Through fat and thin

 

Konica12053

 

 

 

Perhaps I was meant to be fat?

Always waking hungry
craving breakfast as
a start.

And done digesting that
arrived
strong appetite
for lunch.

After eating this
extended sluggishness
dragged on.

Until an evening meal
consumed

spread need
of rest

then sleep.

 

Hence
imagined workouts

all postponed.

To days
which

never came.

 

 

 

 

 

Since writing the above lines, in 1981, I continued avoiding the gym.

Later, chronic illness deterred exercise.
Yet I remained fairly slim.
Until around 2014.

Once consulted, doctors said expanding waist size often happened during “middle age”.

Next, an unusual type of vertigo attacked.
The scales went into reverse.
Whatever I ate, weight loss persisted. Alarmingly fast.

(From peaking at 87kg (192lbs/13.9) I dropped 27kg (60lbs): to 60kg (130lbs/9.2).)

By 2015, very weak, it became harder lifting my feet.
I began shuffling along.

A few people wondered if I was dying.
(Such thoughts also worried me.)

A test revealed severe pancreatic insufficiency.
I had been wasting away due to malnutrition.
Literally starving.
Because my stomach failed at digesting food.

Doctors focussed on this skinny state.

Though I haven’t gained the weight back, despite years of enzyme supplements.

 

There are positive sides:

Being nearer a semi-goth look.
Without makeup.

My cheekbones show more.
I quite like them.

School uniform could fit again.

 

So, that’s something.

As an M.E./CFS sufferer
(across three decades)
I’ve moved from ill and fat.

To ill and thin.

 

Thin seems better.

 

But

 

I’d sooner be well.

 

 

 

 


 


 

 

Hi everyone!

Frankly, I felt too sick and depressed for blogging, this week.
But, didn’t want to give in, and miss a chance of interacting with you all.
So decided on posting, anyway.

Comments are always VERY welcome! šŸ™

Art on the blog is mine. Hope you like it?

Thanks for reading. šŸ™‚


( Anxiety / art / beauty / blog / depression / illness / life / mental health / poem / poetry / reading / thoughts / writing )

Seven good things about blogging!

scan 20

 

 

Blogging has its lows, I know.

Times when stats flatline, and fall.
As silence reigns across the site.
Those hoped-for comments don’t appear.
Five days go by without a view.
Followers lost
not gained.

(Third year in, I get such weeks.)

Yet there are upsides, too.
Hence the title: used above.

That said
I’ll start my list…

 


 

 

Seven good things about blogging!

1) Making connections.
(Seeing people return, until their avatars become akin to friends.)

2) The thrill of an arriving comment.
(Especially if you get very few. Often the case for me.)

3) Finding a fascinating blog.
(The pointer glides toward that “follow” sign. Resistance growing futile.)

4) Being first to “Like” a post.
(Or boost an unfairly-neglected one. Giving encouragement.)

5) Wishing a new blogger good luck.
(Sparing them commentless months: whence I began.)

6) Assisting someone to overcome a problem.
(Particularly mistakes I once made myself.)

7) Being deeply moved by a piece.
(Having my worldview changed.)

 


 

(One memorable example of (7) occurred in discovering a post about Ehlers-Danlos Syndromes, called The Reality of Living with Chronic Illnesses , by Julianna.

Her sufferings were farĀ worse than I’d imagined.

Next, I found a video on the subject. It was upsetting to watch.

Then a wave of shame spread through me.
I recalled moaning over my own symptoms, to Wendi (from Simply Chronically Ill ).
Who endures Ehlers-Danlos.

I regretted avoiding research, instead of lazy vague ideas.
Too late, now.
(With luck, she’ll forgive me.)

Hence, if a single good thing might come from these thoughts, it would be
an increased awareness of EDS.)

 


 

So, what do YOU most enjoy about blogging?

Any of the points mentioned?
All of them?
Or none?

Have I left something out?

Please add a comment.

THANK YOU!

 


 

(PS:

A note to regular readers surprised by an outbreak of uncharacteristic positivity.

My spirits were raised after interacting with several favourite writers and supporters, namely:
River Dixon, Mike Campbell, Yassy, Larisa, Luna, Wendi, Linda R Davis, Elan Mudrow:
who visited a festive comment section, last week.
Which helped the Christmas period feel less isolating than usual.
(For a person spending his 28th Xmas alone.)

But fear not! Eccentric order may soon be restored.
Strange art and sad poetry, remain in the pipeline.

I also continue to class myself as a failure on WordPress.

Just between us (don’t tell!).
My guiltiest secret desire during 2019 was for someone to push that “reblog” button.

It never happened, of course.

Ah well: perhaps I can write content worth sharing in 2020?

(“Dream on!” says an inner voice.))

 

 


 

I shall end by wishing a

Happy New Year!Ā  šŸŽ‰

to you all.

 

Thank’s for reading.

 


( anxiety / art / blog / depression / humor / illness / life / mental health / photography / poetry / reading / thoughts / writing )

Blogstars!

 

1_Page_24

 

 

Oh, to be a blogstar!

Yet that requires an audience.

Which is where
(for me)
the problems start…


 

But I’m taking a festive break, from sad poetry, this week.

To celebrate the role models and supporters, who have enhanced my time on WordPress.

 


 

Role models

 

Blogging guru Cristian Mihai is a great source of advice. ( Though I don’t know how he producesĀ so much high-quality content, while also finding time to eat and sleep!)

 

Poet stars!

First to enchant me with her words was Candice Louisa Daquin atĀ The Feathered Sleep .

Next came

Tosha Michelle at Everything I Never Told You .

Elan Mudrow

River Dixon at The Stories In Between .

Linda R Davis at Bits of Poetry .

Miriam E at Another Wandering Soul .

Devika Mathur at My Valiant Soul .

 


 

Art stars!

Josephine R Unglaub at Lemanshots .

Mike Campbell at bongdoogle doodles .

 


 

Stalwarts!

These are the most vital people of all.

Without their continued support I might have lost heart long ago, and given up blogging.

By liking my work over an extended period, they encouraged me to go on.

 

River dixon, Josephine R Unglaub, and Mike Campbell are already linked, above.

Thus I shall begin the section with:

Wendi at Simply Chronically Ill .

Dawn Autom.

(Those two ladies are my “Comment Queens”.
Their feedback has been very valuable.)

 

Other important stalwarts include:

Gary J Steele at outofwak (artworldwar) .

Pooja Gudka at lifesfinewhine .

Luna at lunaiswriting .

Megan O’Keeffe at Debatably Dateable .

V at MillennialLifeCrisis .

Claudia at Between the lines .

Peter Edwards at Little Fears .

JoĆ£o-Maria at Caliath .

Chris Nicholas at The Renegade press .

Michelle Nguyen at elleguyence .

Caralyn at BeautyBeyondBones .

Larisa at Ebony and Crows .

Yassy at Yaskhan .

Yazzeus at ALYAZYA .

Tetiana Aleksina at Unbolt me .

Word Fandom .

(THANK YOU, ALL!)

 


 

 

I hope readers will discover a new blog to enjoy, on my list.

Lots of writers could be added, but I won’t make this post too large.

 

(If I’ve left you out, please mention yourself in the comment section.
Or cite your own favourites.)

Feedback is always welcome.

 

Wishing everyone a Merry Christmas! šŸŽ…šŸ»

(Art on the blog is mine.)

 

Thank you for reading.

 


 

(PS, I shall be spending the 28th Xmas alone in my room, due to chronic illness.
It would be nice hearing from anybody else on WordPress. šŸ™‚)

 


( art / blog / blogger / culture / drawing / illness / life / mental health / poetry / poets / reading / thoughts / writing )

Block twat

1_Page_09

 

 

 

In every block of flats, I found

a twat appeared
who seemed designed
to cause persistent suffering
for vulnerable unfortunates
within an earshot’s range.

 

From varied means
these agents chose:

Some, thudding bass
through concrete walls.

Or loud TV’s, plus shouting.

Drilling, banging, barking.

Sawing wood at 4 am.

I’ve heard all those, and more.

 

Thus peace was wrecked
for neighbours
left to cope
unhelped.

 

 

Then nicer tenants
were replaced
by others
less considerate.

Till few remained
who’d halt a slow
descent.

 

 

Aside from daydream’s hope
or fantasized revenge

one can only seek
new homes, and flee.

Yet knowing twats may follow

(if they aren’t already there).

 

 

 

So social housing
wears me down.

I’m stuck here.

Ill.
Alone.

 

An unloved, friendless, pain-filled grind.

(Add crushing insignificance.
And never getting laid.)

 

Given time, perhaps
such burdens
might suffice
at breaking spirit?

 

 

But being forced
to fret
each ruined year

as life declines

tormented
by a group

of idiots.

 

 

 

It’s things like that

which really

twist

 

the knife.

 

 

 

 

 


 

(2010)

 


 

Hi everyone!

 

Please note:

I grew up (in England) employing the word twat as synonym for an annoying person.
But I’m not sure if that usage is so prevalent in the USA?
Apologies for any confusion.

 

My old prose has morphed toward poetry, during editing, again.

Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it?

 

Comments are always very VERY welcomeĀ  šŸ˜ !

 

Thank you all for reading.

 


(anxiety / art / blog / blogging / depression / illness / life / mental health / poem / poetry / reading / thoughts / writing )

The strange magic of blogging

Konica10239

 

 

Second blogiversary!

 

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

Could blogging create such side-effects?

Had the Muse rejected a premature goodbye?

 

During May 2017 I published a “last poem” (dated 2004):
having been unable to compose any for 13 years.

Next I began posting old daily notes ( “Lostness”) in weekly instalments.

 

Unexpectedly, these disconnected fragments started morphing:
poeticising themselves.
Which felt rather strange, at first.

I assumed this would be temporary. But it kept occurring.

Hence the blog has become mainly poetry.
(I’ve even written some new stuff.)

 

As “Lostness” now reaches 2012, I worry that the approaching transition to uploading prose might reduce an already small audience.

 

There are also regrets, over not connecting more with others on WordPress.

Yet, being affected by quite severe levels of illness, just grinding out a post takes several days, leaving me very drained.
Thus, at present, staying focussed on working through an unedited backlog ( 7 years’ notes; 46 years’ prose; plus one unfinished novel) retains priority.

 

The greatest single success on this site so far is owed to a spontaneous act of kindness from the lovely Sara (of “Sara in LaLaLand”) who sharedĀ  “Help! It’s my Birthday…” (June 2018) with her many followers.

Unfortunately views have declined since then.Ā  And no-one has been inspired to reblog another piece.

 

 

Though continual health problems stir thoughts of giving up blogging,
people’s likes and comments encourage my pushing on, despite the pain, each week.

 

 

Finally,

here’s a photo of me from happier times:

 

 

 

 

scan 18

 

 

Thank you all for reading!

 

 


 

( Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it?

Comments are always welcome!

I’m extremely isolated, so hearing from others makes a real difference to my day.)

 


 

( anxiety / art / blog / depression / drawing / illness / life / lostness / mental health / poem / poetry / thoughts / writing )

 

 

 

Posturing

 

Konica128512

 

 

Ā  LostnessĀ Ā Ā  (103)

 

 

It hurt: admitting deep belief
got built upon
some shifting sands
that proved unstable.

But many things were learnt before
skilled reasoning was primed.

 

Illusions may be preferable
compared with harsher truths.

I wondered:
had kind ancestors
less chance of spreading traits
in ancient days when strangers
carried spears or axes?

 

Even now, on darkened streets
if lacking ways to guess
at inner natures
stereotypes alert survival
biased judgements happen fast.

Those who act beyond the norm
surprise more careful minds.

Hostility might swiftly flare
from standing in supposed reproach
to other’s sensed esteem.

 

 

Resentment
being simply stirred
finds politicians seeking votes
by posturing as punishers
for group morality.

Lauding money-saving cuts
they channel latent spite against
the unfit and the sick.

 

Such tactics sparking parody, I wrote:

“Behold!
A righteous call is heard to
“rise up from thy bed
and work.”
Declaring thousands newly well
in single pen-signed
miracles.

Once doubters then spoke cautiously
predicting public backlash
voices countered any qualms
upbraiding:
“Oh, you faint hearts
trust the masses side with us!
These broken ones are quietly despised.
Expect responses satisfied, at
watching shirkers stressed.”

 

So all softness became scorned
replaced by mirth
imagining
the lowly get chastised.”

 

 

Wealth had gentler treatment, though

on seeing how
our state
controls
its rich with
dangled “carrots”

 

while the poor
receive the
stick.

 

 

 

(2011)

 


 

(Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it!

Comments are exceedingly welcome!

I have been feeling very low recently, and it’s so nice when someone breaks the silence…

Thank you for reading.)

 


 

( art / beauty / culture / drawing / illness / life / lostness / mental health / philosophy / poem / poetry / politics / thoughts )

 

 

 

Prideful spirit

 

konica124971.jpg

 

 

LostnessĀ Ā  (99)

 

 

I search across the lighted page…

This portal made for mass distraction
holds me in its net.

More interesting than my time offline
here bearing social emptiness.

Languishing alone
unseen.
These many years beyond
all human care
or touch.

And being ill
enduring pain
our mind can start to thirst
for greater agency
chafing amid helplessness
under ruthless viral force.

 

Remembering
I met a few who chose
assertive faiths

which conjured up a
self-projected world
where things seemed props
around their stage
as animated nature
somehow
manifested will.

Such prideful spirit
set against soft pity
weakness, limits: could
then lead to blaming
patients for disease.

(Rationing our sympathy lets
conscience free, conveniently.
Recalling one I heard
excuse compassion’s loss
when that shrinking quality, in him,
appeared
already quite worn out
before it had been used.)

 

Just presume we did attain
a vision clear from
comforting delusion’s balm:
need this leave us much
except an uninspiring truth?

 

 

Confessing, though

(while knowing none might die
with inbox vacant)

I still aspired to closure
after realising
any life
including mine

should likely
stay
unfinished

even

as it
ends.

 

 

 

(2011)

 


 

(Art on the blog is by me: I hope you like it?

Comments are very welcome!

Have a virus which is thickening brain-fog.
Unsure if my writing works due to disorientation effects: making me slightly word-blind.

I’m finding it difficult to carry on blogging due to illness. Views are down; follows almost stagnant, sharing non-existent.
Feeling at a low ebb. Don’t know how to turn things around. Could anyone help?

Thank you for reading.)

 


(art / beauty / blog / culture / depression / drawing / illness / life / lostness / mental health / poem / poetry / thoughts )

 

 

Gratifying paranoia

 

 

Konica1188

 

 

 

LostnessĀ Ā  (84)

 

 

Ā Upset at an injustice

we can feel let down by life

and overwhelmed
decide
primal unfairness thus
extends
across from illness
on to death.

 

Sometimes great dejection
unrelieved
grown toxic
drives a pen
exhaling word-fumes
as its vent.

 

But still ideas recur
of better ways
and systems

Views that provoke taking sides.

So wanting all might share
in these fond dreams
may soon produce the wish
for countering dissent.

Such tendencies have often led
toward coercion:

Force made bold
since lacking guilt
perhaps outlaws offence

itself offensive to
old freedoms
won through cost

existing safer knowing
who despised us
rather than
instead
kept hid by silence
out of fear.

 

While rights attained
could work as weapons
pitting groups against
their rivals.

Or awareness
believed raised
seem gratified
embracing paranoia
with its certainty.

 

Observing euphemisms form
diverse in latent tension
sees a shift away from conflict
about honour

basing renewed status
on complaint.

 

When well-fed grievance
thrives

competitive

some innocents are shocked
at finding hatred
among places where
they once had hoped
or played

expectant

eager

to be liked.

 

 

 

(2004)

 

 


 

 

 

(Any art on the blog is mine.
Comments are very welcome!
Thank you for reading.)

 

 

 


 

 

( art / culture / depression / drawing / illness / life / lostness / mental health / poem / poetry / politics / thoughts / writing.)

 

 

Temples for the lost

 

Konica1025

 

 

LostnessĀ Ā  (74)

 

 

They felt like temples for the lost

 

Those second-hand bookshops
now long gone
toward which I set off
on textual pilgrimage
in hope of serendipity
or hidden wisdom.

 

Usually able to browse alone
apart from occasional fellow
maladjusted specimens.

 

Rarely diverted by the attractive

They were probably busy
living
perhaps even having actual sex?

Something inconceivable in my case
after so many futile years
cast around
through lust’s hormonal puppetry
seeking that non-existent one
who would allow me to love her.

 

Still stuck on biology’s rack
though aching desire made way
for muscle pain
and stabbing kidney stones
growing their cruel
little spines.

 

Reading retains its wonder
yet fails to suffice.

While any shreds of happiness
are side-effects once journeying
not an arrival.

 

Yearning for stamina
to make the art I want to view
and play music
heard internally
thus breaking loose
from illness.

 

Past creative output
unused
weighs upon the mind
as a responsibility
needing work
to satisfy.

Its words left unseen
in cupboards
paper yellowing
with mute reproach at conscience
for such neglect.

 

But self-promotion requires energy,
belief, luck, or friends

Finding none of these
I fret about
my ruined life
here
regretting everything

 

including
the fact
that

 

I regret everything.

 

 

 

 

(2002)

 

 


 

 

(Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it. Comments welcome.)

 

 


 

 

(beauty/blog/books/depression/drawing/loneliness/lostness/mental health/poem/poetry/thoughts)

 

 

Withdrawn empathy

 

 

Konica1024

 

 

 

LostnessĀ Ā  (73)

 

 

 

How to be irreplaceable?

Do what only you can do.

 

 

Indicating I should give up chess for art
yet lack the will.

Perhaps time wasted is more self-sabotage?

While routine keeps chaos at bay.

(Constraint dressed as liberty?)

 

Remembering
during childhood
new items would interest
and excite
but later excess novelties
began to irritate.

 

 

Here my mind switched topic
as it struck me
since becoming sick
I often received unsought advice
containing barely concealed dismissal

finding people reassured
by their withdrawn
empathy

sparked after
my exile from the fit.

 

Possibly reflecting
in a small way
resistance to compassion
outside our chosen groups?

Pointing at a tendency for
ethical selection

constructing varied alibis
over creeping inhumanity:

 

On one extreme
an aristocratic
exceptionalism
(where assumed rank
excused base action).

 

And in politics
some devalue all opponents

until better systems appear worse
because improvements might delay
imagined revolution
(plus revenge).

 

Or unalterable texts
can block reform
focusing
cultural incompatibility

letting intolerance spread
through openness.

 

 

Those who laud
global ideas
may deny tribal forces
moving others.

 

Like any credo wanting to prevail
imposing supposed virtue
stirs reaction

as authorities suppress
expression around
ill feeling.

 

 

Though hate
lives on

 

in silent passions
of the heart.

 

 

 

 

(2001)

 

 


 

 

(I try to blog each Sunday. Comments welcome.)

 

 


 

 

(aphorism/depression/drawing/illness/life/lostness/mental health/opinions/poem/poetry/thoughts)