April 30, 2010

more poems..

I do really enjoy it but there is so much of the slacker in me.

Poetry is enjoyable and therapeutic enough for me to stick at instead of abandoning when the going starts getting rough. It is a lovely medium for me to try and deal with some the commitment issues gracefully pointed out to me by a therapist. I thought it was a bit unfair I was only 13 and thought it pretty normal that I had commitment and personal space issues. I was proud of them they were only normal things about me.

Still the problems with the physical details, the feeling that I'm betraying other people or worse my self by showing real blood, guts and cellulity thighs. But that's what poetry is and that's where the real closure is. So I can't patter a poem out in a few hours, big deal I've only started.

The english needs work though, it has to be conscious and intentional. I have to know what I'm doing to learn how to stop.

Collecting for dark matter, first pathetic frustrating attempt at the report for 5, it is a report rather than a commentary and that can only be a good thing. Researching the right magazine for our work, local and lesbian to begin with, keeping an eye on the nationals and bigger competitions. Thinking about prose.

Maybe some parenting and housework should be fitted in their somewhere....he has giggled and sang in his sleep every night for a week now he can't be that traumatised by his indulging in angsty but optimistic poems and extreme physical discomfort.

'War poem' draft 1

Still feeling too much like I've just had a wisdom tooth ripped out my head to sleep well but have it seems thanks to the pain and the fear it creates I have completed what will be, after I have gone over it again the first draft of a poem called 'War poem' by Daffodil. I am quite chuffed. It's over the line limit at the moment but it has to be or it will be well under by the time I've cut it down and there is probably too much in it, but it is about me, where I come from, where I'd like to go blah, blah blah a unique and if I may say so strong and beautiful voice.
spiritualism, non western perception, resisting oppression, vulnerability, tough as fuckness..

The hills are alive..

April 29, 2010

not ready to write war poem yet

'Daffodil' instead, challenging Scott by existing, by having a voice. Not attempting to engage her in her own language. What to put in it though? Going Native might fit I guess I just have to stop pissing about and do it! I am starting with 'I am born' tutor called remarkable. I will probably not be able to link it all properly but that's cool. If am going to use it for that competition it will be part over a larger sequence. That are about nothing else except me, me, me..

April 28, 2010

I made my tutor laugh out loud

police and cauld tattie got 88%, not bad I agreed with most of the comments, there wasn't enough of an explanation as to where the expression 'cauld tattie' came from.
Maybe should have waited for feedback before entering competition but there will be more...

The five pages for another comp has been on my mind, I was thinking focusing it own Daffodil rites, and having them as a very short story of my life, starting with War poem and the quote from Scott. Who the hell is she to judge what lives 'could' have been lived. But it's very complicated trying to figure out how it could all work, I don't want it to be two fragmentary I want it to make sense. To challenge the idea that ritual abuse couldn't happen like survivors describe it because no one could survive that.

Looking at the assessment calculator the grade 2 is pretty much in the bag but the first is maybe just out of reach, worth working for though. The next one is the final before the one that isn't just marked by my tutor. I will work more on the commentary I already have a clear idea of the main things I have gotten out of the course. I need to do the final as prose though, which is scary. A nightmare to pin down, but it will be about me developing as a writer, healing, moving on, maybe call it Dukit Storm if I can find a definition for it.

My face hurts..

April 27, 2010

If they get married.

I will be okay, I will not open a wrist or become a junkie. My son will not be taken away from me because I have stopped giving him food and am having sex with truckers for vodka. I will not collapse in state of total and non-reversal mental breakdown. I might smoke a little more, eat a little less well and not sing too often. Until I remember something pretty that did not come from him. I will probably lie in bed a little stiller, a little longer another heterosexual celebrity couple. There is no need for the cynicism, what we had is too precious to undermine with hate. Let the love be, were are all human. And if losing him is what is takes for me to realise this then that is positive. But I'd like my promise back, scribbled but accurate and sane sometime around the mid 90's.

I will find a women who makes every cell in my body glow, find a therapist who heals the shattered mirror with dynamic theory and careful deliberate practice. He will parent and I will parent and not pretend or ignore his heat that travels across continents faster than it spreads round the room. I will not shut out the voice that narrates every quaint girlishness or psychopathic tendency with equal tenderness and protection.

I made a promise to the earth, the trees, the whales, the fleas and everything else that knows but never classifies that I'd leave it up to them. That as soon as my survival did not depend on it I would stop fighting and have faith and patience. I'd sown enough seeds across enough fields in all conditions something would take hold and I would have be ready. Anyway goodnight you useless prick, I will see you tonight.

smiley face sticker

I have been to the dentist and had a tooth removed. She was lovely, the sort of dentists that reminds you to breath deep. Two injections, only one of them hurt a wee bit, completely numb, wisdom truth removed. So glad it was the very back, nothing like the words 'root canal not an option' to make a morning seems brighter. Maybe there wasn't so much need for all that painkillers. Glad I did though. Got loads of good ideas yesterday and last night but know I can't smoke for 24 hours...

..oh fuck..
nicotine chewing gum and yoghurt I'll be fine..

Johnny Deep is a poof..

April 26, 2010

I was tortured by my dentists as a child.

I remember being forced to clench my teeth so hard together I blacked out. He killed a nerve in my tooth, gave me unnecessary procedures, made everything as painful as possible. Shrinks have suggested I try for compensation there is or was evidence. I remember telling another dentist about it all and him being really shocked, the hygienist cried.

My parents or especially my mother always got that white blank look on her face when compensation was mentioned. Like it wasn't worth the bother, we were skint always skint. But right now see is down stairs, cleaning and keeping and eye on my toddler while I'm up here typing and taking painkillers. I guess no body is completely imperfect.

Dentist appointment made for tomorrow. Give's me a day to prepare. I think he will probably just take it out. I am normally such a bleeder, think I will be finding some reserves I didn't know I had..

April 25, 2010

I have tooth ache there for I am.

Funny the things that wake up parts of you that have been sleeping, dormant presumed extinct. The pain keeps reminding me of a slap, along the edge of the jaw the softness next to it. The same sickening in the stomach. I thought until that moment that I basically behaved like an injured animal all the time. Then I did that and I realised how well I was doing. The exact moment that I stopped doing so well..

I am committed to the love poem, the tooth ache I can live with.

Sunny hazy morning..

Feeling not too bad at all, considering the toothache. Wee man ate his breakfast with his mum. Half a tantrum followed me "ok" when I refused too put the telly on. He was signing and laughing in his sleep last night, he is brill.

Today I will leave the poems I think, to look at the war poem tomorrow, its hardly a joy to work on and leaves me feeling pretty trained and vulnerable sometimes. But it's empowering too, beautiful even. My words, my memories, my interpretations it's no longer a complete chore being me.

I have in last few days been considering writing a love poem, for my wife who lives with someone else. But that's fair enough really as in the past I tended to forget all about our serious and long term relationship. My priority has often been staying alive, with as little bullying, torture and slavery as possible. It's kind of difficult to rebuild your relationship with someone who can't remember your name and has no interest in you beyond your capacity for violence or your connections that can make things happen (or not happen). Its been rather lovely remembering, but pretty lonely too. Some many apparent opportunities just seemed ridiculous, things like that don't happen to me and not just because they too good or too public but because I know too much about what goes on behind the scenes and couldn't as a sane, rational, compassionate and terrified person consent to having to do with in the long term.

But this feels different, possible, real...

April 24, 2010

First Competition

Posted of my first poems, there are good poems but not finished so I've got too much hope. Maybe I should of stuck with them a bit longer but I found an advert for a national that is free to enter. 5 pages, excluding Police and River, a month or so before the finish late with electronic submission. Works for me, especially now that War poem as eventually taken on some life.

I dreamt of foxes last night, at least I think they were foxes some of them were a different colour. A rare sight to me but commonplace to others, skulking around on a street.

April 23, 2010


There is no doubt about the healing benefits of space, time and warmth.

My war poem has started to take a shape, which has made me feel a bit queasy. My dad is not going to work today and has taken it upon himself to indulge a very rare inclination to clean stuff.
Mostly outside my bedroom door where the stair gates clangs like fuck when its battered repeatedly off the wall. Good for him to show a bit of house pride, I might empty my ashtray in his honour.

Are they 70% plus? They must be the last ones got 89% and rereading them they certainly weren't as well drafted or worked out. Maybe his expectations will be a lot higher though. I'm sure he won't keep me waiting long..

I'm so proud of my little big daffodil, yellow and proud. Stretching out as far as it can, even in a blizzard because it knows every spring is the only spring. With my insides/out.

April 22, 2010

Daffodil's wife


I don't think I've dreamed his face in years
but his voice is the first and last thing I hear.
My son seems to know I'm battering words,
welding, snapping, twisting
until the lines between
our brains and our eyes
Are clear, open and busy.

I love supernanny, superbikes with big fat engines
I could never get my leg over

I love baggy white shirts, skinny boy shaped girls
with souls as old and as hard as mountain tops

Men who swing there arms when they walk
even when they are sedated, wounded and bleeding
buggies with three wheels and big beautiful places to push them.

April 21, 2010

Snow, hail, wind, sunshine, period..

The sky kept falling again yesterday and it was bloody cold. The playgroup didn't happen but the poems, the healing and the commentary are going well. Looks like this may be one of those days when I stay encased in a giant fluffy and slightly stinky red dressing gown, drink too many cups of tea and leave the wee man with the telly. The period pains are strange, I knew they would be. Last time was when I came out to myself, the ache moved and took my mind with it. It was clear, so beautiful and so me I was gay, so sensual. Now I don't feel I should prohibiting any one from loving me on any other than the grounds than me not wanting them to. Gender, its simple once you figure out that it comes from the individual not from society. Two or three sizes do not fit all.

Carol Ann Duffy has helped heaps with the assignment, helped me find the safety net. I can write, talk be part of other peoples lives. I'm not so distasteful that I should never type a word for eyes other than my own and ideas are linking together. The war memorial, the snow in a grey village, the volcano. Not sure I can fly again, trust no one..

Thinking a lot about the work in refuge and if will be any help with the compensation claim. I met some very strong women, excellent public servants who cared deeply about their own and other peoples communities. As well as understanding how complicated and difficult to understand the relationship between the two is come to terms with or predict. Of course there was bitches too, but I'm always more or less prepared for them. The good ones though, women who save the world every day of there lives but removing the barriers between people and healing.

I am an artist..

April 20, 2010

Tomorrow's Daffodil

At last..

The words dance across the page, from where there born to where there needed.
Another package from Amazon, brown paper ripped. My mother asks 'what's that.' I mutter 'can't remember...keeping it for later... Gay theory..'

When she's in her bed and I'm alone I rip it open. Feeling creeped out at the address, written in office girl handwriting that could almost be my own.

Their love, in a shinning and awkward way. I always understood their was no double meaning to the word 'gay', it means free, happy and the way this to others is a very queer way to be. It was a process of trial and error, trying to interpret the constant avalanche of truth and orders from every cell in your own and everyone else body's. Screaming from the sap in the trees, singing from the unborn. But our journey's are our own and to take someone down a road that isn't the one they chose is the biggest betrayal.


April 18, 2010


fags = 1234
glasses of wine = 56

Since I came out some of my mail friends have been getting flirty, maybe they are responding to a new found comfortableness with sexiness in me. Or maybe it's just the age old horn men get far lesbianism, otherism.

They hangover is varying of, don't have that same horrible listless, heart break I usually get after family parties. They didn't drive me completely mental, when the talk late on turned to how lucky we've been I wasn't even tempted to disagree remember all that screaming? They don't count the kids lost through crime and rituals. It's there way, not mine.

Don't think I can finish Going Native in the next week, use poems. There as much less work because they feel like more fun to write, less pressure to join up a sentence with the one before. Still no cannabinoid assistance but should me soon maybe even today..

April 16, 2010

GP's today

She smiled at me a lot, I suspect she's similarly inclined, ready starting to need the counselling again. I know though all the talking with no or few courses of action can make things feel worse. I find myself fantasising one last job, then I could let it all go. No help, public transport, no evidence like I used to, god I hope I can write about it one day and maybe not call it fiction.

I might vote this time, probably lib dem like I did last time the thought that British politics might be moving beyond the two party system is almost exciting, or at least interesting. The curropted twisted civil servants will still be the bloody some though. The 'security' services will still be the same. Someone tried to tell me that state use of ritual abuse had stopped before I was born, she just looked stupid, I asked her to consider her sources, and her sources sources. Like there can ever be truth. Maybe as much of it came from the states as London and Edinburgh, it's hard to believe it. Seems so much easier to believe that the ancient halls of Westminster and it's masons could continue Nazi science than shiny brave new America. Naive, of course. There's that cultural of everyone having shrinks over there, to me the world feels divided between people who understand good psychotherapy and people who don't. Harry said it wasn't a bad idea to wont to go there. Maybe if the compensation is reasonable that is what I'll do. New York, new york, but it's bloody cold apparently the winds blows straight through you, no place for the old. But LA, hell-A it's got Hollywood the underage vicious whore of every culture limiting, individuality crushing, love destroying secret society and organised crime network that ever lived. It's not all bad, good things happen too and sometimes with it costing the world.

Don't think there will be much work on the assignment tonight, walking home I thought about totally change tac but now I'm not so sure. Spliffage hopefully soon, may help..

April 15, 2010

Why so sleepy?

If the writing doesn't start in the morning it doesn't start. Today it's all about Kiera, reading Duffy has cracked open those parts of me I gave to you to protect, come home darling. Having any sort of relationship isn't all that possible when I'm disassociating, personality split in a hundred component parts none of them a real person. But I am, I don't have to control them any more, get them to fight the battles I can't. I am waking up to them, they are giving back what they took. The memories they bring with them will not be easy but I hate turning a blind eye, I can't get in touch with or understand positive truths until I understand the context better. It's exciting, feeling parts of my brain open up, shiny a light on the rottenness I had to internalise to survive. It is very good to be alive, to have a present and a future.. I love you..
Proper sleep last night, no nightmares or strange uncomfortable dreams about places and people I haven't seen in years. Still couldn't get out of bed though, not until the little one starts shouting 'MUM'..

Still waiting to hear from the housing, it's time I started leading my own life, heading my own small but lovely family. So exciting, having my own washing machine, my own kitchen, my own livingroom, buses, gay people, people! I'm a simple thing really..

April 14, 2010

Thank fuck my tutor gave me an extension.

I'm not gettin very far with the life writing assignment. It could be lovely, a magical intertwining of a stunning and enlightening physical setting with traumatic memories with melds seamlessly together to a tale of hope in adversity, a celebration of the diversity of life and the miraculous capabilities too heal.

At the moment it's a jumbled mess, my notes are all over the place and I can't focus for any longer than the time it takes to smoke a cigarette. It's been one of those awkward days, head full of pain, anger and bitterness, even the birdsong is irritating.

So glad I found Lynn's page though, to be back in awe at the power of words to make the uncomprehensible comprehensible. Almost anything can be written down in black and white, burning of a pea soup smog into a gently evaporating low lying mist.

I was thinking about the compensation claim last night, as well the mess of my relationships at school (how could she pick her over me, not so far for her to tramp to in the middle of the night I guess). There is people who will support my claim, if they are talked to. I can't see how I could get the maximum at the moment but even if I did it still nothing compared to what I've lost, what it has cost me and will continue to take. Although things are infinity better...