writers block.

mind is a muck.

Fuck.

Write something articulate,

Intelligent,

Unusual,

Fucking Inspirational.

Something of meaning, something of imagination?

Metaphorical,

meta-meaningful,

meta-symbolical,

metaphysical,

meta-fucking-incredible.

Readable, Feasible, breathable..

Understandable, goodable, interestingable.

My mind is too fucking franticable.

Unable-able.

Lights; sharp, yellow, harsh … my eyes clench.

Blank stares.

The governments words are here to help our martyrdom society.

Spoon fed dreams to ignorant minds it seems.

Disconnected minds. Empty minds. Invisible minds. Wasted minds.

One thought - A job.

Green is the most aesthetically calming to the eye. Puts the mind at ease so to speak. Ironically the colour of the place your are tagged to, watched from, controlled by.

“Fuck the government, I’ll take their free money”

Really? Fuck the government? Are you really taking advantage of them?

No. The government fucks YOU. For fifty quid a week.

I sit down, the shake disappears, the wind cuts past my cheeks.

Just to sit down, and look around for a change.

Inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling.

What’s the point of it all? I mean, working in a job you hate? being in an unfaithful marriage? buying things you don’t want but feel you should have? If you die tomorrow you take nothing but what you came with. Every penny you earn; why save it? It’s just deadweight, just bits of paper and melted metal rolling around in a ‘genuine leather’ purse. You can’t take that with you.

A marriage, it’s spending your life with the person you love, they love you, they look after you, they grieve for you, they hopefully replace you. But if it’s anything but that, then what is the point?

What’s the point in just inhaling and exhaling life, leading it the way we are ‘suppose’ to. We can’t take anything under with us; Perhaps frivolity is the best way to be; what else is money for? To make someone smile momentarily? To feed your children, to take your lover traveling to a country they’ve always loved. I do not believe money is happiness, although I’m not naive to think that without any money there is sadness and pain. I think happiness is happiness, i think people think too highly of money and the importance of it. They don’t realize they could die tomorrow - you’re saving’s account isn’t gonna do you much good when your out cold is it?

She filled slowly, each day grew a little more, a little less room for her to breath. Pumping the nutrients to the clump that was not meant, not meant to be. The veins engorged with blood pumping to the still tiny thing, growing stealing her energy and his patience, her wonderful ways sucked out of them by this growing lump. This was the result, a few droplets of juice squeezed from the ripest of fruit, so easily pouring out, but like any other; slips through your fingers, when all that is left is the sticky residue, pouring from her, blooding the sheets, her agony in her sleep, each plunge into her rib cage. Squeezing at her veins, pushing and suffocating each organ. She swelled, this lump was now a bulge, an inflated addition to her skin, her body, her flesh. Each contour was bruised, her aches and sighs were just the tip of the ice berg on the severity of the pain this lump introduced. It grew, larger, she could not help, could not do anything to stop it, it took more of her blood, more of her oxygen, pumped to it by pure nature of what the bodies expects a woman to give.

Forcibly carrying this creation, the only thing to remind her of the night he blooded the sheets. He blooded the sheets and bruised her skin, polluted her sanity and now, claimed her uterus. In the world of God; thou shalt not kill. In the older days of Britain, she is old enough to bleed, so old enough to breed. Let these old views save this tiny thing, this tiny lump. To some this is ethical, to her, it’s a tiny lump meaning nothing more than the blood on her sheets. That was washed away with cold water drenched and scrubbed, blocked out of her mind and black mailed into silence. All that remained was the bump.

Those who murder; cover them completely with those measles; lock them up and throw away the keysles. While all these asylum seekers groan ‘aye, aye vias’s’. Who are we to complain? Someone’s gotta do it? While we stew in those idle lazy ways we inherit from our parentals.

”We must catch up on Eastenders, we must spit on all those vulgar benders polluting our kids minds with their fucked up views on genders.”

Pull up your trousers, get a job, make someone smile for once, do something to make your being valid; were you born onto this earth to be forgotten? and pass your energy onto nothing but the coffin you will leave in?

Our energy is dependent, we can either use it or continue toxifying this country with our transparent delusion actions.

Read me line? Tell me a lie? Draw me your thoughts? Anything that proves we are not just shells of empty atoms with no aesthetic flavors or textures. We are, we are textures of our race, our culture, our parents, we each have our different depths and volumes, but so far, as i can see; each level is yet to be explored.

Or to be exact, not prostitution in the sense of young girls being forced to sell their bodies; more escorts working for upper class companies choosing to sell their bodies for sex.

I mean, what is exactly so wrong with that? every single one of us think we are so civilised making our living in a morally correct way respecting ourselves? Well, no, we’re not. We’re all selling something.

Writers - they sell their imagination for others to inspire from

Athletes - they sell their energy for others to gain enjoyment from

Musicians - they sell their talent for others to add to their lives

Desk jobs - selling hours of our own time to wading through paperwork

Business men - selling years of their life cut off from their age as stress takes it’s tole on their body.

We’re all selling something; so if one person feels comfortable with selling their imagination and another feels more so with selling her/his body for someone else to gain satisfaction? what is so wrong with that? SEX IS SEX, it’s not some sacred ritual, it’s an act that two people do for whatever reason, and we have no right to judge others on their opinions of sex. If i fell in love with someone then realized they had been an escort and had slept with over 200 people, it would make no odds; i would still love them. If i didn’t, then i would say i never loved them fully to begin with.

Life is about life, i really think people take the act of sex way too seriously. Escorts are clever in my opinion, they know their talent, and they use it. They get paid to be in someone’s presence. If anything, they must be incredibly secure within themselves.

Why is it unacceptable for a woman to take off her top in public, or reveal parts of her breast, whereas it’s perfectly acceptable for a male? Why are women made to feel as if their body is considered ‘offensive’.

In my opinion children SHOULD see naked women, they should see that it is just a body, and that there are different shapes and sizes to all women and men, and every single one of them is normal. If children were raised seeing naked people other than their parents then they would grow up knowing what a real body looks like. Rather than seeing nothing than the ‘ideal’ bodies of porn stars when they hit puberty and notice the media.

Why should children not see gay people kissing? surely the more they see it, the more normal it would be for them? that if you love someone, or if you want to kiss someone; you shouldn’t be ashamed to do it in front of others? And that women should not be ashamed of their bodies because real girls don’t have perfectly even boobs, or legs that go on forever. In countries in Europe where nudist beaches etc are more common even the men do not look at women in the same way, they see breasts and just carry on with their lives, they’re just breasts not some vulgar sexual object to gorp at and make comments on, in this country? You walk past a builder with a low cut top ‘GET YOUR TITS OUT’. I fucking hate living in this country. We’re going to be filled with generations of homophobes, racists and body conscious/obsessed society.

Rant over.

About what it would mean if i was a full on lesbian? I mean full on brogue wearing, short haired, sperm bank, civil partnership LESBIAN.

I mean.. simple things like:

When you take each other out for dinner - Who pays?!

To

If you get married - Who walks down the isle?! Who wears the dress?!

I mean i’ve always been very comfortable sexually in the fact that gender simply does not bother me, but recently i’ve been thinking; what if everyone is right?

What if i am a full blown fanny feeding lesbian?! I’d have to consider these things. Does it mean i have to start watching ‘The L Word’ ? Does it mean i have to be a huge feminist? Does it mean that i can never be pregnant? These things are very confusing, for the first time in my entire life, i think i’m going to have to TRY and be confused about my sexuality so maybe i can label it? Because i’ve never felt the need to label it, because it doesn’t bother me; but it never struck me until today how the confused the people around me are about my sexuality. And for them to accept me, i think i should probably start trying to figure it out.