Say What???

Everything’s kind of opaque and ineffable.

I mean, one instance I’m animated, happy and glorious, right after that I become quite not implicit and assured, or I am confused and cluttered about life or I’m temporarily in a hodgepodge of feeling something sure-enough and feeling torpid and toom– sort of like I am an out-of-sight landscape devoid of color and peppy life.

That is the moment I thought emotionalism sure cannot be in the same bivouac with life.

Everything’s kind of like that, every single day. Breathing and living became an arduous routine. We were propelled into this state, like a garden-variety of misplaced inanimate objects pushed in a circle, like a prosaic assemblage meant to be displayed or hung in order for a designated niche to look lively and polychromatic, like we were lunged here just so our place wouldn’t look arid and unaccompanied, like we were born into this just so the integral void would be replaced by wights, like we were shoved into this without any given druthers.

We were woebegone lodestones that had been attracted and captured by life.

Living’s been colorful, you know? also tiring, disquieting, and discombobulating. Living became an uncongenial groove, something I wouldn’t want to be near or be placed in, something I wouldn’t want to get wind of, something better left unnoticed or undisclosed.

But when I am surrounded by people I desiderate and I set store by, only life and the way I feel become less onerous and more endurable.

Maybe, just maybe, life figuratively turns into a narrow and rough road when you perambulate by your own bootstraps. Some things are quagmires that are mystifying and hard-bitten to fix when you are broken-down, cloistered and etiolated, but everything becomes painless and lenient when there are people beside you who are willing to peregrinate and carry half the baggage of your pain and are willing to buoy up some of your throes.

In defiance of the mixed and capricious emotions I have, contrary to the uncertainties and debacle I might stumble upon, and knowing how painful and hellacious life is, perhaps life itself isn’t a voyage meant to be lived alone.

Words by Lois Anne Amigleo

Colourful_dragon_mace_shape_toy_soap_bubble_liquid_pipes_for_children_IVY_W384_9903_2

The House

Mother says there are locked rooms inside all women; kitchen of lust, / bedroom of grief, a bathroom of apathy. / Sometimes, the men – they come with keys, / and sometimes, the men – they come with hammers. ~ Warsan Shire

Does it sound alarmingly like this? It does to me.

A woman should be a cook in the kitchen, a lady in the parlor, and a whore in the bedroom

But then again I’m paranoid and overthinker. You know…

A person who thinks all the time
Has nothing to think about except thoughts
So… he loses touch with reality
And lives in a world of illusions
By thoughts I mean specifically, Chatter in the skull
Perpetual and compulsive repetition
of words, of reckoning and calculating
I’m not saying that thinking is bad
Like everybody else
It’s useful in moderation
A good servant, but a bad master
And all civilized peoples
Have increasingly become crazy and self-destructive
Because through excessive thinking
They have lost touch with reality
That to say…
We confuse signs
With the real world…
This is the beginning of meditation
Most of us would have
Rather money than tangible wealth
And a great occasion is somehow spoiled for us unless photographed
And to read about it the next day in the newspaper
Is oddly more fun for us than the original event
This is a disaster…
For as a result of confusing the real world of nature with mere signs
We are destroying nature
We are so tied up in our minds that we’ve lost our senses
Time to wake up
What is reality?
Obviously… no one can say
Because it isn’t words
It isn’t material, that’s just an idea
Reality is…
The point cannot be explained in words
I’m not trying to put you down
It’s an expression of you as you are
One must live…
We need to survive to go on…
We must go on.

I’m getting sidetracked again. Heard this one somewhere but I’ve have forgotten it and remember just now. It supposed to be something about meditation or something but listening to it made me jumpy and edgy and itchy. Like yoga, it makes me more nervous than I ordinarily am. But let’s go back to the topic at the beginning of this post about rooms and lust and lady and whores which put another idea in my head about a knight in shining armor that in reality just an ordinary bloke in tin foil.

In my experience, conscious or unconscious, men, in general, expect women/girlfriends/wives to be surrogate mothers if not parents, organizers, housekeepers, psychiatrists chefs chauffeurs jack of all trades and above all vessels for their lineage and co-breadwinners and a whole lot more while looking like a pin-up model 24/7 opening the door for them when they come home, a glass of something strong in hand and ready for a good tumble in the hay, all of that without complain. They never consider the possibility that maybe we want a male version of what they expect but you will never find/read/heard something like this: A man should be a cook in the kitchen, a gentleman in the parlor, and a gigolo in the bedroom plus an Onassis when it comes to financial capital  and a true blooded prince when it comes to pedigree anywhere because of what else but double standard it is.

Keys or hammers, change locks before they come and don’t let them too close if you value your core and your sanity. Close but not close enough to do some damage that could never be repaired. We have a saying in my country that when it comes to loving someone, don’t give your all. Leave/save some for yourself in case so you will be able to bounce back no matter what. And if they come as Thor, buy the biggest magnet you can find and take away their hammer, but not before you hit them hard on the head to cause enough amnesia.

Till next time.

Businessman-and-businesswoman

LMAO

I stumbled upon an article while searching for__ basically nothing and everything that made me laugh so hard it made my day. I have never been to the place and there is no way I would or could be there ever because it is in the country which will never ever be in my bucket list. But the author wrote the piece so graphically I could almost imagine how it looks like. She said:

You go there to feel good but you leave broke, disoriented, and with the new-found knowledge that you have a vaginal disease.

Unlike Vegas, Whole Foods’ clientele are all about mindfulness and compassion…until they get to the parking lot. Then it’s war. As I pull up this morning, I see a pregnant lady on the crosswalk holding a baby and groceries. This driver swerves around her and honks. As he speeds off I catch his bumper sticker, which says Namaste. Poor lady didn’t even hear him approaching because he was driving a Prius. He crept up on her like a panther.

Isn’t it hilarious?

Here’s another one:

Next, I see the gluten-free section filled with crackers and bread made from various wheat-substitutes such as cardboard and sawdust. I skip this aisle because I’m not rich enough to have dietary restrictions.

Ever notice that you don’t meet poor people with special diet needs? A gluten intolerant house cleaner? A cab driver with Candida? Candida is what I call a rich, white person problem.

Now, I know that I’m rich (I have lactose and gluten intolerance) and in danger of becoming a white person. (Not that it’s bad. I always dream of having long blond curly hair I can shake in the wind in a slow-motion fashion.)

This one is epic:

Next, I approach the beauty aisle. There is a scary looking machine there that you put your face inside of and it tells you exactly how ugly you are.

They calculate your wrinkles, sun spots, the size of your pores, etc. and compare it to other women your age. I think of myself attractive but as it turns out, I am 78 percent ugly, meaningless pretty than 78 percent of women in the world.

Isn’t she genius!

Her name is Kelly MacLean and if you want to read the whole article, head on HERE. And if you are feeling sensitive while reading, remember this ( directly quoting one of the commenters) Don’t take it literally or personally. The humor lies not in fact but in jest. 

477038272

Low Maintenance

My father once told me that I need to marry a rich man.

When he said this, I didn’t quite grasp what he meant or what he was trying to imply. It took me five decades to understand where he was coming from but it doesn’t mean I agree with his implication.

True, when I was young they had to coat me with baby oil before I could walk the six kilometers wasteland between our house and the only primary school in the neighborhood. I was or rather my skin was and still is allergic to grasses of any kind among so many other things. Even to these days, my naked skin cannot have direct contact with any surfaces that meant for public use like park benches, restaurants tables and chairs, buses seats and so on. I get itchy bubbles on my skin the very minute I come in contact with I think full of germs surfaces even though at first glance they look spotless. I bruise easily as well.

Oh…yeah
My skin is like a map, where my heart has been
And I can’t hide the marks, but it’s not a negative thing
So I lay down my guard, drop my defenses, down by my clothes
I’m learning to fall, with no safety net, to cushion the blow
I bruise easily, so be gentle when you handle me
There’s a mark you leave, like a love heart carved on a tree
I bruise easily, can’t scratch the surface without moving me
Underneath I bruise easily.
No, just kidding.

Prolonged contact with hard surfaces always resulted in bruises that never fade but turn into leathery skin like an elephant hide.

And I don’t know why.

I could not help our mother to wash our clothes either for I was allergic to any laundry detergent, liquid or powder. They made my hands look like raw meat. Which reminds me of the time I was on a cruise and tried Yves Saint Laurent products from the ship’s cosmetic sections. That was a big mistake. My eyes looked like someone had punched me and my lips will pass for a Botox treatment that had gone horribly wrong.

Another thing is I cannot sleep with someone next to me. Not then, not now. I always get the only bedroom in the house when we were growing up. That or I stayed awake whole night fiddling with the priceless possession of my father, the radio. Two husbands and I never managed to share a bed/room with any of them. I can’t stand the smell of another person on the pillows and bedsheets. I can’t stand them breathing next to me. I can’t stand their presence in the room. In short, I want to sleep alone.

Someone once remarked that I remind her of the story about the Princess and the Pea because I can feel every single tiny grain of whatever on the bed whether it is particles of dust or one single crumb.

How much I love working in the garden I could not do it without surgical gloves under ordinary garden mittens. I can’t stand the feel of soil between my fingers but not as much as I hate dust under my feet. Anywhere but not under my feet and between my toes.

Again, I don’t know why.

You might say my father is right. I have to marry a wealthy man, but let me tell you the other side of the story.

I am low maintenance.

Lower you cannot get.

First of all, I don’t like bling-bling or branded items. Don’t get me wrong I have them for sure but I hardly or don’t use them at all. They are given to me as gifts, from people who thought like most women, I wanted to own few if not all. I don’t go to the hair salon. I cut my own hair using ordinary household scissors that meant to be for papers. I do it in just three moves. I bend down, cut my hair straight, then trim both sides to frame my face. That’s all. I don’t wear make-up and just discovered lipstick when I was forty-eight. I don’t polish my nails, either. Heck, I don’t even shave my legs.

I don’t even need sex.

I don’t go out, rarely drink alcohol, I hate restaurants and dislike parties. I don’t even have to tan my hide, literally. I know… I know… I am already tanned by nature, so…

I don’t gamble or smoke, no expensive hobbies because my hobbies are reading, walking, writing and gardening. The last one is probably the only thing I splurge money on. When it comes to plants… I will gladly skip dinner.

So, how can my father say I have to marry a millionaire? I refuse to believe that was the (only) reason why he sold me to the highest bidder. That bidder once told me that simple things make me happy, and that is the most difficult thing to achieve because simple things are hard to come by. For him at least. When another bidder who outbid him confirmed this, I begin to consider the possibility that probably there is some truth in that claim. I am not convinced so far.

And I don’t know what to write anymore because it is a full moon and I can’t sleep and my thoughts are muddled and I want to take a bath but it’s midnight and my hair will not dry properly and I’m against using a hair dryer because it dries my hair and if I lie down with semi-wet hair I will wake up with semi-dry flat hair that is so brittle I have to take a bath again.

That’s all for now and till the next full moon.

shutterstock_165337154

Trip Down Memory Lane

I was so excited when I came across this image.

It catapulted me back to that one summer day many years ago when I was driving a Porsche, his Porsche, and his hand slowly crept up along my thigh. 

I could not do anything. 

I could hardly let go of the wheel so, I said:

“Yeah baby, a little bit higher.”

Suddenly, he withdrew his hand and didn’t utter a single word anymore for the rest of the journey.

He dropped me off at the village church and I never saw him again.

27 years old, blond blue-eyed and an only son of a wealthy factory owner.

No regrets though. Besides, I’m not into blond.

51579851_638517179919502_937562910853431296_n

A Penny For Your Thoughts

There was this cartoon…

50980884_2358636884160762_2054472476187951104_n

That sparked these reactions…

“That’s body-shaming, racism, sexism, judgmental, prejudicial and a million other things in one tiny strip.”

“You’re all getting the wrong message from this. The girl was completely dependent on her body for confidence, like its the only asset she has. But when she found a book, gradually her world view changed. What she thought was her only power, didn’t matter anymore, because her world was enlarged.”

“And it is racist. The girl gets lighter skinned as she gets “smarter” and more clothed. As if whiter people are less promiscuous and self-respecting. This is gross.”

“No, that’s reality: when you’re smart you don’t waste your time (and money) in frivolous things like false appearance (makeup, brand clothes, jewels), plus you don’t serve your body for eye candy cause you know you worth more than a free slut.”

“Where you see racism I see a woman who is relying on her physical image to satisfy herself where she then finds self-confidence by finding a book and becoming successful through getting an education. The “dark to lighter” I interpreted as layers of spray tan being worn off to the woman’s genetic skin color over time as she did not worry so much about her physical appearance as time went on.”

“Only too a touchy inner judgmental little soul.. why not just see past your emotional reaction and see a message that intelligence can be just as sexy.”

“I’m trying to figure out how you came to the conclusion that she was dependent on her body, it the only asset she has. That’s a pretty profound thing to assume about a woman solely based on how she’s dressed, which you might have done without realizing.”

“So we turn white when we do good?”

“APPEARANCE HAS LITTLE TO NOTHING TO DO WITH INTELLECT”.

“You’re all wrong, it’s the line to Starbucks. How does anyone think this is the same girl 5x?”

My own thoughts, I will keep for myself.

How about you?

What do you think?

Seems kind of pointless to be honest

It’s all about this picture quote: (featuring a battered foot of a ballet dancer)

“Everyone wants to be successful until they see what it actually takes.”

One Ian Patrick Pearce said:

“Some of us wanted to do what it takes until we saw what “successful” looks like. 
Not many people who give me advice have lives I want. Almost no one does. 
Redefining my own personal meaning for success has been a much more worthwhile endeavor.”

Which a Roylee Walker answered:

“So you basically mean lowering your standards until you are satisfied.”

And Ian retorted:

“No, I mean redefining our own personal meaning of success. Which is what I said.
For me, it meant only competing to be better than the me from yesterday, and no one else. For you, it can mean lowering your standards, and that’s okay.”

A William Albert chimed in:

“We don’t need to be successful, we need to be Happy.”

Hetha Smetha (I wonder if it is really her name) thrown in:

“I’ll take mediocrity…those who want it can have it.”

And others contributed their unremarkable thoughts. Some of them downright stupid but C’est la vie. Me, I learned a lot from listening and shutting my mouth, unless I have something meaningful to say.

And life goes on.

brighton sea front carousel

A Christmas Story

Up and down the streets she ran
With a black satin sack in hand.
Filled with sharp knives
She planned to end lives.

From house to house she crept so quietly
Looking almost, no, indeed shadowy.
But she was not alone with her sack
There was something riding on her back.

Green eyes gleamed riding through the night
Glaring around so full of spite.

“Who are you?”
A man’s voice asked
“You don’t know? I am not masked.”

“Get out of here! What do you think you’re doing??”
“Out of here? I think not. You are the one I’ve been pursuing!”
“Pursuing? You’re nuts! Get the fuck outta here!”

“Right now I can feel your fear!”
“Ha! That’s rich. I’m not scared”
“Like I even really cared”
“That’s it, I’m calling the police. They’ll have you pinned.”

The shadowy girl just grinned.
The man went for the phone
In one second he hit the floor with a moan.

Those green eyes glared down
“Ha! What a clown”
What a sweet voice.
The man looked up at those eyes
“Time to say your goodbyes”
With one swift move of a vase that man was gone.

“This isn’t so hard now is it?”
The shadow shook his head
The blood flowed red
“We have a long night ahead.”
He kicked the pieces of vase
“Yes, I know, Sweet face.”

With that the shadows did flee
That man didn’t even get a chance to plea.
Hours passed
This town sure was vast.
They went tapping down the road
Carrying the sharp load.

“Let’s go home now, honey.”
She huffed. 
“Quickly now, before it gets sunny!”
Up the stone pathway she ran
At the door they gave the town a brief scan
“I’m dreaming of a red Christmas.”

She turned the handle of the door
“This time of year is always such a chore!”
He sighed as he hopped from her back
She tossed down her big black sack.

He swept the dirt from his clothes
“The living should thank us”

She brushed her hair
“Those we killed were too much to bear”

She hopped up on the windowsill
“They made me positively ill”

She stared out into space
“And…back to my loving place”
She turned to her evil little doll
He leaned on the wall.

“Wanna open presents now?”
He smiled
“My goodness, child”
He laughed quietly under his breath
“What a quick transition from the subject of death!”

~Disclaimer: Though I found this piece among my old documents I doubt if it is mine. I am not this wicked 😉

1510929_588546557884190_1322860573_n2

Once Upon A time

A man in his early prime contemplates on life, shattered by the distortions of society he gazes ahead in time. There were vows of happiness and fairytale beginnings. Now there is nothing of that sort; now there is nothing that started the tales so bright. It’s after all this while that he understands why fairy tales begin with ‘Once upon a time’…

1461759_573100862762093_274836139_n (1)

Thursday’s Artistic Hemorrhage

husband:

The Tent Pole Is Up,

The Canvas Is Spread,

The Hell With Breakfast,

Come Back To Bed.

wife:

Take The Tent Pole Down,

Put The Canvas Away,

The Monkey Had A Hemorrhage,

No Circus Today.

husband:

The Tent Pole’s Still Up,

And The Canvas Still Spread,

So Drop What You’re Doing,

And Come Give Me Some Head.

wife:

I’m Sure That Your Pole’s

The Best In The Land.

But I’m Busy Right Now,

So Do It By Hand!

~ rbxr

chess_move_by_jgbruno-d3c9i9q

Droll

If it means quaint, odd, strange, queer, eccentric, outlandish, bizarre, whimsical, then that is me. Oh, I have my own unique brand of droll self-mockery also. I laugh when I feel uneasy, I laugh when I see something terrible or read about hardship and misery. I laugh when I don’t feel good and I laugh when I’m sad. I have a very dry sense of humor and I am pretty ironic. You can say I am a droll little girl.

where_will_you_hide__by_Miss_Nefer

Grit

“Be daring, be different, be impractical, be anything that will assert integrity of purpose and imaginative vision against the play-it-safers, the creatures of the commonplace, the slaves of the ordinary.”

— Cecil Beaton from Berlin Parasites

It takes a lot of small things to create a big pile or a widespread. Take for example a beach, a bouquet, a festival, a mass protest, a chaos, a war. A fight doesn’t happen just like that. It often starts with/from accumulation of small things that become one big thing like dislike, irritation, too much or too little of something. Divorce doesn’t happen overnight unless of course, you are a celebrity, then everything is possible. Suicide, murder, cheating, quitting, being rich, obesity and global warming, those are also products of small loose particles which seem to be harmless at first glance but become a matter of importance when gathered together over a period of time. Stress (which on its own is also a substance of… fill in the blank) lack of sleep and proper nutrition, isolation, no motivation, stimulation, and inspiration can lead to… you can fill in the blank again. You can even type my name in it if you wish. You have my permission to do so. Getting sidetrack again. Anyway, I can go on and on naming examples of what I think grit is all about but I know people don’t care much about long articles. Especially Daily Prompt assignments so, I will leave it here and proceed on looking for something to fill my stomach so hopefully my brain will function normally and perhaps I can find a decent sleep tonight. Happy Tuesday everyone. 

hourglass