There was a young lady named Sally who enjoyed the occasional dally. She sat on the lap of a well-endowed chap, and cried “Sir! You’re right up my alley!”
– Townsend, The Crown (TV series)
There was an old Countess of Bray, and you might think it odd when I say, that despite her high station, rank and education, she always spelt “cunt” with a K! – King George, The Crown (TV series)
Hahaha. Good God!
It took me a good minute to figure out that the old Countess of Bray was not bad at spelling at all. King George’s limerick is very brilliant (and offensive, of course)!
The statement is not literal, and the first clue is in the ‘high station, rank and education’.
In other words, the Countess of Bray can spell alright, but she spells ‘cunt’. She has the characteristic of a cunt, and a major one too, since it’s with a ‘K’. There’s a bit of an emphasis on the first syllable of ‘Cunt’. Oof!
The English are quite sly too. I (may or may not) like that.
I am assessing the size of your eyes, and the magnificence of each, the crevices of your earlobes, the shape of your nose, the way it gorgeously sits on your face, the curves of your lips, your beautifully-sculpted cheeks, the way your tongue dances in your mouth as you speak.
“Yes, I’m listening to you.”
Every part of you, every detail of you,
but I cannot hear a thing.
It is always hard- cutting strong, karmic cords. It’s like a birth experience;
isn’t it why we sometimes
cry in fetal positions? In truth, one is birthing oneself,
and conjoining different pieces
into one self.
Art and music help, writing included.
Patience and hope are necessary because the umbilical cord that attaches one to the past, to the old self, always falls and seals off by itself, gradually, the pain leaves, maybe even slowly, and the memories and lessons are left.
My hand and my mind are at it again. Hand is in the mood; she wants some fun. Mind is really not; he is numb and done. If they don’t make love, how will they both birth words? What about me? How will I escort these chords?
She holds the key to your heart, after you hand it over to her, and when things don’t work out between you, she throws the key at you. You pick the key up, turn it anticlockwise to lock it, and for some reason, tell yourself that she has locked it for good, as if she has the power to.
When you hold the key to the heart of a new “she”, after she hands it over to you, you delightfully throw the key at her when things don’t work out between you. She picks the key up, turns it anticlockwise to lock it, and for some reason, tells herself that you have locked it for good, as if you have the power to.
Each person nurses their pain and doctors their true feelings, dwelling on past pain, staying away from true healing, until something or someone
shows up to show them that the heart does not, the heart does not need,
the heart does not need a key, anyway.
We start to fight our demons when we stop fighting, suppressing our emotions, keeping our hurts in. When we accept transformation, and release our hearts for mending, roll with the wheel of fortune, and open our souls for healing. When we accept the very truth that each end is a new begining.