Experiences

What is real?

August 31, 2020 J. 0 Comments


Someone asked me today if everything I wrote was real.
I asked her to define real. 
She said, "True" and I answered with "Yes, I write my truth."

She wasn't satisfied so she added, "Outside your head"
And I replied with a question of my own, "Does that make it any less real?"
Getting exasperated she said "Well do you see everything you write?"
Me, "Is that your definition of reality?"
Her, "Yes"

So I quoted Sam Sparro and meant it!!! I wasn't being difficult, this is my truth:
"If vision is the only validation, then most of my life isn't real."

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Story

Oh billy!: From the ram's view point

August 30, 2020 J. 0 Comments

We aren't just any old animal farm with pigs and hens and goat. We are THE animal farm. 

Old Roger has said that for as long as there are humans who eat meat, the farm would always be in business. The highlight of the farm depends on what season it is. During Christmas and Thankgiving -turkey and pigs, during the Eid celebrations chicken and ram. The farmer caters to all sorts. 

Now we who are grown and fattened for the season love it. We are fed well, not used for manual labour on the farm and groomed too. This we know is a requirement by the people who buy us as per their religious rules. So we are treated very well. 
Then we see the world. From our little farm out in the hicksville we are transported to all parts of the country. From busy market places to  makeshift trading posts - we are sold or battered to the family that will take us home. 
But we are not all so lucky. Every once in a while, a few of us don't get sold or battered and will have to be returned to the farm. For us, there is no greater tragedy than being a "Reject". According to the whispers, Old Roger was a reject from last year. He has rope injuries on his hind legs and wobbles when we walks. He always has his head down and only really looks alive when he is telling of the tales of his journey around the county. But the inevitable usually happens. One of the young pups in their innocence asks: "It sounds so wonderful... Why did you ever return?” And then old roger returns to his default deadpan self. Our mothers would tell us to be good when we were little or end up a reject. That, for us, was the boogeyman under the bed. 

The big day came. A week to the Eid festival, we were all shipped to our trade posts. I was taken to a market in a place called Kaduna. The road had been a wonder to behold. All those lands and open spaces- with no fences or barriers. When we went into the bigger towns and cities making drop-offs, i smelt the strangest smells and saw the most colourful of places. We all looked out the gaps on the trailer and marvelled at the things we saw and heard. 

Eventually I was dropped off myself. But life wasn't as easy as we had thought. The citizens from our farm were kept in paddocks next to citizens from other farms and there was a lot of rivalry and competition as our human owners tried to woo the customers by offering the best prices and claiming that their animals had the best look. It wasn't looking good for our farm because up until a day to the Eid festival, only 9 of us had been sold. We were all starting to worry and young Albert was downright mopey because his chances were even slimmer being as small of stature as he was. But remarkably, he was the next of us to be sold. I overheard the humans say that the economy has been terrible and the currency of the nation had been greatly devalued therefore most customers couldn't afford the high prices of goods anymore. This didn't bode well for us. 

On the morning of the Eid festival I saw a little human girl looking through the paddock holes at us - as we lay sad and dejected. The farmer had said the night before that we would have to all go back to the farm. We were all to be rejects. But the little girl.. she looked what the humans would call “cute”. When our eyes locked she smiled at me so I let her try to touch my ears. Then she pulled away and ran off only to return with an adult human male. She pointed to me and said "Daddy let's take this one." 
So they were last minute buyers then? But the way the older man looked me over, I knew he wouldn't want me so I didn't even bother getting up to preen for his attention. But the little girl was relentless. She stamped down her foot and declared that they would take me or no other. The farmer, seeing a possible sale, came over and started negotiating prices with the human man. The farmer was a professional haggler and finally a price was agreed upon. It was much higher than the price the farmer had hoped to get for any one of us this late in the day. I know because I had heard him and this foreman talking before. The farmer would have accepted up to half the price the human man paid. Maybe now he will finally be able to afford to send his youngest daughter to school. This has always been a bone of contention between the farmer and his wife, who has always insisted that their daughter be sent to school even with the farmer arguing that he couldn't afford the extra expense. My mother used to say that it was unnatural for me to listen to the humans talk but they have always fascinated me. Especially their love and devotion to money. I still don't get it. I have seen money before, it doesn't even look all that delicious to me but I guess to each his own. 
The foreman collared me and I was loaded into the delivery pickup that would take me to the home of the humans who had bought me. As the little girl walked by me, she smiled her victory as if we were in cahoots. I had to appreciate her gusto. 

On this drive, I was filled, less with that crazy excitement I had felt when leaving the farm and more with a sense of calm contentment. It had been a close call for me, I am aware I could have been a reject. Except here I am being unloaded from the vehicle and being walked to the block where I will be nobly sacrificed. This is what I was meant to do. This is my pride and all my mother wanted for me. 
I see that the butcher is there already sharpening his knives and preparing his equipment. When I am brought to him, he looks me over with a critical eye and gives out instructions for how I should be held down. They needn’t bother, today I won't be going anywhere. The human man is given the knife to make the first cut and I hear him telling someone to take his daughter away. But my little defender would not have that so instead she ran forward to stand in my line of vision and stomped her foot again. Her father grudgingly subsides and she smiled that smile of hers again. 

The first feel of the knife at my neck hurt but after that I didn't feel anything anymore. The butcher took over and as the human man returned to his daughter's, I heard her say:
"Has billy gone to sleep?"

I didn't hear her father respond and I don't even know if he did. My last thought was that she had named me after a damn goat. 

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Experiences,

... and crazy too.

August 29, 2020 J. 0 Comments

Stop talking J.
I really need you to stop talking right this instant.
You’re explaining yourself
And it doesn’t matter 
And you know that
And you hate that 
But the words keep coming out still 
And you’re letting them.
You need to stop talking right now.
But you can’t.
But I can’t. 
I know it doesn’t matter 
Not to the person I’m talking to anyway
That person has already made up her mind as to what she wants to believe
So my words will never reach her
Even while I desperately want them to.

It doesn’t matter to her
But it matters to me
So the words flow from my heart to my tongue 
Even as my mind beseeches them both to stop.
It’s a slow-moving horror show
Continuously being pricked by the same thorn
Yet reaching out for the same rose regardless.
The german genius called it crazy 
This repetition for a new result 
And I wonder if i will now have to add that to my profile.
Psych ward breakout. Mad as a hatter.. and crazy too.

Yeah.. i think it works.

Juicy Raindrops! ♡

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Experiences

What she has become

August 28, 2020 J. 0 Comments

Cougar.

I don’t know about you but i quite like it. I mean it is an experience like every other right? And it really isn’t that big an age gap. I am 2 years older but I’ve never dated a younger man before so it’s an experience. Plus he’s so earnest. And he’s a poet who writes about the stars in my eyes and pulling the moon down just for me. Maybe I’ve been listening to too much Sleeping At Last but i find it all so terribly romantic. So i lay on the grass with my eyes closed and listen to him as he recites his sweet words with his gruff toe-curling voice. Just for today. Our tomorrow’s are numbered because I’ve realised that i am still very old school but we will have today and i will cherish it for what it is right now. Plus, I’ve read some of his heartbreak pieces and i really really really want him to write one about me. I’ve always written about my own heartache and the idea of being written about excites me. So i will break his heart and be immortalised in his words. 
J.

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Growth,

The words i am not saying

August 26, 2020 J. 0 Comments

So I’m trying again. Let us see how it goes this time.
—*****—
I seem to have perfected the art of pushing people out of my life. Yes i do it on purpose and yes it is for the best for them even if they don’t know it yet. But they will. They might never thank me for it but they will realise it someday. It is my burden that I have to realise it long before they do. It is my burden that I care for them enough to do it. Rado finally figured it out. Begrudgingly. And it took him only 3 years to do it. Sometimes i wonder if we can be friends now then. If maybe i could have my friend at least. I still post a Smurf for him every February for his birthday. Maybe next year I’ll post a baby smurf for him. After all, he is a father now. And it will be the last one. The post i mean. It will be the last smurf. Do I regret my decision? For any of them? No I don’t. And that’s why they hate me i think. Because they think that they are the only ones hurting. Because they think that my slamming the door is only to hurt them. Suddenly they forget that i know how to smile while i bleed. And that when I love, I don’t go back.

I am cursed with so much damn sense. It makes me older than my years and not as foolhardy as those my age ought to be. But somehow i am still able to love and empathise and that will never stop blowing me over. For how can i feel so damn much and still be so “sensible”?. It’s not a word i particularly like. Sensible. I would blame my parents for naming me for an old woman. I went and inherited more sense than i should have. More than my ration i would dare say. I will bitch about it here on nights like these because i cannot do it out loud. If they knew, if they caught even a slight whiff of my vulnerability, they would push. I don’t fear that i will break.. well that’s not my only fear anyway (we’re being honest right Doc?). I fear that in a knee-jerk attempt to prove myself, i would say something i would be unable to take back. I am my mother’s daughter you see and while i may sometimes judge her for it, that fiery blood runs right through my veins as well. Copious amounts of it. So i make good choices for them. To enable them to begin amazing chapters of their lives. It’s good. For them and for me. Like i said in the beginning i have become very skilled at it. For what is skill after all but a knife that’s been sharpened repeatedly and forged through fire? huh? So there. I am skilled at pushing people out of my life.

But. Where is the one that will fight me? Tooth and nail. The one who will hear those words that my sensible mouth will never say...

“Leave me alone” (stay)
“I don’t want to be with you” (please stay)
“This is for the best” (no its not. It’s just the easiest of the hard choices)
“I’ve made up my mind” (fight me!)
“I don’t want to hear this” (fight me!!)
“This will be our last conversation” (this is where you show me that it (we) matters enough to fight for!)
“This is goodbye” (fight me now!!)
“Have a good life” (never let me go)

J.

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Change

We made it here after all: 22/08/20

August 26, 2020 J. 0 Comments


I seem to have perfected the art of pushing people out of my life. Yes i do it on purpose and yes it is for the best for them even if they don’t know it yet. But they will. They might never thank me for it but they will realise it someday. It is my burden that I have to realise it long before they do. It is my burden that I care for them enough to do it. It is my burden that i am sitting here at 02:34am unable to sleep..and suddenly i remembered the blog which i had abandoned for 3 years.

It is my burden that though i have these words burning in me right now; clawing to get out into the big bad world. I can’t remember my password and blogger has of course chosen this moment to be strict and therefore put my account on hold for 3-5 working days while they figure out whether or not i was trying to hack into my own account. It is my burden i have to type this all out on my notes app and it may probably never make it to the blog in the end. It is my burden that those words are still clawing at my chest but i can’t let them out now because i am bitching about blogger. It is my burden that the words will not come out tonight after all and i will read my novel until the cock crows and i finally crash into a dreamless exhaustive slumber... like always.

Welcome back to the mad house.

J.

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