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Angelus's Journal


Angelus's Journal

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32 entries this month
 

May In December

23:19 Jan 30 2007
Times Read: 976


..not a poem; or a narrative exactly.

..this is what it is and it is how it was ~



*



As a treat to myself, I went for a

drink on my own, to a lap-dance bar

that I like; to watch a scantily clad

young woman dance, for me.



It was dark and dank on the street

As I walked toward the venue I liked:

and the streets had filled with office

workers, who’d finished for the day

and were on the way home.



I’d walked straight down the wooden

stairs once there, to the bar, where I’d

paid my ten pound entrance ~ that

included my first dance.



I’d paid for my entrance; and ordered

my drink, a whiskey, a double of a double which I’d taken across to a small copper-top table, overlooking the small dias and pole and sat on the red leatherette bench seating

that surrounded the room, the mirror behind

me.



As I did, I met May, the Thai, whose smile always enchanted, who had been the first to dance for me at Atmosphere, at The pen and Wig.



May was dressed for the season, in a red top and abbreviated skirt, which covered from her hip to her crotch and no more; and displayed more than it hid.



The top and the skirt were red, with a mock fur trim; and she also wore knee length black zip-up boots.



It mattered not that May’s use of English is not as good as some; it was sufficient for me that May smiled easily, when she saw me.

I liked that.



And, I also liked it that she joined me where I’d chosen to sit, at her instigation, not mine.

And, I’d even liked it that she’d been able to tell me roughly, when she’d seen me last.



I’d really liked that.

It meant, a pretty young lady, that I had enjoyed seeing naked, remembered me well, to judge by the smile on her face.



At my bidding she had sat with me; and as I had looked around I had noticed her steal the occasional glance at me, as I did her.



I had given her the house-dollar, paid on my entrance and said to May,

“Wait until there’s a track on you want

to dance to!”



And, as we sat in an easy silence, I looked to my right more than once; just to be sure she was there ~ really there.

As I’d sat, in such pleasant company,

I began to survey the lounge



There hadn’t been many customers in;

and enough dancers at that time of the day to please me, as several slim ladies, scantily clad, had passed where we were to go to the ladies



Then Pim walked past: May’s friend,

with skin a little darker than her olive tone: and, Pim’s smile, bright and wide, is the feature of hers I recall first.



Pims outfit was in blue and white candy stripes, a sort of abbreviated nurses outfit, that ended a t the top of her thigh’s; complete with apron and cap, each resplendent with a red cross.







Pim walked to the left, where a fellow sat several tables away, his back to the wall.



She had asked the fellow if he wanted a dance; then turned his rebuttal into a show, as Pim had danced with the pole; ‘To suggest,’ I had mused,

‘just what the little, pudgy fellow

wearing gold rim glasses had missed.’



Altough, thinking back, it might’ve been just to keep warm:

as a few minutes later, she’d gone out,

wearing a coat, telling May where she’d gone.



When I’d asked my companion where she’d disappeared,

I’d been told she was cold and gone for a hot chocolate…



And in companionable silence, May at my side, I’d looked around the room, aware she was watching me.



Across the room, a natural blonde, danced to a table of three eager young men, each spellbound by her distinct enthusiasm and attempt to please.



And, we’d sat, as she’d listened for a

favourite track, smiling and still looking toward me, once in a while.



Then, hearing a song she liked, May had stood, looking down toward me, smiling broadly, wordlessly saying to me, “I dance now?”



And, in silent answer, I’d put my hands to the sides of my thighs, as May had brought a chair toward us; and moved the table a little, so as to make space.



Then, with her hands on the back of the chair, May had dipped her back, her firm buttocks swaying gently

back and forth, to music she’d chosen to dance to.

Using the chair as a prop, she had thrust her pert derriere toward me; and as it had risen and fallen to the music, I’d gazed, with delight.



And, as she’d begun to find the music’s rhythm

May had begun to strip to the beat.



I’d just sat there, my hands obediently at my sides, staring at her lovely young body, as she danced, for me.



As May had removed her top, to display her upthrust young breasts, I had learnt that I’d still found May quite

fascinating; her body, her golden skin, so perfect to behold.



And, it’d been that brief material covering her firm buttocks she’d dropped to my left,

as she stripped to the beat.



Then, her crotch but a foot away from my face, May hooked her thumbs in the elastic of her panties; and, looking at me, lips pursed, May slid them down her smooth golden thighs, then

off her legs.



Then, when she’d unveiled her shaven split peach, inches before me, I had looked up to her eyes, as

May realized, just where I stared.



Her hairless sex held my attention but a moment, before I’d looked back to her beautiful face, as she had smiled at me.



I recall her eyes, looking toward me over her left shoulder as I observed her cup her left breast, pinching that rosette teat between finger and thumb.



At first she began by just shifting her weight from one foot to the other, then back again, swaying gently from side to side.



Then, as she began to find the music’s rhythm, May began to strip to the beat: and I just sat there, my hands obediently at my sides as I stare at her lovely young body, as she danced, for me.





With her hands on the back of the chair, she dipped her back, her firm buttocks swaying gently, to the music she’d wanted to dance to.





As she danced, May transformed, from

the demure young woman I’d met on my entrance, into a sensuous diminutive tease.



I’d watched the pretty Asian, absolutely baked, bar long white socks and calf length zip-up black boots,

dance for me, my whiskey and any problems forgotten.



And, as she had reminded me, it’s been months since I’d last seen May.

And, “I won’t have to wait so long, next time,” I’d thought, as the track ended.



Then, she had turned to stand before me and taken my cheeks in her hands, to kiss me on the cheek, before seeking her clothes and beginning to dress.



I remember I had paused her movement, a moment,

To say to May sincerely, “Thank you.”



Then, once more we had sat in that easy silence, as I’d sipped at my drink, just pleased to have her company.





And we sat and talked as the room filled with one after another, all seeking female company and a drink



Then, looking to my right, my attention was taken, by the blonde with the shoulders, I had noticed earlier.



She was finishing a dance, for a fellow who sat in a small enclave, just off from the dance floor.







As the blonde had dressed, May had asked of me, “Do you see someone else you would like a dance from?”



She’d smiled her understanding, as she had noticed my gaze, then stood and walked, across the room, to talk to the blonde, for me.



“I’ll just be a minute,” May said, standing and walking across the room; and, the young woman I’d been staring at.



I watched them talk, as the blonde continued to dress; feeling very aware that May was telling her of my desire, to see her dance.



I’d sipped on my scotch and dragged on my smoke, as the two spoke,

my nerves beginning to fray.



They had chatted a minute or so, that dragged; and, it was then, I had seen both girls smile, that I began to relax, as they walked my way.



As the blonde walked toward me with her, I had taken in and appreciated how tall she was, in comparison with May.



She was tall, with a generous bust, a flat stomach and a narrow waist, which flared into wide hips atop her powerful looking thigh’s and very long legs.



She strode across with a smiling May;

And I’ll confess, my heart beast as fast as it does with May; which just doesn’t happen with every semi-naked woman I meet.



And, having brought her across, May straightened her skirt a little, before bidding farewell; and, saying once more, how good it had been to see me.



After the tall long-legged blonde had sat to my right, where May had,

I’d asked her for her name, as I stared at her face:



With her straight hair worn in a centre-part; the colour of sun-ripened corn; and cut to emphasise her long neck and oval face, inset with beautiful pale blue doe-like eyes.



She had told me, ‘Yvonne’ with a Slavic accent that had intrigued,

so needless to say, I’d had to ask

“Where are you from?”



“From Poland,” she’d answered,

speaking over the music, her lips close to my ear; (the scrap of material, she might call a skirt, draped across her right knee.)



Yvonne had told me she’d been in Britain just over six months; a Pole who’s English was better than some I’ve known.



She had answered the questions I had made with ease; whilst I’d been aware, very much so, of her naked right thigh pressed tight against my right.



As she spoke in that gentle Slavic tone, I listened intently, as Yvonne told me how long she’d been in England, aware of her legs, crossed right over left, her thighs but a foot from my gaze, as I’d proffered my ear to her.





“Will you dance for me now?”

I’d asked, interrupting her: although not, I must say, because I’d wanted her quiet.

But, having seen how she could move, I wanted to see that, there and then.



She had nodded and stood, a trifle nervous at first I’d thought.

Yet, as she found the feel of the piece that she danced to, Yvonne quickly relaxed, moving with grace, despite her Junoesque charms.



As Yvonne twisted and turned, I’d sat rapt by her every move; watching her, as she gyrated her body to the music; and, unclasped her black top, to unveil two breasts of a generous size; albeit just right for Yvonne; each tipped with a small nipple, set midst an aureole of a delicate rose pink.



With a thumb hooked in the elastic of her panties, Yvonne wriggled briefly, to ease the removal of the fine black nylon drawn tight over her curvaceous buttocks.



And, I’d caught my breath briefly as Yvonne faced me, her shaven mound but inches from me: and, I’d looked up to her eyes; then, back to her thighs, as Yvonne turned, caressing her flesh.



Any nerves gone, she had appeared to take pride in my arousal, as Yvonne stared over her shoulder, as she teased her left nipple to hardness.



Then, with her back dipped, her belly rose and fell, her magnificent buttocks raised: and, Yvonne had smiled, as she smacked at her right cheek with an open hand.



And although it is arrogant of me to assume I’m correct, I felt a moment’s contagion between us, as my fervour for her, seemed to fuel her eagerness to please, to entice.



And, Yvonne had continued her dance with fervour until finally the track ended – Yvonne had kissed the left side of my face, saying, “Thank you.”



“Thank you,” I’d repeated parrot-like, suddenly feeling quite gauche; much as I had when I’d first met May.



I had interrupted her dressing, for a moment, to kiss her hand, as is my custom to do.



Then, staring deep into her eyes, I’d allowed her fingertips to slowly drift from mine; and I sat back in my seat, to watch Yvonne as she continued to dress.



She had sat where she had earlier, to my right; and, once more we had chatted of this and that.



I recall her telling me “You’re a nice man” and I remember that I’d said, “I do dislike meeting people, like you … and not seeing them, ever again.”



And, she had relied, “Sometimes it’s not always the case.”



Then after awhile, with my whiskey gone and no more smokes in my tin; and many more customers coming in, I’d stood, to take my leave, saying, “I’ll hope that I see you again.”



An, I’d gone to the Pen for it’s Atmosphere, being lucky enough to acquire the muse needed.



And, I’d left that night, I’d wondered,

“Now, how could I ever objectively write of all of that?”


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..being sarky about were people who emoted: Emo

00:11 Jan 30 2007
Times Read: 980


..I got annoyed at ************* in the Vampbox and realised the people he was being sarky about were people who emoted: ie felt. Like me, Now.

..I used to wear a shell, badstyle; so take pleasure in the fact that even though this very is horribly lonely at times; it is far better than the alternative.

..so, I jumped in the box and called those who don't appreciate such things insensitive wotsits and promptly decided I am Emo.


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..this is personal. .I hope it explains something.

18:31 Jan 29 2007
Times Read: 989


..this is personal.

..I hope it explains something.

..she said,"..don't worry, I'm not like all the others, you can trust me."

..those words still burn, Now

..ten years on

..after her betrayal.


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A Serial, not a cereal..

14:23 Jan 26 2007
Times Read: 1,002


I'd been writing 'Pandora's Players' as a serial after a friend wanted to whatT happened after the first part.

So, I finished the final part last wek and it went up.

Well, much as I did with 'Gabriel Towers'

I've done a full edit, a final edit.

Id anyones interested, I do think its one of the best damn things I've ever written.



("helluva boast there blue" ..says lien, who sits on my shoulder critisizing me ..after too many late night, pouring over a little laptop, listening to T-Rex)


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bah, 'friends list'

12:47 Jan 26 2007
Times Read: 1,003




first time someone disappeared from my 'friends list,' I freaked

'it happened to me,' I worried

I don't now

people come and go

they don't always say they're adding you

or when they're gone.



Just like real life.

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"don't you just love 'em?"

12:49 Jan 23 2007
Times Read: 1,011


I've had real pain in the shoulder as I mentioned ~ but it just cheezes me off that you have to moan to be noticed.

..I look fine.

..I don't look as though I have problems ~

but, as for doctors, to quote someone else,

"don't you just love 'em?"

..after I had the operation, the doctor assistant told a whole room full of people 'doesn't the arthritis show up well?' as he pointed to my x-rays.

..he hadn't talked to me, just them: and till then I'd never known about it.


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‘Apocalypto’

22:26 Jan 21 2007
Times Read: 1,012






I was recently lucky enough to see ‘Apocalypto’ and was pleasantly surprised.

I don’t know why this film is hyped as Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto, unless he is trying to do something positive about the poor reputation he earned for himself with the controversy he created.

It is a good film, of which there is little doubt.

But, its not the film that its hyped to be.. surprise, surprise.. in the adverts and clips that you’ll have seen.

It’s not a big film, like say, ‘The Chronicles Of Riddick,’ or ‘King Kong.’

And if that’s your expectation, you’ll be sorely disappointed.

Yet, it is a glorious little film, about man’s survival, honour and love among a people we of the ‘civilised’ world wouldn’t recognise.

Yes, it is Mel Gibson’s film and it is well made, but it isn’t what the hype would have you believe it is: and its all the better for that

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..I do like being able to use both of them.

14:32 Jan 21 2007
Times Read: 1,013


It's 1:29 Sunday afternoon and I have full mobility in my left arm: although it is still somewhat painful beneath the scapula!!

..I do like being able to use both of them.


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or, is it just my normal state of being.

18:59 Jan 20 2007
Times Read: 1,015


..as I write this my left shoulder is in real pain.

Father says, “If it was a frozen shoulder, you’d really know about it.”

Well, the last time it felt like this I ended up having an operation.

..as to the shoulder: well, I’m taken so many strong

painkillers I’m surprised I can feel anything.

As it is, I feel a little dozey ~ or, is it just my normal state of being.


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so many fine memories.

23:38 Jan 18 2007
Times Read: 1,019


..voluntary work was busy and I've been driven nutso, trying to find the ideal image and words for my Mothers 79th birthday card.

..so many photo's, so many words.

..and I just really want to say 'thank you' for choosing me ~ and giving me so many fine memories.


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The wind doth blow...

16:16 Jan 18 2007
Times Read: 1,021


The high winds this Thursday was atrocious. Plant pots. Both large and small had been thrown round the back garden.

My little Mother had been delighted to have her Birthday cards in the morning.

She’s 79 on Sunday and had found much pleasure in getting a ‘For You Mum’ card of my brother Ian and a second of his Mrs.

And, on the radio there’d been reports of trees down and flooding: much of it seemed to be in Liverpool and Chester.

Although, there had been a report of a tree down in Spital, down by Spital damn.

I’d sat typing, the radio on, sitting cross-legged on my bed, the laptop before me, typing up what it feels like it’ll be the penultimate episode of ‘Pandora’s Players.

And the wind blew outside, with announcements being broadcast of the delays and emergencies occurring.

It seems there’d been an emergency landing at Liverpool airport, due to the plane running on low fuel.

And by 1:00 it’d become quite apparent I’d have some real fun and games getting to the project early evening.

At Neston, just a few miles nearby the Dee River, the windows of a Tesco Supermarket had been blown in.

They’d been talking of winds of up to 70 mph and I’d still felt wary of travelling.

And, early afternoon I heard of a death, when a fire-engine hit someone in Garston Road Liverpool.

Meanwhile, my Mother stayed by the fire watching the t.v. sand my Father changed a battery on her watch, then discovered to his chagrin that the band had broken.

This was after the boilers pilot light had blown out – and he had to restart it.

‘Fourteen things went wrong last year,” he’d muttered, “and it looks like it’s carrying on.”

.And as I finished this, I heard a report on the radio of winds of up to 84mph in Formby, on the way to Southport. And… I still had to travel.


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..some profiles kill the little laptop.

15:28 Jan 16 2007
Times Read: 1,024


..yesterday the laptop died: although the Phoenix has arisen, thanks to a defag.

..some profiles are overladen with code and they slow this machine to a crawl.

..some profiles kill the little laptop.


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..so it'd be cool to try and help, in some way.

22:45 Jan 15 2007
Times Read: 1,028


I actually found a job to apply for I'd like to do

..drugs intervention project worker

..I do voluntary work with the homeless

..it may help with the app..

..I do smoke the green, but don't like the way people let substance abuse rule their lives.

..so it'd be cool to try and help, in some way.


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Pan's Labyrinth - the film.

23:22 Jan 13 2007
Times Read: 1,035


It was my friend’s birthday and he’d wanted to go to the picture and a pint.

But, with his partner working, he told me he'd thought of me.

As it happens, at The Fact, in Liverpool we were able to combine the two, whilst watching a very good film, ‘Pan’s Labyrinth – described as a ‘spellbinding and sinister fairy tale, set at the end of The Spanish Civil War.’

It was, all that it was supposed to be and you could drink your beer, sitting on comfortable sofa’s to do so.

At times, the film reminded me of Alices Adventures In Wonderland, with some very overt references to that story; and other times it reminded me of ‘Nightbreed,’ with some grotesque monsters, some of them human.

And, toward the end, there was a passing visual reference to The Wizard of Oz.

I’d liked it.

After the film we had visited two galleries within the building, each displaying two very different pieces of installation art.

One piece that impressed was a room, with a lot of food mixers fastened to the wall, which had plastic bags fixed to the mixing attachment.

And you stood in the middle of the room; you close your eyes and listen.

As the mixers worked in intermittent time, the plastic bags whirred, creating the strangest imagery in your mind.

Or alternatively, you could walk into the space, look around and say, “Er um, what does all of this mean?”

As we had sat discussing the merits of the film, sitting on the steps of the old ‘bombed-out church’ I had called it a small film, with a big heart.

It was haunting, ethereal and bloody.

Then, as if to put the juxtaposition of the war and fantasy in context, as we walked down Bold Street, I saw my mate Steve, a fellow with one leg, who sells ‘The Big Issue’ and as ever, the fellow asked over my health.

Grant you, he’s on the streets and his world is so different to mine, but he’s a man who I’ll always take time out for, even though he asked quite reasonably, I guess, for a pound, that I didn’t have.

It’d been my friend Pete’s birthday and as he walked me to the station, I thanked him for his Birthday, which I’d enjoyed. It’d seemed only right.



As it is, though I don’t go out often, when I go out, I do really enjoy it.


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..that was okay it seems.

23:17 Jan 13 2007
Times Read: 1,036


..someone I talk with says my work should carry a disclaimer, as it might offend the younger members of VR

..I questioned this indirectly, by suggesting VR wasn’t the place for a child of thirteen

..then went on to talk of the bad language and arrogance they display here.

..that was okay it seems.

..o0boy, I completely disagree, the attitude and intolerance they display on their profiles and journals, when they've achieved so little is repugnant.

..I cannot and would not defend the indefensible: and many of them are just that, indefensible.


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..gawd that type rate low in my book!

23:22 Jan 11 2007
Times Read: 1,040


..had a bad end to the night tonight and a lift home really was a lift: quite literally.

..the trains had been of due to a gas explosion and some bad drunks had harrassed a fellow who needed a listening ear as he has a crack addict girlfriend.

..they stole from him: and I always wonder, why some have steal from their own.

..gawd that type rate low in my book!


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Emotion ..and the shell

23:10 Jan 09 2007
Times Read: 1,043


..it took me a long while to appreciate once more, honest emotion.

..a hug from a friend had me weep in front of the 90 or so people I was trying to find a taxi for.

..now I have let down my shell somewhat

and am still learning to appreciate the little things.

..as you'll have gathered fom all of that,

I have been hurt, badly.


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..wobblie's gone!

20:28 Jan 09 2007
Times Read: 1,046


..except for the unemployed bit: and pain in my mouth where I'm biting is as I'm asleep, after losing the wobbly tooth ~ I'm doing alright.

..but, cancer biopsy, jaw dislocation, scarring and gum recession: it was older than me!!!


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..And, maybe one is right: and people think depression is catching.

21:59 Jan 07 2007
Times Read: 1,049


..I find it interesting to note that one talk of suffering from/or, living with, depression; and your inbox dries up, almost completely, overnight.

..it's not even as if one went overboard, seeking sympathy.

..yet even so, I feel like a social pariah.

..and I guess that as someone who used to talk of being a loner, one shouldn't complain.

..it's just that having learnt to be open, this is Now such a shock to the system.

..right Now one feels like a social pariah:

..may one is wrong.

..maybe its paranoia.

..And, maybe one is right: and people think depression is catching.


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The Black dog bites

23:16 Jan 05 2007
Times Read: 1,052


..I realise that depression isn't something that you can talk of easily, so generally I don't: as so few people understand, or even try to understand.

..I don't mean to hurt or bother those who are around me, so the kind words that I do recieve, when I need them, mean so very much to me.


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a letter

17:09 Jan 04 2007
Times Read: 1,054


Much as I find the immediacy of emails a useful tool with which to contact those that I want to, or need to, I do far prefer my letters. They are more personal. I mean, first of all the writer has to take some time out of their day, to put pen to paper, or finger to keyboard. Then, the reader has to take the time out to take the paper in hand; to pour over the words written on it. It’s all a personal thing, unlike the instant transmission of emails, which sits in an account somewhere, someplace, waiting to be opened, to be viewed. And then there’s the difference between the structure of the two forms of communication: one is swift and immediate and is business ready. Yet the other, my preference, has element of the reader to it, with it’s writing difficult to transcribe; it’s language so often colourful and relevant to the author of its scrawl.

There’s no two ways about it, I do so prefer the act of giving and receiving a letter, to the useful of tool of an email.


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‘the joys of radio’

16:40 Jan 04 2007
Times Read: 1,055


I’m still sitting on the bed my bedroom floor a clutter, as I listen to Doctor Who, which I do find a good telling of a story – as told by David Tennant.

It seems that he’s a good narrator, with a penchant for doing the voices of the characters in the story. And, he does do the voices of Mickey particularly well – maintaining an air of suspense as he narrates the story.

As someone who enjoys reading words well written, I’ll admit that I do rather like what I’ve been listening to. It’s an evocative telling of a Doctor Who story, with all the requisite elements present. It is Doctor Who.

And it had reminded me just how reliant we are on television now, in preference to the joys of the radio.

I say ‘the joys of radio’ as I recall now, thanks to those discs, just how much pleasure I’d used to have, listening to plays and comedies on the radio, which were so much better than the television, as the mind, the greatest tool of all, used to fill in the gaps, that visuals would do so otherwise.

And I do think it’s a pity that we are so reliant on television now, as its taken away so much and provided what, ‘reality based’ television, wherein we watch other people live their little lives, instead of opening our minds to something that can expand it.

And, I’ve just found a rather large hole in the heel of my right Guinness sock.

So, I know what I’ll be doing as I listen to Part 2 I’ll be darning a sock.

And Part 1 has just ended; the sky is blue and its stopped raining, for Now.

So, I’ll go post my letters before returning to my room to listen to Part 2 and the joys of darning a sock.


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'Tufty Fluffy Tail'

16:01 Jan 04 2007
Times Read: 1,057


I’ve just been to the post-box to post my letters and although its quite pleasant outside; and although it’s quite pleasant outside and although I’d had my glasses on, which are photochromatics, I’d found my short walk from the front door to the post-box quite an ordeal. The glasses take awhile to adapt and it was particularly bright, as I’d left home, to post my letters.

And, when I got in I’d looked in the mirror to stare at my hair standing up thanks to the wind. “Tufty-Fluffy Tail” I’d called myself, then thought to myself, here’s a point of reference that no-one would understand any longer.’

Tufty Fluffy Tail was a character developed to promote road safety, many years ago: the late sixties, I seem to recall.

And, it struck me then, how much of our conversation is based on loose terms of reference that can lead to poor communication when those terms of reference can lead to poor communication, when those terms of reference are not shared.


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'The Feast Of The Drowned’ Part One.

15:06 Jan 04 2007
Times Read: 1,058


It’s sunny and the wind is blowing hard outside, although grant you it was far worse last night. And as I write, the laptop sits on the sheepskin rug performing a full adaware scan, prior to listening to a story.

Outside my bedroom door I can hear the thumping and chatter that means my folks have started the housework.

Just a few minutes ago I was given my Christmas cards, with a view to seeing what I’d wanted to keep. And, as the rain and wind beats down on my bedroom window I’ve just opened the first of the two freebie discs that has been sitting behind my Dad’s document chest in the living-room, ‘The Feast Of The Drowned’ Part One.

The disc had been presented as a freebie with the Christmas issue of The Radio Times, our television listings magazine of choice.

I hadn’t been going to listen to the story until I’d had Part Two, even though I’ve been looking forward to listening to it now since before Christmas.

Part Two had been presented with last weeks Radio Times. So, as the parents do the housework, I listen to ‘The Feast Of The Drowned’ as read by David Tennant.


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..Raby Mere and Global Warming.

15:16 Jan 03 2007
Times Read: 1,064


..and I went on a walk, to Raby Mere.

..on the way I noticed green shoots coming forth from plants that would not normally be showing signs of life at this time of year.

..couple that together with the tornado in London: and I'll say here and Now

..there is the proof to any doubters, that Global warming exists.


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Confused, I am.

23:11 Jan 02 2007
Times Read: 1,068


..should've heard me complaining this afternoon about my cold toes.

the raynards had got to me and I didn't want a bath. But I needed one.

So the cold toes lost out and the bath was had. As I type the central heating is still on and the radio is on and the worlds a nice warm place..

..and I did hear from a friend from a college course, who was the first woman I developed a 'real' liking for, after being hurt.

..and then this evening, I signed onto VR and the girl I least expected to ever hear from has messeged me, saying it wasn't me she was talking of.

..and I had messaged back telling her 'I was mortified.'

..and, she's come back with a big long explanation, that will probably make sense, but, I don't know whether to take her at face value, as I'm aware I have some very nice friends on VR, who has clout there.

..I'm still reticent to read it fully, to read what she has to say.

..as I don't know whether to take her at face value, as I'm aware I have some very nice friends on VR! Confused, I am.


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..poor toes.

15:32 Jan 02 2007
Times Read: 1,071


..seriously thinking of having a bath, after putting another part of 'Pandor's Players' up here.

..it's not that I'm cold, the raynards just really affect fingers and toes and things.. and right Now, its the toes.. poor toes.


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..my Mother.

15:22 Jan 02 2007
Times Read: 1,072


..if you'll see from a recent journal entry, my Mother says I helped make her Christmas.

..I know she 'made' my New Year.


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..y'know?

22:59 Jan 01 2007
Times Read: 1,075


..my Mother tiptoed in this back room, just after Christmas, kissed me on the head, as she went to bed and said:"Thank you for making my Christmas.."

..She'd got it the wrong way round, y'know?


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..it seems Pandora is in hiding.

22:48 Jan 01 2007
Times Read: 1,076


..been writing, or trying to.

..it seems Pandora is in hiding.

..managed to get my Dad not to clean today and go for a walk after they'd got the bedding washed.

..little Mother was shattered when she got back.

..but after all, she'd done my usual walk.


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M1 Ward

22:27 Jan 01 2007
Times Read: 1,077


Not a poem, more of a narrative; written shortly after the photo's of the blonde by the tree were taken, as displayed at the start of my portfolio.





*





Here I am on M1 ward

sitting on my bed-

And, I’m not bored.



Although I’m in here

and it’s sunny outside-

I’ve thoughts to quell

of discord and fear.



I know what to expect-

I’ve been here before.

So, the unknown it isn’t;

yet, in a way

that is the problem-

I know what to expect.



And the staff I’ve met,

and who knew me

from last time,

didn’t run away

as I walked through the door.



What was good,

was noting the

welcoming smile

wasn’t fixed.



It was, to me,

proof evident

if it were needed,

that the staff here

are real-

and treat the person,

as just that…



At least I think so-

I’ve got another…

two and a half days to go!



My primary care nurse was filling in

reams of paper,

in reference, to me…



And while she talked

and took my pulse and temperature,

the fellow with the walrus ‘tache,

in the next bed, had visitors.





He’d smiled and said, “I’ll let you make up your own mind on the food…” adding, “I’ve just had one main meal since I got here…” and

“I’m sure we serve better food to the cons…”



As my opinion on the green

differs from the law,

I’d picked up

on what he’d said,

as soon as it was said.



It was also of note, I’d thought,

that this fellow, the one with the

‘tache, was the son… of an ex-

headmaster, at Secondary School.



Now, call it me

Being me-

But having learnt what I had… I had to

Do something, saying something; I just had to…



Well…

on my brief tour

of the ward,

when talking of art and stuff,

with my smiling primary care nurse,

I learnt that she liked,

the written word.



So, on our return,

I recited my poem

‘Bunk Bed Blues’-

about bricks and the

confinement,

of four walls.



For me, there was no surprise,

when the fellow, in the next bed,

the one with the ‘tache,

went quiet, his nose in a book.



I’ll lay odds, the fellow

doesn’t smoke the green…

of that I’m fairly sure.





At just after seven,

a long-legged blonde,

short-skirted

vision in pink

stood at the entrance

to the ward.



More than once I’ve

thought,

‘I’d like to take

a photograph of her.’



Britney Spears was the

image, that my friend

had chosen for me!



Knowing I’d at least

two shots left, on a roll

of film, of tenty-four,

she’d suggested, I bring

my camera with me.



At her suggestion

and my request,

my friend had

taken her jacket off.



All legs and twirling

blonde hair, in a top

that just about was-

she’d stood

by a tree and,

I’d taken a shot,

with a grin on my face,

stretching from ear to ear.



“Where are the toilets?”

she asked, to which

I’d replied,

“you could’ve used

the ones on the ward.”



“Oh no,” said she,

“I’d wanted to change…”

then, pointing to a pink

carrier-bag, she’d added,

“for your surprise.”





So, I’d minded her

handbag, sitting in the

bus-shelter style

smokers corner

whilst she’d gone

to change.



As I’d waited,

a fellow, in a wheel-chair,

with just one leg,

came out for a smoke.



And I’m sure, that

he appreciated

her surprise, for me,

as much as I do-

For, with a grin, he’d

said to us, “they’d

better not take my

blood pressure now.”



And there she was,

minus jacket,

once again –

dressed in a very

short wraparound

grey belt, masquerading

as a skirt;

white shirt, tie

and golden ring-e-lets.



Again by the tree.

my friend

posed to tease, looking

down, with her eyes

directed, straight to the lens.



I’d taken the shot,

pleased with the

light, being as

bright as it was –

at that time of night.



Having taken the shot,

I’d wound the film

And to my delight,

Found another shot left.



She’d turned, her

left side toward me;

dipped her back,

then pushed outward

her pert derriere.



Short grey shirt,

long smooth legs

and a pose

that said to me –

“I am sweet and sexy,

you can look at me.”



I did more than look,

I held the camera steady,

(although I know not how) –

as I’d used that last shot



Then we’d sat awhile

and talked – and

she’d flipped apart

that short, short skirt,

to display the legend,

in pink, on white, ‘cutie.’



As I’d sighed,

my eyes opened wise-

and she’d said to me,

“Well, you had to, it was

part of the surprise.”



That was my friends’ visit:

And though there was more

I could say – it wouldn’t be,

just couldn’t be, enough.



She’d wanted to

Make me smile,

Before my op –

And … she had.



But, by then it’d

been quite late.

nearly eight: and it

was getting quite dark.



st least I knew

the 410 bus would

get her home –

and that she’d get from

just across the road.



So we’d hugged our

‘goodbyes’ and

I’d returned to the ward,

for a hot drink and

an antiseptic bath.



And, I’m first on the list

tomorrow, I am told:

and that is good –

less waiting around.



The only thing –

And it isn’t a problem,

is that, at about six,

I’ll be bathing again –

So, I’ll be ready for my op…







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..a good start to my New Year.

22:18 Jan 01 2007
Times Read: 1,080


..as Fireworks went off, in gardens across the way; and in the display in London, which was being televised, I saw the New Year in with my little Mother, drinking whiskey.



..a good start to my New Year.


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