Comments Posted By Dayle Morrison
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It lifted its two front feet and rubbed them together with delight at the meal it was about to take part in. Excellent! The fly buzzed around the rotting carcass to find the most succulent place to dig in.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 09.06.2011 @ 5:12 pm
My hands had taken on the feel of sandpaper, against her silken complexion. She was stunning. Not in the conventional way, but in the way she expressed so much of herself through her eyes. Warmth, humour, love. I realised then how much I was in love with her.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 08.23.2011 @ 4:57 pm
The vapours in the air smelled sweet. Intoxicatingly so. And as I meandered along, inhaling the beauty of the scent, I suddenly recognised its almond-ish undertone.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 08.21.2011 @ 3:43 pm
Violet is such a beautiful word, yet so close to ‘violent’. Kind of reminds me of humanity and how it can change from compassion to aggression so quickly.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 07.21.2011 @ 7:09 pm
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 07.05.2011 @ 3:17 am
Where did the word given originate? Why didn’t it evolve into engived or engave, or engove? English is such an odd language given (heh) the many variations to each supposed rule.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 07.02.2011 @ 10:36 pm
The acidity in her expression was blatantly obvious. She was clearly a volatile brew of hate, hurt, and revenge that was oddly diffused by the twee braid in her hair, finished with a hideous bow. What was she, 9 years old? For that I pitied her and tried to stifle a laugh. How could she be taken seriously when her dress was all “frou-frou”, her shoes were shiny red mary janes, and her hair looked like she’d just come from pony club. God, now I was just as angry at her as she was with me.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 07.02.2011 @ 2:38 am
There are many things in life that are useful, however, elephant foot umbrella stands or antlers for hat hangers are both unnecessary and a warped irony. The antlers and foot served their owners well before they were removed and made into hideous ‘functional’ items, subsequently used for human amusement.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 06.25.2011 @ 8:00 pm
Her eyes were a vivid blue, like I’d never seen before. Until I realised she was wearing contact lenses. The windows to her soul have been gilded.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 06.22.2011 @ 4:41 pm
“Is it love, or is it the idea of being in love?” I’ve always loved that quote. It’s from a Pink Floyd song called Momentary Lapse of Reason. And as I held him in my arms, our bodies warm and loving, I knew then and there: this is the real thing. This is love.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 06.19.2011 @ 3:41 pm
The misery I feel right now is like a heavy blanket that goes on forever, with no way to get out, and no way to see the light of the world. Despair is like the acidic foe to wonder: a killer of hope, delight, and colour in my world.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 06.17.2011 @ 7:20 pm
My mum has a crooked smile.
But she doesn’t have a crooked heart.
She’s clear in the mind,
Both funny and kind,
And her wit is as sharp as a dart.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 06.16.2011 @ 7:21 pm
It’s never the same. The memories you have of a rural train station when you’re young – the platform is so wide, with lots of interesting people milling about. I remember as a child seeing a coin on the train track. Mum was momentarily distracted and I simply jumped down onto the tracks, oblivious of the time or whether a train was not far away. I was so focused on my wonderful find! I collected the coin, climbed back onto the platform to find my mum reaching for me with panic in her eyes. The train was only minutes away. Amongst the stern talking to that my mum gave me, I was feeling very happy with myself. I had picked up a 50 Lira coin! Something I’d never seen before, living in regional Australia.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 06.15.2011 @ 5:38 am
It’s hard to let go of something you are so proud of, and when so much effort went into creating it. But that’s what I’ve just done. I helped “yarn bomb” a street in my local town. We knitted and crocheted all sorts of small and large items and adorned trees and poles with them. It looked wonderfully colourful and inviting in the midst of a wintery day. But by the next morning most of them had been ripped down, including my beloved crocheted tree, complete with leaves, flowers and a giant lizard up the trunk. Yes I’m sad, but there was always that possibility, the worst case scenario, that this might happen.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 06.12.2011 @ 6:50 pm
My first funeral was for a school friend who died aged 21 of bone cancer. Ewing’s Sarcoma, I think it was called. Her name was Jodie and she had such a wonderful spirited nature. Cheeky, fun, great to be with. She was diagnosed at 15 and faced having her arm removed from the neck to below armpit. She fought hard to keep her arm but the disease persisted, and eventually Jodie had her shoulder replaced with a prosthetic one. I visited her at home a few weeks before she passed away: hooked up to pethidine, lying on the bed looking very much in pain, and very tired. She told me she was scared of dying. That just broke my heart as I tried to keep myself from crying in front of her. Her funeral was attended by many 100s of people. It was very sad, but a lovely way to say goodbye to such a beautiful soul. I will always remember Jodie.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 06.11.2011 @ 8:12 pm
What on earth am I doing here? And who is this person talking to me? She’s smiling at me and holding my hand but I don’t know her. I seem to be in a hospital room but I don’t know how I got here. Owwwww, my head. It has a bandage on it. I must have hurt myself but how, and why?
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 06.07.2011 @ 5:14 pm
The painted ladies, I called them. Or the powdered pigeons. Either way they were a gaggle of well dressed ladies, shrouded in hairspray and perfume like they were prepared for a sewerage plant headwind, and chattering in an animated fashion. They crossed the street and turned the corner, out of sight. I laughed to myself. That might be me one day.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 06.06.2011 @ 5:14 pm
As the Scotsmen triumphantly stomped their dance around the campfire, one of the more burly men, a Morrison of birth, tripped over his flagon of mead and fell into the fire. Och, his beard was singed and his hair caught fire momentarily. But the kilt; no, that reliable cloth of plaid merely smoldered, being not only of wool, but of Scottish wool. The hardiest of them all!
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 06.05.2011 @ 7:04 pm
My head was throbbing from all the yelling I’d just been doing. Why? Because of the pain. The pain of losing the one thing in my life that meant that I was complete, more than complete, that I was synergistically beyond all the trivia in this world. Him. My love. Like fingernails scraping down a chalkboard my head was wailing and jolting with the agony of losing my one true love. So I curled up, held my knees to my chest, and lay there, allowing the devastation to overwhelm me.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 06.04.2011 @ 10:38 pm
I’m waiting on hold again. This is the third time I’ve rung to speak to him. Huh. ‘Him’, is my ex. We’re trying to be civil and patient in our post breakup conversations, but as I sit here, on hold and listening vaguely to the crackly radio used for the hold music, my anger is steadily rising….
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 06.04.2011 @ 1:32 am
I visited a friend yesterday. Not at her home, but where she’s staying at the moment – a place that keeps her safe. It’s a mental health unit at a hospital. I was standing at the kitchen bench in the unit making a cup of fake coffee (the real stuff is too agitating for many patients), when I saw a man walking around with a backpack on. Was he a patient ready to leave at any moment, dying to escape the dullness of this plain, sanitary hospital environment? Or was he a nurse getting ready to escape at the end of his shift? Either way, the transience and immediacy of his backpack made me think about how much time we spend suspended in readiness for what’s about to come, be it good or bad.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 06.01.2011 @ 5:05 pm
Yesterday my therapist, of all people, flipped out on me. She was apparently having a bipolar episode where she was hyper and talking incessantly about this and that. And I sat there, in my supposed therapy session poised in a both wary and dumfounded state watching her blabber on about very personal things and clearly skirting the edge of a very nasty mental crash. She described a veritable montage of her life as it is. I left that session feeling empty, stunned by my first experience up close with someone suffering bipolar. I am now rather concerned for her welfare. Sometimes it takes the mentally unwell to help, nay, truly understand the mentally unwell.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 05.31.2011 @ 8:24 pm
Australia is just now facing the grim reality of what happens to live export cattle when they are sent overseas. It is a gruesome reminder of the dark nature of humanity, but also a jolt to those who live in ignorance of where their meat comes from.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 05.30.2011 @ 5:03 pm
I have an old picture of my father, standing on top of a rock, looking whimsically into the distance. Mum and Dad used to do a lot of photography, so this is a really lovely picture of him. Mind you, by then he had more hair growing out of his mutton chop sideburns than he did on his head.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 05.29.2011 @ 7:34 pm
Oh my god it’s hot in here! I try and smile genuinely at the crowds egging me on, although their exact words are muffled. This booth is confining my confidence and my body. I hear the siren and the compere continues chattering, but it’s now in a raised frenzy of words as one million dollars in notes comes flying into my booth. I grab at it all furiously like my life depends on it.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 05.24.2011 @ 6:25 pm
You know, a pretzel to me is a small, crispy cracker with salt on it. The ones I see on USA shows are really large baked things. So why are they so different? Where did the pretzel originate? Hmmmm.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 05.23.2011 @ 5:09 am
“Mole? MOLE????? It’s more like a black plug holding back the pus of your rotten core, you sad little person.” Well no, I didn’t say that to the woman facing me, who deludes herself regularly by pretending to be my friend. She is shallow and I simply cannot tolerate her inability to be genuine. I’ll just fantasise instead that she implodes from the build up of pus and ceases to be. She will be an ex-Mole! Heheheheh
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 05.18.2011 @ 7:50 pm
Meg opened one of her eyes to see what the noise was. She watched the bird tapping on the window, trying to get its reflection to respond. Meg slowly got up out of her comfy position on the best chair (cos it’s in the sun, of course!), stretched in all ways cats usually stretched, then resumed watching the bird. I wondered if Meg saw that bird as food, a challenge, or just a potentially amusing toy….
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 05.16.2011 @ 8:45 pm
My mind is racing. I cannot tell whether it is racing to or from something, nor whether it is even travelling in a particular direction. It is simply a frenzied jumble of words, ideas and feelings that, with the added impetus of my heart’s loud beating, overlap each other in rhythmic time; one taking over the next, leaving the previous thoughts forgotten, missed like a vague regret that echoes in the background of my memories.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 05.15.2011 @ 8:30 pm
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Sometimes I’m in a drug haze simply because the anti-depressant medications I’m on decide that perhaps, that day, I am okay and don’t need as much of the medication. So it sits in my bloodstream, floating in and out of various areas of my brain, dulling my spark and numbing my creativity. I resent those drugs bitterly.
» Posted By Dayle Morrison On 05.15.2011 @ 4:18 pm