✍🏻 4 Squares

i.e., ⬛️ ⬛️ ⬛️ ⬛️

Not an hour passes,

Nor even a minute,

Without thinking of you.

  I run now with my youngest son
  For fun him, for me, to get numb
  I run to escape from my brain
  God knows the futile endless strain
  Herculean I’ll be ’til slain
  There’s lung n rib pain all in vain.

  I yearn in the depths of turmoil
  For being without you is hell
  I yearn for you to want me still
  God knows I’ll strain my every will
  Herculean I’ll be until,
  The final act brings a standstill.

  I do beg you long to respond
  For you to only acknowledge
  I am begging you to react
  God knows I desire your counter
  Herculean ’til your return
  The pain is mine for your answer.

  I crave more than life a reply
  For you the stars, just to comply
  I felt guilt for what I here imply
  God knows I want this thing simply
  Herculean? Weeping deeply
  There’s ache waiting for your reply.

  For all this adversity
  Only the moon
  Relies on

I am trying to find some semblance of solace from reading and this, I found interesting:

From, The Art of Caring Less
Extract from, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck.

This need to be adored is a fundamental weakness.

The Guardian was one of my and your browser homepage tabs, you loved flowers, really you did. I think now of the fragrance by Victoria’s Secrets, “English Rose.”

🌹 🥀

The TLS, The Times Literary Supplement, is all about books; I was, you are (no doubt you’ve the biggest intelligent collection in your whole village/town; no doubt at all). New Scientist, how we did discuss evolution and the circadian clock e t c , e t c (see and see). The Spectator, oh Brexit, we did that (see) and we did do politics too (see and see).

I’ll Be a Monkey’s Uncle

To be surprised, amazed or in utter disbelief (about someone or something).

In the 19th c., Charles Darwin shared his theory of evolution from apes and, to say the least, many people did not agree with him. As a consequence, the phrase “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle” began to be used in a sarcastic way by both believers and non-believers.

And then, there’s that sand, the nights on the Arabian peninsula (Pink Panther and a red blanket), my heart shatters, bare feet on the cooling late evening sand, white sandals in hand. Mr Smokey… where in heaven or hell are you now? You were a harbinger a precursor in fact to all the world’s pleasures and all the world’s pains.


Author: Anna Bidoonism

Poems, prose & literary analysis—this is who I am.

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