Sunday, 30 September 2012

Memoirs of Marbie: Adults, Secrets and Lies (part 5)

Saturday 30th October 1993
Time has passed and it’s now dark and I keep looking at the bags my mum has packed. A faint memory of my mother saying she has filled two barrels of food to help ease him in lingers on my mind. Him, she was obviously talking about me, I now know. Aunt Claudine had already spoke on the phone to my Occult Uncle Clive, so now I am just to wait.
The loud thudding, buzzing distorted noise of the buzzer goes and I here everyone in the living room jump up and start chatting in the most chaotic, wild hyena kind of way. Laughs giggles and chatter spool into one loud unbearable noise. “Bye Rogue” a whisper from an all so familiar voice, Ashlley has said bye to me. My mum comes into Mikes room and tells us we need to put our shoes and coats on, we rush and head out into the tight spaced hall way, gross white knickers with some yellow colour in the front area. Pushing and pulling my mum grabs my arms and pushes me in front and pushes Meadow to one side and almost slams Ramona to another side, Aunt Claudine has Tanny in her arms and Mikes is behind me with his toothy grin, as if he’s a worlock ready to cast some wicked spell upon me. Well off we go, better get my ready shoes ready huh?
Down stairs waiting for us, a large white van, wow it looks as if it can hold a whole football team. Oh it can. Westbourn Park football team. There’s a lot of black dark bodys in there too, I wonder who all these people are. If I had not known any better I’d think my mum was sending me to be scarficed with this occult look group, yes me not a goat. The door slides open and cracks a little
“Cousin, it’s been a long time.” A loud and deep voice shouts out as smoke curls up to the roof from the insides. Great I’m gonna stink now aren’t I. It’s Uncle Clive, not that I know him well, just that I heard Tanny shout his name and Mikes says hello to him with some fear.
“Hi Roley, hey Clive. Ih my god look how Nish and them have grown. I don’t know you, yes, no I know you” My mother looks around the inside of the van whilst pushing me u in it talking to all these faces that are looking at me like I’m some sort of demon, spawn of the devil child. I haven’t done any thing wrong let alone to these mogwais.
All now huddled in what used to be a nice spacy place for a few men is now like a freaking African village on wheels, stuffy and the smell coming from that cone shaped cigarette stinks. My mum seems to like every one in the van, Ramona is quiet not talking to a soul and Meadow is being meadow, everyone wanting a piece of his peanut shaped head pie. I fucking hate him, couldn’t he just die, it’d be best for everyone I’m sure. Life without him and the Man, was great, then they came along.

After a 20 minute ride in the smoke filled van with all these black bodies staring and chatting words that sound like mumbles to me we come to a stop and outside an estate. The orange light, brighten the darkened streets and I can now see the faces of all the black bodies from the van. Mostly girls and women, mostly herculeans, one happens to be the size of a baby whale, but hey who am I to judge she probably, no obviously loves her food as much as me, just I happen to be Mowgli, skinny. When all entered a flat in the first building of the estate, on our way up I remember the sharp, penetrating smell of piss in the hallways. Disgusting How I hate estates. 
The flat was full of a new batch of black bodies and suitcases and a sweet smell of good old fashioned cooked food that smelled as if it were made by my granny. In fact I sure I can smell my granny in here somewhere, I can smell the products she puts in her hair. Looking around and through the bodies of women and children I try spotting my granny but she’s nowhere to be found, instead the tall, dark, evil looking Aunt V is there. She a mean old witch and surely enough she’s the leader of this whole occult family I now belong to. The lights are a dusty shade of yellow and the flat is small and resembles my granny and granddaddies house, yes house, so cheaply, even Aunt Juju’s house was much better than this gorilla’s nest. Aunt V in really did look like a shave gorilla with curly hair like my granny, she was just mean and I was scared of her, a lot. The adults parted from us younglings and demanded we all stay togther in the hall way and in the bed room, not that we had much choice because the flat was so small yet seemed to house over 30 people, in sleeping bags, eating and drinking and of course smoking that stuff. Hours flew by I barely spent time with Mikes as he was so consumed in talking to his cousins, our cousins who I did not even know. He did introduce me but I don’t want to know who these people are, they have nothing in common with me apart from maybe the faint stream of blood that runs through us all. I always did say, “Blood is thicker than water but there’s more water on the earth. I rather have water thanks.” I’m playing my Gameboy enjoying the hypnotic tunes of Tetris, almost beating my hi-score. “Have you clocked it yet” some girl asks me, not moving and still focused on making every piece fit to get a six line hit I just respond “You can’t clock it, it goes on forever” and shush her. I don’t know whom I’ve spoken to nor do I care.
Minutes turn into hours and I have just woken up lying on my sister, outside is a crisp blue sky, filled with wispy white clouds. Gosh the smell of smoke won’t leave my nose, but the better smell of bacon, eggs and all the other stuff made for a breakfast come my way, stretching it’s welcoming arms to my nose and now others as they all wake up slowly with dried drool round their mouths and crustys in theirs eyes. I like eating my crustys, their nice and crunchy, well obviously.
After we’ve all eaten and had quick washes, Tanny, her family and mine and myself are rushed of with Aunt V and her twin sons Uncles Roley and Clive to the van. Everyone in the flat says bye and waves from the balcony and the streets; it’s like a leaving party. Yeap it’s true I’m leaving but none of them seem to be hailing at me, why would they. Talk about how to get to Heathrow airport begins.  Long, empty rounds are in front. After a while of driving and falling in and out of sleep, we come to this large white and glassed building, a booming noise bellows over us and we all look up at the same time. A plane has set of to go where it’s going. I’ve only just noticed that Mikes isn’t in the van with us. 
“We’re here.” Uncle Clive states, however I thought that was apparent seeing as my mother and Aunt Claudine have already taken of their seatbelts and got Meadow and Tanny ready to get out of the van.
Inside the building is almost empty, only a few people are here. It’s so white, so clean, so shiny, I bet this is what heaven must look like. Ramona and I follow a path behind everyone else and she rubs my left shoulder briefly as to say “I love you”, the adults stop in silence and Ramona notices an arcade machine. Wow it’s a hologram one,. She puts 20 pence in but neither of us know what we had to do in this game so we walk off.
“Go to Aunt V now, and stay close to her. Don’t be rude and be good on the plane.” My mother tells me, she also gives me a big hug and a kiss on my forehead. She never, ever gives me kisses and hugs, I’m only going for a few weeks I’ll be back. Why the whole ‘Cry-cry, kiss-hug-cry’ drama? I’m not feeling myself, everyone is waving I’m waving but it’s like I’m not even in my body. Their bodies get smaller and smaller as the three of us continue to walk, Aunt V, Tanny and myself. We are going on the airplane  together. White  women in funny looking cone shaped, blue hats welcome us with red lipsticked smiles, show my Aunt the way, onto the plane, then shown to our seats. Aunt V, Tanny and me sat in the middle row of a blinding, lighted plane. Are lights meant to be this bright. Oh my god there’s a big T.V on the plane, headphones, oh and me and Tanny get handed this bags from one of those lipstick women to. I like planes I like them a lot.
“We going, Mac-mac Donalds?” Tanny looks up at Aunt V with the biggest smile on her face. Aunt V nods and says “Yes”.
I pull out my Gameboy and play, as there isn’t really any where I can go now. There’s no kids area, no snooker room, just toilets and chair, toilets and chairs and these lipstick women calling out “Any more teas? Coffee? Coffee? Teas?” 

Memoirs of Marbie: Adults, Secrets and Lies (part 4)

Saturday 30th October
It’s real early in the morning, like 7 o’clock or something. I can hear my mum’s voice echo through my seemingly water logged ears, my vision still hazy and the light which has been turned on kind of blinding me. I wonder if this is how my mum sees the world without her glasses? Blinking my eyes, feeling the crust that has formed in both the corners I notice the small pea shaped head and scrawny body of Meadow linger and wave over me. The smell of my mum’s morning cigarette after she had done her business on the toilet lingers around the room, god I love that smell, but it is followed by the silent but deadly fart of Meadow who is still over me. Stretching my arm out waving it to find the distance of his body, I hear his toddler tones mock me as he giggles dodging me from side to side. Gaining better consciousness I hear my mum bellow out my name from upstairs, which seems to shock Meadow to stand still and my movements become faster, I grab him and push him down to the floor.
“Mum, mummy.” He screams out with a scream of a child that has been beaten, I barley touched him. “Roro hit me.” Looking up at the ceiling listening out for her response he gives me a skittish glance and makes the annoying remark “Can’t catch me.”
“Well in fact I could catch you, you little fucking spawn from hell, but I got bigger problems right now.” My inner voice speaks out to me, knowing that if, no, when I get out of bed and get dressed things are going to change and they might not change for the good of me. 

Getting into the cab the four of us make our way to Aunt Claudine’s house. Passing all the streets that I know so well, staring out the window, hunched up, faced pressed to it, the cold air attempts to give us all a chill, but my other is on the case and tells the driver to either role up his windows or put the heating on. The cab driver is Indian, balding and fat. I can smell his clothing is stained with that nasty stench I used to smell when go to some of my Indian friend’s houses. What is it? And why does my Indian Aunty who lives up near granny and Granddad not smell like them? Well she does a little bit, but more flowery.  One, tower block, two tower blocks, three tower block, four, looking at the door of the car I look at the button that allows me to open it. “Don’t think about it Rogue.” My mum has psychic powers, she obviously knew I wanted to open it and jump out. The cabman tells her that there is some child safety lock on it and he had to get a new car with them because his last car didn’t have them. Child safety, save a child from what? It’s taking hours to get to her house, and we are only near that place I hear mum and my aunties talk about these things called prostitutes, that’s a funny word to me, it seems to be a funny word to them too as they usually laugh and then have those screwed up faces like they had just smelt bad fish or Meadows shit, you know the face, scrunched up lips, curled right under the nose, eyes almost tightly closed but you know they can still see you, yeah that face. That’s what its called Kings crossing. I’m gonna look for a prostitute when we get there.
“Mummy, what’s a prostitute” The thought was on my mind and I just rather know than not know before I get on the plain. Ramona uncovers her face from her ‘Just Seventeen’ magazine, the cab driver coughs out a large looming cloud of smoke, Meadow coughs, my mum tells the cab driver to open the windows and then says turning round to me “Why? Why would you ask me such a stupid question, you don’t need to know what they are. They’re nasty, like that word you called your sister.” He face isn’t saying she’s mad, but the voice says it all. My mum was good at wearing what I like to call ‘The Mask’, never really letting on, on what she really is thinking or is about to do.
“What word mummy? Slag?” I ask, knowing fully well she told me never to say the word again, knowing it was worse than me saying fuck, but I still didn’t know why adults got so angry with me saying it. Thrashing her head back at me again she quickly gazes at Ramona, probably to see her response but she is now caved in her magazine again pretending not to listen. We’re here I see King’s crossing. “I told you not to say that word it’s disgusting, just you see, you and me, when we get out of this car.”
“Mum it’s only means female slug, Slug, slag, dog, bitch.” I only knew two animal differences in names for boy and girl. Aunt Ceecee taught me one, Bitch. My mum’s eyes widen and as I focus on her expression I can notice those thin red veins getting thicker and a deeper shade of red and she blurts out “Stop your fucking noise”. Meadow gasps and tells mum she has just said a naughty word; she apologizes to him and rubs his legs only to pinch me after. I look up at the cabdriver’s mirror; he looks at me and shakes his head then looks down and back onto the road. Why when I ask questions I always get hit for it? I guess the pinch is no where as bad as the time she tried beating me with the broom stick and the metal side of the belt, with me have to run into the single toilet and press my legs against the door stopping her from coming in, or even the time when she squeezed me neck asking me, what was wrong with me. As if I could answer. I do remember a faint murmur of “I’m sorry” attempting to leave my lips, but I could only say it in my mind.

Arriving at Aunt Claudine’s block, the shades of grey bricks, which are dulled by the cloudy skies, make me feel as if I’m attending a funeral. I probably am. The crackly buzz of the intercom bugs me, I’m glad that I don’t have to hear that all the time, we have a bell and it goes ‘Ding-dong’. The snap of the lock being released, herds us all to moving even closer to the door, we waddle like penguins climbing some iceberg alone in the sea. I really hate coming here. “Reana, how’s it going girl? All ready?” Aunt Claudine throws herself through the doorframe and Tanny swiftly passes her through her legs running down the cold hard concrete stairs to hug Meadow, Mikes is probably in his room no doubt listening to his tapes. Getting into the passage of the house, we all walk crammed like sardines to get to a place where there is some room. Mike and Tanny’s door is open so Mikes probably has gone to his dad’s or friends across the road.  Walking to the bathroom, as I need to use the toilet whilst the rest of them scatter to the living room I notice a bag, a biggish bag, with this tag-thingy-ma-jig on it.
“Rogue.” Mikes shouts out as I see his toothy smile whip crack from the side of his door. “Come, come in I got something to show you” always having something to show me that clearly I am not interested in I tell him I’d be a minute as I need to use the toilet. I’ve got to push like 5 times to get the door to shut; it obviously is broken or wasn’t made to fit. What’s with this tower-block house?  Making my way to his bedroom hearing Meadow and Tanny giggle and my mother and Aunt Claudine talk, only the stars above know what Ramona is doing, probably face down in her magazine or pretending that she actually wants to be. She always was so polite, but her answers to question were short and to the point, not really giving much or a reason to ask her any more when we were at ‘The occult’ family member’s homes. “I’ve got The Bodyguard soundtrack” Mikes says staring at this black, dusty, very used stereo. He says it’s new but it’s quite obvious its what my mum would say second hand.
“Oh lets listen we can sing some of Whitney Houston’s song, not I’ll always love you, I’m bored of that one. All of Ramona’s cousins, I mean my cousins sing it, at their White parties.” Not terrible interested yet again with what he has to offer for entertainment I give a slight interest and story to it, make him believe I care.  He looks up at me with a slight puzzled face, I look down at the old patterned carpet, gosh change this shit already.
“What are the White parties?” He asks me; like I said something I have no idea I’m talking about. So I tell him.
“They’re parties you go to and all the girls have to wear clothes, all white and the boys have to wear white shirts. Don’t you go to them or have them?” I already know his answer but I ask any way. He shakes his head saying no and curls the right side of his mouth towards his right nostril. So he presses play on the old machine and that airy nose begins its way.  All I hear is music I’m unfamiliar with and then voices. I expected, there to be songs sung by Whitney herself, but all I hear are the words, the script of the film.  This is fucking stupid, “This is fucking stupid” shit the words slipped right out my mouth moments after burning so brightly in my mind, I kind of do that a lot when I’m under the stone of boredom. “What do you mean, this is wicked I taped it when my mum was watching it I’m going to learn the script, you should too then we can become famous and act it on stage.” Ok so he thinks learning the script will make us famous. I suppose actors must learn some way, but I’m not too sure they listen to films and learn. Wouldn’t that be stupid? I mean a film would have already had to have been made for you to listen to it and learn it, so then why would anyone want to see it repeated again? I don’t know. I sigh and exhale a kept in breath, I kept in from spit out my thoughts on him. “Oh, ok I guess. Who are you going to be?” I ask rolling my eyes and still thinking of the flight. He tells me he’s going to be Rachel Marron and I should be Frank, like I know who they are. I agree, only because It’s still morning or maybe it’s afternoon now, that drive was long, plus I need something to occupy my time, better this than listening to my mother and Aunt blabber away about the joys of Dominica and how they wished they had gone back more often. So my mother, my mother dearest has been before, she’s lives in England and has done all of her life, well I know she lived up with Granny and Granddad up in Chorley,  she told me stories about it when she was seven. Well it can’t be that bad. My heart starts to thump and I’m sure the small, tight space Mikes and I are in, his bedroom is echoing the sound of my heart like an elephant’s mating call.
“Rogue, I think you should break. Break and then it will stop.” A shudder runs down my back and down both sides of my bum and a laughter follows it trail, Ashlley speaks to me and although I’m tempted to listen, if I do, I probably won’t be gone for just the few weeks I’d probably be gone a month. A whole month without Greyson, not sure I can do that. 

Saturday, 29 September 2012

Kiss me I'm dying

We are all dying slowly, so the only thing we should do is enjoy life cause really, life promises us all one thing and that's DEATH. Take me for who I am and fly me away to the moon, stars and remote places of earth. I'm slowly exfoliating an old life, blossoming into a new form of the Omega Marbie you know.

Thursday, 27 September 2012

Marbie thought!

Hello Homosapiens.... Writing, styles, writing styles. When I first discovered that I wanted to write I was told to find a style, but the world is not as simple as that. It's like the average person with average education trying to dissect a genotype or DNA strand and trying to find the correct cells that find make a husky dog have blue eyes. What i'm saying is, every one has a written style which is in your head. You just have to fine tune it. I write the way I think and speak most of the time and to be honest have to say quite a lot "Well in layman's terms...." or "In the vernacular" constantly keeping myself in check to speak like you, homosapiens. So I shall go and have my body descaling now, as dewrinkling was a good one. I got over 7 hours which is not a norm for me.

Peace out and remember, if you plan on writing, you have already found the style you thought you had lost. It's in you.

(Got write more)

Wednesday, 26 September 2012

Top 7 Do's and Don'ts of FACEBOOK dating (Top 14 really homosapiens.)

Hey homosapiens, it's been a long while since I've made a post to you all. A lot has happened. But lets get started. I thought only to post today because I'm at the end of glory of hearing about relastionships via socail networking, "FACEBOOK" to be more specific and I stand by these 14 pointers. 


1.Put them on limited profile if he asks to be your friend on Facebook early on. It's understandable that you may not want to reveal too much straight away.
Plus you may have a load of editeing to do. (See below) 

2.Post interesting status updates to get them thinking about you. If you're able to convey your brilliant sense of humour in a witty post, so much the better, say things that you are comfortable with them knowing and that you are comfortable in saying in reality.  

3.Make sure your profile picture shows you at your best. And if the photo shows you doing something a bit different – like posing with an a drag queen on top of mount Everest or at the bottom off the ocean in a submarine – it will make you stand out from all your beer-swilling friends. 

4.Keep any mention of your dates with a love interest to a minimum. Even if you've had a brilliant time with them, they might not want you sharing it with all your pals. And if you're playing the field at the moment, be sure to keep it to yourself. On that sharing note, all your friends you’ve added probably won’t want to know how much dick and pussy you expect to get or have had any way. Keep the lips sealed.

5.Untag yourself from any pictures that cast you in a dull-darken-bad light. Modern technology means it's very easy to be snapped when you're least aware of it (Trust me I know, but I could care less, I’ve got what I need right now. I’ll make amendments when needed), but thankfully it's also easy to edit this part of your life commonly know as photoshopping. 

6.Take some heed to write about your tastes and interests on your profile. It will give your date an insight into your personality, and if you name a slightly obscure band or film that you genuinely like it will help keep interest. 

7.Pay attention to grammar and spelling – at least as much as you would in an email. They may not care in the slightest about that sort of thing, but why risk it, no one like a dumb blonde. Ahem


1.Worry if they don’t befriend you on Facebook straight away. It doesn't necessarily mean they’re hiding something –they might just feel that it's too soon to share everything about themselves with you or maybe they’re not the one surfing the internet on a regular 10 minute intervals like you. That’s why you’re here right? For some Marbie, Roguetastic answers? 

2.Go anywhere near Facebook when you've had one too many – it’s asking for trouble! My moto in life, “Don’t Drink and dial, drink and drive or drink and text.”

3.Write anything negative about them or your dates, even if they’re not your friend yet. Social networking has made the world a whole lot smaller, so these updates could get back to him, regardless of what you may think. Marbie has always got info on a whore-like Charbie and used the info against them.

4.Forget to remove pictures of you with any exes. Even if you don't like getting rid of things from your past, it's best to keep such souvenirs locked away in a bone closet rather than somewhere that your hundreds of friends have access to. They may think you're still hung up on digested fish.
(There’s plenty of fish in the see, if you didn’t catch that one. There I go again (Marbie smile) 

5.Lie about your interests to make them like you. You're going to be getting to know each other in reality soon, as well as via the internet, so don't create a false persona that you can't live up to. Marbie has no reason to lie, bending the truth to a 90 degree angel but never lies, neither should you.

6.Obsses on their wall and photos for hours, analyzing the meaning of every post and picture (Feel free if you want that stalker title). And if you can't resist a bit of Facebook stalking, don't bring up your findings with them – they’ll  just find it weird and assume you’re a Glen Close or So’ Raven.

7. Abuse the use of your keyboard or write a full on  account of your day. There's no harm in keeping things simple and vague and if a homosapien  thinks you're permanently glued to the internet they may assume your social skills won’t extend beyond the screen.