Look, I’m sorry I have to show you this but I deliberately left it blurry so you would not have to confront its ugliness.
No, it’s not a mouse or rat that the cat I haven’t got killed.
It’s an ugly mass of dust particles that we call ‘fluff’ in this neck of the woods.
It’s what the cleaner left in the bedroom wardrobe after I had paid him sixty bucks for doing ‘such a superb job’ [my words]
It was like the shower scene in ‘Psycho’ for me where instead of being confronted with a blade I’m confronted with a rat-sized piece of woolly fluff.
I almost fell backwards and yes I did utter the blanked out word above and I photographed the evidence straight away.
I just had to tell you about it and I feel better already.
Get thee to a rubbish bin, I said, and to its credit, it hopped in the one provided.
The funny thing is, the rest of the house is spick and span. So how did he miss this?!
and btw I’ve just been informed this is my 500th post 🙂
- have you ever had anything like that happen to you?
Please don’t try to colonize me.
I’m not unclaimed territory.
I own me.
*pic courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
I’m not yr punching bag
Not yr piñata
So give me a break
what is it you are after
I’m not yr pincushion
Not yr whipping boy
so why are you so intent
on stifling my joy
Yr not my parole officer
you are not my judge
so don’t cross examine me
& please don’t call this love.
All the poems about yesterday are nostalgic
As are the songs.
My mother called Macca’s ‘Yesterday’ mawkish.
But my yesterday was shit.
If yesterday were a punching bag I’d pummel it
To a pulp.
There are some things like the Holocaust you can’t
Say anything good about.
Yesterday was like that.
Sometime in the Future it might be possible
To say something good about yesterday
But it’d be a stretch.
- photo by Rotorn Kuperman on Pixels.com
- you ever have days like that?
I’ve had it with you —
You’ve had yr rations —
Your cheap lusts
And easy passions
* photo by vera arsic on pexels.com
My daughter has been Axe Throwing with some friends from work.
Apparently it is the new thing.
It’s a bit like darts only more dangerous,
I’ve been hit with a dart in the hand the last time I played,
Being hit with a hatchet would be a totally different thing.
People are encouraged to bury the hatchet in the target not in each other.
This is not ‘Vikings’.
It looks like fun. I’m thinking of going along.
But I have too many axes to grind so I better
stick to darts.
* have you ever been axe throwing? or taken part in any other dangerous activity?
*if axe throwing is a more dangerous form of darts what is a more dangerous form of chess?
That mangled text
Shot off in seconds: such
You could hear them growling
as they came up the street
bristling with fury
the long angry pair of trousers.
They were rumpled.
They were crumpled.
They had had a bad night.
They did not want to be there.
They were positively scopophobic
but he didn’t get it.
so they squinched his anatomy.
soiled the cuffs.
Had he not noticed?
But they were all he had
So he wore them
Those long angry pair of trousers.
Who would do that?
Put a dead pigeon in yr rubbish bin?
If it was good enough
To put in my bin
Why wasn’t it good enough
To put in theirs?
O the stink,
The weight of it!
I shovelled it out of the bin
And tossed it,
Neck all crumpled,
Into the far right hand corner of the garden
Where it could decay
Among the cluster of leaves.
The only good thing is
It’s given me something rancorous
To write about.
have you had any incidents with neighbors or strangers re your rubbish bins?
There’s a wine called ‘Barking Mad’.
I liked it so much I bought six bottles and drank them all.
Not in one night, of course.
There have been times when I have been barking mad:
Over the insurance company’s delay in fixing my storm-damaged gate because ‘it is just a gate’,
Over next door’s yippee yappy dog who goes off when I piss under the lemon tree at night alarming the neighbours and the back lights go on to see what’s up [ Can’t a man piss in peace? ]
But mostly it’s the scammer with the heavy Slav accent who phones every few days to tell me my internet has been infected and will be turned off unless I phone a certain number.
It hasn’t been turned off yet and I haven’t phoned.
Over petrol prices that go up and down like a wild week at the Dow Jones.
I could go on but you get the idea.
Everyone is a Howard Beale barking mad at something.