Stop the Clock

Fogged up head

Feeling Dread

All I want is my warm bed


Way down low

Full of woe

I don’t have ‘get up and go’


Being sad

Makes me mad

Vulnerable and unclad



Lost in time

Depression is such a crime


Life won’t wait

Loves to Hate

It just disassociates


What to do

Have no clue

Stop the clock, discontinue


Copyright © JRFC September 2019
Image from Pixabay

Haiku from the Hill



Head fogged up again
Lightening shooting through the brain
Relapse has its day




Safe in my shadow
Incapacitated; yes
Anxiety blows




Depression clamps hard
The mind shuts down, disables
Frustrated; why, why


Copyright © JRFC September 2019
Images from Pixabay

Therapeutic Ramblings

HatterSo as the title says, this is me and a kind of journal entry ‘forward slash’ mentalist bumf. I’ve been particularly good lately in part due to a great motivational video I watched on the good ole WWW. It was one of those TED talks that quite frankly never really appealed to me until my Manager (oh Yes) put me onto them and I have enjoyed quite a few… Redirect to JOY.

The last week or so unfortunately has set off a few triggers of mine and I’ve been struggling with some unnecessary issues… Redirect to Voices.

I’m not going into the detail here, after all you don’t deserve to have you’re day put down, so I’ll give a quick appraisal via some bullets; who doesn’t like a list (tee hee).

  • Family; or to be more specific daughter
  • Recent rantings on Social Media
  • Transport; that is my fffffffffing car
  • Lack of writing time (say whaaat)
  • My health; yes I’m a fat bastard again
  • General country politics; blaaah
  • And on and on and on

Now I know what you’re thinking. Any normal person would be saying “Wos up Dude, this is life, chillax” or words to that effect. But no, no; to us nutters this is the doomsday clock ticking ever closer to Armageddon. Oh yes my friends the horsemen of the apocalypse are about to put in a special performance and the final curtain will come down on the world.

Not easy to come back from that eh; well we do. Although I’m trying to have some fun with this, I kid you not when I say I’m not exaggerating when I tell you this small list can get quite out of hand.

You know what makes it better though: this. This ability, this opportunity just to ramble. The ability to have a moment of your time while I clear my head and look at a different list. A list that a friend told me about once, it’s my list of ten things, just ten simple things that put a smile on my face.

Genuinely, I have found that trying to remind myself of the little things, the good things, the happy things, yes Happy, really does work!

Oh and not forgetting some great fucking meds HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHH!!!

Sorry peeps lost it for a second there, so until next time when normal service will resume (just give me a couple of days to recover from this); tutty bye xx.


The Mush claims no credit for the images featured in this

My Special Guest tonight is…

Langston Hughes and Suicide

James Mercer Langston Hughes, born in February 1901 and from Joplin, Missouri was a bit of an all rounder being a poet, activist, novelist, playwright, and columnist.

My usual surfing the open expanse of the WWW brought me to this poignant three verser with, to some, a touchy subject for a title.

I remember a time when this just wasn’t talked about, such a cowardly and selfish act. Now-a-days though with information so widely available, this and so many other taboo topics are now just tomorrows fish and chip wrappers. Don’t get me wrong I’m not belittling any such traumatic or devastating issues.

I just feel that the innocence of the world has been lost somewhere and I wonder about when it became so sad.

But I guess I’m not saying anything you don’t already know.



Ma sweet good man has

Packed his trunk an’ left.

Ma sweet good man has

Packed his trunk an’ left.

Nobody to love me:

I’m gonna kill ma self.


I’m gonna buy me a knife with

A blade ten inches long,

Gonna buy me a knife with

A blade ten inches long.

Shall I carve ma self or

That man that done me wrong?


‘Lieve I’ll jump in de river

Eighty-nine feet deep.

‘Lieve I’ll jump in de river

Eighty-nine feet deep.

Cause de river’s quiet

And a po’ po’ gal can sleep.