I am obsessed with angels at the mo. I am seeing them everywhere, am writing about them, and painting them, and feeling the breeze from their flapping wings on my face, or could it be that I don't know a pigeon from an angel...
Latest writing about angels:
The world is full of cynical angels. The sun is an oven with its door open, cooking a chicken. The chicken still dreams and gleans some satisfaction that its tasty skin will explode some human's heart and render that human's dreams obsolete. What the chicken doesn't know is most human dreams go nowhere, and their waking states only slightly further than that.
Yes, the world is full of cynical angels. Dreams turn us into whores of poverty and purity. We no longer become upstanding, respected members of our collective doom.
I am mostly a happy go lucky person, with a certain cheekiness. I hope when people meet me, they detect the light in me. But I haven't had an easy life, as I have dealt with extreme abuse as a child, and its consequent madness and pain.
Over the period of decades, my madness went from darkness to a strange light with some lapses into the shadows. The soul must do its work, dip into the shadows to see why they are there, and try to remove the caustic monoliths that cast them.
I do not want to bring these shadows into my meetings with other people. They come out in my art and poetry. And so these shadows scatter into the smaller shadows of letters and words. Sometimes they make sense. Sometimes they are cathartic. Sometimes they are an incitement to immerse myself more in the shadows. But I won't step deeper - one poem at a time. I like the light too much...
The friction of life
On skinless hope
The kisses of love
Bleach lost flesh
I don’t mind
My new scars
From the sweetest breezes
Everything that has touched me
Has left its imprint
Of boot kicks and butterflies
I am raw sculpture
Yet I refuse to let
The softest part of me
Turn to stone
I can’t even cry
Tears are inflammatory
My mind immolates
Kills itself with fire
There is not enough water in my dreams
There is not enough ice in my sleep
Spit on me
There is this cool website where you can download free books, I decided to put one of my old novels on there for free download. It is the happy tale of a female serial killer.
It is not for the faint-hearted, and the humour in there is a bit sick. Those who have read it, suddenly become scared of me, as if I am the character in the book.
I don't know whether to take it as a compliment that the character to them seems real or use this counterfeit power and steal their wotsits.
Click here to go to the website - you'll have to register to download the book - but it's free. Just click the title and follow the instructions to register.