I’m an incredibly brave and handsome English man of a certain age(that’s a cipher for me being ashamed of my age in case you missed it).
Only relatively recently, I discovered that I’ve had OCD all of my adult life. Which explained a lot. Though not enough somehow. Before I was just a weirdo. Now I’m a weirdo with an excuse.
Now I tried posting a photograph of myself here but WordPress wouldn’t allow it, apparently because I’m “too handsome and the servers can’t take it”. Pffff – typical!
With all the urgency of erosion, I’m trying to get into novel writing, but over the last two years I’ve knocked out maaaaany poems which I’m really hoping to publish in the form of two e-books soon.
Say – here’s one of my poems now:
he lives inside my head all day,
but late at night he makes the trip
outside so we can dance and play.
We joke and jape and gallavant,
and get up to these escapades.
One time we blew a sewage plant
up with some anti-poo grenades.
Sometimes we have bad arguments,
we disagree and shout and stare.
He kicked me in the willy once,
I poked his eye and pulled his hair.
But mostly we’re the best of friends,
and sometimes I can’t even tell,
where I begin and Cuthbert ends,
his handsome face sure rings a bell.
Damn I’ve said I’m handsome too many times and now people will assume I’m over-compensating for being grotesquely ugly. But what you’re failing to consider is the double bluff! Perhaps I AM really handsome after all!?!?! You’ll never know! Bwa ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaa(phony laughter dissolves into eerie off-key sobbing as he recoils at his cursed reflection in the broken mirror)(or maybe that’s another bluff! ha ha!)(and so on…)(seriously this shit never ends with me so just humour me OK)