Tuesday, 26 October 2010

A poem

No prizes for guessing the title...

Such a shame.
but I say it's not love that's blind,
but those who look to find
someone who never can be born,
nor who ever trod this way, but they
still persist in seeking,
as if in hope one day
this polished gem will show his face
and say -
"I'm here, I'm flawless, without peer,
I've come to banish doubt;
and as for fear - never again!"
Oh dear.
Such a shame.

Such a shame.
if now and then I should shout
and you dispute my worth, and say,
"get out! Don't ever cross my path,
for wrath I cannot bear".
but cuss and chide we often find
are born of love; so if you swear
I do not doubt you care, in fact,
if you should never shout
I would know within you were
without, that which matters most -
your love for me.
Such a shame.

Monday, 25 October 2010

And in the interim period... a re-cycled post of old...

I was told an amusing tale of mistaken identity this morning. Some person in my company, not known for washing his car regularly was the victim of a prank perpetrated by one of his colleagues; a not very imaginative ruse and rather juvenile (which is probably why I like it) amounting to a simple line drawing of male genitalia, set in the grime on the car's body. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about.

The victim, blissfully unaware of this recent addition of 'artwork', drove home, parked up, and still didn't notice the grime-etched phallus. It was not till some time later that his mother approached him and announced, 'Someone's drawn an alien on your car'!

First thing that struck me was, 'poor woman, I wonder how long it's been since she saw a naked male!'. Though it also occurred, perhaps there's some truth in this woman's much ridiculed report of many years ago, when, nine months' prior to her son's birth, she claimed to be abducted by aliens and subjected to a vaginal probe...

My preferred hypothesis is simply that the artist was incompetent and had no idea of proportion, making the head of the penis enormously large, thus accounting for the mistaken identity on the part of the woman. Still, you can't help but smile, and think not so much of 'ET phone home', as 'ET rammed home'!

No apologies to those of you who groaned at this last remark. Have a nice day.

Wednesday, 6 October 2010

Do I know you?

I'm back, after a month's absence. I did think of marking the occasion by presenting myself with a show-biz type introduction, a bit of that old razzmatazz: a drum-roll; a fanfare of trumpets; fireworks; and a bevy of high-kicking, leggy, sequin-studded, dancing girls; or maybe the more modest, ta-da, it's me again folks! But instead, and true to my real nature, I've chosen to enter discreetly through the back door. Not too much fuss. Not too much bother. Besides, I have no illusions about my importance in the scheme of things.

It's a funny business, blogging. The personal sort at least. It's frequently said that it's narcissism, pure and simple. I thought so too when I began writing online many years ago, though in those days, although realising it was meant in the pejorative sense, I still made it cause for celebration. New to the game, using the Net as a mask, and fully pumped with caffeine, I fostered a pugnacious, I'm a blogger, and yes it is narcissistic, so fucking what? sort of attitude. But it was feigned, totally affected. When your target audience is invisible, unable to look you in the eye, you can be anyone, or anything you choose. But this was not me, nor is it now, not at all.

It would be a rare event to get to know someone fully, simply from online writing. We put our best foot forward when presenting ourselves to the world. We strive to charm, to impress, to attract, but in doing so, we deceive, albeit unwittingly. It's impossible to do otherwise. And even when - as I've occasionally done - we allow a glimpse of our less than noble side, it never fully reveals who we are. That can never be.

No one is whoever you first thought they were.

So here I am. Don't think you know me, because you don't. Just take it on trust, I'm okay.