NaPoWriMo – Day One

I crumple at the sound
of my voice
my words hardly my own
as I stumble over old lies,
ones I’ve told before.
It’s grating on me now
pulling tight at my skin.
I speak in broken dirges
as a person I barely recognise,
tiny letters scribbled to make up
longer words and tales,
a pattern that’s faded well,
old, worn, but still legible
and etched into me
until I have become the lies
and they have become me.


NaPoWriMo Day #1

A is for Angels

az-aI don’t believe in angels.

For a few reasons. Angels are typically related to a religion that I neither believe in or am a big fan of. I’m not a big fan of organised religion as a whole really – I don’t like being told what to do or what to believe or who to love based on a book written so long ago by people are now dust. A book that was re-written to fit an ideal of some men at the time.

It’s not a good way to live.

Angels are mentioned or a part of several other religions too – Judaism, Islam, Sikhism – and well I don’t believe in any of those religions either.

I think I’m too practical a person to be particularity spiritual in any way. My wife, my friends, they have it in them and I actually have a lot of respect for people who have faith. Especially as the world seems to continually crumble around us.

Song of the Angels – by William-Adolphe Bouguereau

Mostly, I find a belief in angels to be a little sickly sweet for me. The idea that there are angels up in heaven watching over us, as guardians, looking out of us? It’s too nice, too unreal. It doesn’t fit my world view at all – we are not being looked after, watched over, guarded and protected by spirits. We are being looked after by ourselves, watched over by family and friends, guard and protected by the people around us. Real, flesh and blood people. Those are the real angels, the people who go through all this stuff wit us, for us, because of us.

So I find it a little nauseating sometimes – this idea of angels – it’s too sweet, too nice and even a little unrealistic. I mean, I’m pretty sure angels have better things to be doing than just sitting around watching us and it never feels like any angel protecting me is actually doing anything.

But then, is that because they don’t exist or because I don’t believe.

Probably both. If that’s possible.

Thought I remember this fridge magnet my mum had about Jesus and the footsteps in the sand and I guess that could be it.

I think though when it comes down to it, however bad I feel, I will never have faith. I like the idea – I’m agnostic at best (that’s not what I put on my census form – my census form has said Jedi and Browncoat so far. The next one will be Andrastian). I like the idea of a lot of religious ideas – especially reincarnation and the traditions of Buddhism.

My own personal belief leans more towards leading a good life, being a good person, being good to other people regardless of who is right at the end of the day, regardless of what they believe in and what I believe in (or don’t believe in as the case may be).

That’s how everyone should live.


April. Is. Coming…(dun dun duh)

So April is coming.

There was something else about Easter other than chocolate wasn’t there……

April tends to be a normal looking month when you first think about it. Easter is coming, you’re pretty sure it’s coming, I mean, however they work it out (I asked once) you know it’s around April – or the end of March – but that’s practically April right?


And the flowers out and the chickens are laying like it’s no one’s business and that guy in your neighbourhood (you now the one) is mowing his lawn again and you’re just glad that yours hasn’t started to take hostages yet (it’s really more of a July thing).

And the kids get out soon for Easter holidays the jammy little monsters and you have to work but then, at least you’re not 13 any more cause boy wasn’t that crap. And you don’t have to wear a jumper to work everyday now and hopefully your boss will turn the heating off. Or at least down cause some days it’s starting to get a bit warm. You’re working your way through what you officially consider your spring cold that you caught when you went to the doctors about your winter cough and cold that you’d had since November. This is definitely different though, I mean, you were feeling healthy for a whole day at the beginning of March.


No, me neither.

No really, they made a whole movie....
No really, they made a whole movie….

So it looks pretty normal. Maybe you’ll go see Shaun The Sheep at the cinema. Maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll spend the bank holiday weekend drinking the sun away cause who wants to actually experience life sober. Maybe you won’t.

Maybe you’ll spend it writing.

I will.

Cause April looks like a normal month until you remember it’s April and April means the A-Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo. And you’re a sucker for a both a challenge and, well, no, you’re just a sucker.

I’ve not quite worked out the logistics of it yet. Whether it’ll be separate post a day for both, or one post for both. I’m not sure. And well, all I’m really sure of is that I need to get ahead of this challenge….

Any idea for either poetry or blog posts for letters of the alphabet (B is gone and that’s it) – that post a comment or send me a message. All ideas gratefully accepted this close to April.

napo2015button1atoz [2015] - BANNER - 910

Pharmacy Blues

We deal in death
it walks through the doors
in the shadows of the old
sometimes staying and circling
around the aisles and our thoughts
before leaving with another.
It is rarely committed to just one,
always fleeting, flitting
between one and the other.
We dole death out in small increments
it’s never enough to satisfy,
but what is at the very end.


Spring is here and well, it’s not just the chickens who are broody


As we come closer to getting a sperm donation for my wife, I’ve been getting broodier and broodier. I can’t help it and it’s a mix of hormones and something I really want being so close. I see about half a dozen babies and toddlers every day at work at least, and at least two pregnant women a week. It’s like I really want pizza, so every day someone brings in pizzas, of the possibility of pizza and I can’t have my own pizza for months yet, assuming I get one in the oven within the next few months.

I really like both pizza and babies.

However I can go get a pizza from Cost Cutters right now (okay, not right now, it’s nearly 11pm but you get the point), but there is no aisle for babies.

No section in the freezers for sperm.

Wouldn’t that make my life a lot easier.

I never expected to be this woman. The one who wanted children so badly that sometimes it hurts a little. It hurts because it’s so damn hard to just get something that’s so simple for a lot of other people. And it’s not just a lack of equipment – cause most of the time I am so far uninterested in the equipment, having it would just be wasted on me – it’s just that I get so stressed over the effort I have to put into this, the money, when it seems it should be easy.

It might not even work.

That first time. The second time. At all

I’m trying not to think that far ahead, we’re working on the assumption my wife will get pregnant in the next year (hopefully the next year) cause the even though having a baby will severely cut into my Dragon Age/sleeping time, I don’t seem to be too bothered by that. Babies like sleep and violent video games right?

Okay, so they like sleep. I can work with that.

There is no thought about not doing it. That we shouldn’t have kids. It doesn’t even occur to me. Only, only when I think about how many games I still have to play on my xbox do I think that a baby isn’t going to help with my endeavour to play a ton of video games and afford a PS3. Or afford anything. But then. I can’t afford those things now and definitely do not have al the time in the world to play xbox and I suspect having a baby will be more rewarding than xbox.

Assuming I get one.

I spend a lot of time thinking about all the good things. All the bad things. I think about how tired I am when my niece and nephew are here overnight and how happy they make me. I think about how lazy I am and how hard I work.

Anyway, I never thought I’d be this person. I never thought I would even be here. Hell at one point I didn’t think I’d even make it to 35 (30, 25, depending on how depressed I was). Some days that is enough. Being here. Being part of a life, a goof life of that.

Sometimes I want a baby so badly.

I have my favourites at work. My favourite customers and my favourite children. There is a woman who brings in a set of twins who are just adorable. They sit in this huge pushchair facing each other and are so sweet. They’re definitely my favourite. It’s a delight to see them.

Not long now though and we get our first try at getting pregnant.

Maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll work first time. However I should point out that I am rarely lucky.

And it’s not just me who’s feeling broody – the chickens are also feeling broody. They’ve been refusing to give up their eggs, pecking my wife when she tries to collect them. They’ve also pulle dout their own feathers on their bums so that they can inccubate them.

I’m know for a fact we don’t have a rooster.

The chickens don’t seem to know this.

The boy
The boy

It’s spring finally. Even the cats are acting a little frisky. Thought Latrice the hamster tried to hibernate by sleeping on top of her nest and almost freezing herself to death. My wife had to warm her up by putting her in her jumper and then putting a hot water bottle on top of the cage for a little while and a sock in the cage for her nest.

Stupid hamster.

Anyway, another 24 hours with my eleven year old nephew and my period should probably take care of my broodiness for a little while. Nothing like the reality of a smelly child and your reproductive system twisting itself into knots inside your body to make you want to get a hysterectomy (like my mother keeps suggesting).

I don’t do….stuff

I have a bit of OCD. Nothing too serious, it’s not nearly as bad as it used to be and not nearly as bad as some people suffer from. A few years ago, I went through a period of severe hand washing. Every time I went to the bathroom and making extra trips to the bathroom to wash my hands I washed my hands 3 times. At it’s worse, I was washing my hands 9 times and had a whole system of washing that involved the amount of soap the even the drying. It was part of coping with my depression and anxiety.

For a while, the worst of all, when I was suffering from some psychosis (which I don’t talk about much), I didn’t step on a line or a crack for six months. I had very specific rules of paving slabs and the lines in them, and the cracks. I didn’t step on one, unless I couldn’t fit my size six and a half foot in it. Then I could only step on one at a time. It made walking difficult, tiring, but I persevered with it for a long time. I couldn’t help it. Even if I looked like a fool it meant I was a safe fool.

When I was a kid, I used to organised the hell out of things. All my videos and tapes were labelled, in order, with full track listings. All my books were alphabetised later on, my CDS too. I had trading cards, X-Files ones and Voyagers ones – I found I enjoyed messing them up and re-sorting them very satisfying. I think it was a way of finding some order when so much of my life seemed out of control. Out of my control. I think that explains a lot of my OCD over the years really.

Now there are just a few things that trip me up still, mentally. I’m not sure if I’m still looking for control in an uncontrollable world, it certainly has an element of that, but many of the things that still present problems for me are also because I personal preferences that I can’t shake and now I’m an adult see no reason too as they’re not really huge problems now. It’s not like I’m spending twenty minutes at a time washing my hands or exhausted because I’m avoiding lines and cracks in the pavement all the time.

So, in the spirit of blogging and doing some sort of series and my lesser OCD tendancies – I will doing a semi-regular post call ‘I Don’t Do…’ in which I try to explain to you (and myself) why the hell I don’t do certain things. Like weird looking forks or even numbers.

Anyway, we’ll go into the weird fork thing next time. Have a good Monday.


Seymour Butts



I Rent My Problems

I just want to live a normal life. That’s pretty much all I really want but there is always something that holds me back. Usually it’s just me, and my head, I am my worst enemy. Well, my head is.

There is a greater problem to living a normal life that has me down right now and that’s renting.

I rent my house. I am a mostly responsible adult living with a very responsible adult (and some animals), living a quiet life in a village in the middle of the Welsh country side. Well, the edge of the welsh countryside I suppose, but that’s not my point. I rent my house and it is not perfect. There is a tea stain on one wall, and carpet is coming up in the hallway and I need to replace to the caulk by the bath. All easy fixes that I will do, because you know, my wife is a responsible person and I am also here (and I like painting). I’ve already fixed a bunch of things that have gone a bit wrong over the year I’ve been here. Like other stains, and holes and slightly dangerous handles on the kitchen cabinets (they were the first to go).

My back garden doesn’t look great right now. Autumn stripped every plant and bush clean, the weather over winter meant the lawn really suffered because well, we need to walk on it and it’s at an angle to some of it just became a bog during the worst of the weather.

It just needs the Spring and some love and then, then in summer it’ll be gorgeous again.

My house is never going to be perfect as long as I’m actually living in and I swear some people forget that. Or leave the houses they live in and come to the house they rent out and completely forget how they manage to live. Even when I’m living well, and on top of my life and my house work, it still isn’t enough for landlords. I don’t live like a scum bag (any more) it’s clean, mostly tidy, and it’s still not enough and I hate living like this. Like it’s never enough.

All my walls are magnolia. I hate magnolia. But heaven forbid I want to paint a room. Or put up some shelves or get a pet or do anything. I would only want to leave this house if I could buy one so why I can’t I make it my home. The guy who owns it certainly has no intention of doing so. Never did. He bought it to do it up and sell it bought couldn’t sell it in this market. I hate living like this but I’m stuck living like this because it’ll take so much more than I can do or have to buy a house. I don’t rent by choice, I rent out of necessity. I rent because I want someone to bloody live.

Anyway, I will deal with this problem like I deal with many problems, lies and apologies. Maybe I’m just not a good enough person to live like I want. But then, as long as I don’t lose my home I don’t have too much to worry about.

Oh except for all the other problems I have in my life. And my head.

Death rambles over death rattles.

My uncle died yesterday.

They say the good die young.

Probably because it makes people feel better when people die before they think they should, far before they should.

The bad die young too. Occasionally we know, sometimes we don’t even notice evil slipping from the world.

The rest of us die in between. We are the in between. The people we are deep down doesn’t really have anything to do with when we die. Smokers die old, healthy people die young. The good and the bad live until they’re old and unable to tell right from wrong any more. No deserves a good or bad death, there is no good or bad death – there is only death and it comes to us all, eventually, one way or another, whether we like it or not.

We all know it. It stalks us, follows us around in our shadows. Most of the time I don’t care, most of the time it doesn’t matter.

Some times I look at all the medication we have in pharmacy and wonder if it’s worth it, taking so much medication that your prescriptions are four or five pages long. But then, that might be more to do with my own issues with my own medication. Which are much better than they used to be but some days I still want to throw them all in the bin.

I’m not dying though, and even now, without my medication I’m unlikely to kill myself. That first kick of withdrawal is always a bitch – it pulls apart my soul but if I came off it properly, slowly, I’d be okay.

I hope.

I sort lost my train of thought.

I’m not sure I had a train of thought.

Death. Death comes to us all.

I hate that it comes to the people I love.

I don’t believe in heaven. Heaven is for children and for people who have faith. I have no faith. None in God and none in myself. Maybe I have faith in death now. I get maudlin. Dramatic. Melodramatic. I usually believe in reincarnation. Or at least I like the idea of reincarnation but mostly I just hate the mortality and futility of it all.

This was a bit of a ramble really, because if you’re not going to use a blog to subject people to your own melodramtic thoughts to death the day after a family member dies then you’re not blogging properly.

Well, I wouldn’t be.

Night all.

Sleep well. You’ll get up in the morning regardless.


I still see her on the street,
and I still see her on her feet
not swinging or laughing
just standing while I’m crying.
Sorry girl, you and me are through
ghosts aren’t the way to go.
Can’t follow me forever sweet heart
and I can’t follow you either.