Snow, Snow, Snow

England hasn't quite grounded to a halt this time but it was a pretty close call. I went out and snapped some photos with my iPhone today. While it's true the internet is being overrun with these at the moment, I thought I'd post them anyway...

 

They were taken in a park near where I live. Sometimes I walk through there when it's early and nobody is around, I like to pretend that I'm a great Victorian lady surveying my estate grounds. And that friends is my confession for today.

Five Haikus from the Dark Places

Spinning through stardust
In circles, chasing shadows
Never still.
Alone.

Faces in darkness
Secrets hidden in shadows
Pain and
suffering

Five syllables here
And seven syllables there.
Is
this a haiku?

All the world is dark
Water, Air, Earth and
Fire
Fallen to shadow

Breathing in; then out
And the cycle
continued
Until death cometh

Waiting

they’re waiting on the other side

they’ve been waiting for a long time
and
when it’s time to go from here
when you have to leave us behind
that is
when you will see them
they’re just there –
just beyond
they’re
waiting

and when we can’t see you anymore
when we can’t hear your
voice except as an echo of a memory
it will be alright
because you will
have gone to where they are
and you will be waiting for us
just there –

just beyond

you can go to them now
it’s alright

wait for
us
we will come

Scribemus

a year since my last. and

time has gone. and

life has followed. death

an ever present spectre. questions

conspire against me.

their answers loud – nothing.

and everything.

so many questions mean nothing

and everything.

and though all turns to dust

I can rise from these ashes.

I can begin

again.

My Addiction

I’m an addict. You are my addiction.

When I don’t have you, I crave you; when I get you, for a very short while it feels as though everything is going to be alright and afterwards – when the high is gone, there is nothing. There’s just emptiness and self loathing.

‘We can’t do this anymore.’

‘I know.’

They are hollow words that we’ve said from the start but still nothing changes. It might last for a month; maybe even two but then there will always be a phone call; a text; an illicit encounter suggested and arranged. We both know that we’re just paying lip service to it now; trying to ease the guilt by pretending that this time will be the last time.

I hate myself afterwards; I know that you do too. I hate what we’re doing to him. It would kill him if he found out about us; he’d probably kill me first but it would kill him too. What we’re doing is the ultimate betrayal; his wife and his best friend... but even that isn’t enough to make us stop this.

What kind of man does that make me, to do this after everything that we’ve been through together?

I love him; you’re in love with him – despite all this I believe you when you say that. I know you don’t love me; most of the time you don’t even like me; the feeling is certainly mutual. The addict hates that which he craves.

I need you to function just like you need me. Knowing that we have this is what gets me through the days and I know I’m pathetic but I need that.

So when we’re dressed and ready to go back to the world outside; back to playing the parts of the loyal best friend and the loving wife, I kiss you softly on the cheek and ask ‘same time next week?’

You don’t smile, but you do nod once before leaving the room.

I know one day the cycle will break and then everything will come crashing down; I know I will hurt the most important person in my life; I know I’m hurtling towards disaster; but God help me I just can’t kick the habit.

You're Always Sorry (short story/monologue)

The first time you hit me was during a row.
You’d been to the pub. You were watching the match and you’d been drinking.
I only mentioned it because I was worried.
You’d been drinking more than usual, spending money we didn’t have. I was worried about us. I was worried about you but you didn’t see it like that. You thought l was being critical. You thought I was trying to make you angry and then you became defensive; which led to arguing; which led to name calling and ultimately resulted in my black eye.
I don’t remember feeling pain. I remember feeling shock. I remember running to the bedroom.
You followed me.
Your eyes were wide like you couldn’t believe what he’d just done. I couldn’t believe it either.
You told me you were sorry over and over. You promised me it would never happen again and said that you loved me; that you loved me more than anything.
I believed and I forgave. You held me and kissed me while I cried.
Then we made love and you were so gentle, caring and giving that I knew that you loved me and you were sorry.
When you cut back on the drinking I knew for certain that you would never do it again. I knew it had just been one time; one mistake.

I was wrong.

The second time you hit me was almost a month later. You came home late. Hours after your shift had finished and you were staggering around drunker than I’ve ever seen you before.
Bad day at work you said; just a few drinks; no big deal.
You could have called, was my response. I didn’t know where you were.
That was all I said. I wasn’t accusing you of anything though you thought I was.
We argued. You shoved me. I fell against the kitchen worktop and I landed on the floor.
I felt the pain that second time. I also felt anger. I was angry that you’d lied. I was angry that you broke your promise. You’d promised never to hurt me again.
That same night I packed a bag. I wanted to stay with a friend but of course there would have been questions; accusations and I froze up.
I went to a Travelodge. I needed time to think.

I couldn’t sleep without you to hold me.
I went back the next morning. You cried; begged me not to leave. You looked a mess. I knew you’d been awake all night as well. I felt the physical pain but you’d had the guilt.
You told me you were sorry.
I know that you were sorry. That’s why I went back to you.
Being sorry didn’t stop you doing it again.

It surprising the things that you learn when you have a secret to hide.
You have learned never to hit my face because there are only so many times a person can get hit with a football before people start asking questions.
I have learned which brand and shade of foundation provides the best cover-up for bruises. I have learned to keep some in the bathroom cabinet just in case.
You have learned to ignore the frightened look in my eyes when you go to the drinks cabinet.
I have learned that long sleeved shirts can hide all manner of sins.
We have both learned to become liars. Lying comes to us now as easily as breathing.
You lie to me when you promise it will never happen again because we both know now that it will.
I lie to myself when I say I’m not afraid of you because I am.
I lie to my friends when I tell them I’m fine because I know I’m not.
I lie because I’m ashamed of what is happening and because I’m scared that they will tell the police and you will be taken away from me.
I have learned that I can’t lose you. I know that I would die without you.
You have learned that because I can’t lose you I will forgive you anything.

But you don’t lie about being sorry. I know you are always sorry when it’s done.
I don’t lie about being in love with you.
That’s why I will always take you back no matter what.
And I will never stop praying that you will change.

OUTfrontUK piece

Here is a link to the piece I wrote for OUTfrontUK as part of their series on what life would be like in the United Kingdom if the BNP should be elected to power.


http://www.outfrontuk.com/2009/10/bnp-britain-racist-agenda-in-our.html