Virus Go Away

CORUNA VIRUS

I AM SICK OF THIS, WHY ARE YOU SO MEAN

SLITHERING THROUGH THE WORLD UNSEEN

KILLING SO MANY DAY AFTER DAY

NONE OF SAFE, NONE OF US SURE

IS TODAY THE DAY YOU COME KNOCKING ON MY DOOR

WILL I BE STRUCK DOWN, OR MY LOVED ONES

I CAN SEE THE FEAR IN SOME PEOPLE’S EYES, AS WE PASS EACH OTHER BY

I CAN READ THE QUESTIONS IN THEIR MIND, AM I GOING TO BE THE CAUSE OF THEIR DEMISE

I AM FRUSTRATED, NOT DEPRESSED, JUST WAITING LIKE SO MANY OTHERS FOR ALL THIS TO END

THE UNCERTAINTY, THAT FEAR, IS ALL A BIT TOO MUCH TO BEAR

WHERE CAN I FIND SOLACE, HOW CAN I ESCAPE

WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO TO GET MY MIND INTO A BETTER PLACE

ALCOHOL USED TO BE A ROUTE, BUT NOW THAT’S OFF THE AGENDA

DEPRESSES YOUR IMMUNE SYSTEM THE WORLD HEALTH ORGANISATION SAYS

THAT’S NOT WHAT YOU WANT TO BE HAPPENING THESE DAYs

I LOOK TO THE SKY AND ASK JESUS WHY

WILL YOU NOT TELL THE SCIENTISTS WHAT TO DO

SO THAT THEY’LL HAVE SOME CLUE

BUT YOU NEVER ANSWER JESUS, DO YOU

I NOW QUESTION THE RELIGION THAT I WAS INGRAINED WITH AS A CHILD

NOT WHAT ONE IS MENT TO DO

I ASK OF THE POPE AND OTHER RELIGIOUS PEOPLE WORLDWIDE, WHAT IS THE ANSWER

WHERE IS YOUR SAVIOUR NOW WHEN HE IS NEEDED. WILL HE NOT COME DOWN FROM UP ABOVE, AND SHOWER HIS CHILDREN WITH LOVE , AND THE KNOWLEDGE TO GET US THROUGH

ANOTHER LOCKDOWN IN PLACE, MORE BOARDROOM AND INACTIVITY

EMPTY STREETS, SILENT DAYS. NOTHING TO FILL OUR TIME

IS A LOCKDOWN NOTHING BUT DEFERRING THE INEVITABLE

FOR WHEN ITS LIFTED, IT WILL BE LIKE GOING BACK IN TIME

TO MORE STATISTICS WE KNOW WILL BE THERE, BUT WE’D RATHER NOT SEE

WITH TRUMP GONE, THERE GOES SOME FUN, WITH HIS MAD, PSYCHOTIC WAYS

AT LEAST HE WAS A DISTRACTION, FROM WHAT WE ALL FACE

PEOPLE’S PLANS ON HOLD. ALL THE WORLD AFFECTED

WHAT CAN WE DO, NO END IN SIGHT

WHO CAN WE BLAME. WHERE CAN WE POINT THE FINGER AND SAY SHAME

IT WAS YOU

IF YOU DIDN’T DO WHAT YOU DONE, NONE OF THIS WOULD HAVE HAPPENED

YET WHO AM I TO SIT IN JUDGEMENT AND CAST ASPERSIONS WIDE

DO I HAVE THE RIGHT, MAYBE NOT, BUT I DO HAVE MY VIEWS ON WHAT BROUGHT US TO HERE

BUT THAT WILL NOT GET US WHERE WE WANT TO BE. JUST LIKE IT WAS  BEFORE WHEN WE WERE FREE

FANCY A WALK, OUT YOU GO. NEED SHOPPING, GO EXPLORE. DYING FOR A BEER, COME ON IN HERE

NOT HOW IT IS NOW

ENFORCED ISOLATION AND UNEMPLOYMENT, UNLESS YOUR AN ESSENTIAL WORKER

CAN THERE BE ANY BENEFIT TO THIS. STAY HOME, DO NOTHING AND GET PAID THE GOVERNMENTS SAY

A BOON AND GOD SEND FOR THOSE LOOKING TO TAKE IT EASY AND OPT OUT OF NORMAL LIFE

PLENTY TIME TO SPEND WITH YOUR CHILDREN OR WIFE

BUILD AND NURTURE THOSES RELATIONSHIPS, PERHAPS YOU DID NOT HAVE TIME FOR, BEFORE

UNTIL BEING AROUND THESE OTHERS TOO MUCH, BECOMES NOTHING BUT A CHORE

THEN YOU WANT TO ESCAPE AND DASH OUT THE DOOR

YEARN FOR THAT FREEDOM TO GET AWAY, AND THEN RETURN MORE CALM AND CENTRED, ON ANOTHER DAY

THE LIFE OF RILEY, OTHERS WOULD SAY

YET AS IT CONTINUES DAY AFTER DAY, MAYBE NOT SO GREAT. 

OK FOR A DAY OR TWO, MUCH LONGER THAN THAT…….

THE FOOD SHOPPING NOW THE HIGHLIGHT OF THE WEEK

WHOEVER WOULD HAVE THOUGHT IT WOULD COME TO THIS

AT LEAST THERE ARE PEOPLE AROUND. SOME INTERACTION, SOME FUN

MAKES LIFE SEEM JUST A LITTLE NORMAL

GOTTA DASH NOW, THE SUPERMARKET AWAITS

THE EXCITEMENT BUILDS INSIDE MY MIND

 A CHANGE OF SCENE, FRESH AIR. FOR AN HOUR OR TWO CORONA VIRUS, I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOU.

Black Lives Matter 2016.

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Image By James Eades on Unsplash.com

Black Lives Matter……2016.

So Jesus Where are You Now ?

So is their actually a God, or whatever you believe in, if anything up there ? Looking after our welfare here on the planet. With this ongoing, very deadly, boring pandemic going on all around the world.

I would like to see religious leaders of whatever faith justify and explain that. How can a loving God, or whoever, if they are from what we’ve been told since forever, are all powerful, how can they allow such a disaster to unfold all over the world. Decimating populations, bringing untold sadness and heartache to millions.

I see very little in the media or online form the so called religious leaders, offering words of comfort, because there are very little words to explain this misery we are all suffering from. I now question the religion I was forced to go along with as a child, like the rest of the population in what used to be a very Catholic country, not so much now, and even less so with the senseless massacre of many millions of people around the world.

I don’t know what the answer is, but it certainly makes me question the actual existence of a higher power looking after us. A higher power, a guide we can rely on when times are tough, and they don’t come much tougher than this. So when one of the mainstays of one’s life can’t cut it anymore, even if it ever could, it does leave a person floundering in a sea of some insecurity, and unanswerable questions, and very doubtful of what happens to us all in the hereafter.

Maybe there is no Heaven, no Hell, no Paradise. Perhaps there is no judgement for the way you lived your life, when it’s all over. Were the commandants just a set of rules devised by actual human beings, a very long time ago, to keep society civilised, rather than the barbaric mess it was before that. Just maybe we’ve all being fooled all along. I don’t know…..

Alcohol Free

ALCOHOL FREE.

ALCOHOL FREE, IS THIS REALLY FOR ME

CAN I STICK IT OUT. TRULY I HAVE MY DOUBTS.

ITS EARLY DAYS, BUT I’M COUNTING, WATCHING THE MINUTES AND HOURS, SLOWLY TICK BY

IT’LL GET BETTER THEY SAY, BUT I ACHE AND DREAM ABOUT A DRINK, MOST DAYS

IT’S A STRUGGLE I MUST ADMIT, AS I SIT AND CONTEMPLATE MY LIFE

IT’S BEEN A LONG SEVEN DAYS, SECOND ATTEMPT, FAILED LAST TIME AT DAY ELEVEN

WHEN AM I GOING TO GET THE YOUNG LOOKING SKIN AND CLEAR EYES

OR IS THAT A FALSE PROMISE, AND JUST YOUR LIES

THESE WEEKLY PHOTOS I’M TAKING BETTER SHOW MUCH PROGRESS IN MY AGE REVERSAL

OR PRETTY SOON, IMPATIENCE AND FRUSTRATION SHALL WIN OUT

THEN THEIR WILL BE NO MORE SITTING ON THE FENCE, ALCOHOL FREE, NOT FOR ME 

AT LEAST THAT PAIN I WAS GETTING AROUND THE LIVER IS GOING AWAY

I DON’T WAKE AT NIGHT WITH A RACING HEART, WONDERING IF I SHOULD VISIT THE HOSPITAL

I HAVE MANY EXCUSES TO DRINK. HOW ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE, AND THE WAY THE ARE

FRUSTRATION AT LIFE, CAREER NOT GOING YOUR WAY. LOVE A BARREN HORIZON

THROW IN A PANDEMIC. WHAT MORE OF A REASON DO YOU NEED

BUT A DRINKING SESSION IS ONLY A VERY TEMPORARY RELIEF, FOLLOWED BY DEPRESSION ABOUT WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN, AND ANXIETY FOR THE FUTURE UNSEEN, AND FEELING SO PHYSICALLY UNWELL

IT’S NOW AT LEAST THREE DAYS BEFORE I’M BACK ON MY FEET. A LOT TO DO WITH AGE, OF COURSE

WHEN I WAS YOUNGER I COULD BOUNCE BACK, BUT NOW NOT SO MUCH

FILL YOUR BODY WITH A REGISTERED POISON, AND CARCINOGENIC, YOU’VE ONLY YOURSELF TO BLAME

DON’T BE SURPRISED WHEN YOUR BODY SAYS HEY FOOL, WE’RE LEAVING ALL THIS ABUSE. GOODBYE TO YOU 

WHAT IS IT THAT ALCOHOL GIVES TO ME ? A CHANGE OF MY MENTAL STATE. A NUMBING OF MY FEELING STATE, AND AIN’T THAT REALLY GREAT

A TEMPORARY REPRIEVE OF ALL THAT CAUSE ME TO SEETH, WITH ANGER AND FRUSTRATION YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE

CALMS MY MIND FOR AN HOUR OR TWO, UNTIL LIKE SOME WILD HURRICANE, THESE FORCES ARE AGAIN UNLEASHED DOUBLED UP AND MORE CRUEL TOO

DON’T LIKE THE WAY I THINK. DON’T LIKE THE WAY I FEEL, WITH ALCOHOL ONBOARD

BUT DRINK IS PART OF THE CULTURE, IT’S WHAT A MAN MUST DO

ALCOHOL BRINGS PEOPLE TOGETHER, ENCOURAGES A SENSE OF COMMUNITY AND TOGETHERNESS IN A JOB, IN A TEAM. WE’RE ALL IN THIS ALTOGETHER, KNOW WHAT I MEAN, OR SO WE’RE LED TO BELIEVE

BY THE POWERFUL MARKETING DEPARTMENTS OF GLOBAL ALCOHOL CORPORATIONS WORLDWIDE

HAVE WE ALL BEING HOODWINKED, AND TAKEN FOR RIDE / FOOLS

A CELERATION, A SADNESS. TOO BUSY, MAYBE BORED, WHY HERE ARE SOME TOOLS YOU CAN USE

THEIRS BEER TO BRING GOOD CHEER. SPIRITS TO COMMISERATE A LOSS

WINE TO HELP YOU COPE, NOW THAT THESE CHILDREN ARE IN BED

NEED TO BE MORE SOCIAL, WHY NOT TRY A COCKTAIL OR TWO

YOU TOO CAN BE SOPHISTICATED AND CHARMING, AND HAVE LOVERS CHASING AFTER YOU

JUST LIKE WE SEE IN THE MOVIES AND THE ADVERTS TOO

WANT TO BE A TOUGH GUY, HAVE A DRINK OR TWO

I DON’T WANT TO BE LIKE THOSE DAM TEETOTALERS, SO CHRISTIAN AND GODLIKE 

HOW BORING CAN THAT BE, ADRIFT IN A SEA OF SOBRIETY

WHAT ABOUT YOUR WILD SPIRIT, AND A QUEST TO BE FREE

DO I WANT TO LIVE THAT BORING LIFE, ALL GOODY TWO SHOES, AND NEVER STEPPING OUT OF LINE

WHILE THAT MAY BE FINE FOR OTHERS, DON’T KNOW IF I WANT TO MAKE SUCH A LIFE MINE

THERE SEEMS MORE DOWNSIDES THAN UPSIDES DRINKING NOW

HEALTH WORRIES, DEPRESSION, ANXIETY. ACTIONS TAKEN AND LATER REGRETTED

PROMISES MADE TO MYSELF AND NEVER FOLLOWED THROUGH ON

HIDING FROM LIFE AND WHAT I TRULY FEEL. EMOTIONAL MATURITY STILL AT AGE 15

WHEN ALCOHOL FIRST GOT A HOLD OF ME

 A WAY TO ESCAPE A HOMELIFE THAT WAS TOO DIFFICULT TO SEE

MY WAY OF HIDING FROM WHAT WAS IN FRONT OF ME

WITH THAT IN THE PAST, DO I NEED TO CONTINUE DOWN THIS PATH

Quarantined

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Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Are you feeling distressed, maybe not right in the head, as you look at the world we now live in
A nightmare scene, that Hollywood scriptwriters could never have imagined
Even in their wildest dreams
Are you so bored out of your mind, or perhaps been more productive
How grateful are you to those medical staff, risking it all, does it make you feel small
How did all this come about. Who can we blame
Are you catching up on those books, you always said you’d read
Is your house now so clean, its any housewifes dream

How about those people, your stuck with inside
Who at the best of times, can get inside your mind, and drive you insane
Do you hate, Do you dream of the day, you’ll be far the hell away from them
Perhaps you are learning patience, tolerance, letting things go
But also at the same time, also dreaming of revenge
What kind of man are you
Brexit, Syria, foreign wars fade from view, as they leave the world stage
The world comes together to combat this outrage
Empty streets, quiet days, and silent nights
Millions sit at home and wait, for our governments to open up the gates again
We stare out from our windows, disbelieving, and aching for all this to come right
The whole world brought to a standstill, by an unseen enemy, that can make us all so ill

Have you now found Jesus, or some other such saviour
Are you on your bended knees, promising to lead a life so pure and clean
He’d have no option, but to allow through those pearly gates
If that’s where your heading to
Will you be different, when all this is over
Kinder, perhaps. More generous in your view, and a lot more grateful too
Determined to do those things, you were forever promising yourself to do
Will those wasteful relationships, just have to go
Do you feel trapped, and just don’t know what to do
Do you wonder will the end of this carry on, ever come true
Are you alone, Are you afraid, for yourself, and others
Will the media be brought to book, daily force feeding us statistics, we’d rather ignore
Do I really need to know, another poor soul, has succumbed to this illness
Thousands of miles from where I am. Do I need to hear such stories again, and again
My heart jumps, my nerves on edge, stress levels, bursting right out of my head
Where is it safe to lay my head, tonite
Is that surface wiped down, or did I touch it again
Shall I run to the washroom, I need all this to end

Will all this put your life in perspective, about what matters most
Are you a millionaire, who will promise to care more, and donate to the science community, if only we can get through this
Hey those in government, health, education cutbacks in favour of a foolish arms race
Don’t seem such a clever move now, not that they ever were
Will you pay nurses fairly, or will it all be lost on you

Benefits of all this, crime rate is down, world wide. Global co-operation abounds
Stout people are getting slim. Pollution, global warming, all on hold
Time to spend with loved ones, and our children too
Malaria, Ebola, Sars virus, and many more, we’ve seen it all before
As a human race, whatever it is that we face, we endeavour, we endure
We settle the score, and we overcome, as one
The human race, resilient to the core
So you have faith now, one day very soon now, one of these scientific geniuses, will relieve us of our worldwide gloom

Andrea.

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Photo by Nik Shuliahin on Unsplash

‘I think’, and he paused, cause this was difficult, and hard, ‘I think, he continued, that I may be a paedophile. ‘I have these very deep, dark and depraved thoughts, and feelings and I am afraid, afraid I may take action on them quiet soon’. With that he dropped his head, he couldn’t bear to look at her now. His physical body reflecting his inner shame and self hate. But their it was, he had said it now. It was out in the open, no way of taking it back.

She got up from her black leather chair, and moved closer to the window. Looking out from the first floor, she looked across to the green, where a few people were sitting and enjoying the warm sunshine, (she knew what he meant), It seems all so normal out there. ‘How do I deal with this’, she asked hersellf silently.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, while still looking down toward the ground. Reflected that the red carpet, like the rest of the decor in the room, seemed only to add to the darkness and despair, that were his constant companion these last few months. He so wished she would say something, anything to break the silence. Condemn him, praise him, comfort him, understand him. But there was nothing, just silence.

The words she had just heard, began to awaken memories, in Andrea, of a time and place, many years ago now, that she had long since put under lock and key in the deep in the recesses of her mind, never to see daylight again. Yet her (Andera’s) mind could not but help (went) drifted back to when she too was a child. To those warm and sunny holidays. A welcome break from school. How she really loved animals, horses in particular. But yet she did not wish to sully, nor allow her love of animals to be degraded and ruined by recalling memories and events she had no control over, now or then.

But she did not want to revisit that time,that place in her mind, as there was little to be gained from it. She had to an extent made peace with her past, tried forgiveness, and understanding. But being human, like us all,it was not at times easy to drop all desires for (she too wanted) revenge. To inflict hurt and distress on those who had stolen her childhood. Mental health professionals had been of some help, as had in earlier years a heavy reliance on alcohol and illicit drugs.

    A desire to help others deal with there own eventful past had drawn her into the Mental Health arena she derived some satisfaction from her work.

‘Could you give me some more detail Stephen’, she asked softly and gently. Trying to get him, this man to open up, some more.
‘Don’t play games with me Doctor’, he looked at her, his eyes narrow and mean. His voice sharp, loud and unfriendly. He always called people like her Doctor, even though she wasn’t a medical Doctor. It kept a bit of a barrier, a boundary between them, and that’s the way he wanted it.
‘Read between the lines’ Doctor, you’ve being doing this job long enough’, you know what I’m talking about’.

She was quite new to counselling, and was getting used to dealing with troubled people, with their depressions, relationship troubles, with their loneliness and isolation. But this……….did she have the life experience to know what to say. To say the right words. What can you say to someone like this, a human being like this whom she despised, for what he may have in his past. But she knew a day such as this day would come. She just about managed to maintain her professionalism.

‘What makes you think you may act out your depraved thoughts,and feelings. Be a paedophile ?’ She finally asked. Even the word, caused her stomach to churn, as she said it, unsure if she was about to throw up. She stared at him intently. Trying to hide how she despised him, and his like. Attempting to be compassionate and understanding. But his lack of remorse. His semi cavalier attitude in her office, did little to endear him to her. 

Stephen didn’t like her at all, but she was the only psychotherapist available when he was referred. He so wished he had being referred to a male psychotherapist, at least then ,one man would be more likely to understand another man, to a much greater extent. Rather than a stupid bitch of a woman.

   But she would have to do, as he knew he had to open up to someone, as his mind was in constant turmoil. Sleepless nights, followed by restless days. His reasoning was, it just had to be helpful to bring his deep, dark thoughts into the light, and out of the darkness. Perhaps maybe there was a way, these powerful thoughts, feelings would go away, and bring him some peace. But did he truly want his lustful desires to go away.

‘Because,’ Stephen spoke, slowly at first. Wanting to share his hidden innermost thoughts, with somebody, with any body. Intense Lust and desire. The overwhelming feeling to be physically close to the child. To enjoy their innocence and open acceptance of another human being. To share a child’s laughter and joy. And what’s the most intimate way to form such a connection, a spiritual, physical, mental and emotional connection with another human being, that is so precious. No man could ever pull apart. A union enshrined in love, tenderness, gentleness and compassion. A union of two humans, encapsulated / enshrined by the most intimate of acts. How could anybody who never experienced these thoughts, and feelings ever understand them.

    ‘I have such strong feelings in that direction’. Unwilling to even say the words. ‘You know what I’m talking about’. He paused,trying to put his jumbled, confused thoughts into coherent sentences. ‘I enjoy the company of young children so much, I love their innocence, their joy, their happiness, their unconditional love’.

‘But that doesn’t make you a paedophile, maybe your just an adult who is perhaps intimidated by other adults. I myself enjoy the company of children, and you find children’s company easier’,

Stephen listened intently to what was being said,

‘Do you ever want to be intimate with any children ?’ she asked.

‘God no’, he lied. The very idea sickened him, and horrified him, he maintained.

‘I would never, ever harm them’.

‘Have you ever being intimate with a child ? ever,’ she asked.

‘No’, Stephen replied.

Andrea was proud of herself, how she handling such a difficult counselling session, in a semi professional and detached manner. Asking the difficult uncomfortable questions that needed to be answered.

         ‘You see Stephen, these thoughts and feelings you have’, these feelings you have, may lead you into trouble, and may cause you to bring hurt and harm to children. Is that what you want ?’

  ‘No, I know these ideas in my mind are not right’. But he did not truly believe that. If only other people could understand his perspective, and his life experiences.

’But I don’t know how to get rid of them, how to make them go away. That’s why I’m afraid.’

‘Do you have many adult friends/acquaintances’?

‘Not a single one. I don’t like people as they grow older, and become adults. Because then they become cruel, and not nice to others. That’s why I prefer children. I wish there were only sweet inconnect happy children in the world, and no adults.’

‘Would you be willing to come to counselling on a long term basis ?’, Andrea asked

He went quiet, as he thought about that, as he didn’t particularly wish to see her again, perhaps another man.

‘Maybe, Don’t know’, he responded, without looking at her.

The sun began to shine its rays and (heat) through the window, bringing with it warmth and light. Somehow, the sunshine, as Andrea reflected to herself, seemed to make the future look a somewhat more bright and hopeful, as it always does.

————-

Andrea (Part 2). ?

Slowly he got dressed. Trying to delay the inevitable, like a child trying very much trying not to go to school.To leave the comfort and security of their home, and mainly of their mother. As he slowly made his way towards the train station, ignoring the warm sunshine. He thought about turning back and not going at all, for a brief moment, and just running away. But realising there was no real escape, as the consequences of not turning up, were none too pleasant to contemplate. He knew how he, an accused paedophile would be treated in prison, Wasn’t even sure if he would actually make it through a prison term safely.

Here he was accused, but not condemned man. But with such an accusation like that hanging over his head, he was as good as condemned in many people’s minds already. His life was as good as ruined anyway. Very few had stood by him. So called friends swifty drifted away. Work stopped calling. Even his family, his own flesh and blood, had not been in contact since the accusation was first made. So much for family loyalty.

       Andrea sat in her office awaiting the arrival of Stephen. She wasn’t even sure if he was going to turn up at all. She had not rehearsed how she was going to deal with this session, having  decided she was just going to let it play out as it would, whatever way that was.

 In any case her mind was more focused on her own life. Her own issues, her two young daughters, and her  mother’s deteriorating condition. Her Mother’s dementia getting worse by the day. Was now the time to take that step she so didn’t want to take, and put her beloved mother into a care home. This woman who only a few short years previously, was the life and soul of any gathering. Whose brain was shaped by years of fast quick thinking as her many years of working as a lawyer, dealing with others with equally sharp, quick minds.

        But now she too was like a child, unable to look after herself. Her memories and thoughts skipping all over the place, in an incoherent mess. As Andrea thought of this, her tears began to flow, and her chest began to heave and shake. With great power slammed her palm onto the desk in utter frustration and anger. The white mug of tea on the desk shook and emptied some of its contents. Andrea’s frustration and anger at life. At God. At the scientists who could find no cure. At the unfairness of it all. But Andrea was also angry and disappointed with herself. How in recent months she had become, quite short tempered and unpleasant at times to her mother. So frustrated she was by her mother’s condition, as her Mother was unable at times to remember her own name, where she was, or even Andreas name. Asking Andrea at times, who she was, and what did she want.

   Her mother, this woman, who all those years ago, in that very hot summer, sensed,as only a mother could, that something was bothering and deeply troubling her daughter. How she very gently, sensitively, and with great patience her mother probed Andrea, until her daughter related how ‘that man’. Not wanting to utter his name, nor hear it, as she referred to him, at the horse racing stables. She shared what had transpired that hot mid-july afternoon. It was a very painful experience to share with anyone, as Andrea felt so foolish. So unclean. So embarrassed and mainly so very ashamed. She recalled how on that day, and many days since her mother had embraced and held her, and assured her, sincerely that it was not her fault. That the man. The man with dark soul, tried to take away her innocence.

  This deepened the bonds of love between them. Andrea fondly recalled how as she journeyed into womanhood, and of that very cold Christmas spent with her mother. Where the thick snow, a rare occurrence, had made that holiday time seem so memorable, so special. As she recalled how after they shared one too many bottles of wine, and talked of life, the past,and the future, her mother had shared how she too had as a child, had being the object of her own father’s un-welcome attentions, Andrea grandfather. Long since passed away, a secret that she had never shared with anyone, over all these years.

Because of their similar shared sordid experiences, at the hands of men, they became very close, not only as mother and daughter, but as women. As human beings, and many times they had shared tears, and held each other softly, and grew as close as its possible to be. One human being to another, a love so very deep. As deep as the ocean, and deeper still. As deep as the earth itself, and bonds so strong, that would never, ever be broken.

Walking up the stairs, of this grey dilapidated building, he was trying to figure out a way, to regain some power. Some personal power in this situation where he had opened himself up shared his deep vulnerability. Opened his heart and soul. Feeling raw like an open sore he approached the door. he questioned his decision to wear a trench coat today, of all days. Doubtful now that it would rain. He just walked right in. Did not bother to knock. His way of saying,’I don’t respect nor like you, or think much of you’, He slammed the door behind him, as he knew from experience loud noises frightened people. That was his intention here, as he pulled the empty brown leather chair away from the desk, in an aggressive manner. Away from her, this woman, this person, without saying anything, and faced the chair toward the window.

Andrea had being forewarned during her training, that this kind of behaviour may be possible for her clients, as they tried to re-assert some authority. Especially after they had shared deeply, and were feeling vulnerable and raw, with her.

She said nothing as he sat down, on the chair across from the desk. She could see as she glanced at him, that his once white trench coat, was now a rather shabby looking cream colour. The undone tie, unshaven face, and somewhat crumpled suit, were signs of a man trying to hold onto some form of respectability, but not winning. She guessed looking at him, he had not sleep well, if at all since their last meeting. Surmised that most probably he was unable to sleep, as his jumbled thoughts, no doubt interfering with his peace of mind. She briefly imagined how smart and successful he must have looked, all those months ago, before all these accusations began. How well thought of he was in his company, as he moved swiftly up the career ladder. How well he would have looked, dressed in his smart suit. How he must have looked younger than his 48 years on this planet. But now his face was drawn, and worn out looking. Grey and drained. 

                She could sense from his energy, his volcanic smouldering violence. Was it about to explode, here in this room at any moment. She wrapped her fingers of her left hand around the hot mug of tea, that still sat on her desk. Ready and quiet willing to throw the hot liquid into his eyes and face, were he to dare to make a move toward her, with bad intent. Her own anger was to the fore, with her thoughts of her beloved mother, and her increasing dementia. Her other hand, slipped under the desk. Hovering under the panic switch, would were she to press it, bring the two rather large security personnel, up from reception, in a hurry.

Stephen for his part, began to examine his brown leather shoes, as he sat across from the desk. Planning to polish them, when he got out of home. He looked out the window, into the bright sunshine, watching the birds fly so freely. Wondered what it was like to be truly free.  He questioned would he himself ever be truly free from these wretched, wicked thoughts.   He longed to be close to another human. Ached for that intimacy. A coming together of mind, body, spirit and soul. To feel truly connected to another. To feel love for them, and feel loved in return. Something he had never experienced, but believed did exist in this world. He wanted to experience it, and was determined to experience it, at least one time, before his life in this world was over. It was either going to be given to him freely, or he was going take it by force. .

As the Andrea began to feel the tension slowly subside in the office, she released her grip on the mug of hot liquid, her possible weapon. Took her hand away from the panic switch, as she too began to look out the window, into the bright sunshine. She wondered about this man across from her. What kind of life he had. What had happened in his life, to make him have thoughts and feelings of being intimate with children Was that so very wrong, she asked herself. Is love, not love, however it surfaces. She now began to question her own thoughts. She considered had he too being interfered with, when he to was an innocent child. Her thoughts and feelings, drifted away from fear, anger and dislike, to the beginnings of compassion, empathy and understanding.

Andrea got up from the black leather chair, and walked toward the window. She found it much easier to think, when she was moving. He watched her as she moved. Her slim body, with that stylish auburn hairstyle. Her white blouse and close fitting black trousers, illuminating her body. Her movements displayed her education, her experiences, her character. She reminded him of the women who had met in his office, but for whatever reason, had never shown any romantic interest in him at all. Quite the opposite, as they went out of their way to avoid him altogether. He overheard some refer to him as creepy, and weird. Would he even be in his current predicament, if he had meet a loving partner all those years ago. 

As he sat in the office across from her, musing in his mind how he’d rather be anywhere else but here, with this person. He really didn’t like her at all. Another stupid stuck up bitch. A little bit of education and a certificate that gives her the right to interfere in a persons life and say what’s right and wrong. It was either come here,or go to prison, that was the choice he was offered in court. Not much of a choice really.

But at the same time, could she possibly be able to help him rid his mind of these thoughts of children. His warped thoughts. The contents of his own mind that frightened him. She was a psychotherapist after all, but he didn’t want to do all the giving. Feeling so empty and drained after the first session he had with her, he wasn’t even sure if speaking so honestly in that first session did any good at all. It left him feeling that his soul and heart were wide weeping sores. Added to which he was feeling extremely vulnerable,and insecure.

In his own mind mind he dreamed up a plan. If he could get something on her, that would even up the odds a bit. She seen the inside of his soul, and now he wanted to see the inside of hers.

Andrea was not looking at Stephen, as she sat back in the leather chair, behind the desk. She liked to sit behind the desk, as it keep a certain distance, both physical and psychological between her and the clients. Even though her University professors had encouraged all there psychotherapy students to adopt a much more informal approach, while interacting with their clients, and to do away with the desk altogether. She didn’t agree, and never implemented that policy.

 

To Be continued……

 

Are You Fed Up Too ?

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Are you fed up too, wishing to Christ this life would end,
You know, like you do
Are you also dreading waking up tomorrow
For yet another day filled with nothing but sorrow
Are you too envious of those who are terminally ill
Debt, loneliness, and despair, no end in sight
Have you too given up on Jesus ever putting it right
Are you turning to witchcraft and God knows what as a way out
Do you feel guilty for not being grateful for the health that you have
Feeling such sorrow for yourself, self pity to the max
But sometimes when life is shit, it’s just yoself who you think of, and nothing else
Will writing a poem about it, cure it, and make it not so bad
I doubt it, cause its so entrenched in my mind
Is everybody on WordPress messed and traumatized  beyond belief
Cause I would not be surprised if these words get a a lot of likes
Some comfort in that, I suppose, others feeling the same way
But I still gotta face tomorrow, put on my game face
When all I want to do, is have an end to this life
Here’s hoping I don’t wake up tomorrow.

Censorship

Censorship
Photo by Velizar Ivanov on Unsplash

‘Don’t look at that’, she screamed. ‘Material such as that is wrong, its sinful. It’s the work of the Devil. Keep looking at stuff like that, and you’ll end up in hell’.

With that onslaught I felt ashamed and embarrassed. My face redened. She left my room from where she had entered unannounced and unwelcome, and slammed the door. I knew she would not speak to myself for days. Her way of punishing her children when we got out of line, in her view. My body jumped as she slammed the door, and stomped down stairs, and again slammed the kitchen door.

To say she was angry was an understatement. But then she always seemed to be angry these days. I wonder was it because of her failing marriage. The public knowledge of her husband’s infidelity, and how she had that thrown back at her, daily in small town Ireland, by ‘helpful’ interfering neighbors and busy bodies. Minding  everyone’s business but their own.

But I was a young boy, exploring my sexuality. My body fully turbo charged up with male hormones and testosterone running through my body at speed. Desire and lust coursing through every fiber of my being, very hard to control at times.

Not helped, of course, by tales of sexual assignations successfully concluded by my school friends. Which they, with great joy loved to share with their friends, including those of us who were struggling to find a partner. Then to add to that we had everyone from the priest in the pulpit, to the nuns, to the government telling us, as a nation, as a generation of children that sex was wrong, nudity was abborant. The human body was to be hidden away. Biological desires were disgusting and evil, the work of the devil, no less. Were we to indulge in such matters, it was a royal road to hell we would be set upon, and for that there was no denying.

Of course looking back now, at the clerical sexual abuse and cruelty, has come to light, it does make one look hard and fast at such situations. Dismissive and questioning of the religious do gooders. Some I’m sure mean well, and do good. But many are dysfunctional, psychotic individuals, who belong if not in long-term prison, well then in long term psychological counselling.

It does not work denying a humans perfectly natural, and God given desires. Sexual desire is as natural as the feeling of thirst, hunger and fear. It’s when it’s censored and clamped down on. Pushed under the surface, that these desires morph into the more bizarre and extreme side of sexuality, which can lead to other issues. None of them good.

I was afraid. I felt bad. Like I had done something wrong. When all I had being doing was many young boys had done for years. Looking at and enjoying the female form in various states of undress. But now because it was wrong, according to those in the know. Because it was bad, and it was banned. I wanted to see it all. Especially the more extreme. It became my mission to travel, and view as much of it as possible. The more extreme and bizarre, the better. This of course before the internet and the freedom that affords young people today. So I did travel, and I saw what I needed and wanted to see, and that was ok.

Now if I want to see such films and images, it’s all here in my home at the flick of a switch. Just open up the laptop, and there it all is. Because it’s all there now, whenever, and if ever I want it. I can take it or leave it. Mostly I leave it. But its nice to know its available at any time, to view in private, anonymously, should I wish to.

Censorship, no not a big fan.

Written in response to a writing prompt. Censorship.

When Some One Dies

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Photo by Ian Espinosa on Unsplash

When someone dies, I ask what the hell is life all about
I’m soo sad. I weep. Where the hell is this peace I seek
This pain is to much to bear. It sears my soul
I am hurting, distraught and bereft

Such a good friend of mine is taken from this life, at this time
Where is the justification. Where is the reason why
Where are you now God. Explain to me the reason why
Why now, why her. Why at this time

Come on, fess up. Explain to me the reason why
It makes no sense. I am distraught. I cry
I am a man, but yet I weep
Her Love, Her energy, Her Happiness
You take that, and don’t explain why

Do I hate you God, if you exist at all
This life I don’t understand at all
I curse you life, I curse you God
I really do.

London, England.

London tube train station.
Photo by Adrien Ledoux on Unsplash

The ‘interview’ began gently, almost imperceptible. An ever so gentle probing of one’s character. An opportunity to judge their sense of self-esteem, and their willingness to stand up for them selves and fight back.

He held out the cigarette, and asked in a friendly manner.

‘Have you got a light ?’

All so very innocent, yet deceptive. The rattle of the tube trains loud as they whisked their passengers into the center of London, and outwards towards the safety and quietness of the suburbs. He offered him the lit cigarette he held by his side.  Certainly not the reaction this human predator was expecting. No one hand diverted into a trouser or jacket pocket, affording the would be thief, come mugger an opportunity to  be victorious as he unleashed a ferocious, and unexpected assault a now one-handed adversary.
Something was certainly ‘off’ about the man asking for a light to his cigarette. Just something didn’t seem right, did not ‘feel right’. He moved away down the platform with some non believable excuse.

It was hard not to paint every young black person as a ‘near do well’. To see them as human, some struggling, some quiet religious. Yet so many caught up in the prison system. The local newspapers only to happy to report yet another ‘person of African decent’, a coloured person to you and me, involved in crime in one form or another. The reasons for their choice of ‘career’ many and varied, and depending on one’s view, you could either feel somewhat sorry for their upbringing. Some brought up in poverty and squalor, ill educated, non interested parents, schoolteachers, no mentors and all the rest. Some turned to crime, while others choose not to. Whether that was just good fortune, who is to know.
Were you one of these Guardian Newspaper readers. Those do gooders, who may over their Chianti and cheese at the various parties they attended in the best houses of Hampstead and Chelsea, would have decried the unfairness of it all, as they snacked on yet more canapes and scallops. Exclaiming that really someone must do something about the situation. Perhaps, they allowed, that next time round they may, actually, heaven forbid, vote for a labour government to run the country. The laughter around the oak dinner tables of such fine homes reverberated long and loud into the evening.

The phone call was brief and do the point.

He excused himself from the table, and the animated, and at times laughter filled conversations, at the select Chelsea townhouse, that had become near enough his second home. Among people he trusted, and felt at ease with. People, who if given an opportunity would certainly put the world to right. Or so they believed. Sort out all these tiresome issues, that forever filled the newspapers and daily radio news reports.

Slowly he walked upstairs to find a quiet room together his thoughts. He needed to be alone. He stood in the darkness by the open french windows that looked out onto the quiet street. He glanced at the quarter full moon, in the late evening sky, and considered where his adopted child might now be. He noted the expensive vehicles on the clean, tree lined street, outside the expensive houses, and considered had it being a wise move to allow his adopted son the freedom to live as he pleased. What did that child really know of England, and the ways of the west. Brought from the ragged and poverty stricken streets of Kampala, Africa, to the unforgiving streets of London. Innocent and pure. Raised with Gods love by his Mother. Expecting so much from his new homeland.

People know people. After quiet some time contemplating alone, remembering. He made a phone call to the Embassy. He spoke to the military attaché, and old friend from a time long ago, when he was a different type of man. He briefly explained the situation, and accepted the condolences of the Military attaché. But revenge and retribution of the most savage and violent type was what he wanted, and asked the Military attaché to use his high level connections to ensure, discreetly, that the perpetrator’s of the crime were brought to justice, the South African Way. Quietly, and out of sight of police and interfering politicians.

He poured himself a straight whiskey from the decanter that adorned the mahogany bedside table. Enjoying and hoping the strong bitter taste of the liquid would fortify him over the next few moments. In the darkened room, he drank from the crystal glass, and dialed the number.

With hesitation, and pause for thought he slowly dialed the number.

His words were soft, and comforting.

‘Margaret, are you sitting down………..’

In the diplomatic area of Kampala, one of the few remaining well to do area’s of the city. Inside the gated community, behind the armed guards. She sat in the quietness of the evening on her veranda overlooking the vast expanse of bush that stretched out before her. The sounds of the many wild animals, unseen but heard, making their presence felt.
She recalled memories of her only son, and the many happy times they had spent together. How he had spoken of his plans and dreams to travel. The medical career he had planned, and his determination to use those skills for the poorer people in the townships, who were left to fend for themselves, by the many.
She had listened to and encouraged his honorable aspirations, and wondered how London was turning out for him, and had he perhaps met a nice woman.

The jangling of the phone ringing in the lounge disrupted her thoughts.

Her screams echoed throughout the large house, like a wounded animal caught in the most brutal of traps. The servants altered by her screams ran quickly to her rooms. The large breasted African housekeeper, whom she treated as a surrogate Mother, moved quickly to her side, as she knelt on the floor, weeping, sobbing and shaking. Held her gently in her arms. Comforted and soothed her as best she could, under the circumstances.
A human in pain is hard to witness at any time. But the searing pain a Mother feels for a child, unfairly taken from this life, is something else. Those screams of distress can cut through the hardest of hearts, and last a lifetime in one’s memory.

In the weeks that followed it did not take long for that call to come through. The efficiency of the South African security forces had always been top class, just as he remembered them.

‘ That delivery you requested has arrived, and is ready for collection at the embassy ‘.

The phone call brief, and to the point.

‘I’ll come and see to it this afternoon’. His response just as brief, and businesslike.

He sat back in the leather armchair, behind the dark mahogany desk, which he never liked. Among the shelves lined with books. Many of which he knew he would never manage to read, let alone, understand. Still, he assured himself, it would impress some of his clients.

He was unsure how he would deal with the package. He was still grieving. A very restrained, private type of grief. Not noticeable to others. In his former life he had seen the most brutal forms of death and destruction, and could not, would not allow emotions such as pity, sorrow, regret to intrude and detract from the job at hand. He did not allow himself to indulge in analytical, searching questioning of the methods and motivations he used, and the reasons for such.

But this was different. This was family. His family, albeit an adopted family / child. The distress of his wife was very real. That child, her child was cruelly and unfairly taken from her. He knew she stood once again on the precipice, and would not be surprised if this event would see her slide back once again into the bottomless, empty abyss of her addiction. Sobriety or relapse, only time would tell. Whether God, or her cohorts, or her own strength would save her, it was hard to say.

It was not too long since their attempt at procreation had led to that still-born child, whom she still grieved for. He on the other hand, had brushed it off, as a fact of life. The way men of a certain caliber are able to do. Their childless, cold marriage they were expected to endure, rescued in part by the adoption of the young boy. Now a young man, making his way in the world.

But focusing his mind on the issue at hand. A crime. An unfair, unjustified had been committed and had to be punished. Revenge, retribution was only right, and fair, and to be expected. It was what he expected, no, demanded of himself. He could not….

The ringing of the desk phone, disrupted his thoughts.

‘Will you need your car and driver this afternoon’.

‘No, that’s fine. Give him the afternoon off’.

The drive from his office, close to Parliament Sq to the South African Embassy, took him through the better parts of London. Gave him some time to turn his mind from his problems. As he drove, he reflected on how much London had changed in recent years.
The massive influx of the Eastern Europeans had to be seen to be believed. They brought with them an air of hardworking, industrious efficiency. Serious and dour, seldom seen smiling. There energy had changed London, and not for the better. The physical attractiveness of the Eastern European women, was some, little compensation for there cold and austere demeanor.

In the quiet road away from the thronged busy, wealthy high street, the cameras watched silently, as his car approached the embassy gates. The gates opened to allow his vehicle access. There was the perfucntionary security check just inside the gate. Although polite, and dressed like well to business executives, the security guards exuded a undeniable aura of seething violence, cruelty and brutality, just beneath their thin veneer of civility.

‘Welcome Back, Sir’, one of the guards offered. He pointed Edward in the direction of the building at the rear of the embassy, and managed to smile in anticipation of, perhaps some secret knowledge of what lay within.

 

 

 

 

 

Empty Life

daniel-jensen-763633-unsplashPhoto by Daniel Jensen on Unsplash

Empty life, gambling urges, coming on strong
Yes, I give up, I give in, your stronger than me
I cannot resist, this urge I have to feed
There I have done it, I have gambled, I have lost once again
Why dose it feel so wonderful to be back here again
What’s the psychology of this disease
Where I find no peace, nor contentment until I deplete my finances
I will struggle over the next few weeks, all my own fault of course
Don’t you Pity me, don’t you do that
My choice’s, decisions by my own hand
You can never win, at the casino’s, take my word
No matter how inviting it looks on the screen, and the possibilities they offer to entice
Don’t you be drawn int that abyss of misery, worry tension and concern
Cause that’s where it is leading, when will we ever learn
A very temporary release from life’s distress, disappointment, bewilderment, and frustrations
But they will still be here tomorrow, but you like I, will have a lighter wallet
While those on the other side, will laugh, smirk and live it up, at your expense.