Just a Welshman eating snails. SImple.
Think I’m craving normal
Not a word of weirdness
Tag: jesus
Just boils my blood
WWJD
I was this morning reminded of the scumbag that is Creflo Dollar, the preacher who, a couple of years ago, spent 63 million dollars (I put fifty in the limerick because it worked better ) on a new jet for his ministry.
Throw up all the arguments you like there is no justification ever that he should need to take money from people that he can travel spreading the gospel in a frigging Gulfstream. Yes there have been good deeds done but just how much more could he do if he was not spending money on multi million mansions, multiple Rolls Royce and jets.
The man and his organisation are truly predatory. You know, I do wish there was a hell because it would surely have a place for men like him.
Sadly, I still remember a time when I had some of his tapes you know. Glad those days are behind me that’s for sure.
Dark Christmas – Child
not even a photo album?
Some interesting prompts over at Mindscapes Thought I would do something a little different on the Christmas themes.
mindescapes Christmas Challenge 2017
A child they say, to save the world
So noble great and true
But there are things I often wonder
And here are but a few
He must have had grandparents
But they do not get a mention
No way would they not be involved
They do so love attention
And what of names when he was young
When he’d not done works or healed the blind
Was he always just called Jesus
Or perhaps nicknames not so kind?
Did the miracles start early
Did his parents ever gloat?
did he go through the terrible two’s?
and when they bathed him did he float?
What were his toys, did he read books?
Was he any good at sports?
Did he always wear a robe or was
He rather fond of shorts
Did he have a pet, was he kind to dogs
And at what age did he walk
Was he quite an advanced baby
And how early did he talk?
You’d think someone might remember
If he was such a big deal
Pity that there aren’t records
As much more they would reveal
Photo courtesy of pixabay
M is for Michael
that’s me…
Michael. That’s me.
This seemed like a good idea when I did the title but now I am less sure. If you’ve read me for more than a day or two then you know what I’m like and I don’t really need to tell you. I have a wife and kids who I love, a life I enjoy immensely and very few filters or boundaries.
You know what, I think that will just about do.
You really don’t need to know that I love comics or rugby or television or films or coding or laughing or being grumpy, that’s all there for you to see. You don’t need to know that I think Donald trump is a twat and that I find it quite heart breaking to see what he is doing to America because I grew up with all things American and it played a big part in my growing up.
And you dont need to be told that I like to make people laugh and dont take things too seriously and that I have a problem with authority and organised religion. It’s all there to see in my writing.
Thanks for reading and I hope you continue to take some pleasure in what I put out there and if not, meh, I’ll get over it.
Michael
X
L is for loss
If I were not here tomorrow…
Were I to die tomorrow then there are so many things I would not get to tell my boys. As melancholy a thought as it is it is one with which I have of late struggled though something I have yet to remedy. Such words of wisdom that are a father’s to impart would go unsaid and they would quite possibly venture into this world as young men without my deep and considered understanding of so many things.
Whilst their mother would without doubt provide them the support they need as young men I would not be there to explain to them why they should always ensure they place the drill chuck back in the little holder thingy on the handle of the drill to ensure they are not forever heading to the DIY place to buy another.
I ask myself who, if not me, should be the one to explain why darts is a sport and motor racing is not and why being a Yorkshire-man is truly a privilege.
My heart is heavy with the thought that at my passing so ceases the chance for me to impart upon them how a man should approach washing dishes so as to ensure he never gets asked again.
Truly though I believe the greatest gift we can give them is our presence, time and attention without which we cannot pass on our biases and prejudice.
Good god, what if they grow up to be Manchester United fans?
K is for Kids
Just to be clear. They are not for sale.
I have two and I love them very much, which is lucky for them because there are days when I think they might just be a little bit faulty. Don’t get me wrong, despite their obvious flaws I still think mine are actually more pleasant than other peoples – and definitely yours – and I have the tedious photo’s and long winded stories to prove it.
I think/hope that my eldest may well have the most wonderful sense of humour as just the other day he asked whether the Germans were still looking for the Von Trapp family. Now don’t get me wrong, as an Englishman I am of a mind to think that somewhere there is a lower level Ortsgruppenleitner with a hatred for sing songs that is still hopeful of apprehending them, but truth be told that’s probably just me being awful. I was troubled enough to ask him whether he was serious, and I am still not actually sure.
The youngest is a precious little thing who has the most delightful ability to believe his own lies and I am most certain that he is destined for great things – probably in politics or banking. Such is his conviction that I often have to refer to the internet to support any argument I may find myself having with him.
Still, I wouldn’t be without them no matter how much I was offered for them – and trust me the little blonde one is worth big money in certain parts of the middle east. The elder brown haired one is probably worth less though he has broad shoulders and a strong back and would certainly do the work of at least one small mule.
Not that I’ve researched it. Honest.
To be fair, had I tried to return them or asked for a repair I imagine I would have been told that any damage they are currently exhibiting may well be my fault.
J is for Jesus, Jew and Jam
I do rather like Jam.
Given it’s Christmas and all J is most definitely for Jesus. I was going to write ‘J is for Jew’ but that sounded a bit accusatory and a kind of racist. It’s not is it? It’s only a word after all. I tend not to think about what is and what is not appropriate when I write and simply go with it and watch my followers to see whether it effects the number.
Maybe it’s how you say it? Or who says it? If I am standing on top of a burning car outside of a bank it is most like decidedly racist, criminal and a load of other things that my mum would not be proud of. If someone has a bomb vest on insisting J is for Jew and is shouting for his friend Alan Akbar then again – I am thinking it is probably a negative use.
Conversely, if I am wearing a little white hat thing on my head attending a colleagues son’s something-or-other where they cut parts of his dick off then I think it is simply a statement. I sit and reflect: “Oh yes I see, J is for Jew.” It’s almost a rather comforting and warming moment feeling that I am connected to a people that have spanned all of written memory.
Guess how it makes you feel is about you and not me really.
P.S.
You know, google is great. I searched for ‘Jewish Cock Cutting Ceremony’ and it informed me it was called a bris. I am assuming lots of other people have searched similar terms. See, I’m not alone in my ignorance.
P.P.S
J is also for ‘Jam’. I do like Jam.
Dark Christmas – Chimney
I seem to have a recurring theme starting here. I think I might have Santa issues…
Some interesting prompts over at Mindscapes Thought I would do something a little different on the Christmas themes.
https://mindescapes.net/2017/11/30/mindescapes-christmas-challenge-2017/
As darkness falls and blankets pulled
up tight around your ears
across the town the crunch of boots
on snow and darkest fears
Door handles rattled, windows checked
Through letter box he peeps
Wild eyes, sharp teeth and fingers gnarled
As you pretend to sleep
He knows, he sees, he understands
Just how you have behaved
He watches day and night and follows
From the cradle to the grave
And should he know, perhaps suspect
You’ve not done as you should
Onto your roof he clambers
All because you’ve not been good
And down your chimney he will slip
When fast asleep you dream
And whisk you off to darkest lair
Where no one hears you scream
Dark Christmas – Inn
Recently found parchment provides reliable eye witness account of the big day it seems…
Some interesting prompts over at Mindscapes Thought I would do something a little different on the Christmas themes.
mindescapes Christmas Challenge 2017
Dear diary you see
you may just not believe
what has happened tonight when at work
couple knocked at the door
he performed, stomped and swore
demanded a room, what a jerk
But I felt really bad
for the sorry faced lad
cos his lass says that god did …you know
now shes bearing his kid
not from nothing he did
but hes sticking with her, brave lad so…
The night’s silent and cold
Seems a saviours foretold
Theres the lass on a donkey call M
Now shes proper knocked up
and at back of the pub
giving birth near a cow a hen
There’s some fellas with sheep
and some lads from the east
who look lost but they seem to have gifts
it has been a long night
and this stars rather bright
god I really do hate working shifts
Picture courtesy of pixabay
Dark Christmas – Town
You better watch out…
Some interesting prompts over at Mindscapes Thought I would do something a little different on the Christmas themes.
mindescapes Christmas Challenge 2017
As night falls, all through the town
When the children start to slumber
There comes a man his hood pulled down
His heart all black and thunder
it rages, coursing through his veins
and soul as dark as pitch
he searches for the homes and seeks
the curtains as they twitch
inside he creeps they scurry fast
he knows they’re wide awake
to take their souls, exchanged for gifts
be good for goodness sake
Dark Christmas – Donkey
My favourite Christmas carol has always been ‘Little Donkey’
Some interesting prompts over at Mindscapes Thought I would do something a little different on the Christmas themes.
mindescapes Christmas Challenge 2017
I shared today’s post with my youngest Thomas and he came up with this. Tom is 9 and seems to rather enjoy trying his hand at poetry. Good work boy!
Donkey travelled through the night
On his back he carried heavenly light
The little heroes name was Kevin
And he carried the boy from heaven
Below is my effort. I think Tom did a better job. I’m going for a free form morbid nihilist first donkey perspective kind of vibe. I think I smashed it.
What? It’s a thing…Donkey’s can write poetry you know, they just don’t write it down because of the hooves.
Long dark roads
Dust and despair fill my every waking hour
Family and friends long forgotten
We eat through the miles
We pass through the night
They rest on my back as we follow the star
No food no water no hope
Onwards they drive me
Through the night towards day break
Silver and gold spill across the land
Day brings scorching heat
I wish I was dead
Ive never written free form before. I think it shows.
Dark Christmas – Nice
Theres someone in your house and he means to do you harm…
Some interesting prompts over at Mindscapes Thought I would do something a little different on the Christmas themes.
mindescapes Christmas Challenge 2017
Red clad he stalks outside your home
He sneaks in while you sleep
Your kids he watches in their beds
through frosted windows peeps
You lock your doors and fasten shut
Your windows for you dread
Into your home he will still come
And find you in your bed
He looks for reasons, punishment
Will follow have no doubt
If you raise you voice or dare to cry
And god forbid you pout
For down your chimney he will come
His clothes all stained with black
And lingers in your living room
There with his bulging sack
He spills his goods upon your floor
They’re all the things you need
All wrapped with bows and glittery
The symbols of your greed
And unto him you pledge yourself
And worship at his throne
To him you pledge eternal self
Until he calls you home
Then in his workshop you will slave
and he feeds upon your pain
and day and night you’ll toil until
December comes again
Dark Christmas – Journey
Christmas with a little something extra thrown in just because…
Some interesting prompts over at Mindscapes Thought I would do something a little different on the Christmas themes.
mindescapes Christmas Challenge 2017
With a hey and a ho
To Bethlehem they go
Cos it seems theres some count or some such
And he grumbles and moans
Of the distance he groans
And the stress he is finding too much
Cos she wont give him none
but she’s now 9 months gone
and insists she’s not been with another
she persists it’s not lies
that it came from the skies
he’s convinced that she’s been with his brother
He had wanted to leave
But no one would believe
She’s a cheat and she won’t meet his need
So he’s stuck, trapped he feels
As his wife she reveals
That god’s filled her right up with his seed
“Oh come on he insists
Do you think I am pissed”
Grabs the donkey and loads her on board
“If it looks like my brother
Then Im telling my mother
That you lied and that you are a fraud”
“Babe I promise” she sighs
“It was god twixt my thighs
I’d not cheat” and she feeds him a grape
But he rants quite aggrieved
And he just wont believe
“You ask me, sounds a whole lot like rape!
“Oh sweet Joe” and she smiles
And she charms with her wiles
And he sighs, his hot loins are still urging
He’d just wanted some fun
Now she’ll soon be a mum
Him a dad, but they’re both still a virgin
His friends think that he’s mad
And will soon be a Dad
To a kid which he didn’t create
And he feels quite forlorn
And it soon will be born
and he’s trapped and this really ain’t great
So they take to the road
Donkey carries the load
And he thinks, “guess I’m stuck this is it”
They ride into the night
And a star it shines bright
His heart heavy and feeling quite shit…
A Pinch of Happiness
“Look at me boy” he snarled as Harley walked past, launching into another rant. “He will chastise you 7 times and you shall eat the flesh of you sons and daughters” he screamed.
In response to M’s writing prompt “A pinch of happiness”.
Harley was very much a man of habit. Each morning he would wake up at 6.45, hit the snooze button three times and then promptly into the shower where he would always use an exfoliating scrub. He liked the way it made his skin look.
He would then dress quite impeccably in a dark suit and pastel shirt, followed by a light breakfast of toast and orange marmalade whilst he checked his social media accounts and sent a good morning message to his partner who worked the early shift at the local hospital. A quick wash and dry of the plate and knife later and he would set off for work at precisely 7.45 a.m.
Monday to Friday the short walk to the underground was always punctuated by a stop off at the ‘Roasted Bean’ where he would have his usual skinny latte. He would smile at Rose, a pretty freckle faced girl, who would recognise him in the queue and ask how he was and he would always reply that he was fine thank you.
He was a good and kind man, loyal to his friends, faithful to his partner and wholly the sort of person you would very much like to live next to and he very much enjoyed his morning routine. It made him feel safe and in control. What he did not enjoy though was the short walk from the roasted Bean to the underground.
Every morning, stood on the corner just a short walk in the direction he was headed, stood a man who was very much everything that Harley was not. Under the dirt and long matted beard he was probably in his mid-fifties, but his blackened teeth and dark sallow eyes made it hard to tell. He would stand quite still holding a small polystyrene cup hoping for a few spare coins from the passers by, his clothes stained and torn and the stench of a lifetime of living on the streets filled the air around him.
As the morning masses streamed past with blank faces he watched them go by, mumbling to himself under his breath, only ever becoming animated at the sight of Harley. His eyes wide, spittle rained from his rancid mouth and he would spew a tirade of Old testament hate and bile as Harley approached, only stopping once Harley had crossed the busy road and disappeared down the tube station steps.
Harvey’s stomach lurched. “Here we go” he thought to himself.
“The people of Samaria must bear the guilt because they have rebelled against God” he shouted, pointing at Harley, “they will fall by the sword and their little ones will be dashed to the ground and their pregnant women ripped open!”
An old woman in a brown coat crossed the street to avoid him. Harley had tried that in the past but the man always followed him and he had given up. He had even tried different routes but the man always seemed to be there waiting, no matter which way he went.
Harley kept his eyes down and continued walking. The man seemed particularly vile today.
“See the day of the lord is coming” he continued as Harley drew close, his eyes wide and wild and a cruel smile spreading across his face “a day of wrath and anger and the infants will be dashed to pieces before their eyes and their wives will be violated!”
Harley was now directly opposite him. The stench of piss filled his nostrils.
“Look at me boy” he snarled as Harley walked past, launching into another rant. “He will chastise you 7 times and you shall eat the flesh of you sons and daughters” he screamed.
Harley’s heart raced, his fists clenched. He never responded, ever, but today felt different. He turned and look damn you”ed at the man, continuing to walk slowly backwards.
“Shut the hell up!” Harley shouted back, “leave me alone damn you.”
The man laughed loudly and took a step towards him. “Happy shall they be who take your little ones and dash them against the rock” he shouted grinning broadly and stabbing a filthy finger in Harley’s direction.
Harley continued moving backwards as the man sped up walking towards him.
“You’re mine boy” he yelled.
Harley was about to tell the man to go fuck himself but the words never got from his brain to his mouth. He heard a scream as he stepped backwards from the step and fell into the road.
The last thing that went through the mind of Harley Silver before his light was extinguished forever was the cackle of the man’s laughter.
It was different though, and for the briefest of moments he thought it sounded almost happy…
Photo courtesy of Leroy Skalstad @ Pixabay
More stuff? It isn’t all like that…Blanketed in bliss
Faeries: The long winter – Part 2
