Then back again as if in a sea saw of emotion seeing the past not caring if the present sees what I was like what I saw what reason lay behind my frigidity. I was frigid I was cold unfeeling no but fridge yes. This man a Prince mimicking me the woman as he mimicked the man himself no longer myself no longer us two locked in a world poles apart it was like bipolar it was like he did not understand it was I did not understand that he did not understand. Courtship? He never courted in his life desire yes but courtship no. He began to notice that I was not infatuated as I once was. He I said should court me. He did it the only way possible by feeding his prejudices his lust at such a peak he did it the only way he knew by humiliating me. I a Londoner was seeming to want a tractor in my backyard. I am not a farm girl, I don’t need a tractor. But he came with the tractor and he had to seem to be in control for it was obvious he wanted me but did not understand the reason I was not you know. He expected instant seduction and he did not get this it fascinated him why I would not. It made him all the more determined. He did not know how to please he had never put himself out for anyone.
Our sting was that he never would understand me nor I him. Or at least I understand children they can be spoilt and if not properly taken in hand can cause a lot of damage. This child and his toys I thought he grew so restless one toy after the other as if he were in hell practising press ups as if he were limbering he said he did not have proper sex for a year and it made him itch to.
I he blamed I he blamed. Why did he blame me for everything? Is it my fault for being a commoner? I COULD not help being a common herd the common person the little me the little woman whom time forgot because he forgot me he went to others but would not let me be. I am the litter behind the dog and he is the dog in the manger. Look here are the facts of that dreary day the little facts of being a someone in the world of nobodies. We the nobodies are not impressed and he wonders why?
I am made to feel such guilt and such a lot of guilt as if I ruined his pet project. It is his pet project to get what he wants and this is how he went to it with a will not because of lust or love but because he was bored and unhappy with himself. To be out of sorts with himself is something a handsome prince is not supposed to be. A prince is something hard to live with even with himself. He could not stand the mirror image of himself in my eyes he thought he was normal except a prince a man he thought he had no secrets except he was filled with secrets. He thought he had nothing to hide except he was hiding from himself. I made him not himself something to reach for I felt guilty because I wanted him to reach me first was that too much to ask?
I made him do such a rat by putting a spell on him by casting him in iron by being me I made him inhuman. He asks permission to you know do it, why because of me he fears women he has to ask permission and by asking he is not enjoying he wants to plunder and grab when all he could do is ask. He gets true but why he gets is the reason he is tormented. He can’t be bothered anymore to reason with me. It has come to blows. I remember him as he was driving the tractor being a man. He looked so delicious and decorative I wanted to eat him up. Yet there was nothing to eat up afterwards he had done his duty he was exhausted he could not be polite anymore. His courtship over he had done something so wonderful by coming with his tractor that anymore would have unhinged him. He does not like woman without any willingness to please. I am that woman I Am all he s. I set him to do a task and he did not is it any wonder that he is fed up? I exhausted him that day with driving the tractor and putting the press behind him and being a nerd. He said was I a complete fool that did not realise what he had done how clever he had been?
I saw his point too clever by half. I wanted nothing to do with him after that. Him driving a tractor all the way to Old Kent road and I watching him was something sensual yet it was artificial and sensual like a painting in a Danish picture all out lust is important he must have had several women then he did not say how many. I know he was tired he started raging at me saying I was ungrateful and the ingratitude of the commoner was something he did not understand.
Well I don’t like being called a commoner. I am like a nerd really with my bottom picked what my bottom does get up to now is no one’s business. But then it got nothing at all, it was so loose being enthralled by passions which were not mind. I thought mind the gap mind the step mind the prince mind the man. Then I was so enthralled when he came to the cafe as if he were there to see what it was like that the masses were eating. He would gape at us as if we were animals in a David Attenborough documentary telling all the people he knew nothing but seeming to tell something. When he had no intention of doing as if I were a girl whose body did not belong there I worked. Had to because there was no choice I wanted to go to University but had no A ’levels because of that place the cafe. I AM wicked now I have brawled and hurled abuse at him and now sat in state satisfied that I have said my piece.
I need to seem educated at least I thought. I AM me no longer but this fat scum working in the cafe. As the years went on and on in seeming lusts and fights I grew harden to men every man I met was he. My walk disappeared into a mannish walk I became a female no longer. I was neither woman nor man. In between something which I have always d as if my soul would escape every summer I would wear dresses and become female then that too ceased as I became older. Disenchantment came from the dream of one man one woman as if my dreams were curtailed as if they were snapped shut.
I was shut off from the world as if in a cage doing nothing in particular doing something so particular. It was my destiny to see through pretensions and things like that it is unwise to see behind the facade of people they don’t want you to.
Look I am the woman whom time forgot did not have anything of my own yet worked till midnight. I did not have time yet all the time in the world. This is me the world wary genius do you see the idiot in me? The scrambling child the little princess in waiting what fool am I? Do you think I am me for no reason that the little I knew and the little I know nothing in comparison? What mass elixir have I that at a certain age now I find him? Life is so unpredictable life so unexpected life is so delicious come to my parlour says the spider to the fly but there are no more parlours about the word is extinct the way of life is too.
Why me this passion at a certain age as men demand experience from me as they demand reasons I have never you know been. Can experience be mounted, framed on the wall like a degree? The comparison with experience is that the more experience you have the less you become. Is it an ass I am or old fashioned? Can I compare you to experienced harlot? Without experience there can’t be certainty and when certainty comes everything falls flat. Just so old fashioned without a shoe to my name with nothing but this nagging content as if the content on my belly is a cat about to purr and the purring sound comes with the anguish that I have rights as same as everyone else. I am no longer in the doldrums wasting the life blood of me into something into pages into ink as I waited to die life came. It was so unexpected to live when one was expecting something else. The blow fallen the axe seen but not felt. I am no longer jumpy as if all the evil has been split without my blood letting except a bit. I am in the thralls of this contentment as if it is I am home. These moments are precious I feel like I am thirteen and allowed to stay on my own. This is me with grownups letting my hair into business that no one minds.
I have become something else I have become me in a way it has been going on for months. I have seen monsters and villains and now I am all content to feel love. However love has its vices and responsibilities and things in the night are not necessarily all to the good. Although necessary to avoid the itch he has and to see that everybody has the time of day to be less nasty.
I can’t tell them the truth without hurting myself and humbling the ego that is I! My fragile self with the wounds to show and the honours to be won as streets fill with blood and St. Pauls is up for grabs with seeming activists what are they activating what is this thing of mind that can see the same people who killed someone in Welling at St. Paul’s. I’m I a FOOL? Or some sort of scaremonger, some idiot? Why am I making that kind of connections with my impressions and my little life with all these good people? But there are no good people don’t you see these people are there to cause trouble.
You know I show people up, you know the reason for that my dears is that there is this thing called genius and there is this thing called the idiot. When a woman is abused she lies low. Lies her head off about her intelligence and the only difference between me and the woman is I am genius and a satirist I am a great satirist. That is the only difference between me and that woman in the gutter and between you and me there is nothing but that on his mind. HE WANTS me in the gutter with a knife at my throat and all the pimps in the area gloating. I am the woman whom time did not forget because I am the woman of no means but genius. I am the would be victim turned assassin and the only difference between me and him is that I want bloodless coup and he wants something so different. The father has died and can’t bail him out and that is what he forgets that people are not invincible or invisible. I AM not either but then of course I am the woman whom time forgot and others did not forgive why? I don’t know why there are people who think I am mad to not to complain but I do not because the evidence is not complete yet. I wait patiently as if I were in a Greek tragedy. I am the woman of nothingness without any reason but this revenge and revenge is best served cool.
As I lay on my hospital bed dreams of revenge crossed stitched on my mind. I lay awake away from the hustle and bustle of existence. My shadowy self within the shadows a memory of that night is so complex. I no longer a fool I no longer an innocent I petrifying as any Greek or Macbeth or Hamlet I so petrifying so full of revenge so bloody. I so much to do to win back my life, I so much to do. I could not help it as I lied my way into some sort of composure. I lied my teeth off that day because I had to be still in order to pounce. The stillness of death had awaited me, but the silliness of revenge became my safety. I hugged it to such an extent it became my doom. I hugged the honey of my dreams and I hugged the enormity of what I had to do. I did not want blood. But I WANTED REVENGE. I did not want blood no one would die but everyone would be taken thought of. I would do what they had to me but such a sweet thing is this thing of mine. I wanted my life back in its totality I wanted something of mine to last. He wanted otherwise; he wanted me to end up nothing with nothing. I wanted him in an insane asylum. Who would win? Life tosses a coin life becomes a coin of chance everyone of me was on the alert. He wanted to know what I thought; I wanted to want to need. I a stone with a stony heart without anyone to love except the cat. I stayed in that moment with the sweetness of revenge with the bizarreness of life in that total position like a sleepwalker just awoken from sleep. I had to protect the child in me. Oh just painting I want to paint to bring colour into my life. Good God only that? He blinked at my simplicity I a simple peasant and him a great prince. He geeked and twitched already ready to go to someone else to satisfy his pride. I a woman whom no one loves I a woman whom the world s. I cried myself to sleep. That is what women do don’t they? They shoot women don’t they because no pride of man can stand being rejected even if they are at odds with each other? Even if a man is not totally committed to her he must have.
I a reject must change my sex in order to please him. I pleased him enormously his wicked deeds were safely hidden by me. I was hidden from the world. Only through art could I be seen and that in many layers I was on the surface one dimension on the outer surface one but underneath my brain was actively plotting my revenge. The revenge of the underdog is such a whiplash the revenge of the dog is that it bites and must be put down. The dog who bites gets put down. I am that dog I will bite and get put away inside that jail with its walls I can’t stand walls I must not stand walls. I take a walk. Inside there are such a world of dreams dreadfully concealed within this spacious mansion that I see inside my mind is the terrible logic of existence we are our deeds. We do ourselves an injury our deeds are to condemn or gratify us. Our existence is the sum total of our contempt towards the likes of him. He is there again this time as an Indian his shoes give him away no his shoes are his calling card and his bizarre fixation of the phone. He is on the phone to a loved one I am glad he has someone to love but what on earth is he laying plans for me too? I am gratified by his concern that he needs to keep me occupied.
He is on the phone telling his plans for this new love. I am distraught that he will not put into plans his reason. He is such a pal of mine he has wasted 32 years of my life. He is a waster a time waster. But he does not mind me as I sit looking outside the window of the train as it goes deadly fast but still as anything as he shows of that he is someone that he is living his life that someone loves him. A woman without a skirt goes to the door and I remember the past when I too did that and he did not tell me the beginnings of our disenchantment from the enchantment of our youthful lusts. He is still on the phone getting ready to the joke. The joke tastes hilarious to him. He is funny as he potters about enjoying himself. I hope everyone is watching there are so many bizarre things he does as he squiggles on the phone getting ready for the night. I get off at the lonely station that he has made obvious he wants me to get off at. There is the usual bunch of people doing the usual things. Getting in my way doing laughter and being obnoxious. I am not pleased to be left alone without even a by word. The people laugh as they catch their buses we don’t even think you are worthy of rape let alone a word. They shun me as if I a leper were cast off. I like that to be shunned is what makes me write better. I don’t even shed a tear although my heart is bleeding my heart is bleeding for them to stop.
I hold the bus stop it is my only refuge. I am being in hell what does hell look like is it burning pits or this slow turning of the screw? I plead with myself to buck up not to let myself down. I am slow to agonise over this is the place I am in this is the slow me turning this round and round as if this was the life I am condemned to live forever more. They are in my way as the bus comes I put my hand out and the bus stops I breathe a sigh as I get on I do not want to be robbed.
I place myself on the window and look outside the streets are quietly asleep. The glaring light and the rains make it look bleak and dark as if the sleep is but a turn it is taking and soon everything will be awake with the morrow not to come. I get off the bus another bus is coming so quiet I don’t see I narrow my eyes. No I will not die just yet I have aims things to do projects to get under way. Susie is glad to see me she jumps up and down as we fondly greet each other.
Such an intelligent dog. Such an intelligent woman such as I am. I please place my teeth on the brush and brush as if the male population did not exist. Get water and go to bed still smelling the smell which I had sat on the bus with. It smells so bad it is amazing. I am tired and sleep and dream that man and I are with each other maybe it is not a dream? I am being made love to in my dreams. I taste feel it, it is amazing how wonderful dreams are. I am powerful in my dreams. I am unique in my dream world I am me in that world. Where did I go in the morning? Nowhere. It is back to squares and decimals. Oh this dismal world with its witless world wary people. I cross the threshold of waking and find mum still on about the mice she herself let in she wants poison to poison the rats. We compromise I call her a murderess and she calls me a murderess. I end in a corner without a sou. I am just on the point of calling the council and she is seething because she can’t kill Susie. Or rather that I won’t. She is gaga the doctor came yesterday to see her she was as pleased as punch. I am no longer blind folded I can see through everything to see that is not only painful but disastrous I am see through but so is the world.
Can’t think anymore as if this much I have done is the only means in my power to do. I am seeing through IN seashore living beyond my means being a lady is not my thing. Not every day I get offers you know I am fat and ugly most probable reason is I look like meat. I am meat of the moment I am going to the Cinema again tonight to see some show. Any show will do as long as I am not in. Nor out.
When one sees several movies they interlock into timeless and evanescent act of the mind. It is as if all the plays of character are in my head without any malice without any scope for a better future then yesterday something came into my mind as if from long distant as if from me to you. Where is the reader in this there must be a reader. The reader reads as if they are engrossed what do they find to read about they go like beavers reading my books or someone else’s there are more reading to be done then there are readers. Readers are precious bunch with their munchies and their snacks as they take it in turn to do the tea. An engrossing book is good but how many books are written a minute? All those egos all those that stay in your mind how many minds have gone berserk trying to write this and that! Where are the talented amongst the many? Please let me be the one who can write if only I were not such a satirist I know I can write it is that reason that keeps me from hanging myself. Whereas the Shakespeare’s of tomorrow do not come one has to work hard to be able to do what one wants to in writing for writing becomes a waiting game to catch the dish and then to cook the kippers.
Where did I go of the tangent? We all have dreams my dear we all have dreams. Take my case it is a case in point I was watching the film yesterday when an idea came into my head.
I saw on another point of view after scenes of depiction the depicting the same points but in different points of view. Like the arm and the leg are different, like the eye and the ear is different but related to one another.
I am different I am boring, somebody else’s view is tragedy, life is a comedy I am the queen of tragedy. Someone else’s view, a heroine no a dust woman, a pervert- sex maniac no a housemaid, no a handmaid, however a marriage breaker, a broken reed? A man r, a little girl, a simpleton. Uneducated- educated gifted, silly asshole, a damsel in distress, a filly a tramp, an innocent, at heart a hearty whore, a nightmare, frightened miss, a Mrs a loved woman, unloved, a daughter, enfant terrible. A little workhorse. Into the gutter the gutter with her, a litter to be drowned. Below the belt, under the blanket. A BLOW TO men. A saviour. Horror story, a comedienne, unpublished author. A full blown rose, tittles and witless and toothless. I am approaching being witty. I am all those things and more.
Drunken, fantasists, a nymphomaniac, crooked, no straight, as gay as a lark, how can I be? A girl at my age- now woman prove it tart you are drunk. Drunk with shit. Mother Otter’s girl not a sausage in her name. A pain. An arse Methinks I speak with wit methinks I speak not at all. The pettiness of existence there is a charge for this call please we will connect you some day in the future. An artless artist, a would be writer without a publisher, talent or genius. A clown on cloud nine a horizon is approaching. A nightmare to behold delicacies and Tiffin with the Macbeth outside waiting to get in, a hybrid an activist in Turkish and English.
I have just murdered English the language has passed into a coma and has disappeared into the orbit round Japanese and Turkish English with all the trumps in the world playing guess that tune. Shirley Bassey is singing I did it my Way. Can she sing? She can sing that at the funeral or at the farewell party as all my friends are invited. Only one has turned up. In all this mayhem I am resurrecting the English as it has gone into the ambulance with the smelling salts with the little escort agency with the tights or socks tattered.
The English so well looked at now naked as the day without any grammar to its name. We talk it guvn’or as we speak it. Do you object too? Any objection any fiddler on the roof will be most annoying. Look I do not need a new roof the English language has gone berserk with the snake in the grass and all the writers and editors out for blood. All the editors Mum’s are there too and we have a second to stop the English from having a chest enlargement with the Viagra pumping up the volume.
Now if that were not enough the editors have just sacked me they would be genius without the genuine article how are they going to stop the English from going berserk again. It is worse than the Euro. Now that Greece is sanely claiming that it had no intention of paying for their hilarity we can all forget about it and continue enjoying ourselves. That is what Fred said we must resurrect the economy without work at all. We must silently practise economies and pull our skirts short. We must be accommodating without being accommodation. Now that is a fine word in English is not that true? Now that the world is sorted with all and everything perfect we can go back to knitting the wool over our eyes.
Does a woman have wit? This woman and that woman might but we the beast of burden do we? Look if you are pulling all my heirs no hairs silly. I am annoying I am annoyed I am anonymous I am miserable I am funny no longer sexy. Sexed up rearing myself roaring with laughter making fun of myself that is when we can laugh at ourselves who else won’t take us to court? I mean it is a thought if I can prosecute myself it would be interesting won’t it? I take this person into court without a Doctorate to her name without a book published without any means. So your honour prosecute give her ten years of hard. What the deuce does it all mean? What is hard? Chocolate to you my friend now just go and piss off behave yourself you nearly raped the poor man yesterday he does deserve everything that is coming his way. How can one rape a man? Oh fiddlestick and turtle damn.
Wonder what he is doing in his dressing gown without a stitch on it is not for my benefit is it? I wonder if he knows that he is getting soon to be not single. I mean I don’t want to tell the block something he can’t handle it might turn him into stone. They usually have that expression on their faces when I do mention this fact that when one is myself the next stage is honourable something. I wonder if he knows. It did cross my mind that I might have to not do anything and he might do the rest?
But I was dissecting the old relationship with the penultimate one. That is tiresome I know but he is still driving me round and round in circles.
Why is it that man are trapped in the bodies and social positions they are in? Women are fools we are the foolhardy one’s to sink the ship and not leave it. We are here there and everywhere. If there is a vessel about to sink a woman is made captain of it. She takes all the blame, while the balance of her mind is disturbed they say, and the funders come when the woman captain is totally discredited.
Take the example some women feel tensions which exist of fear of dissolution and foreboding when that happens the woman captain is placed, the wise the level headed and unimaginative. The female in distress is trying to say something however the female captain is blinkered in her role not to step out of line for that would mean being discredited, laughed or perish the thought end of captaincy. The humours in the distressed are many and too fold they glare at the disability which is madness and madness is not associated with logic now is it? When we see mad people in distress behaving oddly we do not ask what the matter is assuming that is how mad people behave.
If it was a level headed blonde with big tits and a manner of the cautious and stable beside herself with level sense and commonsense which some people cannot tolerate. Speak nicely do not say a word that might incriminate a decent man. What is the point when you have judged the consequences? What is the point of my putting myself in danger when you won’t believe there is danger? To endanger myself to say something because a woman has been attacked, left traumatised and I know something about the attacker because I am mad no one listens to me. I am discredited before I SPEAK.
Do you know how little that makes me feel? I am the little woman which time forgets because wver I say it is told in evidence against me. I am evidently not to be treated with anything approaching respect or dignity so I might as well do my own investigating or setting the trap. Yes is it not brilliant and all that money coming in and we are something special how long for? Blinkered and led they go round the maypole round and round the merry go round. More money? Good it is awfully good of that and this to give us all that, we are awfully grateful. Gratitude and greed transposes everything. We are eternally grateful charity. Now what is this maniac saying? That something bad is about to happen? What bad can happen we are eternally grateful to the chap? To England to this nation of shop keepers to us the gratifying thing is that they scratch our backs and we do not need to do anything at all. Blinkered and blinded we go blinkered and blinded we fall.
I am saying this to the mad people stay in our shadow the shadow of loyalty of reason of the BBC we are all awfully sorry but to see such tragic consequence of envy and malicious lies and hatred is too much to bear. It is awful to see such a woman turn malevolent at the group to want to discredit it and to make such an accusation. We are all in this together you toffee faced git. We must all pull together to produce the perfect group so that it all falls on top. The cream of madness we are we are the cream of madness.
Can there be such a thing as mad and cream? Of course the mad cows disease the mad cow. We all fall round in a circle imagine a fool running for that and this. I am hands tied behind back waiting for an opportunity. To grab at opportunity to knock on opportunity to fall behind is not my ideal but I must see to it no one else gets attacked. Then learnt it was done by a black man who was so crazed he did not know what he did. This eased the situation but I did not believe it. There was no court case as far as I could tell and the person who was attacked did not make meetings. There was an awful secrecy about it all as if it was something disgraceful. I did not know what had happened I was not told but something bad. Was it rape? Was
It something sinister my imagination went toppling and I could not cope anymore with the awful secret gloating and the awfulness of these people. Success at last left me blinkered I could not see what I was doing there so left.
Society obsessed by sex and innuendo with the society falling on my ears as if the clowns and the criminals have merged into a class all its own. Nightmares began to come and the sexual went. I was observing the clowns and felt like joining in. Criminals unintentionally make one laugh they are so narrow minded with their own concerns that one should do what they want. They forget to observe changes they forget other points of view they are so into their cleverness into their chess problem and making you do something you don’t want that they are gathering the clowns in and foraging for more. They want more never satisfied with anything they want more truth escapes them they want and want they want more and more of the same thing. They want something society has dealt those blows they reckon even when they become kings they want more. Even if the world is at their feet they want more even if they are the chosen God’s they want more. Even when they are the pillars of society they want more. Even when they have the domestics enthralled they want more. Eventually that is what destroys them. Their greed is such they want so much their greed is such they want too much. If beautiful then they want it until they destroy the beauty and leave nettles behind. Life turned vile for me life became an ordeal, I wanted nothing but to live was that too much to ask? I WANT no power or society’s greed I just want to live is that within anyone’s power to live decently with the clothes on my back. Is that a crime? Was I at fault for not giving in to this villain was it a crime not to see that dad was looking at me as if he would devour me? Was I to blame for stopping abuse? Was it my fault for all the criminals congregating? I AM TO blame? What right do you have to judge me you imperfects you talons you self righteous beings as my blood ebbs and flows in the heart rate of this villainy I am to be made into a scapegoat. I have been taunted and abused far too long as if I am in the spiders web struggling to be out but the web is secured and the more I lash out the harder it is to see that I am entangling myself close to not breathing and I am going to be eaten by things most vile. I lost I lost out on this temperamental world without a bridge to cross without anything but tears to guide me.
If I don’t cry then I am not human if I don’t scream then I can’t be a human. I want so much to be human as if humanity is against this child from entertaining thoughts of humanness. I am the child whom no one got into their arms to comfort I would cry myself to sleep without anyone noticing that I cried more than I laughed is it any wonder that they all want me silenced. The truth hurts more than lies, to be shown to have known the truth is to die the terrible death at the hands of villains and they come at me without a deed but to destroy. They want to destroy me why because they have to because I will tell the truth. The truth will come out like murder it is obvious it is being told now. Not by an imbecile but by this me this I that is despised unskilled. This is the personality behind the ordeal all those people in the red with their conscience they want to pervert the cause the justice they want to eliminate me. The self conscious truth is that there are only people out to get me with their gritted teeth with their blood lusts with this ordeal that is I. I cry self to sleep and we the self and I go round and round the conscience and there is no more to say because I have said enough maybe more than enough when the dust settles the murderer would come and I will be the victim of no one because he has been clever to use parents and all available deck hands. He runs a tight ship he runs it well and he wants to be home for Christmas because I am ruining his plans. Christmas is a time of plenty with the fires burning high and the chestnuts on the heath. I am the rug which is about right to expose to make and undo. I am the fly in the little ointment without all the time in the world it is time to go home. I am ruining the party it is time the party started. We want more we must have more. Is it the greedy society that produced such a libertine? People think there is no such thing as they listen on their mobiles as crimes pay dividends.
Why shouldn’t I cry? Why should not hot tears gape at the wounds and tell the world what I HAVE been through these thirty odd years with all the criminals unintentionally being clowns. These narrow minded slaves to society’s greed these narrow minded perverts these people that have grown tired of the game which they started but now must finish. I am to be made into a scapegoat. The chess has been opened and the game is about to finish. I did not know I did not please I have made him a laughing stock. I did not finish the cause of pills I have piles I am too eager to please someone else. My crime is that being woman I did not give him what he desired and he wanted more than he wanted a song. It was going for a song it is the despair of the masses that it is going for a song and the song has been told and it will leave now to go to sleep.
Life is not a game show life is not a show although people who watch the TV think it is life is not a show will go endlessly as the day is long with society at loggerheads with self and each and every one of its kind. Where in hell did this begin and where did I leave self behind to fight this dirty war?
I will not be defeated this has degenerated into war of words with the world highest and lowest demented lamented world. This is my world don’t take it from this swine this goat this little ewe this darkens my soul this wound is such I will not be a party to my own defeat. I will not be a party to my victim being me.
Look my hands are empty; this world has left me barren; this world has left me sterile. No one wants to give me anything they have all taken and I have given. They want more and more as they go about in their desert; I feel deserted. I alone in the painting of scream screaming loudly and clearly that I will be the next victim.
I feel blindly for my way forward although it is a sunny day with the clouds in tow with the world peeping into the head of my dog with the world anew with the spring in my step gone haywire. I am not Will I am not a God this humble servant of yours this world of mine these spring in my step this pastures anew. Why this sadness this callous act this murderer that begot the begotten in the world springing lightly as if the eternal spring in his step is to stop I. This butcher of the year this callous individual d beyond measure because he likes to be a villain because otherwise he is bored. I am to be made a victim because he is bored. He minces along with his light step thinking himself adorable because women say he is and men want to be him because he has success. I think he looks out of his mind but he minces gladly along, he steps lightly into the son with his woman dress he feel secure most dangerous in his clothes. Most obscene in his makeup. He looks like a country clown. He acts as if he is the one with the right to live and I have no rights nothing but to make him less bored.
These are the thoughts of the moment these are the lusts that contains the book which constrains me to say nothing more than to say that I am to be the last victim. I will not beat Shakespeare because I have run out of time. This oddity this humble servant this little woman whom time forgot and keeps on forgetting where did myself go? In the game of chance is the perversion of the will. I will no longer amount to anything because all the time in the world has been and gone without a will to my name without the game ending badly he plays for laughs and I play with my life. That is the unequal society. These are the facts of the case the issue is with myself I AM to be made into a scapegoat with the world looking on and feeding off me. This butchery is going to not stop until I crack up. These are the things my favourite magic is to act insane now I am no longer acting I fear like a demented because I am being made into a victim and I FEAR the viciousness of being a victim. I will no longer cry in vain I will chase the blues I will no longer have enough of this because life is drained from me as the rummage through my mind in the hope that something might come that some spark will light the flame that is my mind.
And all this being done because I am woman because if I had been a man a refusal would not have meant dismissal from society. This is because I am woman that this has happened. Males pride his dick and to say that his dick is not desirable is to cut off him in his prime. I have been rejected too that does not mean a thing. For a woman to be rejected is to serve her right for a man to be told he is not wanted is to hurt his ego to such an extent he turns on society with the lusts of his being and swallows it up. He wants to make excuses he wants to turn me into an l colourless unbalanced bleached stone so that he can say that I am no good not even woman; his being rejected is because I am not a woman. He plans his revenge; plots endlessly, through time he grows harden to my cries. He is plotting to get even for the words unsaid, deeds not done, for the thing in his head is the libertine. Many know. He has the power to see to that I suffer. He’ll see to it that I have no life; for some reason I take exception; try to fly, he clips my wings. He does; is such a swine. He clips my wings and allows mum, who is insane total power.
Mayhem ensues; mayhem, rubbish becomes the norm. I am rubble no longer. I will not be humiliated like this. Even if he is King to some oddity does he add his kingdom? Why does a man who has everything add spite to his undoing? Why does it anyway why add this revenge to his conscience why this blood when he has had all those wasted efforts of mine? Why do that on his honeymoon when he has the world at his feet? When he is supposed to be happy? When he is busking in the worldly charms of his lady and is happiest on earth? What does he want of me a harmless little insect a dreamer a would be artist someone of no consequence when he has the world at his call.
Popularity at a peak, he lives dangerously; and married. Dishonest he thinks no one will suspect, because he is married. Protected by his desires and the bed. On his honeymoon he will destroy me. No one will see except I the victim.
No one is invisible or invincible. I speak the truth when truth speaks lies go flying out the window with the words hardly out reason becomes necessary. Where is the reason in trying to kill a harmless dreamer? Is not it that the world runs on dreams? That without dreams there can’t be the reality that we face today?
Oh to see those tormented years in my face to feel no sunshine to feel those rough tortured decades on my wary body as if they would be thrones to capture me. I am nothing to so many people why do I inspire such hatred? Why do I inspire that fireball like Malakoff cocktail in my face fire ball to such an extent? I’m I the little witch that lost count of men who have seen the light as they expired in others arms as they spat at me with nauseating. Why do I inspire such emotions in men left alone to get on with their lives they won’t let me get on with mine? Including this thing the King he has joined the army of volunteers out to destroy me. I think I will go to bed and never get up again to see such odd humours to see such a lot of despondent people; without any real feeling but hatred. I would not go to bed with them so they have their revenge. Why me? What is the reason my dears do you not see? I am nothing and these people think it not odd that such oddity as I shall exist. I have nothing to do all day but to revenge myself of these odd humours as my failure to understand humanity is put to the test. I must reason myself into some sort of calm. I drink my coffee black and not too strong as stranger’s telephone to ask about others which I do not know. Who are all these people telling time; asking questions, as if I am the wire that connects all the pieces. I am oddity, the one that stands in the way of happiest thoughts, deeds, happiest of feelings.
What right do these tormented people have to have such powers when they do not deserve any such bliss? The phone is over, the talk is done. Now, wait till tomorrow and see that their bliss is confirmed, as if their oddness; such a twist in the fate; that will last till eternity. People don’t like me they in fact me as if I am in their way. Which has stood in the way of a witch, I am a mad woman whom time forgot but did not forgive.
I feel very tired and happy to have thought all this out in my own way I am just as wicked as everyone else. I feel the fee coming over me this terrible money grabbing nation of despots. I fall about laughing, why? It is the way of society that the fool and the wit are but a narrow divide away. I shall write no more today for my odd humour is getting the better of me. What is this dread suddenly as if I have been caught with my pants down? I am undone. Petrifying ordeal, this can’t be happening to me the pious and the sinful at the same time. Look if one is without sin gape at the wound if one has sinned then look elsewhere. I am living in a hovel with man of many notions, without his sense I will be helpless with laughter.
I am being tickled to death with a brush of nettle like sharpness. I will no longer have anything to do but do it anyway. This plodding this plotting these are the favourite ordeal of mine. When did life become a stranger’s feast? This is my life laid bare: I a barren woman, whom time forgot and never forgave. Why because I did not sleep with someone important and he never forgot it drove him mad. Why should I inflict such pain on someone important? I did not mean to but I had and do and did. Where is the purpose of cleaning this house when he means to take it away from me bit by bit? I the rubbish I the stupid have done him an injury. I did not mean to I swear it just happened. But he does not understand that in all human relationships these things happen and are best forgotten. He can’t take it anymore his pride is hurt and he has driven me all these years to suicidal thoughts; with his mad laugh as an excuse. I did not mean to harm and cause such a lot of grief. Why should I apologise when it is part of life?
Grovel I am grovelling into these pages hoping that soon I shall have respite a moments repose from self that is akin to others searching in vain for the answers which is life’s problems. How can I reproach anyone when he being mad was always on the cards? It stood; it stands to reason that is how tyrants are; that is how one becomes a person who sets the world alight.
I dreaded this from happening. I dreadfully sleepy want to rest my head into the blanket of oblivion. But know this won’t be the case. My dreams haunt me when I sleep. Is it the conscientious I or the little I? Who is this me I am trying to protect and preserve? I have nothing to declare but selfish thoughts; reason with myself but find there is no such thing. I must find myself but find others with their point of view; that I am selfish. Narcissistic little witch with days numbered as a woman now. Must find my own version of myself before I get wiped out.
I look into the pages of history and discover Ada Lovelace Byron’s legitimate daughter. Who is responsible for the computer. She expanded some maths and came to the blueprint of the computer. She was not a good wife but what genius is? University educated was not allowed to study the arts said she would be solid has three children then goes out with the groom. Unsuitable that is obscurity with a groom my dear did the woman have no sense? I mean men going off with the groom makes perfect sense but when a wife does it that is when men become demons.
Is there any justice in the world when the women are treating themselves to manly pursuits? Because women think if they become men then they will get the lot? My dears go and nestle with the books we are not men we are better than a man. We are crumpets we are delights we have more things that we know than mere males. They don’t see what we see they see the world in a brutalised way and we see the world in softer colours we are the creators we carry the can. Byron died when Ada was 8 she never knew him than? It is just as well she never did for she might have ended one of his preys Byron went with his half sister what would have stopped him you know?
I am definitely going to be arrested.
She got cancer after gambling addiction and died in her bed maybe in pain? What is life except pain? That woman was responsible for this writing my writing she helped create the computer and now look at me I am writing this with clarity because of her. I will scribble no more these thoughts women from history they outnumber my pages by a dozen how many years have we had nothing?
If a woman there is no praise from the males there is a conspiracy there is something going on there is something I can’t put my finger on. A theory that woman have no place in history? There we go bearing the brunt of our troubles in silence when there are cuts it is the women who take on the burden we are the beasts. To be flogged we are the flogged underlies. Who looked after the home when the men were at war? Who is it that says we don’t count look women work in a different way our minds are not precise as it should be but we are not idiots. Devils listen to this tosh a woman helped to create the biggest thing that has changed society for the better made this writing possible made life interesting and she forgotten? She obscure how many knew about this woman? How many interested? How many wants to read nothing but male tosh well you damn well have to because I am going into the kitchen to do some washing up. It is a sad fact of life that a woman gets forgotten in the kitchen where she is dismembered and made into a plant.
If you want to read further than there is the televised rights and screen rights and the right of way without any prejudice or injustice I will show nothing further to illuminate your pain or my pain. My ordeal? Damn you all you scoundrels, this is about women geniuses and it is becoming a sex book. My tights are too tight to hold onto my panties. Anyway leave it at that it is a factor this is evil facts. When a woman works in the office she is sexual prey then she gets the facts and is millions richer. You know a woman has to have some dignity. Sexual discrimination is a crime. It is out of date but sex does not date we are now prey to blaming the victim. If one is poor then it is oneself who is to blame. Because the victim in a tenement is easy to blame for they feel an overwhelming failure. If a woman is raped then she must have been wearing a mini skirt. If anything at all she must be a prostitute therefore deserves it. If a man is attacked then it is not a man. If a female is attacked then it is because she is female. So do females deserve to be attacked because they are female?
If a female is a whore? Deserves everything she gets to be blamed for the many things that have happened not only in her family but the world. Life becomes nectar if a woman is nothing. Not nice not decent just staying in her corner and not being loud. If she is loud then she is stupid. Uncaring unjust unjustified unclean. A woman is a cleaner person for being nothing not interesting for an interesting woman is dangerous she must be seem to be doing the normal things. Like office work, dainty food and being there for sex but never having a difference of an opinion. When that happens she is difficult she is a woman so difficult a difficult woman is impossible to live with.
I think I won’t work anymore but become a madam. It is as if Nina is there waving her arms at me. The oldest profession it is beckoning me like a beacon as if my hair is on fire and will I also get income support with it?
I mean I might have to have you know young things in my stable supporting the good work we will be doing to the politicians and saving the country from going bankrupt. This country is going to the dogs with all the insights into the creation of being a woman is opening your legs and saying ta-ta for the little satisfactions which the female body gives after 50. I think a woman is a good woman if she gives value for money! Now how much is a woman worth? If she satisfies a man then she is his angel if not she be the devil incarnate. The reincarnation of a nightmare the devil woman. I think I will go and write all this down with all the PS and QS and questions and answers with all the wit at my command for I am getting witty because I am a woman whose solvency is in doubt as if my honeymoon with the society is over and they want me to deliver something in the bag. But what I don’t know maybe something decent something that can be liked and likable? The country is bankrupt and we can see nothing but grief and greed for all the females as we stretch our arms to hold the family we know together that we are together so that we can be together forever. Society and woman such good companions women have done more for society as much as man. No even more so for we hold the house together we hold it in our laps we hold the dearest things which a man won’t hold onto. We clean and cook and mend we are the givers and not the takers for society has no place for takers even if words have changed we still have the same values also we might have no bras but we still have the tits. We are the home birds we are the wolves we are the pack leaders and we are the bitches who set the hearth on fire and light the match so that man can find us.
So when a woman invents something extraordinary like a computer let us all cheer for that is something so super efficient such a super thing to have done. Such a decent thing to have done such a deed to have done such a marvellous thing to have done. That we must all take our caps to her and learn to give her respect. For it is not only males that have to do, it is the female person too. Look some of you might have sisters and mothers if you weren’t conceived in a test tube you still might have these things what do you want these people to be for you? Shadows to your achievements? Why not they achieve too? Why can’t they do too? What right do you have to harbour a grudge to this person that is the genius in your tea? Legs apart one is groomed taken for a ride and doomed to be left in the kitchen and table waiting. Good we are all set to sweat in hell.