Breaking your Bones.

Sticks and stones will break your bones

but my words will always heal you.


Why is a feminist posting rape videos online?

I read this article and I understand the reasons behind why she does it.

However, is she aware that there will be thousands of people watching these videos and becoming aroused rather than appalled.  Who does she think will watch the videos? search for the videos?  I do not believe that it is people of sound mind and a clear social conscience who think to themselves “I am going to ‘search for real rape’ videos just so that I can see if I know anyone who is taking part and thus outing their disgusting behaviour to my community at large”.

No, it will be people looking for extreme titilation, shock and horror – something that makes their stomach turn, head rush and feel woozy at the shame of looking, shame at wanting to look, shame at needing to look, shame at wanting to look for more.

The viewer does not care who the people are in the video, they will be looking for their own triggers of disgust, fear reminders or arousal – which can be real physical or abstract.  This is different in each viewer.  It can  be how much/little the victim struggled, the noises, the violence, the look in their eyes or how they look away or cover their face what they say and what is said to them, how they submit in the end (if they ever do) and how the ordeal comes to an end (for the viewer as the cameras stop filming).  The people in the video are mere thorns to prick the sensibilites of the viewer, like human accupuncture needles to restore, re-energise or represent the viewer. The viewer asks – how would I cope if this happened to me? would I ever do it? what would it feel like? what would happen to me? would I get drawn into it? would I walk away? what would abject fear do to me? my ego? my self? my body?

So, the posting of these videos to shame the assailants – I wonder?  the person with the camera is the cleverest one of the pack – they are hidden behind the camera, whereas the others have nothing to hide behind except the group and pack mentality. The videos that are filmed – who do they think their audience is? who is the film made for? for themselves to watch back at a later stage?, each other?, to gain kudos amongst friends? How often do they revisit the video? do they watch it to recall the frenzy? the planning? their assumed ‘bravery’? their ‘power’? their shame and horror at what they were capable of doing? what they actually did? or do they watch it looking for ways to justify their actions? to believe that it wasn’t as bad as they keep feeling it was? – “it was him…he egged us on” “if only xyz hadn’t said this…it wouldn’t have happened”.

The victim – their face blurred out still their voice, still their body, still their panic and upset, still them – no amount of blurring is going to erase that.  Still there for people to search, to see, to experience from the relative safety of their own homes in their own time, safe to shut it off if they want or add it to their favourites list of porn if it contains enough triggers for them.

As I said, I can see the rationale to why the videos are being posted but equally I can see reasons why not!

The Smallest Show. (A 20 minute flash fiction, unedited)

The Smallest Show


Bonny and Midge sat looking down upon it.  They loved to sit up high, the higher the better so that they could look down upon it all.  Sometimes when it was a rush and they had wasted time; chatting to boys or bitching with girls, they only had time to go to the middle levels.  But today they had made time and reached the top of the hill. 

It felt special, they hadn’t been there for a long while, they had been making do with second or third place, the lower or lower still ridges, tiers in the grass covered hill.  The girls lay back, side by side.  The blue universe over head, monumental clouds to their right reached up up and beyond.   The girls, one aged 14 and one 13 lay back, shoulder to shoulder, hands by their sides, fingers entwined. 

Below them the lower hills, the town, the streets, the alley ways, the houses, the people, the fights, the making up and the breaking up.  Down there- people were coming to terms with what had happened, learning the truth and making their own minds up.  The Police were looking for them, asking their friends and searching phone records.  But up here there was no phone signal, no roads,  no people –  just them.   Just them… and the birds high up above them; circling looking for bugs that the hot summer air had carried high into the sky.

When they had found them, they were all burnt; the girls had seen to that.  They didn’t want anyone else to see them or have to remember them as they did.  They didn’t know  – that it all should have been preserved for evidence or to be used in court; or rather sniggered at in court.  So they burnt them, and stood on them, crushing them under foot, really rubbing them with their trainers like rubbing dog poo off your shoe.  But, this wasn’t dog poo they were rubbing off, obliterating; this was their love, poured out onto paper for “your eyes only”.   

The tape cordoned off the road, yet one part gave access to the residents as someone’s errant toddler had pulled on the plastic strip too hard and torn it.  Taken away now in shame, the toddler could still be heard screaming at the top of the road.  No-one crossed the invisible barrier even though they could have made a run for it, as no-one wanted to actually get that close.  Get too close and you may catch it, breath in their fumes and it will be inside you, in your lungs, circulating  in your body as it was theirs.    Their evil thoughts, mapped out by their evil words, written down for all to see, mixed in with the ashes of the victims. Their evil words, their victims bodies now entering you as all you do is innocently breathe and watch it all go up in smoke.  People started to turn away from  the spectacle and trudge off to their homes to go to.

Bonny sat up, her legs still straight.  Pulling on her friend’s arm she gestured for her to lay her head in her lap.  Midge obliged, silently repositioning herself to please her friend.  Both girls looked down to the town below.  A beautiful Sunday summer evening, the town was sprouting smoke.  Bar-b-ques and bonfires all marked happy Sundays in the garden culminating with nice food or a nice tidy up.  However, the biggest pyre was to out towards to edge of town and was beautified with the intermittent flashing of blue and red.   The girls watched as the fire burnt long into the evening, the intense orange of the burning buildings a bright nucleus to  a semi circle of  beautiful sublime sunset.  The kind of eternal sunset that marks that day as a perfect day  in which  to kill yourself.  Especially, if your family, friends and town hated you for being different, for being yourself, for being a murderer.     The sky turning from orange to green to purple to blue to darker blue.  Blue velvet pin pricked with spots of light.  Places far off that the girls could travel to be free, to live with the other aliens and outcasts.  That would have to wait as now their peace was broken by a man.

They fought to save them, the paramedics were ready to administer life saving first aid as soon as the people were brought out.  They still were people but soon transformed into bodies.  The Fireman shook their heads and mopped their brows.  The heat had been amazing, astonishing and would go down in folk lore for folk to discuss and fathom about their motives.  Already the Fire Investigation team had talked of accelerants, piles and piles of paper stacked up in a room.  How a little fire had taken hold and turned into a big fire.  The party walls of the houses had cracked under the heat in the attics as peoples stored stuff had caught light and perished with the memories they encased.  The spreading fire through attic to attic to attic, down into dust filled cavity walls.  A fire box cooked them alive.  The girls would have to be found and brought to justice.  They wouldn’t get away with it. 

The man in his blue black suit was barely noticeable against the darkening shy but his pale face and hard breathing gave away his position.  He sat down beside the girls, his legs bent he too looked down at the spectacle.  The smallest show for them, as they sat up in the Gods.  This was a performance that the best seats were the farthest away. Up here the impact of what had happened was put into perspective just one miserable episode in amongst a long line of miserable episodes.  The Policeman looked down upon the town and mentally plotted crime scene rubbed up against another tragic occurrence rubbed up against another sad encounter.   He could see why the girls did it, see why they sat up here, see what they saw.  Bonny patted Midge on the top of her head and bent down to kiss her, a peck on the lips.  The kiss was the full stop in their adventure.  They stood up and waited for the Policeman.   He was slow to stand as he knew what they didn’t know.  He wanted to keep them innocent and young girls in love for a few minutes longer not the infamous murderers they had accidently become.

words and images between a man and a woman


a little moment between a man and a woman



If you really were dead I would not know – I would not know where to look for your body. Maybe I would find it in a wood.A dark wood.

I would be there, playing with fear, looking to goad the bogie-man, the mass murderers, the rapists. I, excited by the shadows, excited at the thought of being lost, aroused at the thought of being taken.

Running through the trees, practising being chased, rehearsing my silent scream – I fall over, tripped by a solid frozen entity. I sit, my skin hurt, cut and bleeding. I weep.

On the floor you lay, on your back naked, a bruise appearing on your rib cage where my foot kicked you. Seaweed in your hair – you had found a little boat on the shore and decided to go out into the Ocean and leave me on the beach.


him –

I talked with you on the beach exactly as you wished, as you demanded. Telling you things.  Answering your many twisting questions. Satisfied your attention turned to other things. Collecting seashells and flirting with the young and handsome men. The Ocean always was a place of forgetfulness and rejuvenation, but this time it would not have me and spit me out. Fate appointed me to be your stumbling stone, to slow you down, your stepping stone, to a sacred place.


The young men on the shore, fishermen, with broad shoulders, sun kissed warm skin, wide clear backs, unmarked and a blank canvas.

They laugh and are jolly; bodies satisfied after manual toil. The sleep of a labourer is sweet. Their hands knarled, hard and strong; old hands that do not match their young bodies. I tease them and say “Your hands are so big…you could fit one hand around my neck!?” They giggle and put a hand up, taking it in turns whose hand fits best around under my chin. I am in raptures and swoon but remain playful and girl-like so not to scare.

They show me how to gut a fish, adept and quick with their knives. Innards and blood spills. The knife – changed their role, their purpose, their meaning – what was once alive, is now dead, what once was a fish is now just food. I watch the quickness of the blade and the discarding of the mer-corpses into the bucket with their peers. A man says “What’s his problem?” pointing to the pale naked man laying on the shingle, un-moving, unresponsive. “Oh Him………he is special”.

I heard her shout…

I have a real life.  I am real. Living breathing feeling thinking.

You fill my mind and my time.

I wonder what you do and what you want.

A furrowed brow and twisted mouth betray your concentration and thoughts of others.

The previous, the ones before, the ones who got away, the ones who fell away, the ones who wouldn’t stay.

This one was pretty, this one was hot, this one was crazy; now you are all I have got.

I share you around,

my toy in which to play.

A place where rules are non rules, limits are limitless and greed is good.

Politeness, coyness and togetherness are weak, boring and human…mere human.

You want more, demand more, expect more and why the hell not.

It is what you have always done, always will, nothing will never ever be enough.

I love your hunger, I love your pain, I love your craving and we go round again.

Too much too soon, not enough too little.

Rubbing hard, scrubbing away until we become brittle.

Then back to the softness, the weak, the innocent.

The fluff and the fancy, vulnerable magnificent.

I hate you, I love you, I forget sometimes

That you, are where darkness lies

Your heart is black, your soul scratched

A devil you are, but what a catch

You play at submission, you play at being nice

I beat you, your feigned compliance is to entice

I see what you do, I know you too well

We pretend that we are both under the spell

Sometimes you nearly crack and I see the real man

The little boy, lost and all alone

A spoilt brat maybe, not enough love shown

Or maybe you are, what I always expected you to be

Nothing more than a filthy pervert, like me

Feeling your warmth and your hardness.



I never want to let you go, never ever ever for I am selfish and greedy and want you all to myself. To sit the shadows of my gold box, hidden in the creases of the folded satin that has been laid out to protect me, and cosset me from the harsh realities of the world. I want you to have to hold your breath, my finger pushed to your lips, telling you not to move a muscle as you hide beneath the folded fabric.

A nice person would open the box and kiss your hand as you clamber out, wave good bye as you run for freedom. But I am not nice, I am greedy and wanton, I want to cut off your wings so that you cannot flutter out, I want to blindfold you so that you do not know if the box is open or closed. I want to snuggle up against your warmth and feel your hardness, tasting you and making you hunger for me, for eternity.

The one who got away but actually worse for I never left, I was there lurking within you, holding you back, tainting all relationships and hopes for happiness all dashed as my toxic love for you, malforms and misshapes all that is good.

Yes, I want you in my gold box with me and me in my gold box in your heart for all eternity – an unrequited love but worse for there is no poetry or romance in the longing and yearning and hunger only pain and suffering.

I want to ensnare you with my love, pour my sticky, sweet, nectar onto you and then protect you from the flies and wasps that will be drawn to you. Of course it is not protection really it is control, entrapment, selfish, greedy, suffocating, damaging love that I wish to suffocate you with.