Why are is they then when? Whaddya know..hoho.

Confusing title?  Yes it’s meant to be.  It’s called effect and, I expect I have got the wrong effect as I expect it’s meant to be ‘affect’, I don’t care.  Nope, not one bit.  I am throwing my doubt to the wind and hoping that no one is urinating in my direction, or is that meant to be I am urinating in to the wind and hoping that no one is throwing doubt at me?  I wonder if there is an equally good analogy that doesn’t involved urine?

So much has happened over the last few months I am struggling to keep up.  Today has been manic mentally, not too bad physically but I have been trying to plan things in my head, work things out, analyse them and generally make sense of an increasingly confusing world.  Emotionally, professionally and pretty much anything else that ends with ‘ally’ has gone all weird and bizarre.

I can’t go in to too much detail, but it seems like after months of stability and happy ‘plodding on’ life has decided that it’s not going to settle for a bit of mundane mundanity, it’s gone and decided that in fact the world needs a bit of WTF.  For the uninitiated wtf stands for ‘what the fuck’, and I don’t often swear here but yes.  I have the imprinted on my mind nearly every day, trying to make sense of things and people around me that don’t quite make sense.

Either I am slowly losing my grip, or everyone around me is losing theirs.

0 Responses to “Why are is they then when? Whaddya know..hoho.”



  1. No Comments Yet

Leave a Reply




I’m a Twit, how about you?

RSS Cheesegreen – My poetry ‘Plog’

  • Owe 08/11/2009
    I’m going to Make you an offer. You’re going to like It. Life isn’t very good At this sort of thing. So I’ll sell you my Soul. Posted by Wordmobi
    Chris
  • Cyclone 04/11/2009
    I walk a cyclone on a nylon lead They can be cared for really easily, Remember they will always need to feed In wind and rain and other weather fronts, Engulfing all that stands up in it’s way Trains and cars, People and wildlife too. The upkeep can be quite prohibitive If you have nowhere else to really live, The cyclone never sleeps, [...]
    Chris
  • Rolling 31/10/2009
    Roll your tongue over the slow earth, the live earth told in slow dreams. Letter over letter, lets roll over.
    Chris
  • Pasta Sauce 31/10/2009
    Hooray for pasta sauce, Only the stuff in a jar of course, The other stuff is poncy and grim And yes it’ll help you keep all slim, It’s not the same as the stuff in a jar This wonderful Italian ambrosiarr. Made in Norwich and bottled in Gwent? It’s the taste I love, and it’s left me spent. [...]
    Chris
  • Poetry Addict 31/10/2009
    Hi, I’m Chris, Response: Hi Chris And I am a poetry addict. I have been clean now for three months, My head is full of facts and figures, No stanzas or trochees or sestinas. No rhymes. Just statistics. At my worst, I rhymed everything I spoke. Trying to get a point across was a joke, I couldn’t stop thinking like Dr Seuss, And soon my [...]
    Chris
  • Exmouth (after an argument) 31/10/2009
    Why would you want to be In that weird little place by the sea. Why would you make the trek to a place that has no self respect? Why would you want to be seen In a place where better days have been Why would you make a home, In a place where they steal garden gnomes, Why would you take your gran To [...]
    Chris
  • Wedding Ring 28/10/2009
    Took off my ring, Yet it is imprinted on my skin, Punched and branded like Cattle. You saw me do it But chose not to say anything, Although it has been a long time coming. My finger is the only part of me, that is fine.
    Chris
  • Services (Gordano) 28/10/2009
    We’ve stopped,  and our aching bodies function again, after three hours in hyperspace. Place your feet on martian aggregate. Bright white walls, candy coloured cuddly brand logos, shining in a radioactive post apocalyptic flicker. The foyer, home to sedated loney cheeseplants living next a faux-oasis in a stasis of activity. Baby changing facilities, s […]
    Chris
  • Effy 28/10/2009
    Effy smoked Like life was ending in an hour. But it would in ten years. She didn’t seem to care as nicotenel patches adorned her arm, flat limpets on a cragging saggy rock. One night, she spontaneously combusted, leaving a pair of charred feet. And a fag butt.
    Chris
  • Cathedral 28/10/2009
    No ball games On ancient bricks, Viynl chips the brittle Sandstone. Base of the tower, grand old lady in goal. With every shot she Neither dives or jumps. Static, still and almighty. 800 years can stop more then a football. History patched and quilted in to brickwork.
    Chris

Photoblogography

05072009051

21/06/2009

18/06/2009

01/06/2009

More Photos

Blog Stats

  • 4,646 hits