Marjorie Razorblade

Lightning Post

Home

 
The Lightning Post is struck by off the cuff stuff- no thinking just venting- it's random and unpredictable and the Law of the no re-edit is scrictly adhered to- Kapow!

 

 

 

The Lighthouse- Storm is Brewing - Chicken Wire - Sleep in the Ugly Tree -Killing Time- The Equestrian Statue-

The Lovesong of
Marjorie Razorblade (aged 41) - The Black Dog Blues- Pink

 

 

 

The Lighthouse

I am the Lighthouse.

A beacon to the wayward

A welcome reprieve from an approaching storm

If only for a short while.

But some boats find the turbulent seas a small price to pay

For the risk of Cabin Fever and ultimate madness

Being stranded in such an inhospitable place is a high price to pay

And like anything

On a clear day

It serves as no reminder

That once it was the destination of choice

A need of necessity

A port in a storm

Well I’ve got news for you all,

The Shipping Forecast will be cancelled

And I am turning all the lights out

Lets play hide and seek

I’m in the mood for chaos you fucks

Try and find your way in the dark.

 

(c) Marjorie Razorblade 2007

 

Comments: Immanuel Kant one of the greatest German Philosophers once said that women were like dark oceans of truth, leaving philosophical wrecks of men behind on the shores, for a woman is like a lighthouse without light- men rely upon it, after the calm don’t need it and often, are lost without it.

Immanuel Kant. I salute your perceptiveness. Men take note. Be clever and perceptive and then maybe I’ll turn the lights back on.

 

 

 

 

Storm is Brewing

 

Tempestuous turbulent hurricane me

Cast no dispersions and drown in my Sea

Riling up waters you cling to my boat

My metaphorical anchor,

 

And Steel doesn't float.

 

 

(c) Marjorie Razorblade 2007

 

 

Comments: Storm is coming- Portside. Watch out it's a hum dinger, strap yourself to the wheel, every man for himself!!

 

 

 

 

Chicken Wire


Floating, filled with air on waves
Blue sky above that spills out for days
Forms whispy clouds that soft pirouette
Through Sienna skies and Red sunsets

~
Night harbour fog the sweeping mist,
Strokes lonely piers where we first kissed
Breaks graceful peaks that roll and curve
Rocks fishing boats that bob and swerve

~
And shoaling nets ensnare a hoard,
And something heavy's pulled on board...
And there sits you former hearts desire

Wrapped lovingly and painstakingly in Chicken Wire.


(c) Marjorie Razorblade 2007

 

 

 

 

 

Sleep in the Ugly Tree

 

Born into ugliness must have been hard on childhood wits

And wearing two bags, in case one of them splits

And your poor mother who was living a lie

Who kept you indoors rather than kiss you goodbye

You won’t get into “who’s who” love and that’s straight off the bat

Though you might get in:

“What’s this?” And in

“What the Fuck’s that?”

You shouldn’t feel bitterness

Mustn’t feel cursed

That your father ran you over

And on purpose reversed

Your own surgeon was sacked for his lasting admission

“I can’t help you out doll- I’m not a Magician”

If you need a companion

You might have to pay

Or buy a dog and pork chop

Just to get it to play

It’s not just that you look ugly today

But you look decidedly uncool

I recount science lectures and dissection at school

I’ve no words for the mirror today

No adjective

No noun

No hours sleep in the ugly tree Marjorie

Fuck you hit every branch down.

 

 

Marjorie Razorblade 2007

 

 

Comments: Some days I look passable as a human being, this was a morning I would have gladly shot myself in the face rather than make people have to look at me.

I’m not bad looking I suppose, in a certain light, at an angle, from a long way off, to blind people, who are mental. Not really I’m alright, I just look shit today.

 

Killing Time
Its' been six months since my last kill,
I said 'no more' but even still,
I cant be cured
Its evil will
And you have just upset me.

Turned off by you betrayed ignored
My feelings rose my temper soared
Four streets away i've feelings still
For you,
In translation: I just might kill

I’ve moved on slowly I've found my way
And now i'm calm inside each day
I’ve paid your way
You’ll foot my bill
For those I’ve loved
I just have to kill.

(C) Marjorie Razorblade

Comments: Metaphorically speaking of course. Well it depends how much more one person can take.

 

The Equestrian Statue
I am an Equestrian Statue
"For King and Queen my honour serves"
(People pointing at my Horses Dick
Is Getting on my nerves.)
 
(c) Marjorie Razorblade 2007
 
Comments: And there I was trying to be sensible and write thought provoking prose. Admirable. Now I feel like being stupid.
 
 
 
 
 
The Lovesong of
Marjorie Razorblade (aged 41)
 
When I am forty one i'm sure
No-one will know me anymore
And will I still have laughter lines like trails?
Of silver slugs and snotty snails?
Or will I have nothing to laugh about and cry and moan about?
Its something I am afraid of
But something I seriously doubt
If no-one cares then I don't care!
If they say look at Marjorie with her silver hair
But I'm old
I'm old
I will wear pajamas all day
And will not do as I am told
And if I fall in love- what then?
At forty one still beguiled by men?
Look back in retrospect to when I was thirty
Sexy Slutty a little bit dirty
And back to my twenties when I was shy and flirty
And now i'm somewhere in between-
Demure and heartfelt
And fucking obscene
Look at Marjorie with her Silver hair
I'm fourty one-
I don't care!
I don't care!
I'll shop in Marks and Spencers for underwear
And be thankful my thighs never see the light of day
If I meet a man, he'll have to pay
I take American Express and Diners Club
But nothing else, ok?
So Love might be waiting - Tuesday on a park bench
Love might be Spanish or speak regional dialect French
But i'm not into Chateaux le Ton 45 and Camenbert
I can't stand the stench
My laughter lines are sinking deeper
Still the insomniac or narcoleptic sleeper
And Aunt to demonic hoardes of brats
Who talk like gangsters and wear white spats
And my hair is white and worn in plaits
Love to Marjorie Razorblade in her autumn years
Will see wizened features and hair behind ears
And sculpture and kilns and pots and pans
Painted toenails and liver spotted hands
"That witch down the road who no-body understands"
Cackling riot my guitar i'm strumming
On my forty 1st birthday I might take up drumming
And then i'll be run out of town to the border
With a writ pinned to the church doors an injunction
AN ORDER!
And maybe i'll marry for the free bottle of vino
But only if he looks like a young Al Pacino
Or has his own mansion or is a bit of a toff
But he shouldn't talk too much as it just pisses me off
I'll still be a girl
I'll still laugh at a terrible joke
I'll still find excuses to roll one up and smoke
And i'll still occasionally be told:
"You're quite masculine/a tomboy/laddish/ a bit like a bloke"
And by then i'd be used to it - a ducks back and water
Or I'll take it all personally and revolt and I oughta
I'll be in my forties and nothing cuts me off shorter
In fact now I think of it
Its quite a tall order to accept ones downfalls in view of another
I don't take that from friends, my father or mother
My dementia is beginning
And my masculinity you fucking cretin
Is winning
In my forties i'll be smarter
Greyer
Still won't be the sleeper
I'll fall in love a thousand times
It'll never go much deeper
And love well heavens above
Its only something to which I take pity
I'll still wear my heart on my sleeve
And get lost in the city.
 
 
(c) Marjorie Razorblade 2007
 
 
Comments: Straight off the cuff in 4 minutes. It's just how I expect my life to be I guess. Its definitely not normal- which is a shame. I'd like a normal life sometimes.
 
 
 
 
The Black Dog Blues
He has the Black Dog Blues
Overwhelming depression
But I get the impression
That I could help
Even for five minutes alone with him
For something obscene
And nothing but a smoking gun and a jar of vaseline
I haven't had the pleasure but many people think it's common
That we get together every so often
And share our Black Dog Blues
But if I wanted to tell you all my secrets
That wouldn't be the one i'd choose
What goes on behind the closed door
(And yes there are still some)
Is not for anyone
But me
And no-one.
The Black Dog Blues are something I don't have
Mine are the birds; they come in droves
And the birds I love and loathe to love are the ones I have to set free
Some I don't want to
But they always fly away
They are the as yet unwritten nameless mythical Phoenix
Unwritten
I fear the Phoenix
The Jay and the Eagle
The Raven the Seagull
There have been many
But most don't even know they flew into my life
and straight back out again
So while I cant understand the Black Dog blues babe
I can understand the pain.
 
(c) Marjorie Razorblade 2007
 
Comments: For someone who people know very little about- he's a big personality with a Big Black Dog in tow. He's a good bloke. Though likes to make me do way to much coke and generally be badly behaved at almost every opportunity.
 
 
 
 
 

Pink

I’m still a girl;

Sleep with my bedtime bear

Like the colour pink and shoes with cats on

Anything fluffy

Sucking my thumb

 * Blushing *

Think babies are something adults make

I’m not old enough

Or sensible enough

For babies

But they’re pink

I like anything pink,

Sing in the bath

Call my girlfriends all the time

Like boys who are funny

And flirting

Better than sex is flirting

I’m still a girl,

I like pink.

 

Marjorie Razorblade 2007

Enter supporting content here