Lines

The world is shapes, angles -

Existing in satisfied order

Where I would suit

And, still, procure. 

Waiting room. 

Platform. 

 

Lines. 

Carriage. 

Living waves that roll off 

Bleeding, passing land - 

Vibrations from this 

Shovelled bass 

Are now, moving, all. 

Middle ground defines the city wall.

© kate marlais 2011

 

23-10-11

"It's your last chance" 

The final squeeze - 

Giving birth to what 

You do not want 

But need.

 

© kate marlais 2011

 

 

Martin Munkacsi, Nude with Parasol (Harper’s Bazaar, July 1935)

Let's prioritise...

Slacker. Sloth. Passive. Laggard. Negligent. Absconder.

Yes, these are all words that you can use to describe me. I have left you, bloggites, for too long, too too tooooo long. How could I? I feel wretched about it. Can we talk?

Let's try now to move on, shall we? I've recently been to a series of group sessions in which I re-evaluate my life priorities (I haven't) and after much opening up and letting go (none) I have landed on the happy conclusion that I need more blog in my life once more. Therefore, for the next ten minutes, you blog, are TOP, tippity-top, of my list! YES!

Quite frankly, we need to work on our relationship. It's not you, it's me. I know I am flaky and have a tendency to let my eyes wander and my mind wonder. I realise now that I've been giving too much attention to stupid, stupid Twitter and her friends and have left you forlorn, alone. I don't even know what I saw in her. After all, who can truly express their thoughts, let alone establish a frankly hilarious witticism fully in 140 meagre characters?! C'est ridicule.

And that is why I've come back to you, my dove. I've missed you. Why, I blabber on, and you just let me! You listen. You really do. You are... God, you're good. You're just so...you.

I'll explain my absence to you in bullet points. It's been a busy few months. When did we speak last? It was May, wasn't it? And I told you all about Kenny and his fish. That was fun.

 

Ergo, here goes; from whence we last spake (in present tense, as if a diary entry so to establish a more intimate relationship with you, the reader):

 

Move to Hoxton. Feel so cool it's frightening. Take up urban-zen activities like yoga, goji berry juice & quoits.

 

Travel a bit... Wales. Nice. Liverpool.

Do some plays. Playing Fairy Godmother in Cinderella at Liverpool Playhouse. Get to fly. Get extra pay. Casually named 'accidental death money'.

 

In Between all of the above I have also been doing any one of the following:

a) Selling my soul to the Underground Society of Closet Corporate Temporary Staff (low IQ & Look Magazine obligatory)

b) Spending and earning money in the ratio of 2:1

c) Writing - plays & poetry; and on those days where one has been bound by 'Writer's Block' (hereby known, in my personal definition, as 'online shopping') I have religiously stuck my hands in ink and smeared it all over my face, donned my finest shredded linen shirt and marched intensely to the local coffee shop where I will sit and look all Writer-y in the hope of a publishing deal infiltrating my soul via osmosis, and perhaps a few shrewd glances from fellow Hoxton sages/ latte-love admirers. Rarely doth anything occur, but By Jove, I love a good latte!

 

*Cue Coldplay/Zero 7/Sigur Ros background music for sudden but effective mood-sobriety. Soft focus close-up on bunch of grapes/ field of horses/ other such natural wonder*

 

Hey, let's get serious. I've been writing a collection of poems. Keep your eyes, ears and egos a-breast of my blog, I'll post the darn things at random. I'm trying to bring poetry back, make it hip, give it some 'spect. A hard, thankless task. Proceed with caution, but if anyone can make pretentiousness en vogue again, it's me. 

At least, that's what I keep telling my furrowed brow. ENJOY!

Helen

Please throw some love over to my favourite, Helen & her blog britgirlbondi

 

She's way too cool. Even though she is from (*chokes on a peanut*) Essex, follow her - she's a very clever girl. 

 

I'm a sad camper that she no longer resides in London town.

Nevertheless, the Legend of Helen continues...

 

Stealth health

Do you find yourself glazing over when the words trans-fat, omega or GM creep in to a discussion? 
Do I really understand all of this???
Umm, no. 
Why is healthy eating full of options that all seem so scientific? 
What ever happened to water, fruit, vegetables, meat and potatoes? 

I feel robbed of the simple life.
 

Tracy Emin

I know, I know, I know. 
It's easy, right? 
Proteins beat Carbohydrate. Carbohydrate beats Fats. Good Fats beat Bad Fats. 
And so on. 
Like paper scissors stone for our budding lab-loungers. 
But for me? My school actually asked me not to take Chemistry and Physics GCSE. 
It's not my thing. Too much information, and I switch off zzzz...
 

This, however, doesn't mean that I don't want to be a goddess of health. 
I try! I've got  a cupboard in my kitchen full of tinctures, supplements, vitamins. 
It's all a bit much. 
I tend to just stick to my Multi-vitamin and hope for the best.
 

Whenever I go into a health food shop (which, actually, is fairly frequent - I like the smell of shops like that. Perhaps in a vain attempt to breathe in health), I am overwhelmed by the hundreds of lentils, pulses, organic, sugar-free, dairy-free, non-carb, non-taste... 

This is when I break out in to a gentle sweat. 

Surely I can't eat, let alone afford, all of these things! 

I make a bee-line for the hempseed 9-bars, pay, and run.

 

Wouldn't it be nice and helpful to know a bit about a few things that make for a healthy diet? Along with a comprehensible explanation why?

 

Then check out gorgeous Tomm's blog: http://thehealthfoodcompanion.blogspot.com

For the science dunces like me, whom far prefer healthy eating this way: