Drowning and Other Fragments

Rachel from north London: Last year I killed a man

2008-07-25T13:01:00.004Z

Rachel from north London: Last year I killed a man . In this post Ms. North links to an article in The Guardian written by a train driver whose train had 'on a perfectly normal summer's day' mown down a man who had stepped onto the tracks and calmly waited for death. Last year a friend of mine took a large overdose of her prescribed medication and lay down to die. Someone found her and she was taken to hospital. On the way there one of the paramedics told her, 'You did not really intend to die. If you had you would have thrown yourself from a building or jumped in front of a train'. Damned if you do, equally damned if you don't. Perhaps someone should send this compassionate paramedic a copy of the linked article.

In case you're wondering where I have been, I am now sovereign of this kingdom.

What Are They Doing?

2008-07-10T16:28:00.007Z

In times of increasing uncertainty, people cling to false dichotomies.

You are eating. A plateful of crisp lettuce and ripe red baby tomatoes. You look away briefly. When you look back your once appetizing meal is covered in beetles. They have made it their home. You scream and cover your eyes. Your mother comes over. 'Look, Mummy, look, there are insects crawling all over my food.'

She looks at your plate. 'There's nothing there, 'rie. You must eat it. The doctor says...'

You run to your room and slam the door. You are safe. You look down. Your carpet is covered in a seething mass of black beetles. You scream. An hour later you are in the back of a doctor's car on the way to the acute ward. And your skin is crawling with black insects. And you know that this is no escape.

Still the Same Old, Same Old...

2008-07-09T15:02:00.011Z

Tories.

Dave's words of wisdom:

We talk about people being "at risk of obesity" instead of talking about people who eat too much and take too little exercise. We talk about people being at risk of poverty, or social exclusion: it's as if these things - obesity, alcohol abuse, drug addiction - are purely external events like a plague or bad weather. "Of course, circumstances - where you are born, your neighbourhood, your school, and the choices your parents make - have a huge impact. But social problems are often the consequence of the choices that people make.

Speaking of being at risk of obesity, has anyone noticed that 'Dave' himself is looking a tad, well, portly, recently. Look at those pink, chubby cheeks. He's not exactly the Tory answer to Kate Moss now, is he? I might write to him with a few tips on how to shed that extra weight.

And in other news: Apparently, Dave no 2 (Mini Me 0r David Davis) cost the taxpayer £80,000 with his little gesture. I wonder if the Mail on Sunday will be bitchin' about that. We might get a line or two from the gorgeous Peter Hitchens, who is right on the money, by the way, when he comments on how easily fooled these people are. I guess if you stand for nothing you fall for everything.

And tell me Dave, what action are you going to take against 'fat' (aka: devoid of self discipline) members of your own party:

(I is furry scared. Imaginary kitties, ghostly felines, blurred lines, landmines. Tired but afraid to sleep. Need a kitty to cuddle but GhostCat might chase real cats away. They shall have their revenge)

Some Man/woman/child/cat/dog/hamster/

2008-07-07T16:04:00.007Z

Squirrel called McSlappy (or similar) keeps bothering me. So, here's something to be getting on with...Kiss, Kiss, Kissy! And here are some song lyrics you may be interested in:

(Sinead O'Connor)

Margareth Thatcher on TV
Shocked by the deaths that took place in Beijing
It seems strange that she should be offended
The same orders are given by her

I've said this before now
You said I was childish and you'll say it now
"Remember what I told you
If they hated me they will hate you"

England's not the mythical land of Madame George and roses
It's the home of police who kill black boys on mopeds
And I love my boy and that's why I'm leaving
I don't want him to be aware that there's
Any such thing as grieving

Young mother down at Smithfield
5 am, looking for food for her kids
In her arms she holds three cold babies
And the first word that they learned was "please"

These are dangerous days
To say what you feel is to dig your own grave
"Remember what I told you
If you were of the world they would love you"

England's not the mythical land of Madame George and roses
It's the home of police who kill blacks boys on mopeds
And I love my boy and that's why I'm leaving
I don't want him to be aware that there's
Any such thing as grieving.

Courtesy of these people

********************************

HE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES
(Sinead O'Connor)

It seems like years since you held the baby
While I wrecked the bedroom
You said it was dangerous after Sunday
And I knew you loved me
He thinks I just became famous
And that's what messed me up
But he's wrong
How could I possibly know what I want
When I was only twenty-one?

And there's millions of people
To offer advice and say how I should be
But they're twisted
And they will never be any influence on me
But you will always be
You will always be
If I treated you mean
I really didn't mean to
But you know how it is
And how a pregnancy can change you

I see plenty of clothes that I like
But I won't go anywhere nice for a while
All I want to do is just sit here
And write it all down and rest for a while
I can't bear to be in another city
One where you are not
I would return to nothing without you
If I'm your girlfriend or not

Maybe I was mean
But I really don't think so
You asked if I'm scared
And I said so
Everyone can see what's going on
They laugh `cause they know they're untouchable
Not because what I said was wrong
Whatever it may bring
I will live by my own policies
I will sleep with a clear conscience
I will sleep in peace
Maybe it sounds mean
But I really don't think so
You asked for the truth and I told you
Through their own words
They will be exposed
They've got a severe case of
The emperor's new clothes
The emperor's new clothes
The emperor's new clothes

Courtesy of these people

]*******************************

'You Cause as Much Sorrow'

I'm full of good intentions
Like I never was before
It's too late for prevention
But I don't think it's too late for the cure
So you call in your minions
And see what you can find
Night time or morning
These hands are sticky but I don't mind
Why must you always be around?
Why can't you just leave it be?
It's done nothing so far but destroy my life
You cause as much sorrow dead
As you did when you were alive
I never said I was tough
That was everyone else
So you're a fool to attack me
For the image that you built yourself
Just sounds more vicious
Than I actually mean
I really am soft
Yes, I'm tender and sweet
Why must you always be around?
Why can't you just leave it be?
You've done nothing so far but destroy my life
You cause as much sorrow dead
As you did when you were alive
Why must you always ask me?
Why can't you just leave me be?
You've done nothing so far but destroy my life
You cause as much sorrow dead
As you did when you were alive

Courtesy of these people.

*************************

THREE DAYS GRACE LYRICS

"Just Like You"

I could be mean
I could be angry
You know I could be just like you

I could be fake
I could be stupid
You know I could be just like you

You thought you were standing beside me
You were only in my way
You’re wrong if you think that I’ll be just like you

You thought you were there to guide me
You were only in my way
You’re wrong if you think that I’ll be just like you
You thought you were there to guide me
You were only in my way
You’re wrong if you think that I’ll be just like you

I could be cold
I could be ruthless
You know I could be just like you

I could be weak
I could be senseless
You know I could be just like you

You thought you were standing beside me
You were only in my way
You’re wrong if you think that I’ll be just like you

You thought you were there to guide me
You were only in my way
You’re wrong if you think that I’ll be just like you
You thought you were there to guide me
You were only in my way
You’re wrong if you think that I’ll be just like you

On my own, cause I can’t take liven with you
I’m alone, so I won’t turn out like you
Want me to

You thought you were standing beside me
You were only in my way
You’re wrong if you think that I’ll be just like you

You thought you were there to guide me
You were only in my way
You’re wrong if you think that I’ll be just like you
You thought you were there to guide me
You were only in my way
You’re wrong if you think that I’ll be just like you

I could be mean
I could be angry
You know I could be just like you

Courtesy of these people

Oh, and Miss McSlappy, you asked where the Three Billy Goats Gruff were. Well, Billy Goats Gruff these days aren't the same as they were when you were a lass. They could be anywhere, doing anything. Oh, I despair, I really do.

Addendum: And what really, really, really pissed me off about all this, Ms. McSlappy, is that I didn't even get a glimpse of your beautiful face. I'm bi-curious* and I bet the mere sight of you would have had me packing my bags and setting sail to the Island of Lesbos in an instant.

*I'm not really. I am only teasing.

Time

2008-07-06T14:43:00.002Z

All night she lay awake, her skin tingling, her legs restless. She was trapped in an uncontrollable, inescapable fear.Immobilised by anxiety. She found herself dreading the inevitable arrival of the dawn. She envisaged herself pushing, pushing, pushing against a moving wall of daylight, trying to hold it back. But day after day the harsh sunlight invaded her room and the little red clock on her bedside table shrieked at her mercilessly. She hated marking time. She hated the way instruments that were designed to do exactly that were scattered across every surface in her room. Clocks, watches, timetables dominated her life. Even in here: her only refuge. And the bedside clock, the little daemon that heralded the coming of the dawn was the worst of them all. An evil despot. The king of all clocks. Time is the greatest dictator of all.

Remember...

2008-07-06T13:38:00.003Z

Jenny Black. Never heard of her? I didn't think you had. We couldn't help her so we didn't even try. Women with personality disorders are far more likely to be the victims of violent attacks than the perpetrators and lack of media attention is a symptom of how, in this so-called 'civilised' society, some people matter and others don't.

No More

2008-07-05T08:32:00.003Z

Cancelled visit to Blue Cross. Dreamt about Bella. No other cat can replace her. A is cross. Two hours before I can visit Nobby. 256 messages in inbox for self help group I have never turned to for help - from the past two days.

Some Excellent News

2008-07-04T13:39:00.002Z

A new addition to the internet. Nobby is to be connected. His family in the US are buying him a laptop and he is to get an account with Virgin next week. I am to be his tutor. I'll show him ome of the more weird and wonderful sites. Who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks?

Going to the Blue Cross on Saturday. To see all the kitties. Hope to find a successor to Bella (who will never, of course, be forgotten.).

Unbe-freaking-lievable....

2008-07-03T14:26:00.017Z

From some old git who calls himself Allove:
(And I now know who he is. His views on other things seem reasonable enough. I am at a loss to know why he feels so strongly about this issue. It's all very strange. Maybe he has a touch of the 'White Knight Syndrome'. Actually 'he' isn't a 'he' at all. It's...wait for it, drumroll etcetera...Mrs Doyle - Father Ted's housekeeper. Of course, Father Ted is no longer with us but she still has Father Dougal to take care of. What's she doing faffing about on the internet when she should be looking after him? Gwan gwan gwan, get back to Craggy Island. There will be a spin-off series soon in which Mrs Doyle leaves Craggy Island, gets stalked, sets up a revenge blog and becomes a Mac Geek.)

Based on her comments, I should say this young woman is a deeply lonely and bored person.

(No. I am a young (ish) woman who expected more, much more from 'decent', 'educated', 'reasonable' people. I expected people who *claimed* to be superior to actually *be* superior. More sophisticated, kinder, gentler. I clearly expected more than you could give. I won't be making that mistake again.)

Based on her comments I bet she plays the "I've got a mental illness" card when challanged about her behaviour at any level.

(Do you play the 'I'm a Moronic Fuckwit' card at every opportunity? Well, you should.)

Another symptom of the "I'm a victim society"

Personally I prefer the "I'm a survivor society"

(Personally, I prefer the 'Shut the Feck Up and Get on With It Society'. And how are we (you, me and the other sad morons on the Spoof Blog) survivors? Have we been in combat? Survivors - how pretentious is that?)

Can I just add the disclaimer that this observation of this anon comments personality is based on comments only and cannot be carried on as an inference as to the sum of anyone's 'real life' character.

(Can I just say that the above sentence makes no sense? I'm sure there should be an apostrophe or two in there somewhere and maybe even a question mark. Punctuation exists for a reason. Now, kindly F.O.A.D.)

Edited By Siteowner
allove | 07.03.08 - 1:39 pm | #

And based on your comments I'd say you are a first class hypocrite.

Tell me, are the people who call themselves 'victims' of Ms. Lowde symptoms part of what you call a 'victim society''? They also call themselves 'victims' of 'abuse'. (Maybe they should visit a few survivors of child abuse websites and then they'll see what real 'abuse' is. Y'know like sexual and physical abuse.) I don't recall anyone saying that they are a survivor of Ms. Lowde's actions. Why one rule for one group of people and another for another group of people? Ms. Lowde's main victim even uses the word 'victim' in the summary of her website. (Addendum: Which she is perfectly entitled to do. If there is a perpetrator then there is a victim.) Is she a part of what you call 'the victim society''? Or maybe you're 'projecting' .

Why are you holding me to a higher standard of behaviour than you hold Ms. Lowde's 'victims' to? The inconsistency of your position is really quite funny. Unless, of course, you're expecting only what you think people are capable of.

Funnily enough I've never heard Nobby (a veteran of WWII) call himself a victim of anything. Of course, in the strange, little, screwed up world inhabited by the group of people Mr/Mrs/Miss/Ms/Lord/Lady Allove is a member of, Ms. Lowde is capable of inflicting far more damage than the Nazis ever could.

That's brave. Ask someone a question and then ban them from your site. Now, that's what I call an 'avoidance' technique. That's what I would call avoiding accountability for your behaviour on every level. Could use an anonymizer, could use a proxy server but I really can't be bothered. Maybe later. Bystander apathy is not my style.

The reactions to Mr. (whatever his status is) Allove remind me a little of what a 'macfanatic' friend of mine told me about a visit to Macworld recently. He told me that everything Steve Jobs said in his keynote address was greeted with a round of applause. 'He could have said 'the sky is blue' and he would have been praised for uttering such a profound insight and been given a standing ovation.'

A message to a certain new visitor: How did you make your way here then? It certainly wasn't via my link on that spoof blog you frequent because there isn't one. Could you pass on a message to the poster who calls himself 'Chortling Coati' who seems to believe that 'fresh air' is a cure for schizophrenia? In words you can understand: 'You is a bit fick, innit?'

Oh and remember this: 'Resentment is a little like taking poison and hoping your enemy will die'. It's also corrosive and can be fatal.

Ciao Sweeties. It's been fun.

Apparently...

2008-07-03T08:44:00.010Z

...my 'surfing habits' are being scrutinised. And they are not those of a 'normal' person. Hey, no shit, Sherlock! I'm not sure what these people think that proves but I'll tell them what it does prove. It's quite simple: the meds I take fuck up my concentration. I do most things in 15 minute spurts, including browsing the web. A few pages here, a few pages there. If you have a problem with this then feel free to say so. I could send you samples of the meds I take and you could take them for a couple of weeks and we'll see if your reaction is any different. It won't be. Here, some research. Here, have some more. The cure for ignorance is the acquisition of knowledge. Try it some time. Yes, I know, I'm probably shouting into an abyss.

I must learn never to underestimate the capacity of some people for willful ignorance. I must also remember to never expect the conduct of those who claim to be superior to actually be superior even though that seems to me to be a perfectly logical assumption to make.

Now, I'm off to see a war veteran about some interesting stories.

A final PS: A special 'Hello' to Dogbreath and Slapper McSquirrel (a middle aged woman who thinks that all references to middle aged women are about her. Now, that's not egocentric in the least, is it? She also believes that mental illnesses are 'self created dramas'. I knew she was a Mail On Sunday reader. Well, she seems to fit the profile: fingernail deep and as thick as clotted cream.)

Fragmenting

2008-07-02T18:10:00.005Z

My mother telephoned to say my aunt has cancer. Something happened. A few years ago. A sorry, sordid little tale. But she doesn't deserve that. No one does. Everything is fragmenting around me. Even Nobby is fading away. Enjoy what you can while you can. Apologies for the incoherence.

I gave this poem to Nobby just after our beautiful neighbour Jo died:

And death shall have no dominion

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.

Grace the Cat

2008-07-02T08:02:00.010Z

My friend Andrew who works at The Blue Cross alerted me to this story. He said 'people suck' and he's right. That is why I sometimes get more distressed by harm inflicted on animals than I do when I hear about harm inflicted on people. I knew someone in hospital who was a vet who treated abused horses. She felt exactly the same way because eventually people are able to express and deal with the emotional consequences of abuse in therapy. Animals can't do that.

A couple of years before Bella the Cat's death Nobby and I found a kitten, terrified and shivering outside his flat. I picked him up and held him while Nobby called Andrew. He was taken to the Blue Cross. Later the vet who examined him said his injuries were consistent with a fall. They suspected, but could not prove, that he had been thrown from one of the flats. Andrew asked me if Bella 'would like a little brother'. But Bella was a bully cat and did not get along terribly well with other members of her species* so I had to refuse. They found him a home eventually.

Some chick called 'dog ree' (or maybe it was 'dog breath'. I can't be bothered to go back and check.) called me 'catty' on a rather unpleasant blog. Given that one of the definitions of 'catty' is 'Catlike' 'Stealthy' I'll take that as a compliment. Oh, and the person who called me that is a mangey old dog.**

(Ouch, think I touched a nerve there.)

Lost a bunch of weight recently. Still more rotund than I would like to be though.

*we had so much in common.

**I offer the most profound apologies to dogs.

Currently listening to

The machine guns are roaring
The puppets heave rocks
The fiends nail time bombs
To the hands of the clocks
Call me any name you like
I will never deny it
Farewell Angelina
The sky is erupting
I must go where it's quiet.

Farewell Angelina, Joan Baez

And this is how it begins. They push you away and then they build walls around themselves. Anything to stop the deluge, the rising tide, the rot. I am so afraid.

Bella's ghost has departed.

Come and Have a Go...

2008-07-01T21:52:00.006Z

I wonder if the Mail on Sunday includes self harm in their list of self inflicted illnesses that are unworthy of treatment or charity. My arms are erupting. And what about EDs? Do they come into that category too. I said they wouldn't print my post and I was correct. They did, however, print this: 'Wimps should be told to stop acting like little children, grow up and get to work or no money.'- Tony Calladine, UK, 29/6/2008 8:24. Social Darwinism. Charming. What next? Eugenics? Hartheim?

And this: 'It's time to stop the rot! The Benefits system needs a complete overhaul so that the British taxpayer doesn't have to support what has become a lifetstyle of choice for some. They are giving genuine claimants a bad name!'- Sue G, Perth, Australia, 29/6/2008 3:13. And you're giving Mail On Sunday readers a bad name. No, wait, they've already got one.

Oh, and a message to certain rather unpleasant and vindictive people who may be reading this and are considering using this information against me, go right ahead. Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough. Here's a clue: you're not. I can't bring myself to care. I feel detached. From everything. I wonder how far they'll go. I wonder how hard they'll push. Watch this space. Dissociation has its advantages. As does not being able to keep food down. Yeah, I know, grrrrrrross!

Je Ne Regrette Rien

2008-07-01T01:50:00.004Z

I don't know why I chose to pin
My colours to your mast
For this was a war I could not win
A river in which I could not swim
Your reputation is destroyed
The dogs of vengeance are deployed
The newspapers snoop and vultures swoop
Picking over your remains, saying,
'Go on defend her if you must
But be assured we'll grind you into dust'
Yet I did not elect to join the winning side
I did not elect to be swept away by the tide
But still I was sucked in and swallowed whole
I dutifully played my allotted role

They say you hated her
I disagree. I saw you
Foraging for affection
On the day of my defection
You did not ask for much
But she was far too delicate to touch
As incorruptible
As a wedding dress
As pure as an ivory rose
With bright, white petals
Defying the darkness
But she was so hard to impress
Enmeshed in the webbing
Of purity, of perennial insecurity

She is somehow seductive
Gentle, subdued and soft-hued
She was the stone wall you clung to
Like creeping ivy and wandering
Through the wilderness you needed to be close
To the stillness at the centre of the whirlwind
She has never sinned
Ambivalence made no sense
And this was the consequence
The two of you are dissected, then polarised
And you are transformed in their eyes
Reduced to the status of saint and sinner
One spoilt, the other serene
One corpulent, the other lean

You are despised, she is idolised
You are sour as curdled cream
She epitomises youth and truth
A sycophant's wet dream
She is so easy to adore
This is all that remains
A drowned world
A planet aflame
Much has been lost,
And little has been gained
But I do not regret a thing and if I had to
I would do it all again because even the devil,
Yes, even the devil
Deserves an advocate

Marginally Less Parasitical

2008-06-30T17:54:00.006Z

I thought about jumping from the top storey. I told my doctor about my impulses. Hospital was mentioned but I resisted. In the end I emerged from the doctor's with extra meds. Doctor S has perused The Mail on Sunday article and had been as disturbed by it as I was. 'For what it's worth, I think Daily Mail journalists are only marginally less parasitical than the drug addicts and the alcoholics the newspaper is targeting.' His words, not mine. Make of that what you will.

And The Mail on Sunday...

2008-06-29T14:19:00.014Z

...excels itself once again. My response: (which won't be printed)

I receive supplementary disability living allowance* for a psychiatric disorder but I'm sure those principled, compassionate journalists at The Mail On Sunday will be pleased to learn that I am saving up for a one way trip to Dignitas. Perhaps they'd like to accompany me there to see a job well done. Thanks for reminding me that I'm not wanted. The Nazis had a policy called Aktion T4. Perhaps that should be the next step. We must deal with these people. (Myself included, of course). Grab your torches and sharpen your pitchforks, people, we're going on a witch hunt. What fun!

DLA was originally introduced by the Tories with the intention of saving money. It was also a key feature of their care in the community policy. ** It was intended to keep people out of long term psychiatric facilities. If the Mail on Sunday have their way and this benefit is withdrawn then its recipients will probably face a life in institutions which, incidentally, will cost far more than the taxpayer is currently paying.

Of course, there is another alternative: government sponsored work placement schemes but these will never be implemented because they too cost far more than DLA.

Meanwhile I cling to this:

The woods are lovely, dark and deep

But I have promises to keep

And miles to go before I sleep

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost

*It really helps if, on a whim, the hospital in which you are incarcerated (AKA Section Three) decide to perform an EEG on you which detects 'abnormalities'. Most people aren't so lucky.

**And, my God, they've got a nerve.

A Planet Aflame/Drowned World

2008-06-29T00:02:00.003Z

Monochrome People

2008-06-28T17:17:00.003Z

More Shopping

2008-06-25T22:12:00.002Z

Retro 1950s American 'phone. (John Lewis).

After the Rain

2008-06-21T13:46:00.007Z

Self Portrait

2008-06-20T18:10:00.003Z

Self Portraits, originally uploaded by Bella the Cat.

(New Camera: Panasonic Lumin DMC-FZ18)

Becoming Human

2008-06-17T13:58:00.002Z

Gloved hands fluttering
Like navy blue bats
An ice sculpture
With red-gold hair
And wide eyes
Stepping from the canvas
I have been working
On her all day
And still she is only half way
To becoming human

The Insomniac - Writing About Myself in the Third Person

2008-06-17T07:03:00.003Z

She could stay awake all night if she had to. The darkness enveloped her, suffocated her. A black gloved hand over her face. She gazed out of the window into the blueblack sky. The stars were on vacation. Her heartbeat sounded like the Gods pounding on some huge drum. She could feel her own body as it slowly decomposed. This was death in the midst of life. Something or someone more powerful than her had taken control, had seized her autonomy away from her. She was afraid that if she fell asleep she would never wake up. She felt exposed, her innards visible to some great God. Her bones rattled. She was disintegrating. Delusions fought with one another in her head. Oblivion had never been so far away.

Edit: Finally, some good news. A parcel just arrived containing a novel I have been after for ages. Le Sang Des Autres (The Blood of Others) by Simone de Beauvoir. I read it years ago before it went out of print. Watch out for a review if I can be bothered.

Magical Worlds

2008-06-16T14:02:00.001Z

The Owl and the Pussy Cat

2008-06-14T20:28:00.004Z

Doodle Bug

2008-06-13T19:57:00.007Z

Interesting link chronicling the history of identity cards: http://www.historyandpolicy.org/papers/policy-paper-33.html

Discovery

2008-06-13T08:16:00.006Z

Three Days Grace
(Angry, discordant rock. Love it.)

Check 'em out:

"Never Too Late"

This world will never be
What I expected
And if I don't belong
Who would have guessed it
I will not leave alone
Everything that I own
To make you feel like it's not too late
It's never too late

Even if I say
It'll be alright
Still I hear you say
You want to end your life
Now and again we try
To just stay alive
Maybe we'll turn it all around
'Cause it's not too late
It's never too late

No one will ever see
This side reflected
And if there's something wrong
Who would have guessed it
And I have left alone
Everything that I own
To make you feel like
It's not too late
It's never too late

Even if I say
It'll be alright
Still I hear you say
You want to end your life
Now and again we try
To just stay alive
Maybe we'll turn it all around
'Cause it's not too late
It's never too late

The world we knew
Won't come back
The time we've lost
Can't get back
The life we had
Won't be ours again

This world will never be
What I expected
And if I don't belong

Even if I say
It'll be alright
Still I hear you say
You want to end your life
Now and again we try
To just stay alive
Maybe we'll turn it all around
'Cause it's not too late
It's never too late
Maybe we'll turn it all around
'Cause it's not too late
It's never too late (It's never too late)
It's not too late
It's never too late

Courtesy of these people.

'I must be running out of luck
'Cos you're not drunk enough to fuck'

Genius.

Here's an alternative view.

Red Beachball

2008-06-12T11:41:00.005Z

graphics, digital art, mixed media, beachball, balloon, collage, mural

New Med Regime:

2008-06-10T04:01:00.006Z

Zyprexa
Diazepam
Zolpidem
Effexor

Every morning and every evening without fail. I can feel them rattling around inside me. A pill for every ill. To sleep, to wake, to eat, to starve, to live, to die. They sustain me. They keep me here. Sometimes I just. want. to. stop. Somebody pull the plug. Please. I am being infused by a slow acting poison.

I have been asked to do a reading at a 'Free Tibet' concert later this month. Heaven knows why. People are strange.

Yours Truly, the Queen of the Non-Sequitur.

Lost Cats and Schizoaffectve Disorder

2008-06-06T19:11:00.008Z

My friend Andrew's cat died this afternoon. He was distraught. He rang me to say he couldn't meet up with me tonight. He is too upset. He took the Tom in for a routine check up and emerged with his lifeless body. Andrew works in a cat sanctuary and has seen many cats get sick and die but that doesn't diminish the pain he feels now.

I was ill last week but managed to avoid the nuthouse. Sometimes I think I'd rather commit suicide than go back there. I was told that I was 'neglecting myself' so I spent all week worrying that they would force me to go in. They didn't, of course. That's why I'm sitting here writing. (duh!) One doctor said I put together a compelling, articulate argument against being hospitalised. I can't even remember what I said. I am in a state of sheer terror at the thought of returning to hospital. My main problem is that I have co-morbid illnesses that are rarely seen in one person: schizoaffective disorder and bulimia (I started out as a purging anorectic - now why did I feel the need to tell you that?)

When I am treated for my illness at an eating disorders facility, they do nothing to alleviate symptoms of schizoaffective disorder - heightened mood, delusions etc. And when I am on an acute ward the psychosis is dealt with but not the bulimia. So, as you can imagine, I'm kind of difficult to treat. Now, I'm scared that if I alienate them they will abandon me. I've seen it happen. So, I am feeling isolated and afraid. I woke up this morning to find I had been crying in my sleep. I can do nothing but sit back and wait for it to pass. But its taking its own sweet time about it.

I wonder if cats have their very own Feline Grim Reaper.

Self Portrait

2008-06-02T02:08:00.003Z

Didn't eat for days then binged my head off. Food pushers suck. No appetite suppressants. Disappearing oh so slowly...

A link pertaining to me:

http://www.gibbsonline.com/bulimia.html

Apparently, 'the comorbidity of schizophrenia and bulimia nervosa is very rare'.

Interesting.

Apparently I too am to be Denied a Voice

2008-06-02T01:23:00.016Z

And a charming member of the Great British Blogosphere: Pigdogfucker had this to say:

http://www.pigdogfucker.com/2008/05/17/647/#respond

Readers, are you sane people like DG, or are you paranoid lunatics who think crime is a serious issue worth bothering with? When a woman whose 18-year-old daughter killed herself in jail after being sent there for being a bit mean to an old geezer [*], kills herself out of depression and grief and someone writes a tribute article to her, do you say:
“Pauline Campbell was a brave and compassionate woman. She will be sorely missed.”
or
“Oh, FFS! If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.”

If you have any views on why the bunch of eejits who believe the second point tend to congregate on liberal blogs rather than whimsical blogs about London scenery, feel free to post them in the comments. Also feel free to prove my point by posting ignorant rants in the comments about how Sarah Campbell was, like, EEEVIL JUNKI3 SKUM and deserved to DIE!
[*] yes, the old geezer had a heart condition that the girls didn’t know about, and when they were a bit mean to him he died of fright [**]. This, in a sane world, would be punished in the same way as being a bit mean to anyone else – i.e. mild disapproval. What matters morally is what could be reasonably expected from your actions (for the avoidance of doubt, “being a bit mean to an old geezer” does not allow you to reasonably infer “old geezer will snuff it”), not their actual consequences; and if you don’t understand that then you have the moral sensibilities of a five-year-old.
[**] fucking hell, this is an 18-year-old girl we’re talking about. if you’re an adult male who’s scared of an 18-year-old girl, you don’t deserve to walk this earth, you ridiculous pansy.

(I responded but it wasn't printed)

Apparently, he was old too so the world won't really miss him. Just a minute - isn't that ageism? Aren't we fortunate to have Guardianistas ready and willing to tell us which 'isms; are permissible? You might be able to tell his widow yourself. Maybe these people will let you have her contact details: http://tiny.cc/jGZzx . Although I find it outrageous that they've given her a voice at all. She too is old and therefore expendable so who cares about her feelings? Off to weep copiously for the saintly Pauline Campbell.

The F word, to their credit, did permit me a voice:

Louise said:

Is anyone aware of what happened to Ms Woolley? If most women in British prisons have a mental health problem then it is highly likely that she had one too. I wonder what the repeated insinuations that she was partially responsible for Sarah Campbell's death did to her. Still, it's easier to idolise the dead than it is to help the living.

The Guardian piece, by the way, was more than a tribute piece. It was posted in someone's personal blog on 'Comment Is Free' which implies, to me anyway, that 'comment is free' and it was a pretty dire piece. Their 'tribute' was here and did not permit comments: http://lifeandhealth.guardian.co.uk/women/story/0,,2280454,00.html

Hoodies

2008-05-31T12:16:00.006Z

shareware

Hospital Memories I

2008-05-30T06:42:00.006Z

He had bloodshot eyes, moss-covered teeth and malodorous breath. We were in the corridor. He reached out and tried to pull me towards him. I hit out at him and backed away. There was a nurse sitting nearby. He did not intervene. He just looked away.

Even In Darkness

2008-05-28T21:16:00.008Z

Even in darkness roses bloom.

He says I enrich his life. He says I am the person he lives for. I will be there for him. As long as he needs me. If it is the only good thing I ever do, I will do this. And I will remember this:

To Have Succeeded

To laugh often and love much:
To win respect of intelligent people
And the affection of children;
To earn the approbation of honest critics
And endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty;
To find the best in others;
To give one's self;
To leave the world a little better,
Whether by a healthy child,
A garden patch,
Or redeemed social condition;
To have played and laughed with enthusiasm
And sung with exultation;
To know even one life has breathed easier
Because you have lived...
This is to have succeeded.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

star collage

2008-05-28T07:12:00.003Z

star collage, originally uploaded by Bella the Cat.

A Single Teardrop

2008-05-26T04:11:00.004Z

He said, 'The only thing keeping me alive is you.'

But, with me, the only thing you can rely on is that you can't rely on me. The only thing you can guarantee is that there is no guarantee

A Slice of My Heart

2008-05-25T03:52:00.001Z

Yet More Butterflies

2008-05-24T20:03:00.002Z

A Lazy Post

2008-05-24T00:25:00.002Z

(Some digital art from moi.)

Somebody Save Me...

2008-05-20T00:11:00.005Z

I'm drowning.

Then learn to swim.

I can't. I can't.

You can. You can.

From a Friend

2008-05-17T03:22:00.003Z

The time to worry is not when others have high expectations of you but when they have no expectations of you at all.

Take My Advice

2008-05-16T15:39:00.002Z

...get a Mac. If only for the recently released Pixelmator. Software I actually deigned to pay for.

On Morality

2008-05-15T22:42:00.006Z

Interrogator: 'Do you really think for moment that your friends would do as much for you as you seem to be ready to do for them?'

Odette: 'Yes, I do but the point is unimportant. I do not barter loyalty against loyalty. I am no shopkeeper, Monsieur, and I sell nothing by the pound. If they were prepared to betray me that would not influence my decision in any way. I am only responsible to my own conscience.'

Odette

Jerrard Tickell (p.257)

I will not permit the coherence of my moral universe to be affected by the incoherence of somebody else's.

Rock Bottom

2008-05-15T08:25:00.003Z

Off to get my meds. Is this what they call rock bottom? At least I can't fall any further. I want my 'Little'. I want my Bella. I have someone to take care of. Must. Stay. Strong. I must never get fat again.

Suffering in Silence

2008-05-12T22:52:00.006Z

I can only begin to imagine the kind of pain the family of Mark Saunders must be feeling right now. Losing a loved one to suicide (and that's exactly what it was) is one of the worst things that can happen to you.

Because of my situation (I have a mental illness and have spent rather a lot of time in hospital) I've lost several close friends to suicide. The repercussions of their actions cannot be underestimated. Journalists have repeatedly emphasised the fact that Mr Saunders was a barrister, destined for great things, as if that somehow should have rendered him immune to mental illness. I would imagine, if anything, that his situation exacerbated his condition. He was intelligent and resourceful, a 'high flyer'; he was not expected to ask for help and so he didn't.

Last year an ex boyfriend, A made his fourth suicide attempt. Like Mr Saunders, A was also a high-achiever. He worked in the City and it was amidst the intensity of that world that he had a nervous breakdown. He goes further: he calls it a meltdown. His name for it is his 'Chernobyl'. After his first suicide attempt he requested help. He didn't receive any. All the health services in his area had to offer was a cocktail of medication. People have asked why Mr Saunders did not ask for help. I'm speculating wildly here but maybe he did and was turned away like one in three people suffering from mental health problems who appeal to the NHS for help.

The authorities will conduct their inquiry. We'll shake our heads and ask ourselves why it had to happen and why it should never happen again. But nothing will change and it will happen again. Over and over again.

Homecoming

2008-05-12T22:21:00.005Z

Your history resides in my bones
It runs through my veins
In my dark and skeletal remains
You left without ceremony
And then you return
Bringing home your knotted laundry
Suddenly, so alien to me
With your calcium enriched bones
Unhealthily healthy
Your armour repels me

You trouble me and I am effaced
Frozen out of your entanglements
A new worldliness
Has welded itself to you
We gape and then embrace
We watch one another
You, still hostile as a cactus
Me, skittish, nightmarish
I am terrified of this new you
You Changeling Child

You took all the love from me
And then you pass on the baton
You open your hand. It is empty
You have brought no gift for me
Peel off your layers, I beg
But you refuse
You were my refuge
Your claws left scars
But you are unmarked
Lucky boy

Calm Down, Dear,

2008-05-09T21:43:00.010Z

...it's only the Daily Freaking Mail

Apparently, it's a 'Sad reflection of what women are like in modern society'. So, three women interviewed by some half witted Daily Mail journalist are regarded as representatives of the whole of womankind? And since when were women clones of one another? I guess some people find it hard to cope with the idea that women are *complex individuals*(1). Does relying on crass generalisations to inform one's worldview make life more easily navigable? Maybe, but I would imagine it renders one's existence somewhat tedious. You don't have to bother getting to know other people because you think you know all about them already and that doesn't sound like much fun to me.

And, remember this: If you tolerate this then your blogs will be next, will be next, will be next.

Finally, I don't know why the interviewees were shocked at the absence of fairness and balance in this story. Frankly, I would have been shocked if a daily mail journalist were to write a fair and balanced piece. In short, they suck. Always have. Always will. Live with it and go scurrying in the opposite direction whenever you catch the slightest glimpse of a Daily Mail journalist

Warning: Some vulgarity

Which is not worthy of me:

TIP: The Daily Mail is strong and very absorbent meaning that it doubles up as extra toilet paper.

(1) And certain women should remember that this applies to men too. Misandry is just as unpleasant as misogyny.

Facing the Inevitable

2008-05-08T19:01:00.005Z

Nobby is weak, trembling, unsteady on his feet. Yesterday I met a neighbour in the City Centre. A neighbour known as motor mouth because of her penchant for incessant gossiping. 'Nobby's not going to be here much longer. Not now that Freddi's gone,' He had been abandoned by the state, his family and now, even little Freddi. Please don't think I am judging the family because I am not. I am in no position to judge them. I didn't pay a great deal of attention to my own grandparents. Not even while they were dying. But I regret that and I am afraid that Nobby's family will come to feel that way too.

Nobby has grown frailer but he is as strong willed as ever. Not that this resolve has been properly tested (lately). There are no officials lining up outside his door offering him help. In my mind he is a member of an oppressed group that very few people give a toss about - the elderly (or 'pensioners' or 'seniors' - whichever term is en vogue.)

There is only me and I am afraid. 'I don't think I can handle this,' I told my mother on the 'phone. 'I'm not strong enough.'

'Oh, you're strong,' my mother said, 'Not always in the right way but you are strong.'

When I told her about my fears for Nobby's future she said: 'Don't talk like that.' As if not talking about it will make any difference.

I believe they call what I am feeling 'anticipatory grief'.

Poster Child II

2008-05-02T20:27:00.001Z

Poster Child

2008-05-02T20:06:00.008Z

Binge...

2008-04-24T18:16:00.017Z

Ate:

2 packets Sunbites (260cals)

Wrap (440 cals)

Chocolates (300)

Oatcakes (300)

4 slices toast w. peanut butter (thinly spread: 300)

Chocolate Muffin (300)

1900 cals.*

And I couldn't purge. I am fat, fat, fat.

It appears that John Prescott and I share an illness: Bulimia. The difference between us is that he is entitled to treatment and I am not. I suffered from anorexia as a teenager and have been bulimic ever since. I relapsed into anorexia in 1998. I read an article in the Cambridge Evening News in which a Dr Jane Shapleske, who is part of Addenbrookes Eating disorders team, expressed sympathy with Mr. Prescott and rightly so but does she really expect us to believe that if 'Joe Bloggs' came in off the street and presented himself to her that she would have recommended treatment? I know she wouldn't because I did exactly** that and she refused to accept me on her program. We know why you express sympathy for Mr Prescott, Dr. Shapleske, it's because he is powerful, high profile and you are not obliged to treat him. Words are cheap, aren't they, Dr. Shapleske? Maybe now we know that men too suffer from this condition the 'powers-that-be' will be more willing to invest real money into the treatment of this illness but, frankly, I'm not holding my breath.

I deviate from the norm but not quite dramatically enough to hold any interest for Dr Shapleske.

*That and 26 valium and I am still paralysed by anxiety. Sorry, make that 46. I am not in the habit of looking gift horses in mouthes. I am invincible. Invincible.

**Actually, I was referred to her by my GP.

I keep taking pics of myself. Not because I'm vain but because, at the moment, I am not my usual fat, moocow self and I don't know how long it will last. I don't know when my body will start rebelling again.

And I know it shouldn't matter. I know that we should be more than just our bodies. But it does. And I don't know why. I don't know why I am capitulating to body fascism but I am and I wish that I could detach myself from it. But it's all around me. It permeates every part of society and, by succumbing to it, I am helping to perpetuate it.

It's the end of the world as we know it

And I feel fine.

I Now Have...

2008-04-16T12:24:00.007Z

A new Macbook complete with photobooth. That is where the tiresome pics of yours truly are coming from. The novelty will wear off soon. Now it is shiny, glossy and quite beautiful. Commodity fetishism reigns in these parts. The revolution can wait.

Mother was shocked that I bought a new computer. What would you like me to spend my money on mother: drugs, alcohol, junk food? The money I spent on my shiny new macbook is money I have because I never purchase those things. She fails to grasp the importance of a computer to my everyday life, to my health, to my general well-being. Sometimes when I am too afraid leave the house the computer it is my lifeline, my sole connection to the world. It is the same when I wake up in the middle of the night, terrified beyond reason, bathed in perspiration. The computer is the only thing that can stifle the babbling voices in my head. The only thing, sometimes, that can stop me from simply giving up. How can she fail to understand that?

This Week...

2008-04-16T07:48:00.009Z

I have been mostly shopping. And yes, I am aware that I shouldn't be indulging in such frivolous pastimes. I should be wringing my hands and weeping helplessly over atrocities occurring on the other side of the planet. On second thoughts:

The Serenity Prayer

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can
And the wisdom to know the difference

And:

A Refusal to Mourn the Death, By Fire, of a Child in London

Dylan Thomas

Never until the mankind making
Bird beast and flower
Fathering and all humbling darkness
Tells with silence the last light breaking
And the still hour
Is come of the sea tumbling in harness

And I must enter again the round
Zion of the water bead
And the synagogue of the ear of corn
Shall I let pray the shadow of a sound
Or sow my salt seed
In the least valley of sackcloth to mourn

The majesty and burning of the child's death.
I shall not murder
The mankind of her going with a grave truth
Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath
With any further
Elegy of innocence and youth.

Deep with the first dead lies London's daughter,
Robed in the long friends,
The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother,
Secret by the unmourning water
Of the riding Thames.
After the first death, there is no other.

Some 'photies':
(My Liverpudlian therapist is getting me to take photographs of myself from various angles for obvious reasons.)

And another thing:

Loss

2008-04-08T19:25:00.006Z

If you have never lost anything then it means that you have never had anything. The only way to avoid loss is to avoid having anything. And what kind of life is that?

Nobby's Dog

2008-04-07T05:05:00.007Z

...Freddi is dead. His son took her to the vet's on Friday morning. In a nutshell her lungs had simply stopped working. She was in great pain. Nobby's son telephoned him from the vet's and he consented to have her put to sleep. When I spoke to Nobby in the afternoon he could hardly get the words out. 'How is Freddi?' I asked.

'Freddi...put..to...sleep.'

I don't think those around him understand what this had done to him. He is ninety one. He has lived through a war. He fought in Italy in a Special Services Reconnaissance Commando Unit. He has seen men blown to bits, trapped in tanks, burning to death and yet none of that affected him as much as the demise of 'a little white dog'. It's like Freddi was an anchor, tethering him to the earth and now she has gone there is no reason for him to stay. He is broken. There is a wall between us. I don't know what to say to make it all better. Why are we given things only for them to be snatched away?

When someone asked me if I had had a 'flutter on the grand national' I directed them to this link.

High on Coke

2008-04-03T17:43:00.009Z

Freddi (Nobby's dog) is ill. Her breathing is shallow and she is subdued. She will be taking a trip to the dog doctor tomorrow. I managed to sooth her by stroking her gently as she lay at my feet. I have come to love her almost as though she is my own. Listening to Nelly Fertado's Why do All Good Things Come to an End? : flames to dust/Lovers to Friends/Why do all good things come to an end? I ask why things come to an end, maybe it would be more productive to ask when and why things begin.

Diet coke really isn't a good substitute for food, but then I expect most sensible people knew that already.

Tristesse

2008-04-02T12:38:00.001Z

Because the Night...

2008-03-31T22:45:00.004Z

Night triumphs over day and I close my eyes against the chaos. I seek refuge in panoramic dreams. But I do not retain them. By morning they have metamorphosed into vague, hazy images, misted over memories. No Earthly good to anyone but myself. But they follow me though the day, manifesting themselves in feelings rather than visions. There are few words spoken in these dreams that invade my sleep. A silent film, devoid of dialogue. And these faces in my dreams are shadowy. There is no one I recognise and I never get to see my own reflection.

When morning comes and I awaken I sometimes feel as though I am still stumbling through sleep. My nocturnal visions bleed almost imperceptibly into real life. That is where my false sense of security comes from. No one can hurt you in dreams. Not really.

I Was Once an Omnivore

2008-03-28T17:57:00.004Z

A devilish wish
I watch as she flies
Through the stormiest
Of skies and something
Deep within me dies
A new-born bird nestles
In my hand. I salivate
As I contemplate
This truly delectable dish

My Mother, the Nurse

2008-03-25T14:28:00.002Z

She called out to a patient. Her voice was harsh, like the crack of a whip. In the beginning she wasn't sure of how to conduct herself. She was terrified. She didn't know how she should behave, how to react. That fear had faded had cynicism had come to occupy the place it had vacated. It had gripped her and would not let go. She was the nurse that, back in the old days, they had nicknamed PollyAnna. She was a cheerful presence on the ward. She had, at last, found something at which she excelled. But her enthusiasm ebbed away with the years. And now she was flat, drained, jaded.

Redressing the Balance

2008-03-22T11:43:00.020Z

Those who have been following the divorce proceedings in which Heather Mills and Paul McCartney have been embroiled (until a few days ago that did not include me) may be interested in this. Ms. Mills is 'Lying, vindictive, scheming, manipulative' according to many in the tabloid press. I take it then that their editors will be queuing round the block to offer her a job as these sound like ideal characteristics for a tabloid journalist. And before you start feeling sorry for 'Sir Paul' remember 'The Frog Chorus'* . Now that was a true crime against humanity.

Another article that seeks to redress the balance can be found here. Joan Smith points out that none of the women who formed relationships with 'Sir Paul' were treated particularly well by the press and the public. Many seemed to see the Beatles as public property, incapable of determining the course of their own lives. According to Ms. Smith, Linda McCartney received her share of bad press. She was only elevated to the status of secular saint when she became ill. Even the tabloid press wouldn't stoop so low as to attack a terminally ill woman. And, as the 'Diana' saga illustrated, everybody loves you when you're dead. Finally, whatever Jane Asher's reasons were for terminating her relationship with 'Sir Paul', it was probably one of the best decisions she ever made.

*Listen and puke.

Reality Bites

2008-03-16T08:24:00.007Z

Most people adopt children. I had to be different. I adopted a grandfather. It seems like he will be here forever. Like Bella. I am standing on the beach and this wave is coming towards me. A great grey wall. Unstoppable. I have become complacent. I forgot, for a moment, that time marches on. I could sit in his living room, eating his toasted hot-cross buns, listening to him recount his war stories for the rest of my days. Those afternoons are precious to me. They are essential to me. The reality is, however, that Nobby (not Nobbie) is ninety one and that wave is inching ever closer. And I turn back to Nobby and we resume talking and I am wondering what I should do to blast that image out of my brain

I don't know whether I'll be able to survive this one.

Currently Listening to...

2008-03-16T08:11:00.004Z

So long, go on and do your best,
Let all France have whiskey on its breath,
The world may not be shaking yet but you might prove them wrong,
Even long shots make it

So go then, out into history,
and show them how easy it can be,
you might not believe it yet but pretty soon you'll see,
Even long shots make it,

Just don't come home too soon,
Just don't come home too soon,

And I don't care what people say,
we can laugh it all away,
But if I have a dream at all for once you won't be on that stupid plane

And the world may not be shaking yet,
but you might prove them wrong,
Even long shots make it

Just don't come home too soon,
Just don't come home too soon,
I don't care what people say (Just don't come home too soon)
We're gonna laugh it all the way (Just don't come home too soon)
I don't care what people say (Just don't come home too soon)
We're gonna laugh it all the way (Just don't come home too soon)
I don't care what people say (Just don't come home too soon)
We're gonna laugh it all the way (Just don't come home too soon)
I don't care what people say (Just don't come home too soon)
We're gonna laugh it all the way (Just don't come home too soon)

Just Don't Come Home Too Soon, Del Amitri

Courtesy of these people.

Pushing

2008-03-14T22:26:00.007Z

Pounding on the walls
Pushing at the doors
A rush of air sends
Medical notes flying
Carried on the wind
Cacti on the windowsills
Standing guard
On the border between
My room and reality
Spring flowers
Beyond the glass
Aloof, untouchable
But beautiful
A ceasefire is declared
And I am escorted
Into my morphine twilight

So Afraid

2008-03-07T08:50:00.002Z

I don't think I can do this anymore.
I'm so tired. And so afraid.
I'm not strong enough.

Nothing to fill the void.
Essentially we are all alone.

Sky the Colour of Tin

2008-03-04T05:26:00.003Z

Nobby is All...

2008-03-02T09:38:00.007Z

cynical and sour. He believes that this is one great big fat propaganda exercise. Is he alone? Apparently not.

But then, it could be argued that they would say that, wouldn't they?

Meanwhile, over in the Observer Rachel Cooke asks how she can avoid 'seeming very stupid' when interviewing Stephen Hawking. I can answer that. It might have helped if she had not devoted the first few paragraphs of the resulting article to herself. Note to self-obsessed Laydee journalists: it's not about you, sweetheart, it's about the interviewee. That's the whole point of an interview.

Ooh, all this cynicism is contagious. Off to Sourpuss's Anonymous.

And finally this confirms what I've always suspected. I will elaborate later.

Lamplight

2008-02-29T22:59:00.004Z

Lamplight reflected in puddles
We walk down these rainwashed streets
The sky is a navy blue dome arching
Over us. We look up. Enraptured
And we savour the silvery

Flavour of the stars. We move on.
Surrounded by city walls. Rats run
Beneath our feet and tramps seek shelter
And hurl a welter of curses at us
As we pass but we pay them no mind

And focus on the road ahead
A smooth black ribbon we trace its curve.
We stand on an arched bridge watching
The river swell and, agile and audacious,
We climb over the wrought iron gates

Of a great stone mansion
We wander through its unlit grounds
While within, in dark chambers,
The wealthy sleep on feather beds
And debutantes weep as stealthily we creep

Across the stone courtyard
Our hopes as high as the owl's cry
For anything is better than nothing
We lie on the damp lawn and we sleep
A sleep as deep as death

Nobby Clarke

2008-02-25T16:49:00.003Z

(91 year old war veteran) upon seeing this man's infamous face on his TV screen:

'I shot better men than him when I was in Sicily.'

Moon

2008-02-25T03:32:00.004Z

The Proprietor of Dreams

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

To caress it. The usurper of a sun
That once witnessed two towers fall
An ineffectual element. In decline.
Each rock is eroded by its sister: the sea
These are the songs all children sing

As newly dead ghosts depart
To join the ancestors. 'One day
We'll be back,' they say, moving away
I drift with the river instead
Grey waves, grey waves, they greet us

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

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 at her window
It is the star that beckons us home. It seems to smile. At what?
It is displaced by the moon
And our yesterdays call once more

And the moon gloats
At the stars she outshines
Like a brilliant big sister
Are the trees overwhelmed too?

Their fingers reach up, up, up to touch
Her as she dangles there for all to see
What a narcissistic show-off she must be
That full, all-effacing (rather fat, actually) moon

'I think I'm on the side of the Angels'
'No you're not. You're on the side of the cool kids. Watch Mean Girls if you don't get the reference.'

This Week I Be Mostly Reading...

2008-02-23T21:10:00.004Z

'England is, above all, the country of the amateur, and the wireless operators, couriers and saboteurs who went to France, were therefore amateurs, officers working behind enemy lines. They had a fine contempt for the professional spy. They were ordinary men and women in that they sprang from ordinary walks of life. The don, the stock-broker, the bird-watcher, the doctor, the insurance agent, the shorthand typist, the widow, the anthropologist and the head-waiter...'

Odette
Jerrard Tickell. (p.44)

See Saboteurs.

No Real Job

Nocturnal bride
Wears black tonight
Grainy pictures
Of a faded wedding
I am naked, draped in leaves
My hand clasping my heart
All foliage suffocates

A fragment of my mirror (broken)
A shard of my heart
Books line the walls
Who lives in those leather-bound volumes
Even they are soon to be forgotten
So I devoured you
And I relished every morsel
Torn and bleeding
The grey sky in my head
From some ancient tale
Pale ghosts hovered over me.

'Pin This Butterfly Down'

2008-02-22T04:55:00.011Z

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 hover on the outer circle
My perfume grows repellent

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

Fade Away and Radiate

2008-02-13T05:15:00.001Z

Acorn (Flying Meat Software)

2008-02-11T04:57:00.000Z

Some see Angel-children
Singing in Sunday school
And others see Daemon brats,
hovering on the line between
Heaven and hell
Cowering, beneath the birch
For this is all that they deserve
‘A burden on the parish’
From the moment they were born.

Hiatus

2008-02-03T21:32:00.000Z

Nothing much to report. I stopped visiting a certain blog when I began to use phrases such as 'festering ferrets' , 'deluded Dalmations' , 'pernicious penguins' and 'catatonic kangaroos' (yes, I know that last one doesn't really work) in everyday conversation. Credit where credit is due though - its contributors had some very sweet and comforting things to say about Bella. I keep seeing Bella's 'ghost'. Her image is embedded in my mind so I am seeing what I expect to see. My GP understands. He has his own phantom feline: a cat called Marmalade who died last year. He says it will pass. Eventually.

Too Brief, All Too Brief

2008-01-10T01:33:00.000Z

Whatever hell you've been through
She has endured much more than you
Whatever territory you own
She will claim it as her home
We stood by and watched her fall
As she spurned the greatest gift of all
She could not see what she had already
And that, we all agree, is her greatest tragedy.

GhostCat: Where are YOU?

2008-01-07T15:13:00.000Z

There will never be a perfect time to have a pet. I am being bombarded by offers from my friend Andrew who works at a cat sanctuary - He has found a lovely little affectionate cat called Bounce. I don't even feel like visiting. I am so tired. I don't think this will be a good time to bring cats into a still grieving home.

Bella has been my (almost) constant companion. For a decade she has been by my side. (Apart from my trip to America and Europe when Bella stayed in Birmingham with my parents). But I thought about her, I dreamed about her.

But Bella was a stubborn little Madam and would make me endure lots of silent treatments when I returned which were resolved when Bella felt that she had made me suffer enough. She wasn't nicknamed 'Bratcat' for nothing.

I know I will never find a cat like Bella again. One night, back in 1996, I opened the front door to let a friend out and, as the friend left, this little white cat invaded by apartment. She slipped through the door and let out a piercing miaow, a miaow that said 'I'm here and I'm here to stay'. And stay she did for eleven years. A lady downstairs had one more cat than she needed. The youngest(Bella -6) was being bullied by the Top cat. So, she came to live with me. Melissa, her first rescuer, told me that she'd been wandering Mill Road - emaciated, with no fur on her back legs - when she found her. She took her back to her flat and was surprised to find that she was house trained. She had also been spayed. My neighbour nursed her back to health but cats can be fickle creatures and Bella began to explore other flats in a bid to find herself another home. Bella had made up her mind. Every night she stood outside my door calling for me to let her in. I did. And every night she came. I made an agreement with her human who found it difficult to have to deal with night after night of hissing, spitting, snarling.

So she surrendered and brought Bella to me. She sat perched on my chest that night and the purrs she emitted soothed me into a sleep devoid of dreams. She became a permanent fixture in my life, almost to the exclusion of everyone else. And she was loyal to the end. She died in her sleep. Next to me. The best way to die some say. I'm not so sure. Doubts are setting in

If anybody's interested Bella was 17

More Later

Bella II

2007-12-24T13:38:00.001Z

Bella

2007-12-23T04:04:00.000Z

Bellacat can barely walk. She can barely eat. I think the end is coming. Some will dismiss this as a kind of cloying sentimentality. But Bella has become a part of my life, a part of me. And she has been for eleven years. I think I will die without her.
I am so afraid. She is me. I am her. I don't know what to do.
I don't want her to die for if she does then a part of me dies too.

Currently Listening to...

2007-12-20T08:14:00.000Z

...Blondie's Rip Her to Shreds. It brings to mind a certain spoof blog and no, it's not the Real Steve Jobs. That's actually tremendously witty.

BLONDIE LYRICS

"Rip Her To Shreds"

(Hey! Psst PSST! Here she comes now.)
Oh, you know her, would you look at that hair
Yeah, you know her, check out those shoes
She looks like she stepped out of the middle of somebody's blues

She looks like the Sunday comics
She thinks she's Brenda Starr
Her nose job is real atomic
All she needs is an old knife scar

Yeah, she's so dull, come on rip her to shreds
She's so dull, come on rip her to shreds

Oh, you know her, "Miss Groupie Supreme"
Yeah, you know her, "Vera Vogue" on parade
Red eye shadow! Green mascara!
Yuck! She's too much

She looks like she don't know better
A case of partial extreme
Dressed in a Robert Hall sweater
Acting like a soap opera queen

Yeah, she's so dull, come on rip her to shreds
She's so dull, come on rip her to shreds

She got the nerve to tell me she's not on it
But her expression is too serene
Yeah, she looks like she washes with Comet
Always looking to create a scene

Yeah, she's so dull, come on rip her to shreds
She's so dull, come on rip her to shreds
She's so dull. Rip her to shreds

Oh, you know her, "Miss Groupie Supreme"
Yeah, you know her, "Vera Vogue" on parade
Yeah, you know her, with the fish-eating grin
She's so dull

Yeah, she got the nerve to tell me!
Huh, she's so dull
Yeah, there she goes now
She making out with King Kong
She take her boat to Hong Kong
Well, bye bye sugar
And not a minute too soon

The BBC...

2007-12-20T02:47:00.000Z

....have reversed their decision to censor the word 'faggot' in the Christmas classic A Fairytale of New York

But who thinks of 'the scumbags and the maggots' or indeed the the 'bums' or the 'punks' or 'the old sluts on junk lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed' ? Nobody cares about them. Life is so not fair! (insert emoticon here.)

They only care about some traditional British delicacy.

If You Want to Avoid...

2007-12-18T16:54:00.000Z

...exposing yourself as a refugee from the eighties, then for the love of cake, don't use the word 'ace'. Please.

And take a look at this - the only hospital in the country that attempts to help those afflicted with personality disorders is being closed down. The lunatics really have taken over the asylum.

(Nothing wrong with that - it's just that these are the wrong lunatics.)

Its patients are mostly young women who, after traumatic childhoods often involving horrific sexual abuse, have become bent on self-destruction through prolonged bouts of self-harming, cutting and burning themselves.

The wrong demographic and the wrong kind of mental illness?

WTF?

2007-12-11T10:58:00.001Z

People seriously believe this woman is fat? Oh.My.God. Scalpel, vacuum cleaner. It's time for a little DIY liposuction.

Spring in the Midst of Winter

2007-12-08T11:05:00.000Z

Pollyanna? Moi?

2007-12-08T09:29:00.000Z

During one of my admissions to the EDU (that's Eating Disorders Unit for those unfamiliar with the jargon) one of the nurses told me that, in her oh so humble opinion, that I was adopting the role of the 'Pollyanna of the ward'. She asked me why I insisted upon focusing on other people's issues at the expense of my own issues. I hated her at the time but maybe she was more astute than I gave her credit for. Denial? Isn't that a river running through Egypt? This is the closest I'll get to a mea culpa.

Mismatched?

2007-12-06T23:54:00.001Z

What are Doug (92 year old war veteran) and I to do on these long, dark nights when I pop across the expanse of lawn that separates his flat from mine? Doug was known as Nubby throughout his time in the RAF and then the army. Apparently, everyone with the name 'Clarke' in the army is automatically known as 'Nobby'. No one thinks to ask why,. Well, we sit, we watch TV, we talk, we reminisce. Sometimes I think that some supernatural force has pushed us together. Often I picture us as two helpless, stranded sailors cut adrift from our nation's territorial waters and everything we once knew. Because the alliance of two people as different as we are is unacceptable in conventional circles. And it is those circles that squeeze the world by the throat. So we delicately sidestep the demands made upon us by those who have never been where he has, who have never been where I have and, please God, with a cherry on top, see to it that they never do.

And, yes, another Remembrance Sunday has passed without a remark from Doug. He is more than a war veteran is his constant refrain but nothing can change the fact that when he closes his eyes at night, he sees things that most of us could never even conceive of.

Insomnia

2007-12-05T04:07:00.000Z

I am awake because I am afraid to sleep. And the drugs that used to work are useless now

They call this 'rebound insomnia'.

My cat is a sweet, sleeping semi-circle at the bottom of my bed. I envy her. I wish we could swap places like a feline Freaky Friday. I wonder what she dreams about. I'll never know. I don't speak miaow.

Can someone translate?

Apparently I have Nothing Better to Do Than...

2007-12-04T11:36:00.000Z

hang out at this blog.

punter (qual res) | 12.03.07 - 9:00 am | #

Louise, (for it is you), I have avoided addressing you directly before. Not out of fear but because mental illness is your thing and I tend to avoid accusing FJL directly of mental illness. I know too little about it and it does no good because she simply denies it and throws it back.

My thing? No, I never take credit when it isn't due. Let these people take the credit for that:
http://www.ministryoftruth.me.uk...lower-a-flower/

Hmm, all those people lining up to kiss one guy's ass. An epidemic of backache must have ensued.

But Jailhouse lawyer is not me. He, as far as I know, does not post here and has no need to, because he has his own blog, and he has no record of commenting anonymously. He may well have an ego of his own. He certainly isn't afraid.

Message to Felicity: The next time you commit a crime, make it less serious. Don't target the online world's answer to the people's princess, bash a little old lady over the head with an axe instead. (And remember to use the blunt end because that somehow diminishes culpability.)
It's an excellent career move.

So - quoting what someone else wrote on JHL's blog is a bit of an obscure thing to be doing here.

And I note that you commented 3 times last night and then immediately responded to the first comment here. Are you, as some have suggested, hovering over these pages?

Who has suggested this then? One of your alter-egos? I'm just waiting to see what you'll accuse Ms. Lowde of next. Every misfortune this species has encountered since the fall? Or was she responsible for that too? That serpent was framed. On these pages it has been intimated that she is a prostitute, a holocaust denier and now this. Seriously, mate, are you trying to get her off? You know, if I were FJL I'd have started this blog myself, enticed my accusers (Victims, call them what you will) to comment on it and then induced the defence of provocation.

Please, comment under your own name and don't assume (à la fjl) that this blog or its comments are written by JHL. I dare say he would take credit for his own work. He has done so far.

And your given name is 'Punter'. And Shurly Some Mistake's name is 'Shurly Some Mistake'? Whatever.

I'm afraid you're the one making erroneous assumptions. You may not wish to take credit for other people's work but someone else certainly does. One of your...um...masterpieces was plagiarised on the comments section of my blog. The person responsible had Mr. Hirst's portal on his blogroll.

If Ms. Lowde is an attention junkie, then you are her dealers.

Deconstruction of My Mother

2007-12-03T18:53:00.000Z

She told him about the boy at the end of her street, the one with the overgrown garden permeated by the stench of cat piss.

'Did he touch you?' asked Patrick.
'Yes,' Wendy replied. 'He did.'
'Where?' he persisted. Later, looking back, Wendy would realize that she was his first psychiatric patient. His blank canvas. He transformed her. Wendy touched her breasts, and her vagina. 'It happened because my parents were never there, never home. The Rose and Crown - our local pub was my father's second home. The factory was his second. We came third.. His work kept him just this side of sanity. He worked in a factory. There was camaraderie on that assembly line, he used to say. There was camaraderie on the picket line too.

She was his chameleon; his Eliza Doolittle.. Under his tutilige she became glamorous, vivacious, intelligent, creative, charming. Or, at least, that's what Patrick told her. Before he asked her to marry him. She had got what she came for - the status and privileges that come with being a doctor's wife.

In the end Wendy became an unpaid actress. The whole world was her stage and their family and friends were the co-stars.

On the night before she died Cynthia's bedtime story had been The Water Babies.

They found her face down, floating in the lake.

Screenshot

2007-12-01T21:50:00.001Z

A work in progress. (Ignore the random text.)

Mostly Harmless

2007-12-01T00:13:00.001Z

The Patron Saint of Victims Everywhere

2007-11-30T03:33:00.000Z

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

2007-11-26T01:44:00.000Z

Imagine how the local mouse population feel.

Sepia Princess

2007-11-26T00:11:00.000Z

Random

2007-11-23T02:26:00.000Z

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

2007-11-22T15:40:00.000Z

Script:

2007-11-16T20:37:00.000Z

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

2007-11-15T07:03:00.000Z

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...

2007-11-14T15:49:00.001Z

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

You can find it here.