When it snows

If I ever got married, if I was ever so inclined

To make another forever mine

I’d like it to be when it snows

Cheeks red with cold, perfect scarlet apples, breath like puffs of smoke

I’d want clouds, across the sky blown by winter wind

No sun blazing at my wedding

Imagine Rod Serling

Introducing the twilight zone

His face bathed in monochrome shades

All my photos in an album of sepia tones

Love may mingle with the snow, neatly filling the Hollow

As a tiny church nestled inside sleepy walls

Sets the scene

And completes the tableau

*This little something was inspired by the last lines in this gorgeous (and v. emotional – for me) tune*

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5th of November

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5th of November:
Outside, the air suitably smells of powder, smoke — it’s bitterly cold but no matter, because for the crowds, it’s all about homegrown terrorism and Guy Fawkes.

A penny for the guy and a penny for your thoughts, before you play your hand — straight As for your poker face and the impressive attention span.

It’s a royal flush of course: you win, take everything-including me-on the table. It’s messy, it’s bold, the cards tumble, fall to the floor.

“Preposterous” I mumble.
Why? I don’t know, maybe the wine was responsible, or this is what happens when sanity crumbles.

“Say it again” he tells me…he insists, when I don’t reply instantly.

I oblige: “Pre-pos-ter-ous”

Possibly the strangest dirty talk ever, have I done weirder? I can’t recall.

Nevertheless, as long as there’s no straight jackets, give us a cell and padded walls—sex laced with intellect from dusk till dawn—I guarantee I’d never get bored.

Pre-pos-ter-ous. Possibly my new favourite word…this, I discovered on a night filled with fireworks, on the
5th of November.

*Posted this time last year, but I kind of like it – occasionally, I write something that’s very, very ‘me’*

Get a life

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I had a busy day today, juggling all kind of stuff. I was getting a bit stressed with it all when I checked my email and some fuckwit had sent me a message about something I said on Twitter a couple of weeks ago, might even have been longer than that. In any case, my little tweet had enraged the fuckwit and he clearly NEEDED to tell me about it.

This is EXACTLY why I don’t let non-followers private message me on Twitter anymore. Between the guys who want to send you dick pics and the people who just HAVE to let you know how offensive your political opinions are, I couldn’t handle it anymore.

But, my blog link is on Twitter and if you find my blog, you find an email address. The fuckwit was kinda dedicated, I’ll give him that. I was talking to my tutor while reading his bullshit email which basically amounted to: I’m an ignorant stupid bitch, out of touch with reality, etc…the usual stuff.

Well, obviously I don’t reply to those kind of emails.
What could I say? Only this:

Fuck you, you fuckwit. Fuck right off and when you’ve fucked off as far away from me as possible, fuck off some more. I don’t give a fuck what you think of me because why would I worry about the opinion of a fucking toad? Also, take a fucking chill pill, we’re all allowed an opinion – even you – but you shouldn’t bloody harass people with it though. Seriously, get a fucking life.

You know? Some of us HAVE lives to get on with, I’ve been up since 6 and been working and studying all day, I don’t have time for some fuckwit’s meltdown. And now I’ve gotta go and workout.
You lovely people enjoy the rest of your day – as for the fuckwits: in case you SOMEHOW missed the message, I refer you to my pic, I’ve got nothing else to say to you, so keep the fuck away, thanks.

Halloween Lover

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So it is that soon I will rise again

I will come up

through the mud and dark earth

emerging in a damp cellar

dry flesh craving the touch

of an unwilling lover

will it be you that I caress

stroke with my ice-cold fingers

embrace for one fleeting moment

my frigid skin peeling, shredding

my eyes unseeing

your screams rising

in the raw glacial night

what a sorry plight

is yours, wretched victim

of my yearly Halloween yearning

*I have posted this before, but it is one of those I like though I wrote it ages ago – it’s got that sexy creepy vibe. And I just love that pic – it deserves to be reposted just for that*

Image Credit: Beautiful Decay by jaded-ink @deviantart.com

Stranger Things 2 – Some thoughts.

More Stranger Things, this time via Tom who manages to write about it with NO spoilers much better than I ever could. Which is why he has a (brilliant) novel available in all good bookshops, and I don’t. Please go like on his blog 🙂

Idle blogs of an idle fellow

No spoilers – unless you are unaware of the 1980s taste in peach bathrooms.  

It’s hard to remember a more eagerly anticipated TV series than Stranger Things 2. Even the NME has jumped the bandwagon, where once it would have sneered from the touchline.

There were some new episodes of Peppa Pig recently, but even that pales against ST2, which it isn’t called as it sounds closer to STD than is comfortable. There is always Dr Who of course, the anticipation of which invariably outstrips the actual experience of watching it; viewers are generally lobotomised by incomprehension twenty minutes in. Dr. Who takes its incomprehensibility seriously. If at least one person doesn’t abandon it screaming with frustration at tattered memories of having been once able to coherently understand TV programmes then it’s not doing its job.

With its immaculately 80s synths soundtrack Stranger Things is the Ryan Gosling neo-noir…

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Stranger Things

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I’ve been really excited about Stranger Things coming back, an excitement tinged with apprehension because I LOVED the first season and there is always a (very high) risk “they” won’t get it right the second time round.

Since I’m not watching this alone, I wasn’t allowed to binge watch which is probably a good thing. Two episodes was the limit set by my viewing companion last night and he wasn’t going to be swayed. Ok then, I guess I do need someone to rein me in at times.

So, what was it like being immersed in Hawkins again? So freaking good. I was an 80’s kid and this show is the ultimate gift for me: I would happily watch it just for the soundtrack, movie references, bad hairstyles, awful fashion choices and the video games – a mere mention of Atari and I’m quivering, instantly transported back to a time when gaming was new, crude but so much effing fun.

But of course, Stranger Things is so much more than 80’s nostalgia – I’m not going to spoil anything for anyone, let’s just say that I was hooked all over again with episode 1 which felt somewhat like being plunged in one of the early Stephen King stories.

The cast is as good as ever, I bloody love those kids and Dustin is still my favourite: I have shamelessly asked countless people why they were “keeping the curiosity door locked” in the last few months, which is a good way of separating the wheat from the chaff actually. Either people give you a blank look or they just high 5 you without even bothering with any other response and you know you’ve found one of your tribe. Incidentally I have been told that high fiving after the age of 30 is despicable and it probably is, but do I give a fuck? Hell no.

Can I also say that Sheriff Hopper is my favourite Sheriff in the history of both sheriffs and TV (followed closely by Sheriff Romero in Bates Motel) and if he doesn’t get with Joyce at some point, it’s going to be tragic. Yes, I know she is dating Bob right now but there’s no way that’s going to last because it’s just a ridiculous pairing.

I’m also curious as to what’s going to happen with the Nancy/Steve/Jonathan love triangle – I usually have strong opinions in such cases, but not this time as I have equal sympathy for Steve and Jonathan.

We’re getting to know Will who was mainly absent – for obvious reasons – from the first season and we have some interesting additions to the cast in the form of Max and Billy. Well, Max particularly I want to see more of, Billy I’m still ambivalent about.

And of course (of course) there is Eleven, our mysterious flawed gem, who is so far isolated from the other kids, a state of affair that can’t go on for long or I’m going to be very disappointed indeed.

So, I’ve done this: wrote about Stranger Things without mentioning the plot – I cannot be accused of spoiling anything for anyone this time. But I needed to write about it as the viewing companion was unwilling to keep discussing the lone 2 episodes we’ve seen so far. In fact, his actual words were: “enough, Nat, it is JUST a TV show, go and tell people on your blog about it if you must.”
I told him he was a philistine and (in a fit of exaggeration) the worst viewing companion ever – and then wrote this.

Seriously though, if you haven’t given Stranger Things a go yet, please do so. Even if you’re indifferent to the whole 80’s vibe, it is well worth watching.

Same

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A year ago exactly, I said a final goodbye to somebody who had been a close friend. We’d shared many happy times, but that was before he decided to obliterate them all with a weird obsession and a determination that was really quite admirable in a sick kind of way.

Yes, Tom, a year on and I still can’t quite comprehend why you drove me to the edge of insanity. Because I was the ultimate prize in your eyes, I guess, and a narcissist must obtain and then destroy just to feel, just to be.

There were explosions of colours all over the streets when we parted for the last time, leaves scattered everywhere and my heart was heavy but I felt free at last from your manipulation and your sick games. October then was an end and a beginning, cliché as it seems.

Autumn has arrived again, my favourite season, always has been, which makes it strange that it should be without fail when self-loathing hits me like a tsunami. The same leaves are covering the pavements, the leaves I kick childishly as I’m walking, while wondering how I always get things wrong, how every time I think I’ve got this life thing sorted, it turns out I haven’t at all.

One can’t raise the bar when it’s already sky high, so I’m left stranded while the tide comes in, I stand still, breathing salty air, pushing aside all thoughts until I’m surrounded and I can no longer ignore this sad state of affairs. The ghosts will keep tugging if you let them – them with their fucking chains – but underneath the self loathing, buried deep but there all the same, is the certainty I will win this fight eventually.

Maybe I am doomed to keep making the same mistakes, even as I keep raising the stakes, maybe the fact I keep getting it wrong will be inscribed on my grave. In any case,
there is only one thing to do to survive, and it’s to get new feelings to replace the old ones.

Photo my own

Hero

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I’m not asking you to:
Scale the walls
of creepy castles
Dive into a medieval moat
Slice anybody’s throat
Send complex smoke signals
Ride into the savage storm
shooting scarlet arrows
Battle blood-curdling cyclops
Wrestle wild aurochs
Banish ghouls or ghosts
I’m not asking you
to be brave, a saint, a hero

Why would I?
When you’re not even able
to return a fucking phone call

Image credit: cat-girl-q8.deviantart.com

*First posted last year, but there’s always a fuckwit it can apply to*