The Patron Saint of Victims Everywhere

I stamp my feet,
This is not fair
For I am the Patron Saint
Of Victims Everywhere

Self-appointed, self-anointed.
But never, never effaced
I offer superficial harmony
In a chaotic world and this is why
I am universally embraced

Oh, come all adore me
For I am the one you have chosen
To stamp your identities upon
I am womanly, you see
The epitome of purity and passivity

But, in time, my foot soldiers fade away
Their attention strays, it wanders elsewhere
While I look for a way to remind you
That I am still the Patron Saint
Of Victims Everywhere

Adoration dissipates and this unlit stage
Is a lonely place. I expect empathy
But I cannot reciprocate
For I do not want others to share
My status as the Patron Saint
Of Victims Everywhere

The auditorium is deserted now
And I am devoid of admirers
I call out, into the darkness
I stamp my feet. This isn't fair
Am I no longer the Patron Saint
Of Victims Everywhere?

Monster Cat

Imagine how the local mouse population feel.

Sepia Princess

Random

I know more about abuse than you could ever dream of. My mother says she only wants me to be happy. Is this an entirely realistic expectation? It grabs hold of my mind and it won't let go. Surely contentment is the best we can hope for. Happiness is supposed to be a fleeting emotion. That's why we relish it. Been doing something dumb - eating alka selzers like sweets. They expand in my stomach and the relentless hunger dissipates.

Skitch

Script:

Me: Am I a total cow?
Her: Why, of course, but that is why we love you.
Me: I'm not a fat cow though, am I?
Her: No, of course not. You're a um skinny cow. A decidedly undernourished cow, if you ask me.
Me: Thank you. I can always rely on you to say the right thing

NOTE: If she'd answered in the affirmative I'd have bitch slapped her into the next millennium.

The Chattering Classes Go On...Well, Chattering

Another gem from the hideously parochial 'British Blogosphere':

The actor put in jail for downloading pornography has had his sentence cut and will be out later today. As Rachel has said just being in possession of things doesn't necessarily mean that you are wicked and vile and I would agree with her here.

http://henrynorthlondon.blogspot.com/2007/11/langham-freed.html

Mr. Langham's release will create an extra place in our prison system for that most dreaded of criminals: the Cyberstalker. Are these people for real? It works like this: without the demand there is less incentive to supply. It's not exactly rocket science and it certainly shouldn't be beyond the intellectual grasp of a former doctor.

This App...

...rocks my socks.
Ain't it pretty?

You can find it here.

The Abuse of the Word 'Abuse'

I was sorting through old usenet posts and I came across some very wise words from an old friend:

And I will say, about this monotonous repetition of the word ABUSE where it doesn't really apply:

-- If I feel I have been abused, it *may* indicate the other party acted abusively; or, it *may* be that I am so identified with my victimhood that I re-cast all problems I have in the present as reenactments of the abuse Iexperienced in the past.

-- Such wolf-crying of abuse is an insult to one's own experiences of abuse earlier in life, and to others' experiences of true abuse as well. It cheapens the truth and allows one to avoid the opportunity to grow out of victimhood here and now.

-- If I subjectively experienced a situation as abusive (eg, ase-d), and I voluntarily came back to it, who is the abuser now? And what evidence does this give of my miraculous recovery? The recovering people I know act very differently.

Oh, and I think I offended someone's patron saint. Oops.

There He Goes Again

There he goes again
That mad megalomaniacal monarch
Severing heads and hanging heathens
With one look we could condemn ourselves
One word out of place is treason
And often he executes without reason

He sits on his throne
A sumptuous feast spread out before him
He watches as the executioner does his work
He slurps amd slavers as he anticiptes
Future killings and bestial bloodlettings
While all around him subjects shudder

'Your Majesty, it was not I,'
They cry but it is rather like addressing
The indifferent sky. With a gloved hand
He waves them away. He has never had
So much fun. Power makes him high
Power makes him fly....

....And his reign has only just begun

Autumn in the City

A Conversation

Some prose for those of you who think my poetry sucks like a Dyson:


Aurora was what was known among the nursing staff and patients alike as a revolving door patient. She spent her life going in and out of hospital. ‘I’m treatment resistant,’ she boasted. Each admission was a badge of honour. ‘I black out,’ she told Gemma. ‘Especially after sex. It was with my downstairs neighbour this time. We spent the day drinking. Before he … you know, did what he did he told me he loved me and then afterwards he just abandoned me. Another neighbour – this elderly guy – found me standing in the middle of the road. He put me in a taxi and sent me here. Not all men are total gits.’

Why are you telling me this? Asked the voice inside Gemma’s head. Do you expect me to be impressed?

‘I was really high that night,’ Aurora went on. ‘Higher than I’ve ever been. I thought someone or something was spying on me. You know, like MI5 or something. I wouldn’t settle down. I walked through the ward, searching for bugs or secret cameras. Then the doctor came and gave me enough meds to fell an elephant…although I suppose to someone like you I am an elephant.’

Well, you said it, thought Gemma.

‘They call us failed anorectics,’ Aurora said.

‘Who? ‘ Gemma asked. ‘Who do they call ‘failed’ anorectics? And who’s ‘they’.’

‘Bulimics. That’s what people call bulimics. And ‘they’ are the medical profession.’

‘I’ve been bulimic too, you know,’ said Gemma defensively.

‘Oh, that wasn’t an attack on you. After all it’s not your fault that the medical profession chooses to play favourites.’

Gemma knew that was exactly what it was.

Rush Hour