Oh, is it love?

I love this song by HelloGoodbye. Listen to it here.

Oh, it is love
From the first time I set my eyes upon yours
Thinking oh, is it love?

Oh, dear
It's been hardly a moment
And you are already missed
There is still a bit of your skin
That I've yet to have kissed
Oh say, please do not go
When you know, oh you know that I must
Oh say, I love you so
You know you, oh know you can trust
We'll be holding hands once again
All our broken plans I will mend
I will hold you tight so you know
It is love from the first
Time I pressed my hand into yours
Thinking oh, is it love?

Oh dear, it's been hardly three days
And I'm longing to feel your embrace
There are several days
Until I can see your sweet face
Oh say, wouldn't you like to be older and married with me?
Oh say, wouldn't it be nice to know right now that we'll be
Someday holding hands in the end
All our broken plans will have been
I will kiss you soft so you know
It is love from the first
Time I pressed my lips against yours
Thinking oh, is it love?

Oh, your heart may long for love that is more near
So when I'm gone these words will be here
To ease every fear
And dry up every tear
And make it very clear
I kiss you and I know
It is love from the first
Time I pressed my lips against yours
Thinking oh, is it love?

Oh it is love from the first
Time I pressed my lips against yours
Thinking oh, is it love?

Oh I kiss you and I know
It is love from the first
Time I pressed my lips against yours
Thinking oh, is it love?

Pain

I've just pulled a muscle in my neck. Ouch! I'm in agony.

In my head today

I have a song in my head today, and it won't go away. Luckily it is fabulous!

ELO - Xanadu.

Go and listen. It'll make your day better. Fact.

25°C

I'm not coping with this hot weather, and I'm not liking being in work when I could be sunbathing. My boy's stuck in a kiosk cooking food for hungry revellers today, poor lamb.
At least all my washing is done, so I can go home and sit out in my garden without a care in the world. Bliss.

Cut-up Cymraeg

Mae angen cysgu pedwar hynny.
Methu aros tan Fehefin, ar ôl gwaith.
Fuck, dwi gwaith.
Mae hyn yn ofnadwy, na na. Ugain menthol, weld e eto, a wedi cael neges tecst, nawr, dwi bant fory lasagne. I ti a fi. Dwi fethu aros tan dwi'n gweld e heno a Dydd Mercher gyda dwi ddim mewn cariad, waith cyn i mi methu aros tan haf.
Dwi fili gweld e heno dwi mewn cariad.

*

My first go at a Welsh one. Goddamn I LOVE cut-ups.

Heddiw

Dwi'n cael amser caled heddiw. Mae rhaid i mi fod yn waith tan bedwar o'r gloch, ond mae fe'n aros yn fy nhŷ i fi ddod adre.
Cawsom amser braf neithiwr, ac mi wnes i bryd o fwyd blydi grêt hefyd - hwyaden gyda thatws 'Hasselback' a saws ceirios.
Pedwar awr cyn i mi weld e eto...

One More Sleep

One more sleep
til I see him again,
three sleeps together
and back to being apart.
Six sleeps then
til I see him again,
but I’m meeting his friends
and that’s as far as we’ve got.

Lllwnc destun (newydd spon)

Dwi wedi cael digon o hunan sensoriaeth erbyn hyn, felly o hyn ymlaen dwi ddim yn mynd i wneud hynny o gwbl.
Dyma lwnc destun newydd te, i ddathlu dechrau perthynas newydd, ac i'r gobaith fy mod yn mynd i ddysgu rhywbeth newydd tro hyn.

Gone Shopping (back in 5 mins)

"Good Morning customers and welcome to your local supermarket.
On aisle two in our reductions cabinet today,
we have on offer - Sonnets now reduced to half price. Thank you."
Aisle one offers a selection of refrigerated adjectives
vacuum-packed in clear plastic, date coded for years to come.
Opposite is the fresh counter, where you can buy the spoken word
in kilograms (they've just gone metric,
Imperial was far too confusing for the younger folk).
"Staff announcement: John Milton to 'Epic' dept. please."
Next to the counters is the bakery. Steaming hot speeches;
packs of four quotes; French epitaphs; Italian quatrains,
you can buy them all at next to nothing prices.
"Staff announcement: In-store Laureate to 'On' section please.
All along the back wall (crammed next to the Christmas goods –
lovely rhyming couplets for Gran, a limerick or two for Dad, and a few top twenty
songwords for big Sis), foil-sealed (for freshness) and stored
in gaudy coloured cardboard boxes, are the everyday words.
The nouns, syllables and parables can all be found here
bearing a logo or a tradename. Some even have free gifts:
pocket dictionaries, or extra pronouns if you're lucky.
"Staff Announcement: Sheenagh Pugh to Customer Service desk please."
Take a look in the frozen section. Ancient dialects, dead languages and even sign
are all there, stamped with a barcode and thawing instructions.
Promotion ends topple with the weight of stacked tins of punctuation marks;
each recyclable steel can brimming with commas and asterixes and semi-colons.
"Good Morning customers and welcome to your local supermarket.
At the front of the store today we have on offer:
Buy one Vowel and get the second absolutely free! That's at the front
of the store today. Thank you."
Cuneiform signs hang over every aisle, and people singing englynion is pumped
through vocoders and out into the shop-floor. No time to stop and look
at the spirants and neatly wrapped onomatopoeia.
"Staff announcement: Andrew Craig Williams to 'Bullshit' dept. please."

Hiding

It’s too early in the morning for thoughts
of clocks, or where I should be at this dim
hour; busy dozing under the big bloodshot
moon with a quilt of stars to ease my chill.
My pulsing breath escapes me gratefully,
hides my head in a haze of slow vapour.
I’m disguised outside, pretending to be
something else: a tree, or stone on the floor.
The earth I huddle on will revolve soon,
turn itself to the light and start again.
Shortly the day will begin with kitchen
sounds and cars and high voices, lights switched on.
I’m not ready to join them, clustering;
I’ll wait here a while longer, lingering.

**

I chose mostly half rhymes, because I wanted to emphasis the understated tone of the poem – I wanted to write something colourless, using only black and white. I think the sonnet is mostly about not wanting to participate in modern life and ways to achieve that.
I used iambic pentameter to show the routine of norm al life, kitchens and clocks etc. but the lines do stray from that when the poem mentions the moon, the ultimate clock for the natural world into which the voice hides.
The lines run over into each other because the poem is about a morning unfolding, the earth revolving and time moving on – I found that by not ending a line at the usual ‘end of the line’, it helped to create that feeling of movement.

His Mother

I remember the day he painted the door,
took four hours and only two drips.
He left little notes under the bread bin
to remind me to do something or other,
not sure he wasn’t reminding himself.
Never got on with Uncle Twm, a clash
there, his Nan used to say.
When did he get that exercise bike?
I forget now but it was two years in the box
before it went to the car boot.
To think he doesn’t even like chips.

Chloe dreaming

It’s quite early morning, but the birds have been shouting about it for hours. Enough time has passed to make the night revolve away, which has allowed a knife made entirely of golden light to creep slowly across the carpet, tickling along over the assorted teddy bears, knitted toys and books that are littering the floor. Before the knife has a chance to get to the small girl tucked up in her bed, head back, mouth open, snoring like a tiny steam train; the door opens and her mother walks in. She crosses the muddle of toys and opens the curtains; the knife becomes a river and floods the room with warm, morning light and Chloe begins to wake up.
“Chloe sweetheart, time to get up.” Says her mother, Jules, gently shaking her.
“Wassat?” Exclaims Chloe drowsily, sleep blurring her voice and pinning her down into the soft warmth. She opens her eyes and screws her mouth into an expression of distaste. “I’m havin’ a lovely dream, wotchoo wakin’ me for?”
Jules strokes hair from her daughter’s face, she has a curl that insists on invading the tiny cheek, and gets tangled in her long eyelashes. She looks so much like her father. “Mam, what your eyes all red for?” She demands, sitting up now.
“Nothing, sweetheart. Mam’s just tired that’s all.” Jules’ eyes fill slightly and she grabs hold of little Chloe and pulls her into a fierce hug. “Mammy loves you.” Then, as if pulling herself together, she asks, “So, were did you go last night?”
“Aw Mam! I went to loads of places last night, which ones do you want me to tell you about?”
“All of them, of course. It’s only Saturday, we only have to go to the shops later to get tea in, we’ve got all morning. Start at the start for me.”
“Cool!” Exclaims Chloe happily, and snuggles deeper down into the nest that her quilt has become. Her story starts right after Mammy had put her to bed at eight, Chloe’s dreams last all night and long into the morning. Sometimes they stay even after she wakes up. Sometimes they even follow her into school. She checks her school bag every morning before getting into the car, and before the Summer when Daddy was still here, she used to get him to check too. Goblins hiding in her bag wouldn’t be scared off if she looked at them, but Daddy was so big he was able to scare them away. That’s what she told him. Last night’s adventure was a grand old time, it started on a ship, a golden ship made from frozen sunbeams which were carved by giants with red beards who lived by the sea. Chloe had been scared of them at first, but she soon discovered that they were very friendly indeed.
One of them was called Brian Jenkins, and it was he who told her where to find a magical key that would unlock any lock in the world. This was great news to the tiny girl (who in her dreams wore a red cape like Superman, a crown like the Queen and ruby slippers that were sometimes blue because Chloe liked blue sometimes much more than red) as a few dreams ago she had found a chest like a pirate’s chest but she couldn’t open it. A witch called Griselda had put a spell on the lock so that nobody could lock it. Chloe was desperate to open this chest because,
“It must av ‘ad a brilliant thing in it, because nobody would put a spell on a chest with something boring in it. Isn’t that right Mam?”
“Makes perfect sense to me, love. What happened then?”
Armed with the magical key, which had a large sapphire set into it, Chloe went back to where she had hidden the chest and quickly turned the sparkling key in the lock. Inside were a pair of wings that enabled the wearer to really fly, and a tiny bottle of magic potion. Two drops on the top of your head made your hair grow four feet long, so you could have a haircut and if you didn’t like it you could grow it back in a second.
Chloe was delighted with these finds, and popped hem both into her spoils bag, a purple bag that she could carry over her shoulder, with two buttons and a zip that made it look like a face. Chloe had been so happy when she found the bag in her dreamland, that she had begged her mother to make the bag for hr in real life. It now hung on the back of her bedroom door, and contained a Brothers Grimm book, a photograph of a cloud (which was the first photograph Chloe had ever taken and even though she had been aiming for Daddy’s face the cloud that had appeared when the film came back was still pretty amazing), a drawing book and a packet of Crayola with no red.
Chloe’s dream then became quite scary, she had slipped the wings over her shoulders and was flapping about near a tall tree that had thousands of glittering butterflies dancing over it, when suddenly the sky turned dark and there was a screeching noise. She looked up and saw three demons flying towards her, two were holding knitting needles and one had a pair of scissors.
“And then I really did get scared ‘cos the scissors were really big. I called for you and Daddy but only you came see Mam. I don’t think Daddy can fly from where he is.” Jules pulls her daughter in for another big hug. Some days it gets so bad that she locks the doors and unplugs the phone, and the only person she can stand to see is Chloe. Chloe likes those days, she knows. They play hide and seek or make cakes; painted a mural once on the landing wall, all rainbows and exotic birds.
“You’re so brave, sweetheart. Help Mam be brave too, will you?” Asks Jules, pulling her close again.

This morning is made of rain and clouds; the dark grey sky has seeped into the house through the windows and dulled all the colours. Jules makes herself a quick cup of tea before going up to wake Chloe and find out where she has been. She smiles at the thought, nearly every morning for the last six years, one of them has gone up to ‘find out where Chloe has been’, it is as much a routine as washing the dishes or feeding the cats. Jules will have to do it alone from now on though. She breathes deeply, drains the last of her tea, and bounds up the stairs to wake her daughter.
In the messy bedroom, Chloe has adopted her usual sleeping position: a tangle of sheets and limbs, punctuated by snoring and lip smacking. Jules edges into the bed and curls around the warmth of her kitten-sized daughter. Chloe wakes up to her mother kissing her little ear, and when she starts to giggle they tickle each other until both are crying with laughter, tears like the rain outside only not grey, they are rainbow stained and filled with happy molecules.
Once they finish laughing, Jules asks,
“So where did you go last night, sweetheart?”
“Aw Mam! It was even better last night than ever before.”
“Go on then, start from the start.”
“Right…”
Brian Jenkins and his best friend Adrian played snap with Chloe for a while, but Adrian was too good and he won every game except one, and that was disqualified because Brian’s pet turtle ate one of the cards. Chloe then decided to go for a little wander down to the pink river that was full of cherryade, to see if she could find a hippo. Brian told her there were no hippos in the river but that he had been given a message to take her somewhere.
Up in the clouds was a door, Brian said, and Chloe had to go there. So he lifted her up onto his shoulder and pressed a button for the elevator, they climbed in and went zooming up into the sky. After a while, sure enough they came to a door made out of different coloured sky.
“And Mam you wouldn’t believe who was behind it!” Exclaims Chloe.
“Who? Tell me.” Asks her mother.
“It was Daddy, only he was well.” Jules breaks down; she’s been expecting this for a while. She has no idea how to explain.
“Aw Mam! He told me to tell you I saw him, and he said you would cry and he said I had to look after you. He said he liked my wings too.”
“He always said you had wings, babe.”

He Paints With Glamorous Glue

He knows I'd love to see him (as close as is allowed).
My name still conjures - they actually know me, they said: "You're just another views, you're just another who has maddening views
you want to said: "I know I do."
Skinny little thing, eyes and kiss him, bite into his skin.
Can’t wait until unwrapped, he looks like him, true, a tiny version wrapped in feed him and fuck him.
I’m trying not to get, I have lived in the arse of the world...
He happy (or as close as possible, as close as possible), deadly deeds, and a bad taste in the mouth.
The police person in the world “you're just another fool with radical turn it on its head by staying in bed!"
I drown in, and dripping with sin.
I want to kiss him Wednesday, I want in.
Supplies have been bought, and tubes in my duvet and my arms.
I’ll cook him food, too excited, this time.

Meemo

I love this picture of me, I think I was about 24:

Citalopram has no hormone

Most Selective Serotonin Reuptake of pressure inside me, scrub the scram and swipe giggles.

I’ve lost me like a hot shape of rapid eye movement it potentiates the anti-nociceptive effect of teeth. Gouging and tearing the picked at the bits that spit, and they ricochet. My head mutate and reproduce, hundred by hundred. Like my poor nails.

However, the selectivity contribute impair performance and minimal sedative properties, single influence on cardiovascular parameters. the serotonin (5-HT)-uptake. Tolerance to and gamma aminobutyric acid gore golden behind. Softer eyelashes the map pressed against of his teeth, and beneath.

Suppression and MAO inhibitors, citalopram of citalopram.

I’ve had saws, or the soft, easily bled skin incisors, I’ve been worrying those out though. I’ve tried every method. They teeth in my brain, constantly chewing main metabolites of citalopram ratios metabolites do not has combination not or dose study in significant treatment with citalopram.

Citalopram is the newer SSRIs, meticulous fingernails at my cheek, his blinking causing key against wet clay.
I remember the (REM) sleep is other SSRI's of commonly following administration instead ends of my edges left, I’ve won’t come rip, and I can’t around me, taunt me, to stop me from seeing.

Then, lower than those of citalopram. Cognitive (intellectual function) and psychomotor either alone or in a potent inhibitor of on noradrenaline (NA), dopamine (DA) from my inside and leave something of his body, but feel it smile at the memory that lingers suppresses REM-sleep and opioid receptors chisels.

These last few weeks, nails, exposing underneath. With the rough away. Using my bits, until they spit those pictures fuss . I wish I had the end there’d be nothing.

The end of the newer SSRIs. The end with alcohol.

In humans citalopram does human volunteers.