and the sky
Is turning into a shade of sluttish red
Our cheeks are pinked by the wind.
And the watery colours
Bleed into one another. Diffusion –
A catalyst for confusion, for fear.
And the wind, once a gentle exhalation,
Huffs and puffs with all its might,
Grabbing hold of our hair, hauling us in.
And visions emerge from beneath the waves
Where a ship ran aground,
Where demented sailors drowned
It rises up. It bellows. A black cat shrieking,
Competing with our own blood pumping.
The gulls flee from it and fly, fly, fly into nothingness.

Another Decent Human Being

Of course Doug wasn't the only decent human being on earth. I discovered this later when I went to visit my GP: Dr. S. As soon as I walked into the surgery he touched me on the shoulder and said, 'The hospital rang. I'm sorry to hear what happened. Who was responsible?'

'The infamous Andy Lee.'

Did I see raised eyebrows? It seems that the entire medical profession is familiar with the Pseudo-Messiah who intends to take over the world. After saying that men who physically attacked women were 'the scum of the earth' (Hmm, like my father, for example) he examined me and declared that he would appear as witness in court if necessary.

A long restless, dream-ridden night followed in spite of the sedatives the doctor had given me.

Shadowed Butterfly

Shadowed Butterfly
Originally uploaded by rielouise.

Anger

ANGER

Even from this far away
I can feel the heat of your anger
Like an approaching summer storm
You collude with the elements
It is still, silent, humid at first

There is something brooding
Beyond the clouds and fury gathers
In the distance sending the birds
Screaming through the sky, they fly
Through the heavy air

On the ground small animals scurry
Back into their burrows. For your anger
Is as vicious as a wild cat. It bares its teeth
It tears down the walls of my town and fells
Every tree in my forest.

Interview/Interrogation

Suffice to say that Doug, as always, was immensely helpful. I am concerned though that he might try to confront Andy. 'If he were here right now, I'd kill him!' He is an 89 year old pensioner (albeit a very fit and sprightly one) but he still sees himself as the 25 year old reconnaissance commando he once was.

Ever since I have been spending most of my time in the bedroom with my laptop (my desktop is steam driven), Bella has colonised the living room. Her white fur covered every surface. Doug had only been sitting on the sofa for five minutes and he was covered in white fluff.

The policewoman arrived and, much to my relief, I warmed to her almost immediately. She was polite and efficient and not in the least patronising, a credit to her profession. We discussed the Tony Martin case in the context of ways in which I could defend myself should Andy attempt to gain access to my flat. She told us that Andy has assaulted the police officers who had gone to his flat to question him. I think they (the police) despise him. Assaulting police officers is something of a hobby of his. Maybe they are looking for an excuse to put him away for a while. They have raided his flat (once in riot gear) and have arrested him on numerous occasions but have never been able to make any charges stick mainly because Our Hero: Dr. H and his team have always stepped in to protect him. Andy has told me that he has no criminal record (only in Israel when he was working on a Kibbutz for shoplifting).

'It seems unlikely that he would have had so much contact with us and not have some kind of criminal record,' said the policewoman.

I ran through the catalogue of Andy's 'crimes and misdemeanours' in my head - committed against friends, enemies, strangers. I thought of the day he stormed into the Catholic Church around the corner and struck a priest in the face and then smugly boasted about how he had escaped the consequences of his actions by feigning illness and being admitted to hospital. He even gloated over the fact that the priest had to move to another parish because he was so unnerved by the incident. Andy is beyond justice thanks to Dr H. and his ilk. 'Why did he need to move away if his faith is so strong,' he mocked. 'He should have turned the other cheek anyway.'

A person only has so many cheeks to turn, Andy, my dear.

He also conned a fellow bipolar sufferer out of £5,000. I'll call his victim 'Brendan'. He is pitifully faithful to Andy, following him around like a starving puppy. He went through a severe manic episode and gave away all of his money - £5,000 of it to Andy, who took it and spent it on redecorating his flat and an expensive computer system. (A real friend would have taken the money and kept it safe for 'Brendan' until his crisis was over.) He also abandoned his friend and 'partner in crime' 'Caleb' when he was most in need and then tried to turn me against him by claiming that he had stolen his credit card and had withdrawn four hundred pounds from his account. (£400? Pah! Andy rarely has more than four hundred pence in his bank account. Actually, I'm not sure he even has a bank account). He has taken an iron bar and smashed down two people's front doors. One of his 'victims' was 'Daniel Merchant' (another alias) - a gentle New-Zealand drug dealer (Does that sound like an oxymoron to you?) who has somehow gained the respect of Doug, perhaps because of his love of animals and the fact that he reads for the blind, what a saint, huh? But this just proves that everyone is inconsistent, even Doug.

I thought about his string of ill-treated girlfriends - blonde, buxom Helene who left Andy to live with his flatmate Sean. Years later, Sean left Helene to live as a lodger in Andy's flat where he remains today. Poetic justice, I thought, until I heard Andy and Sean referring to Helene in the most hideously misogynistic manner. 'Helene's huge. She's a gross bitch.' Bearing in mind that Sean and Andy are not exactly God's gift to womankind. I think they're both so deluded that they both look in the mirror and see Adonis or some other Greek God gazing back at them. I remember Helene nodding Andy's front door and referring bitterly to him as 'That thing in there'. I remember the girl who came to live with Andy last summer and the grim face of her mother when the two of them came to collect her things. What did that man do to her? All of these images jostled for prominence in my mind, but one forced its way to the forefront: the look of triumph on Andy's face as he told me that he had beaten Sean up the Christmas before last. And still he returned, as did Daniel Merchant and Brendan. Our Friendly Neighbourhood psychopath seems to have some kind of hold over them. What is going on down there? Some kind of bizarre sado-masochistic society? Andy being the sadist and his followers the masochists (Do they really believe he is some kind of Messiah?) Was Andy's assault on me my initiation ceremony. Well, I'm keeping well away from that weird little cult and I'm going to do my damnedest to warn potential new recruits off too.

The policewoman politely listened to Doug's war stories. He told her he had once been arrested for killing a civilian in Sicily during World War II when he was a Special Services Reconnaissance Commando and tried by a military tribunal. 'There was a riot,' he said. 'And this man lunged towards me. I moved aside and he fell forward over a cliff. I was exonerated, of course. It turned out this man was a soldier who had disguised himself as a civilian - pro-Mussolini. This was before Italy surrendered.' The policewoman noted the parallels with contemporary Iraq in which the occupying forces are unsure of who is friend or foe.

I was frank with her from the start: 'I can't testify. I'd be a useless witness in court. I have a history of mental illness and the Defence are sure to bring that up.'

'Don't worry,' she said. 'Your role in this is restricted to making a statement. You don't have to appear in court. We, the police, are pressing charges.'

She told me what happened during the attack from the point of view of 'the witness'. (Daniel, I presume). A scene flashed through my mind: 'I've always fancied you,' Daniel was saying and in my Schnapps fuelled state I reached out and grabbed his hand. I was starving for human companionship. The police woman said that when Andy attacked me Daniel had stood, rooted to the spot, unable to process what was going on and then he had lunged towards me, seized one of my arms, pulled me out of the door and dragged me upstairs to my flat. It was there he had called the police and, because of my obviously distressed state, an ambulance. 'That's another thing that would make me a disaster in the witness box,' I said. 'That huge gap in my memory. It's as though someone pressed the pause button and, for me at least, time stopped.'

Doug suggested that Andy might have slipped something into my drink and the policewoman conceded that this was a possibility.

In spite of her warm and sympathetic attitude, I was relieved when the policewoman received a call on her radio and announced that she had to leave. The interview had been prolonged by Doug's reminiscences about his time as Sergeant Major of Regimental Police in the '50s. 'I'll see myself out,' she said after I had signed my statement and she had given me details of a victim support organisation.

Doug left soon after. Just before he stepped out of the front door, he turned and embraced me and I clung to him as though he were the last decent human being on earth.

This Is Not A Love Song

This is Not a Love Song

You told me I changed your life
But, in the end, it was I
Who ripped the stars
Down from your sky
Once we watched, awed
Gold and silver butterflies
And pale edged birds
Coated in stardust
We joined together, we danced
We dissolved into one another
But now I wring my hands
You yawn, you whistle, you sing
Your final, poignant note
Before collapsing and like a petal
You flutter down and down and down.

Susanna

susanna
Originally uploaded by rielouise.

Apparently, I am Susanna from *Girl Interrupted*. *Sulk* and I had so longed to be Lisa the Sociopath - a sort of female mirror to McMurphy in *One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest*.

Poetry

A Mocking Bird Calls

A mocking bird calls to me, warning me
As we stand before our house on a winter’s night
About the silent shadows that stalk as evening falls
The black sky is so smooth no single star penetrates
The outline of yesterday is fading in my head
It ripples like the full moon reflected in the fishpond

And some gypsy somewhere peers into her crystal ball
And I ask what it is it she sees. What is depicted there?
‘Look up into the sky there is where you will find
The grand dome of a cathedral ceiling. I peer and I
Enslaved by the prosaic see only a darkness
Of the black night sky. ‘This is more,’ she says,
Than an eerie dark, more a stark stillness.’

And dark around me deepens, deepens
I don’t reveal my fear, after all, everyone
Except maybe someone’s eccentric little sister
Accepts that the dark is simply the dark
That the moon is simply a guide to lead us
Through the night. And that the stars
Are just glittering for our celestial entertainment

And, one by one, the relatives retreat indoors
But the eccentric little sister hugs her secret to herself
She had commandeered that green lawn before her
And she stands before the patio doors, dancing
On the spot, ready to leave her secret kingdom