Doodles · Life



I finally finished a Collage project the other day that I’d started last year about a very intense and very spurned affection, and why you should keep a ring of barbed wire around yourself at all times.

Text reads:

I’ve been trying to find the way to tell you that I love you all year.

Happiness is a thousand stars exploding in a glass universe when she appears to him.
He is a dense and isolated Forest in Winter and she, a black butterfly in a pleochroic box. Her kaleidoscope gently touches his ice and they become twin suns which meet as equals at Dawn and part at Dusk. Their mould only produced one complimentary pair.

Autumn’s fierce rainstorms made her wilt and fade with the waning light. She sought comfort and oblivion and sank to the bottom of every bottle she tried to escape in. He surrounded himself in cinereal clouds until he could bear it no longer and pattered out that very irst gentle word. Her rainbow flickered and sparked after being left outside too long. He took his bright key and set her free.
Trading their friendship at the instant he unlocked her. His white flames destrpyed her prison and engulfed her black butterfly wings. She disappeared with the flowers.

Silence afterwards across a desolate plane as the stormclouds rolled ahead to blanket everything in sadness. She held her heart in her mouth and banished all interest, saving her lock for his key only. He was cruel – in his selfishness and sexual arrogance, he put his key elsewhere and kissed other girls as her devoted, heart-shaped cloud decended on him. A coward is the Man who invokes a Woman’s love without acting upon it.

She burst into flames, her heart amputated, and grew long teeth and claws to bite ad scratch all who came near. Her chest an open wound that refused to heal.

A year since he left. No flowers. No Sun and No Smiles. She heals anyway – he’d have only skull-fucked and screamed at her anyway – wanting her body instead of her mind. He is undeserving of the butterflies love and the abundance in which it was given, and he was certainly too selfish to love her back. Because he neither loves himself nor allows himself to love. She wasted many tears, but will never again. She places her heart in a box guarded by thorns and snakes – secure that it will be broken no more.”



Don’t say it with Flowers

Sleaze. Creep. Control Freak. Possessive. Alcoholic. Self-Deprecating. Obese. Smarmy. Clingy. Money-obsessed. Boring. Ignorant. Desperate. STOP-FUCKING-TOUCHING-ME! Looking to get his Cheb wet. Bad personal hygiene. Greasy. Megalomaniac. Drug Abuser. Convict. No Ambition. Only-messages-when-he’s-drunk. GET-THE-FUCK-AWAY-FROM-ME!

Dating still sucks.

And I am surrounded by Morons.

I continue to buy the more expensive Flowers I like!


Danger – 10,000ft drop


Intimacy is touching the water inside a goldfish bowl – fresh, clear, comfort liquid sharply becoming stale, cold, invasive and tainted with the presence of things or people we can neither understand or come to Love.
A flash of bright promise from the side of a Goldfish in a ray of Sunlight to suddenly become a blunt and burned Orange shying safely into the dark, away from all contact.
Leave me be, for I adore my bubble of Silence & Isolation.



*°・o。★ A.b.s.t.i.n.e.n.c.e P.l.e.d.g.e ☆。o・゚*


In line with my recent Sobriety promise to myself, I’ve also pledged that “True Love Will Wait”.
It’s amazing how much time, energy and concentration is dedicated to both Alcohol & Sex – time that could have been spent, ya’know…enriching your life instead of chasing junk food for the brain and the naughty bits.
Obtaining them. Doing them. Enjoying them. Sometimes over-indulging in them & then dealing with the physical or the emotional hangover. Regretting them. Then back to the start of the cycle. Round and Around.
I’m getting off this Ride.

Dating is a bloody Nightmare on it’s own without Alcohol involved.
99.9% of the Men I interact with on a Daily basis are “Chancers”, and are probably responsible for the aggressive Androphobia I’ve just gotten over.
In a nutshell, they’re bored, they think that they’re the absolute best you can ever get and they want to get their sticky fingers all over your Boobies and Frou Frou RIGHT NOW!!
I’ve learned quickly to stop feeling sorry for them over their affection-starved tales of woe and politely making my escape to become Madam Iron Knickers with:

“Go away, before I find someone to bray ya”
“Piss Off, before I get angry”.

I know they’re not all like that, I’m just unfortunate enough to live somewhere populated by a high concentration of them.

“Bonny lass yeh, Ah’d ride ya ahl ahwa! Fancy a Fuck, like?”. Charming. Can you see why I’m jaded?

The Frou Frou doesn’t want to be ridden all over at all.
It wants Flowers and genuine affection and three months of regular time spent together before deciding whether the Samurai can clip the knot – and in the time between then and now, there will be no one-night Scooby Snacks & no Hot-Bubble-Bath-Candles-Lit-Bar-of-Chocolate-Raunchy-Film Early Nights! Tickles & Pornograhy are also banned, obviously.

I’m going to save myself for the right one, direct all of my energies into my Projects and not to give in to Temptation.

Wish me Luck!