In the distance, a voice, with no choice at all,
(p)reserves only humanity, with no choice at all.
(H)ear the distant thunders! Hear the distant sighs!
There is no gard living just the living ostracized!
Beneathe our footsteps hear our thunders
and fear not ur living age
cos the thunder you hear ripplin’
is just our thyme and s’age;
and then again ‘she’ will denounce, as any living mother might,
to say that is no way to be and there’s no God-Given rite!
Effy the Elephant slacked in her bunk and said ‘I’m fucked off with your shirkin! I’m staying right here, I want breakfast in bed and with lunch I’d like burger with gherkin!”
I said “Eff off, do I look like your slave” and went about with my everyday bees-knees: the laundry, the dishes and sweeping the floors, then a break with a cuppa and biccies.
Effy the Elephant flounced down the stairs and huffed ‘So you’d leave me to starve then? And whats all this, why you sat on your arse? And I really do wish you’d stop laughing!”
But I couldn’t help myself, because her tutu was caught in the back of her knickers, revealing her flabby cheeks and waste high polka dot briefs. I know I’ve spoilt the rhyme in my writing and wondering if it’s enduced enjambment, or if I even understand the term ‘enjambment’.
I’m a bit too exhausted after sleeping and waking to continue with this daily taley A to Z antedote, but maybe now I’m eased up with my effin’ E I can get on and draft F,G,H,I,J for the rest of the weak ELSEWHERES… still not linkin’ up, you can get off your arse and check out my gravatar for my other blogs, but none of us has eternal time for exploring, so I don’t expect you will or should 😀
Oh! and I’ve got a writing 101 prompt to do here too… 20minute free-writing excercise to do (gawd-help-me-for-being-so-daft!) AND must post my stream of consciousness delirium, whatever that turns out to be. But I’m up to date with my A to Z and I’d be exhausted anyway, even without. Having cheated with an Eff for an easy lay-back page, I’ll maybe be back tomorrow with a Fuh! kind of antidote for A to Z-ing alpha beta daily taley style… or catching up later in the week, however it turns out…
Bitten the Bullet
and some BIRD calls this art …
(I can’t remember her ‘working title’ and I’ve not added her / our copyright so I might be in for a jackass kick to the BACKSIDE and not in my own BACKYARD or the dog will have bird for breakfast… I’m about to have mine, cornflakes, then I’ve got to get on with my C’s for tomorrow… (that was at time of drafting, missed hitting publish, too drained to free-write C or D along way, so publishing this now for a C and D Sunday… as there not only words but also C and D words in this tale.
She (C) says, one of her personal friends achieved his Foundation Diploma by making paintings of real dead chickens – headless chickens or those with their necks wrung. He progressed to becoming a fully-qualified art graduate with WORK like standing a ladder against a gallery wall and placing a real dead fly on a gallery-wall-shelf. We’re sure there was more to it than that, of course.
She, being an artistic friend of mine, embracing relective practice in fine form, BELIEVES her original artist friend might even agree that her photo is art. BOTH or neither of them would BE BOTHERED if no-one in the world agreed with them. So is that just artists BEEFING the other up? He want on to fully-qualified flaneuring and flouncing about floating his boat in fine style and she want on to make art of all sorts and reflected on his fly by placing a real dead bee on an abstract paper flower for a 2012 Jubilee piece in a Jubilee themed art exhibition.
STILL, it does make my blood boil that there are BUFFOONS who shoot at BIRDS and this one clearly got the bullet and then had it’s neck wrung by a compassionate BY-PASSer who left it in the road. BEing as she is, BONKERS, Colette made a special trip back to the site sometime later and I’m not putting that picture up whatever she calls it. Art or not, a fully formed BULLETed BIRD in the middle of the road is one thing, but blogging one after traffic???
Some people wouldn’t know what to make of any of it, I’m sure and probably say, ‘how IS IT art?’, or, that it’s rubbish. This dead bird could have done with a BLACK BAG and BINning but he/she was BIODEGRADEABLE and the final photo shows there was nothing much left for a burial after BURNT rubber.
So, that’s life, or it was… BYE for now… C’ya witha cheerier post for tomorrow, mayBE…
s o F a r S o S t u 