Turn that shit up!
Good morrow fair colored crayons and dear shaded crayoffs! Hell, even a shoutout to any meandering crayfish, you’re all welcome here. I won’t even boil you alive to make candles or dinner. Setting the bar rather low, I know. Always a good place to start though.
Welcome back! I’m sure the radio silence was irksome after a couple weeks of more prolific musings, but needs must and self care took precedence this week. And I feel very self-cared, so let’s do some writing!
I finally have a new poem for you, but let’s not forgo the gentle comedic vibes first.
You know those intensely annoying internet ads where it’s like, “Casinos Hate Me- 4 tips to crush craps”, or other such nonsense. Well…
“Casinos Hate Him- Find Out the 3 Reasons Why!” Well, first of all I never go to the casino. If I ever did I probably wouldn’t play much, if at all. And finally, I think they have a generally negative impact on society and probably should not be nearly as prevalent or sponsored by the government. Looking at you, OLG. Also, I used to be fairly adept at counting cards. And that’s independent of shoe size, the dealer’s or mine. Incidentally, I wear a men’s 11.
Next, let’s talk about Dandelions- flowers, weeds, or lions dressed in powdered wigs and fanciful vestments? Door number 3 is very much my choice. Lions dressed as fops is just too entertaining a notion. Imagine the curly manes and delectable silken accoutrement. By the by, synonyms for fop I was previously unaware of, or not using enough… coxcomb, fribble, fashion-monger, (I fucking KNEW you could “mong” more than fish!), and my old and still favourite popinjay. Some interesting “research” we’ve been performing over here.
All right, let’s put down the banalities, momentarily at least, and move on to the poetry. I found myself in a bizarrely good mood the other day so created something that could actually be considered uplifting. I’ll try not to make it a habit. 🙂
Thank you again so very much for reading and please enjoy!
“Practical Magick”, July 20, 2021.
Festering boil that’s been removed
Epitome of pain improved
Colossal stone upon the chest
Weightless now most unwelcome guest
Intense metaphysical pains
Driven out by torrential rains
Cavernous pit, utter despair
Much shallower than was aware
Mere steps distant from sacred shine
Should your strength wane then borrow mine
Nobody’s oaken every day
We’re all fragile in our own way
But when the dark time closes in
And needs quiet staggering din
There’s no essence greater than love
To grant much needed gentle shove
Juvenile bird leaving its nest
Finally to essential test
Immense vigour of new found wings
Now soar and live the might of kings.
Or Queens! Yass! Do I need more “s’s”? I’ve never yassed before but I’d love to yass again. And properly.
Some of the most loving and helpful actions ever performed to my benefit have been of the, “tough-love”, variety. Sometimes saying what people want to hear, or just being nice is the worst possible thing for their betterment. I suppose the trick is discerning when it’s necessary and how to go about it. Easier said than done, or perhaps done than said. It’s hard.
If anyone can remember the technical term for one syllable rhymes please indulge me. I couldn’t find it and I know someone mentioned in a comment years ago but I’m not quite mad enough to embark on such a tedious journey. Anyway, I tend to shun them as “inferior” because, like a trampoline, I favour extra bounce in my rhymes, but certainly they have their place. Much like mini-trampolines have their uses as well, after all.
Has anyone actually seen, “Practical Magic”? I have not, but it’s got my girl Sandy B and Nicole Kidman, so I’m sure it’s better than, “The Craft”, remake I somehow sat through last year. No accounting for taste, especially bad. I never even saw the original, what was I thinking.
With that I must take my leave. Need time to meditate before a meeting. Self-care y’all. Yassssss Queens! Hmm, it does feel better with additional “s’s”. Let me know. I mean, does it need another “a”? I’m a terribly ignorant homosexual, yaasss indeed!
Happy Trails and Waggy Tales!
-Alex Blaikie (He/Him/His/It)
A fractured mind held together by cellophane and some used tack.