At one point I created a sort of alternate self (another alternate self, in fact) but this one to express my feminine side. Or perhaps to express empathy for the feminine side – there is a yin for every yang, a O for every X. So I invented a sister called Alicia who wasn’t afraid to put me in my place sometimes.

So digging into the vault this morning I grabbed some of her stuff and shook the dust off it …..

*

Look. Don’t stare

I’m not invisible

But I don’t care

To be an invention

Of desire

Of thoughts that conspire

To recreate

Denigrate

I am not an image

From a magazine

To be seen

As paper thin

Nothing within

For I am more than skin

Deep.

So don’t peep

This is not perfection

Nor rejection

Just look

At me

And try to see

More than your own reflection

*

P.S. I apologise for reposting stuff 3 mornings in a row which may have been previously posted. The fact is that I am caring for my 3-year old grandson at present and have just a short time, and virtually no brain capacity, available before he gets up and enters the day at full speed. After that it’s all about playing with cars and trucks and fire-engines and riding bicycles and finding cows and kangaroos.

Alicia is no help at all.

 

Once upon a time I was to feature in a performance of King Lear – my only ever attempt at Shakespearean Theatre. It transpired that I actually spent the season in a hospital bed, and was thus replaced on stage (by someone better, as it turned out).

I’ve never been much of a Shakespeare sort of guy anyway, but I was rather taken by one line, because it says a lot about little boys and Gods. And I’ve never really stopped being a little boy.

‘As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods;
They kill us for their sport.’

So here is another bunch of words dragged out of the past which touches on that a bit, I hope.

*

Fingers suddenly piercing cold water with youthful interest and exuberance . Left hand marrying right beneath the surface. Forming a makeshift cradle of liquid in which the fish, a minnow, finds itself elevated without warning into another world. Tiny frightened eyes blinking upwards at unfamiliar shapes through the unfiltered sunlight. Curiosity peering downward examining the mysterious creature for hints as to the nature of life.

 

The creature, in turn, gasping for that life as the fluid it breathes slips through careless fingers and lands in tiny teardrops on the dirt below. Fragile glistening scales exposed to the universe and reflecting the desperate message that life is fleeting and delicate.

 

But curiosity too, is fleeting and fades, like all things, with time.

 

Intertwined fingers separating and opening a gate into the void.

 

And from the cradle the fall begins.

*

Inspired (inspired is perhaps not the right word) from here, where mind apparently loves misery or loves, at least, inflicting it upon others, with a list of seemingly unconnected words to somehow connect.

There is no rule suggesting that the completed work needs to make sense, at least.

Did I miss any?

*

 Let’s play a game

My little dish

Reveal to me

Your every wish

Tell me what you really want

Come dine at this here

Restaurant

I’m flush with love

And extra good

Let that not be

Misunderstood

And there’s a bonus

Yes, of course!

They say I’m hung

Just like a horse

Don’t let such talents

Go to waste

Indulge in your

Expensive taste

Don’t be embarrassed

Just have faith

I’ll keep you warm

And snug and safe

Please, no laughter

Just come across

Where you’ll be working

With the boss

 *         

Here’s todays resurrection from the tomb of shitty stuff I’ve written.

I think it’s about consent. But even with all the education and publicity there seems to be a grey area in there somewhere that we can’t define. So, with absolute respect (I mean it) for the #metoo movement, maybe it’s time some of us look back upon past behaviours and form a #youtoo sort of movement.

There’s a bit of nastiness in there somewhere, and that’s not autobiographical I wish to stress. I am not perfect, but I’ve never really got a handle on the ‘bad boy’ persona.

*

I am a rogue

I cheat. I lie.

A fact to which

You’ll testify

For you are weak

And I am strong

You felt beneath me

All along

Did not repel

My crude advance

Did not hold tight

Your underpants

Did not protect

Your fragile pride

Did not eject me

From the ride

But now you know

Just who I am

A substitute

A fake. A scam.

Do not assume

I feel your pain

You won’t make this mistake

Again

*