Archive for March, 2005

Pooh and an Inebriated Tigger

March 31, 2005

Pooh and an Inebriated Tigger
Originally uploaded by rielouise.

According to one of those oh so wise people at Chavscum the mere possession of these items makes me a so called chav (the insult du-jour). Oh well, suck on this! I rarely take insults on the net seriously, particularly those from the barely literate.

March 31, 2005

The Violence of Parting

A shudder, sudden
A vehement, violent, viper’s sting
I was nothing to you
And yet, I thought I was everything

You fragmented before my eyes,
Transformed into everything I dispise
Hatred emanated from your face
Telling me to begone from this place
Get out of my house, you cried

Sudden, searing, a lightning strike
I was a mere child
Just like your little girl
And yet you tore me in pieces
Emotional limb from emotional limb
Frail, fragile enough already

You recocognised my condition
Without realizing it – madness
People are afraid of it
I realize this as I stumble
Half-unreal, across flat grasslands
And through crowded streets

I tense my body for death
My body tenses for death
Contemptuously, it passes me by
Those who don’t want to – die
Those who do – don’t

It still burns
It still turns
Revolved inside
Everytime my eyes
Fall upon you.


March 31, 2005

I slept deeply, drowning. Then I awoke from a nightmare in which Bella and I were caught up in some trees as we attempted to escape the flat. Their branches held us tightly to their trunks. I shouted and Bella yowled but nobody seemed to hear us. It was as though we were on the other side of a sound-proof glass wall or that we had somehow slipped into another dimension. The sun, shining though the widow, woke me up. I was shaking. So now the trees are out to get us.

A bunch of people came traipsing though my flat. A smug council woman in a pillar box suit who clutched her clipboard so tightly that it was as though she was afraid she might drop it and would be instantly devoid of everything that made her life worth living. She asked curt, brief questions. A dark look crossed her face when I told her I’d reported LMP on Friday and then on Saturday, pointing out that she had been under psychiatric care.

The care taker came booming in and then a whole bunch of council workmen. It’s bank holiday but the world at the council clearly hadn’t stopped working as the gentleman on the other end of the line had implied.

The caretaker took over the place with his booming voice and the other two just chatted amongst themselves about fishing. I was, in fact, feeling like a fifth wheel and the Doug showed up and united everyone. He is excellent at that.

Later, I went back to Doug’s. I hadn’t eaten all day so Doug made me some toast. Unfortunately, before I had time to tuck in, Jill turned up with a rather gormless-looking, student-boy in tow. (Athough later he told us he was 33 and was deceptively young). He made an unforgiveable faux pas. Jill was giving me a deep purple mid length skirt which, to be honest, I didn’t like. I prefer very long, or above the knee (with opaque tights, of course, I like to preserve my mystery). Then Student-Boy said ‘But that’s a lovely skirt. Is it too large for you?’

I am not larger than she is. Most of her weight rests upon her bouncy breasts. I am a little more evenly built.

I said, ‘Gosh, Jill, you’re a size 8. I never managed that even when I was anorexic. These hips you see here are bone and they can only be removed with a chisel. Anyone care to volunteer?’

Weak laughter. Then Student-Boy tried to redeem himself by telling me that most fashion designers are gay and that is why they prefer their models to look like boys.

Sorry, babe, you missed your chance.

They were on their way to the Live and Let Live for Sunday lunch. They invited me along. Not after that remark. I bear a grudge.

Later, Doug and I went to out usual Kami’s – a Greek/Italian restaurant run by an Iranian (only in Cambridge). We had Vegetable Moussaka. Heavenly but not heavy as those dishes often are. Doug recounted the time he was ‘laid out with the dead’. He was fighting in the toe of Italy when he contracted infectious hepatitis (nothing to do with the sexually transmitted kind). He was airlifted to Sicily and then somehow put aside with those who had died. An American airman happened to be passing, saw Doug’s eyes flicker and alerted the authorities . Doug was transferred to a military ward in which other men placed bets on whether he would wake up or not, ‘You lucky bugger,’ one of his comrades remarked ‘The last seven men who’ve been in that bed have all died’. Doug was appalled but it was not long before he himself was joining the fun and games.

A wonderful evening all round.


March 30, 2005

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New splash page. Appropriate, no?

A Heavy Voice Hangs In Her Head

March 30, 2005

Preoccupied With Death

Preoccupied with death
Especially her own
Simple and repetitive
The bottle of pills
On her bedside table
Beckons her

A heavy voice hangs in her head
Slit your pretty white throat, it said

Food holds no answers
Starvation holds no answers
Purging, then running, hiding
The monster that lives inside
She rips her skin open and
Her sluttish coloured blood seeps out

A heavy voice hangs in her head
Slit your pretty white throat, it said

The sun comes out
On Christmas day
She watches it though
The sealed window
The grimy glass
Of her hospital room

A heavy voice hangs in her head
Slit your pretty white throat, it said


March 30, 2005

I left Doug’s house at 7 am on a Sunday morning. Doug insisted upon accompanying me back to my flat. We bundled Bella into her basket and made our way across the green. I dreaded what I might find. As soon as we pulled open the front door we were almost overwhelmed by the stench of smoke. The water damage was mainly confined to the bedroom. A red-headed fire woman had spread tarpaulin over my bed. There were puddles of brown water on the clear plastic. Doug insisted upon helping me soak the water up with towels. Unfortunately, some of my stuff was damaged. I will contact my insurance company on Tuesday because, after all, we all know the world stops turning on a bank holiday weekend. Happy bloody Easter indeed. Bella, meanwhile, yowled for food. (Even though she had helped herself to her doggie host – Freddi’s food.)

After Doug had left exhaustion overcame me. I shoved the tarpaulin aside and fell asleep immediately – with the comforting presence of Bella by my side.


March 29, 2005

Originally uploaded by Bratcat1000.

Doug, without whom I would have spent Saturday night on a bench!

Bleak, but Strangely Appropriate

March 29, 2005

Blackened Rose

A rose, once red, now blackened, charred,
Only half alive, too delicate to touch
Still embedded in the earth

Pied Piper Bombers target beauty
They fall, they call, they turn, they burn
They are unworthy of my concern

I wonder what the flowers felt
As the bombardment began
My arms spread out

A plane swoops down
The pilot eyes me – a withering look
Why waste your worries on insentient beings?

If I pick them I will kill them
If I leave them I will kill them
So I pluck that solitary rose

And look up at the sky, it is blue
It is bright, it is clear and for now
The bombardment has ceased

I look down at the blackened flower
In my hand and then make a fist
It is mine to kill and so I crush it.

Mad Neighbours – Part II

March 29, 2005

Haven’t updated in a couple of days and for once I have a wonderful excuse.

As I was writing Saturday night’s post the woman upstairs (who from now on will be known as Little Miss Pyromaniac) was unleashing chaos. There I was, typing away, listening to REM through ear-phones, in my own little world, industrial head-phones clamped over my ears (to block out my wonderful neighbour’s music) when I smelt something burning. I leapt off the bed and ran to the door. On the landing I was confronted by what I thought was an apparition – a fireman standing before me. Then I looked up and saw flames billowing out of the bedroom window of my upstairs neighbour.

My first reaction was fury. ‘She’s done it again. I told them this would happen*’

‘Yes, well we can deal with this later. Now, is there anyone in there with you?’

‘My cat,’ I said. And then, ‘Oh my God, I think she’s got children up there. And her brother…’

‘Yes, we know. We’re dealing with it.’

I went back into my flat, scooped Bella up and stuffed her into her basket, gathered a few essential belongings (diary, kittyputer, folder of poems.). ‘Aren’t you going to put some shoes on?’ asked the fireman. I shook my head. Little did he know he was talking to a woman who, as a child, had deliberately walked barefoot in the snow, to test her own endurance. No, my feet are tough. I am not afraid of cold ground but what I am is a pyrophobe (one of the few perfectly reasonable phobias, in my oh so humble opinion.)

As we reached the bottom of the staircase the bedroom window exploded outwards and shards of glass and sparks tumbled to the ground. I let out an involuntary scream and the fireman told me not to worry. I felt like saying, ‘It’s all right for you with your fire-proof clothing. I am not similarly protected.’ And I dread to think how poor Bella must have been feeling, trapped in her basket with no idea of what was happening.

And the thought running through my head was, No one could possibly have lived through that.

The neighbours were all out, staring upwards. I think they’d been evacuated. The fireman told me to go and sit on the bench opposite but I didn’t. I sought sanctuary where I always seek it. At Doug’s.

I hovered around his door for a while to make sure he was still up. I think he was in bed reading. I called out and knocked the door lightly. As soon as he appeared I said, ‘She’s done it again.’

Doug was bewildered, ‘Who? Who’s done what again?’

He invited me in. I led him to the window and showed him the three fire engines with their flashing blue lights. He invited me to sit down and did what people always seem to do in these situations – he made me a cup of tea. I sank down into one of his armchairs, my head in my hands. ‘She’s destroyed it all, Doug. Herself, everything. Why? Why would she do such a thing?’

Then there was a knock at the door. It was Jill, a representative of the residents’ committee, a bubbly, bouncy (in more ways than one) young woman who arrived in these flats in very much the same circumstances as me – i.e: as a result of mental health problems. She lightened the atmosphere. Doug popped out every now and then to check upon progress. The woman was rescued by firefighters. Her children, apparently, are elsewhere.

After Jill had gone Doug and I went into my flat to assess the damage. Most of it was water damage – confined to the bedroom. That will be covered by insurance.

I spent the night on Doug’s sofa. Bella tried to take over the place. Freddi, curious at the presence of another animal in the house, approached Bella who shrieked at her and scratched the poor dog’s nose. Naturally, I scolded Bella for abusing Freddi’s hospitality.

I was tense and anxious and could not sleep.

I left at 7 am, Sunday morning.

(To be Continued…)

Mad Neighbours

March 26, 2005

I awoke to the sound of rain falling…inside my flat. The people upstairs had let their bath overflow, again. They did this yesterday. I rang the council to complain (after having approached my Neighbours From Hell) but to no avail although I was told I would be compensated for any damage caused. They are now playing their music at such a volume that I’d be surprised if the citizens of Australia cannot hear them. I am competing with mine – Suede’s first self titled album – let’s see how they enjoy that!

It looks like I have yet another Friendly Neighbourhood Psychopathâ„¢ on my hands. Doug came over and told me that the woman upstairs (who frequently makes enough noise to wake the dead) had gone nuts a few weeks ago and flooded the launderette. She had been taken away in an ambulance – to the ward I am usually admitted to, I presume. lucky thing! Last year she fell asleep in her bedroom, leaving a candle burning. My ex-boyfriend burst in and rescued her. I was at my desktop in the sitting room, listening to music through my earphones and so I didn’t hear a thing. Apparently, as this woman was being led into the ambulance a guy leaned out of his window and yelled out to Doug, ‘It’s all kicking off round here, en’t it. Don’t need the telly with all this going on!’

Such sensitive neighbours!

I know I should feel sorry for her, I know I should empathise. But I don’t.

Not after the ten Valium I’ve had to take because of her today.

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