feeling frustrated by writers block feel down about it.  being ill has knocked my confidence in life and a positive future life is just....ugh. a bit worn down. my father was emotionally negligent and my mother was emotionally drained and unavailable. 

distant land. prophecy the ONE, becomes so wrapped up in it that he becomes the antagonist.

empty spaceship lands, aliens want special people to board it and leave the rest of earth. all special people have been killed so second best will have to take its place.

 the crying seabirds turning this way and that for land and the caverns like vast open mouths without tongues. and the curious loner ice glancing by from the west, watching me back, wanting to talk.

though his head turns at his name, he opens his mouth, instead, a red ribbon unspools from behind his teeth.

like animals, we had smell before sight. 

like animals, there was smell before sight.

the glass was old and pulled at the sight of the picture.

On Armistice Day, Mother told me to make myself scarce. 

It was not a good death.

It was a beautiful day but a bad death.

It was a beautiful day for a bad death, and with my hand over his mouth, he would not last long.

aliens come and leave empty ship to escape earth and travel back to our space

evil is defeated, good guy crowned king bad guy escapes to our world.

With my hand over his mouth, he would not last long.

she was a series of mistakes that strangers could only take in politely with small furtive gasps; taller than a man, a limping stride, her dark hair unravelling at the ends to an autumnal wash of colour, then a cleft palate scar from nose to mouth, ; the odd eyes, hazel, green, so one was attentive one either one side or the other.

The next one arrives; spatchcocked and lashed to the hood of a jeep. The one after that had no distinction,. He sits with Renee in silence, though he senses a form of communication, when they turn their hands over and over, chilblains cracking and itching, the fingertips stinging, throbbing and yearning for the heat in blood.

She was not a beauty, but this far west it was a rare sight to see, someone of that colouring, and he stared at her throughout supper.

the cigarette lazily curls upward in white cursive; his left eye runs over...

The wine served at my execution was the finest vintage.

 relax

Here is the letter to me

Not Cheetah but only Jenny

Not many people know you

But that keeps you steady.

People call me posh

but rolling stones gather no moss

the goss, their loss

You lie up there

waiting for this song to write 

You keep on sitting for singing

Am I wrong or right?

Right now all exits seem the same

Try not to cycle or start to blame

this used to be fun

to rhyme and hum

there wasnt the stress of being the one, hun

why not come?

beat your own drum

when is coming up now, your own sun

Hale from Lon-don

but the inspo doesnt come

not gonna lie i feel so dry

why cant you  just write it

why o why

my oh my

 I think punishment is coming. I don't want to phone Matthew I don't think he likes me or wants my call. Were having an argument about having an argument. Is these two sentences enough? Ok so maybe punishment isnt coming. Each time I talk with him he closes up a bit more.

 I remember the excitement of this. I met Christine today and we talked a bit about journaling. I was so good at this it feels bad to be a beginner again and its so stupid. He's offering you what you really want and some people he is instructing to be a martyr. When I have this I have all I want.

"Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space-"

"-or so they say."

 Listen to me! So hold fast. Don't even bother."

"My husband depends upon it; after the first few times, so did I."

If a women screams in the desert does she make a sound?