Dark

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I have gone back to my roots, no more bottle blonde for me. Although the decision to go back to dark was kind of spontaneous, it had been at the back of my mind for a long time.

As the world turns away from reason in favour of emotion, the false prophets proliferate – it is more important than ever to be as authentic as one can possibly be. This blog that at one stage meant so much to me has taken a backseat, as some of you may have noticed.

People I thought I had an understanding with, people I interacted with on the basis we shared the same love for words, and literature, and art…those people who pride themselves on being tolerant have been anything but…and clearly unable to separate the ‘art’ from the ‘artist’ – an attitude that’s prevalent in today’s society.

I will never apologise for having an opinion, for the ability to criticise *everything*, for the fact my heart doesn’t rule over my brain. I do not believe it is a creative’s responsibility to pontificate and tell the masses what to think and what to like. I do not believe in demonising and ostracising based on political opinion alone. Unfortunately the majority of creatives feel differently. More’s the pity. But I won’t be bullied and I won’t be silenced. Without free speech, an individual  simply isn’t free. Deplatforming is an abomination, shutting down any kind of speech is abhorrent.

I can be dismissed and discarded by hundreds of people I have everything in common with – except for one seemingly crucial thing – and I still wouldn’t change the way I am and the way I speak.

If we share the same interests but you decide to pull the plug on our friendship because I don’t believe in open borders and uncontrolled immigration, because I believe ALL religions should be subjected to the same level of criticism, etc…then fair enough and so be it.  Your loss, your narrow-minded view of the world – contrary to what you preach. I won’t mourn you and I won’t miss you.

So I have been unfollowed on here by quite a few people, which is fine. Everyone is entitled to do as they please – what has massively pissed me off is that some of these people before unfollowing felt the need to tell me what a nasty human being I am. Obviously I’m going to object to that, especially when the stench of hypocrisy surrounds them. Nobody has the monopoly on kindness or pain – hence why identity politics is total bollocks and incredibly divisive. You can’t rewrite history and you shouldn’t want to. Virtue signalling is getting old, to be quite frank.

Progressives? Nah, regressive (s)

I’m a natural brunette and I’m back to dark. Some people will say it matches my soul – fuck them.

(The selfies… because I was in one of my exhibitionist moods – I could blame the new hair but…nah.)

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What makes a writer..?

The latest from Tom, go visit him and show him some love since “it didn’t come home” but went to France instead #WorldCup

Idle blogs of an idle fellow

It’s none of their business that you have to learn to write. Let them think you were born that way. Ernest Hemingway.

What attracted me to writing was the idea that writers were respected. With nothing but a pen as their weapon they seized upon life itself and wrestled it into tight-knitted prose, for the pleasure of adoring hordes. I intended to observe the world with a louche and insightful eye beneath the slow purr of ceiling fans from the corners of colonial cafes still stained with ancient tobacco smoke, political discussion and illicit liaisons. Annoyingly this is not the life of a writer.  The life of a writer is spent finding increasingly-intricate ways in which to stop checking your Amazon sales rankings and not getting into arguments on Twitter. Despite this, many people still aspire to being a writer.

I still blame JK Rowling. Since her success everyone still wants…

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Almost always

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Given the chance 
I will almost always
Take the spiral staircase
Leading to a place
I shouldn’t be
It’s crazy, it’s risky, you might lose your mind, fuck up catastrophically
It’s definitely not recommended for everybody
but it’d be so shitty
to look back and think
Hey, fuck it, I missed out –
entirely
What’s life without danger and a little mystery
Don’t listen to me though,
It’s well known
I’m away with the fairies

Image credit: patimakowska.deviantart.com

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

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*

Daphne

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She flees
Light and Fast
Carried by the wind
She shall not be defiled
The thought – to be caught
An horror, oh so vile
But Apollo is close
Behind her he breathes
His despised body she can feel
In despair, she pleads
Blinded by her tears
O father, save me if you please!
There is time to think
Her words have fallen on deaf ears
But, no, her father’s name
Has not been called in vain
As Apollo stretches, reaches
His hand on her hip
Her limbs grow heavy
Her flowing hair in mid-air
Twists and changes
From tresses to foliage
Bark crawls up legs and breasts
Arms lifted up to the sky turn to branches
Now anchored, rooted
And saved, is Daphne
A beautiful Laurel Tree
Forever pure
Forever green
Her metamorphose is complete

*I recently wrote about Bernini and it made me fall in love all over again with his work. His Apollo and Daphne is stunning – it is a painting made of marble, it is drama, it is an epic story. I always go and see Bernini’s Neptune and Triton when I visit the V&A Museum in London, it is the only large scale Bernini work to be found outside of Italy – I’ve seen it so many times and yet it never fails to take my breath away. This is the Baroque I adore, this is art as I understand it: full of emotions, full of life and passion*

Neptune and Triton

Epic

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This knight follows no Lord
By his side a trusty steed
Wearing an old saddle
Adorned with a single white rose
And a sword
Never drawn
Unless
Honour or love dictates
As Proud is his heart
Pure is his soul
Mighty is his power
When he weaves words
To while away the hours
Waiting for the one queen
Of his love worthy
The one he will climb mountains
Fight dragons with iron scales
And red fiery breath
For
Some don’t believe he’s real
They assume he was borrowed
From some far-fetched fable
Tales told around a fireplace—
In hushed whispers
The language of the dreamers—
A fantasy given life and form
In volutes of ethereal smoke
Giving rise to a humble hero
Make no mistake
He’s no mere story
No figment, no trick
His name is Eric
My modest lines do him no justice
Not legend or myth, the reality is epic

*I wrote this for the lovely Eric @ My Sword and Shield… whose birthday it is today (and since we’re in different time zones, it is now the 13th for me if not for him quite yet) Eric’s birthday comes straight after mine and we are both Pisces, just another thing we have in common. You all already know I love this man, he has the most wonderful heart and his writing is out of this world.
Thank you for being such a special friend, Eric—wishing you a fantastic birthday! 😘💜

Image Credit: It had to be John William Waterhouse whose work I absolutely love

The Three Graces (written with Meg & Vic)

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The banquet hall was prepared, for the guests to celebrate and dine
The invitations sent, the tables laid with food and wine…
Thalia smiled at her reflection in the mirror
As the servant girl brushed her golden hair to a shine

The drape of her gown was liquid, delicate silk and brocade
Gathering around her luscious curves, falling in sensual cascade
Naked beneath, luxuriating in the slippery feel
Imagining her lover’s roaming hands, nearly had her unmade

As musicians prepared the gathering crowd for dance
Thalia imagined Apollo’s beaming countenance
The god of prophecy and knowledge, poetry and music
Grace of Abundance would seduce and entrance

Sister, Aglaia, sister Euphrosyne come join the preparation
Together summon Dionysus to bestow this mad occasion
With love and lust to complement the product of the vine
So that all desires may be fulfilled in celebration

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Euphrosyne looked around at all the smiling faces
Such recreation pleased this most mirthful of Graces
Biting down on a grape, juice ran over her lips
Her mind filled with flashes of later kindred drips

As she wandered the room, she left laughter behind her
Seeing the buzz in her wake was enough to delight her
Eyes squeezed tight, open mouths and flushed cheeks
Another parallel, she thought, to ensuing ecstasy

Mighty Dionysus soon arrived and set hands to playing
Inspiring the sweeping heat of bodies, close and swaying
Euphrosyne had her eye on him with his thunderous laughter
Rivaling her vivacity, her path to his bliss was well crafted

He was halfway to her side before he realized she beckoned
Shirt halfway undone, half in love in a second
Her mouth like a slow flame, exquisite and searing
He was eager to endure this sweet torturous feeling

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aglaia observes her sisters, neither complete without the other
She, as the third, finishes off with a flourish this heavenly triangle
So many riches and converging passions in the banquet hall
Desire bursts out of every pore—an arid wind wilting flowers

Parting the crowd, beautiful Thalia emanates vibrant youth
With a raucous laugh Euphrosyne has Dionysus thoroughly seduced
Aglaia glides over marble floors, her splendour unrivalled
Knowing before the night is over she will become unraveled

She doesn’t try to entice, patiently waits, breathing just a little faster
Her delicate palate craves the taste of ambrosia yet words are her nectar
It is wit full of clever twists she seeks and hungers after
One man will distinguish himself, and when he does…

His hand Aglaia will take, to lead him away from the banquet
Poise will be dropped as she takes off her elegant dress
A just reward bestowed upon the one able to match her mind
She will give herself without restraint, deep moans and a sigh

*I’d never written with a woman before, let alone two of them, so I was excited (and a bit nervous) to do something with Meg and Vic who are both great writers. I had this idea of writing something based on the three Graces since there were three of us (very original, I know)
Meg did the honours, followed by Vic, leaving me to conclude. Thank you, ladies for putting up with me, it took me forever to write my part since I had to concentrate on my Master’s work for a while, but it was as much fun discussing the writing (and everything else) as it was actually doing it. I like that we made the Graces a bit slutty (though not as slutty as we could-or wished to-have done, ha!)
For anybody not familiar with the three Graces and wanting to know more: https://www.britannica.com/topic/Grace-Greek-mythology

Image credit: marble sculpture of the three Graces by James Pradier — Louvres Museum